by Amy Bearce
Bentwood glowered at her. “What, you want to take her place, little fairy-girl? Jealous? My crew’s the top in the country.”
Rage and disgust clawed at her throat as she remembered the bruises she’d seen on his runners, their ribs poking through ragged clothing. They were fast, all right, because they were terrified. His people had twice the death rate as everyone else’s.
“She’s just a child,” was all she could force out before she swallowed a growl.
Along Phoebe’s temples, blue swirls of vein stood out like pale lace against her fair skin, and her arms and legs were like sticks. He was three hundred pounds. If Sierra fought him, he’d kill her and still take Phoebe as a pawn in his business. She’d be one random runner out of hundreds who dispensed his illegal elixirs and poisons in taverns and on the wharf. She couldn’t possibly help his profits, but he’d get what he wanted: assurance of Jack’s continued cooperation and future supplies. If it wasn’t Flight, Jack would find some other elixir to sell. He’d already created all sorts of hand-crafted poisons, too. He had a gift for mixing exactly the right compounds in the perfect way to do what he wanted. Dead fairies or not, business went on.
“Not ‘just a child.’ She’s a child with keeper heritage, Keeper Quinn,” Bentwood replied. “When she grows up, she’ll marry someone in my port and have children who will also live in my port. Children who could very well be keepers themselves.”
She thought about grabbing Phoebe now and running, but Phoebe was too frail. Compared to Bentwood, though, so was Sierra. Some fights couldn’t be won with brute strength. Jack had taught her that truth a long time ago. She wouldn’t let another man push her into a fight she couldn’t win.
Bentwood shrugged. “There are children younger than her tying nets in the harbor for their fisherman fathers. There are children cooking over fires and watching baby brothers and sisters. Elixir running is hard work, but she comes from sturdy stock.” He waved his hand at her.
Sierra bared her teeth. They’d take Phoebe away and force her to work at a job that would kill her soul. Gentleness defined Phoebe, more so than even Corbin, who was kind to everyone. Compassion was her perfume. If she had to take part in destroying lives by dispensing Flight or poisons, it would kill her. Sierra calculated the heaviness of the skillet, in case she needed to hit Jack and Mr. Bentwood.
Jack said to Sierra, “This would have happened eventually.” Surprisingly, he sounded like he regretted that. “But your stupidity sped things up. Tonight, Bentwood had agreed to accept payment of a certain number of future Flight batches in exchange for allowing me to immediately expand our business closer to his territory.”
He expelled a harsh breath that flared his nostrils and pointed to a dead fairy all alone in the middle of the table. “Now I had to pay by sending an… employee… that I was not expecting to send any time soon in order to fulfill our agreement.”
Phoebe was watching Sierra with horror-filled eyes. Sierra closed her own eyes for a minute so she could think without the distraction of her sister’s distress. Panicking now wouldn’t help either of them. Jack wanted to expand his trade parameters. He was ambitious enough to not back down from the deal. Without fairies, he didn’t have Flight. Without Flight to trade, he needed something else to offer, something valuable.
Desperation grabbed at her. Sierra blurted, “I’ll go. I’ll go work for Elder Bentwood.”
Bentwood looked interested, but Jack waved her suggestion away, like she had feared he would.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I need you here, especially now. Without fairy nectar, we would have no Flight. Having a wider business area will scarcely be helpful if I have no product to sell. We will discuss the issue about the fairies later.” He glowered at her now.
Sierra cast about for anything that could save Phoebe. Anything, it didn’t matter what it was.
Then a thought burst into her mind, like a spring of fresh water welling up in the desert.
“The queen!” The words popped out of her mouth, sure and forceful.
She took a deep breath and tried to sound calm, less like the terrified fourteen-year-old she was. “She’s not dead. She’s only missing, which means I can find her again.”
True, she didn’t know that, and really didn’t particularly believe that, but she also didn’t know for sure if the queen was dead and lost to them. What mattered was if Jack believed it. Sierra explained how she found them, and Jack’s eyes grew dark and thoughtful.
When he didn’t interrupt, Sierra continued, remembering something Corbin told her a long time ago. “When a queen leaves her hatch and goes too far away for too long, the little fairies left behind, the servants, they die. They need her magic to live. I’ve never heard of a queen leaving her hatch on purpose. Someone or something could have stolen her, but the hatch would have attacked a human and left a mess. So this must be a bigger problem than my hatch.”
The words were coming faster now, and he was still listening. “I think she’s out there, Jack, and I can bring her back. If I can find her and bring her back, she’ll start a new hatch and you’ll have nectar again. Your product will be fine. You can make rivers of Flight for hundreds of people. You won’t need money right away. You don’t have to trade Phoebe off.”
Sierra paused, swallowing the crack in her voice. “Please don’t send her away so young.”
The words spurted out like blood from a cut artery, edged with desperation.
Mr. Bentwood leaned back in his chair, studying her father, his arms crossed, and his expression tight. His face clouded, like a man who believed he’d been cheated out of a great deal.
Jack stroked his beard. After an eternity, he said, “Fine.”
Sierra clutched the back of the chair in front of her to stay standing.
Bentwood jerked to his feet, his chair falling backward with a clatter that made both girls jump.
“You can’t change our deal!” His voice was like thunder. A flush spread across Bentwood’s scarred face, bringing the white line in sharp relief.
Jack, though, looked coolly at the bigger man and remained seated. He raised one finger in the air, which was more effective than a slap. The girls waited for what would follow.
Without changing his expression, Jack continued, looking right at Sierra, “You go look for your fairy queen. But I cannot change my plans for Phoebe.”
Sierra’s breath left her body all at once. She might loathe Jack, but she couldn’t say she came from stupid stock. He knew a deal was a deal, and if he backed out of his promise, he could lose stature and, most importantly, power. Maybe even his life.
Phoebe’s skin was so pale from shock that she looked translucent. Her lips pressed into a thin line; her pupils were so dilated that her eyes looked like burned holes in her head. Coldness descended from Sierra’s bones and merged into her heart. It was a quiet, icy place there, a place without fear.
“Then I won’t help you start another hatch. I’ll die before I stand by and let her get sent to a man like that!” Sierra spat out each word like an arrow, pointing right in the face of Bentwood.
Bentwood’s face changed from red to an ugly scarlet, but Jack stayed calm. He knew her. They were a lot alike in some ways, which scared Sierra when she considered it. He was a cold-blooded killer, and she didn’t want to end up like him one day.
Father and daughter stared into each other’s eyes, and understanding passed between them. Whatever thin connection he might have felt for Sierra as his daughter was severed. This was all about business, but that was more respect than she had ever received from him.
“Very well. I’ll make a bargain,” he said. “You’ll have two fortnights to find your fairy. One month. And if you do not bring back a queen in that time―I really don’t care if she’s yours or not―then your sister moves to Elder Bentwood’s city. There, she will work in his distilleries and run for him, whether you are here or not. If you do return with a queen before the deadline, Phoebe will go to Elder Bentwood next ye
ar, when our new trading period begins. I think this is a fair compromise, don’t you?”
Bentwood’s face was past scarlet and moving toward purple, but Jack sat without apparent concern.
“Could I have longer?” Sierra dared to ask. She had no idea where her queen could be. More time could only be helpful.
“We have only enough nectar stored for one more month’s supply for Elder Bentwood to take with him until you either return or do not. I will send that nectar with him now as a sign of good faith. But one month is all I will ask him to wait. When the nectar runs out, so does your time.”
Sierra could tell Bentwood wanted to argue. But even if she succeeded, he still had a promise to get Phoebe next year, which was more than he’d been offered before. The whole situation made Sierra clench her fists in fury. Phoebe wasn’t even good runner material. She was too slow. She was too small and weak to lift the heavy cauldrons in the distilleries too. But he had wanted to be officially tied to a source of the most sought-after elixir in the area for years. Phoebe’s keeper heritage was the icing on the cake.
They had had a long partnership, Bentwood and Jack. Bentwood wouldn’t ruin it for one month’s delay.
“How do I know you’ll wait?” Sierra asked. No way would she leave without assurance. “I want her to come with me.”
Jack laughed. “Nice try, Sierra.”
A wry smile acknowledged she’d learned from his negotiations. At one point he had hoped she would take over his business. A fairy keeper as a dark alchemist. Couldn’t beat that combination, but turned out a keeper with a conscience didn’t make a good dark alchemist. Sierra knew fairies weren’t intended to be used for that. She didn’t like them, but she protected what was hers. Nectar could be used for healing, if prepared properly. Corbin’s parents were healers who used his fairies’ nectar in healing potions for the ill and wounded. Naturally, her father turned it into something addictive, mind-altering, and even deadly.
Jack said, “You’ll have to trust me. I have never lied to you, have I? But you can’t say the same to me.”
A new slither of fear broke through Sierra’s numbness and iced her neck. He was talking about their pre-packed leave in the middle of the night bag. He nodded, seeing the expression in her eyes. She figured she was lucky he didn’t beat her for the thought of betrayal alone. And honestly, he was right; he had never lied to her. She had never been important enough to lie to. He told her straight out what he wanted, and expected her to obey. Someone wouldn’t think to lie to a dog, either.
Sierra’s stomach roiled. She was risking everything to save Phoebe and had to put faith in her father’s word. He kept his word with his business colleagues, though, so she decided she had to believe him now. Of course, even if she were successful, she could still lose Phoebe to Bentwood eventually. No matter. Sierra would figure something out between then and now. One problem at a time.
Jack continued, “So, go ahead, only I can’t have you go out alone. You broke my trust.”
No, no, no. She didn’t see how this night could get worse. If it wasn’t Phoebe, Sierra didn’t want a partner.
“Therefore,” he continued, “I’m going to send Nell with you as my enforcer.”
Sierra closed her eyes and tried to keep breathing.
The night just got worse.
ierra carefully packed for her journey while waiting for Nell to arrive. The few items stuffed in the bag earlier wouldn’t be enough for the trip. Phoebe sat on the edge of their pallet, mindlessly petting the old toy unicorn Sierra had sewn for her years ago from fabric scraps. Sierra wanted to talk to her sister, but words kept getting stuck, her mind racing ahead to what was coming. She tried to plan well, to think ahead to what she’d need: clothing, a cooking pot, medical supplies. But all she could think of was how getting tied up in Bentwood’s alchemy crew might as well be a death sentence for Phoebe. He wouldn’t likely kill her on purpose, not with the hopes of getting a keeper in his city one day, and his desire to stay a partner with Jack. But there were other kinds of death. Bentwood was the kind of man who beat his servants, the kind who tortured a messenger for giving bad news. The risk to Phoebe left no room for failure.
“Don’t forget to bring the sweater I knitted for you. Winter still has a month to go.” Phoebe’s voice was soft.
Sierra’s eyes stung as she looked over at the deep brown sweater lovingly knit by her sister’s little hands. It would be warm, but even better, it would bring to mind her sister when she was far away.
“I wouldn’t dare.” Sierra smiled, and all at once, Phoebe was in her arms, her red hair pressed to Sierra’s shoulder, face squinched tight.
Sierra rocked her. “Phoebe, I’m going to do this. It’s okay. Do your best to hang on while I’m gone, okay? Maybe I won’t even need the whole month. Maybe I’ll find her two ports away and be back in a week.”
“You don’t really think that, though.”
No, she didn’t. Sierra suspected her queen was quite far away if she was still alive. Maybe even captured. She couldn’t think of a reason the queen would leave the little fairies to die otherwise. Sierra figured she’d need every day Jack had allotted to solve the mystery and find her queen.
But what she said was, “Anything’s possible. Okay?”
Phoebe nodded, sniffled, and backed away to curl up on the edge of the pallet like a little kitten. Sierra forced out small talk as she packed. “Your sweater will be perfect, and the scarf you made, too.”
Phoebe’s smile kept Sierra going, even though every step closer to leaving hurt.
She laid out her thickest sweaters, her favorite canvas pants, her knee-length coat, and the fur-lined boots that had cost her a day’s collection of nectar. She’d slowly siphoned off the top of her daily harvest for several weeks until she could trade for them. She wore them when she went collecting mushrooms in the forest for her fairies with Corbin. He was the one to point out she needed thicker, sturdier boots for the wilderness of the forest.
Corbin would joke with her at the start of each winter: “Your feet will freeze right to the ground, silly ragamuffin!” He laughed, but he truly worried about the inadequacy of the thin leather shoes she usually wore.
She’d chuckle and tell him, “Then I guess you’ll get the fairy keeper statue you’ve always wanted.”
“Thanks, Corbin,” Sierra muttered now, grateful to have them. He’d be pleased to know she was taking good care of herself―and Phoebe, too.
Sierra glanced at the door before packing her toolkit. Fairy keepers didn’t need many tools, but they did need jars to collect nectar and nets to contain aggressive fairies. For a rogue queen, there wasn’t a lot she could do except try to win her back through whatever strange attraction she held as a keeper. No box was strong enough to hold a fairy queen, but the net would be useful in case it became necessary to grab some lesser fairies to lure the queen.
Sierra packed a small cooking pot. The girls prepared a lot of wild nuts, berries, greens, and mushrooms, even with the meat Jack added to the table.
“Are you actually going to try to hunt?” Phoebe attempted a joke, but her smile wobbled.
The girls didn’t have any real hunting equipment of their own, but they didn’t need any. Phoebe couldn’t stand to hunt, and Sierra was simply not good at it at all. Jack never bothered to teach her, though he was incredibly skilled with a bow and arrow. Sierra could use a bow in an emergency, but stuck with what fish and small game she could catch with her fairy nets. She gathered a lot of fruits and vegetables to supplement their meals. Jack hunted well enough that meat was rarely absent from their table anyway.
“I’ll manage. Don’t worry,” Sierra assured her, knowing Phoebe was worried. “Think of the possibilities―field greens with honey, mountain trout grilled on an open fire…”
Sierra’s stomach, which had missed dinner tonight, roared. The gurgling growl was staggeringly loud in the grim silence of their room. Phoebe giggled. Her bubbly noise sounded impossibly inappro
priate, given the circumstances. She tried to stop, covering her mouth, but snorted instead, which only made her giggle harder.
Sierra stared at her sister for a long moment, at those sparkling brown eyes and the mane of shaggy red hair, and giggled, too. Some days, you either laughed or lay down and cried. Sierra laughed and laughed until her sides hurt, until the scrape on her stomach tore open slightly and blood oozed around the edges again.
“Looks like I missed the joke,” a girl said in a low, drawling voice from the doorway.
Sierra stiffened, then stood and turned to face the girl standing there.
At fifteen, she was a year older than Sierra and taller than many boys her age. A heavy wool jacket covered arms that Sierra knew were well-toned. Shoulder-length pale blonde hair hung in a single braid, emphasizing pale blue eyes in a face with light golden skin. The girl was actually quite pretty, though her disagreeable expression downplayed that fact. She looked at Sierra with undisguised dislike.
Sierra said, “Hello, Nell. No, you’re just in time.”
hen Sierra was six and Nell was seven, they competed in a village race with all the children. Sierra may have been terrible at hunting, but she was fast. Nell was bigger, older, and tougher, but Sierra outran her anyway. During their victory lap, the infuriated Nell hit Sierra right on her keeper mark, hard enough to send her flying into a tree. Nell didn’t like losing, ever, and even second place was unacceptable. Poor Corbin got a distant fifth, but he didn’t care. He spent most of his time reading books, already preparing for the day when his fairy would arrive.
That race proved critical for Nell, though. Even second place showed her potential. Elixir runners had to be quick. She was quick and smart―a critical combination in Jack’s estimation. Within the next couple of years, Nell’s father died and she began working for Jack, adding her small income to what her mother earned taking in people’s laundry. Nell worked her way up in Jack’s business since then. He used her as a spy when stealth was necessary, since people rarely saw a young woman as a threat compared to the usual hulking bruisers. But she was just as dangerous as any of them. She’d never liked Sierra, who didn’t know why and didn’t particularly care.
