Once again, Ruenen found himself questioning if this was all an elaborate trap.

Are we here to die?

Holfast didn’t step forward, but opened his arms in greeting.

“Welcome to Kellesar,” he announced, but his tone wasn’t friendly. It was curt, distant, as if barely holding back his disgust.

The fae slowed to a stop inside the doors. Neither side wanted to get too close to the other. Ruenen sensed Aresti, Leif, and Raife shift into stance. If they were anything similar to Marai, they were counting the number of guards and available exits.

“I’m Lord Holfast, Steward to the throne of Nevandia.” He inclined his head, but the gesture wasn’t returned by any of the fae.

Vorae wiped sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief as Holfast introduced him and Fenir. Both councilmen stepped closer to the guards standing by the throne.

Holfast focused on Marai. “It appears you weren’t lying, Lady Marai. I’m surprised you managed to bring your people here, and right on time.”

“We’ve come ready to negotiate,” Marai said, stepping out in front of her family. There was a protectiveness in her stance; her knees were bent and loose, shoulders square.

Ruenen stepped closer to her, showing the Witan and the fae his allegiance. Fenir and Vorae shifted awkwardly on their feet, taking in each member of Ruenen’s party. Avilyard and his guards remained nearby at every entrance, every corner, near the table and throne, swords at the ready.

Holfast cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat.” No one moved. “Ah, forgive me. Your bags.” He tugged on a nearby tassel.

A bell tinkled in the distance, and in an instant, three servants appeared from a corner doorway. They trotted forward, reaching for the sacks and bags belonging to the fae, but their outstretched hands were halted. They couldn’t pass Keshel’s barrier. It was as if a glass box had been erected around Ruenen and the fae. The servants blanched, turning back to Holfast, confused.

“Lower your shields,” Marai scolded from the corner of her mouth.

Ruenen felt the barrier release as if a bed sheet had been lifted off his skin. The servants staggered forward; one bumped into Leif.

“Apologies,” he murmured and tried to take Leif’s bag.

The fae warrior ripped it from the servant’s hands.

“Let them take it,” said Marai, receiving a glare from Leif. “They’re not stealing them.”

Leif slowly handed the male servant his bag, then returned his hands to the sword at his hip. Once the bags were all collected, the servants disappeared back through the door.

No one had yet made a move to sit.

To ease the tension, Ruenen took the first seat at the end of the table across from Holfast. Fenir and Vorae sat on either side of the Steward. Marai walked to Fenir and sat next to him, eyes alight with defiance, as the man trembled.

Raife came next and sat beside Vorae, who stared at the fae male open-mouthed, face mottled with red spots. Ever so slowly, the others took the remaining seats. Kadiatu shrunk low in hers next to Leif, but her eyes still peered up at the portraits on the walls with child-like wonder.

“So here we all are. The rest of the Witan will join us in the next meeting. I thought a smaller gathering might be best at first,” said Holfast.

Ruenen nodded in understanding, trying to think of the proper way kings would act at council meetings. He quickly crossed his legs and sat up taller.

“I must say . . . this has never happened in the history of our nation,” continued Holfast. “Never before have we shared a table with magical folk.”

“That’s because you were too busy killing us,” snapped Leif.

Everyone at the table stiffened.

Holfast considered Leif, nonplussed. “I suppose you’re correct, fae warrior. What may we call you?”

“Leif.”

“Do not forget, Master Leif, that your people are also guilty of crimes against humans. We’re all at fault, as Lady Marai reminded us yesterday.”

“Lady Marai?” coughed Aresti across the table, earning a scandalized look from Thora.

Marai ignored her, not taking her eyes from Leif, who seemed ready to pounce across the table at Holfast.

“Both parties are here to come to a peace agreement, not to hash out the past,” Ruenen said, voice rising in what he hoped was an authoritative way. “If we all work together, I believe we can create a better Nevandia. That’s the goal here, isn’t it?”

“As delightful as that sounds, that can only happen once we have defeated Tacorn,” Vorae droned, still avoiding acknowledging Raife beside him. “What ways do you think you can help Nevandia?”

“First thing’s first: we were promised homes and lands of our own in Nevandian territory,” said Keshel.

Holfast latched his eyes onto him, sensing Keshel was the leader of the fae.

Keshel did give off a courtly presence, with his erect posture, as he said, “This is absolutely paramount. We won’t lift a finger unless our safety is guaranteed. The question is, then, Lord Steward, what will you do to earn our trust?”

It was a toss-up between Keshel and Holfast on who had the best deadpan expression. The Steward’s face remained neutral, but Ruenen sensed the room taking a collective breath.

“I’ve set aside two cottages on the outskirts of the city. Their previous tenants fled to Tacorn several months ago due to the poor harvests. They’ve been vacant ever since. The cottages belong to you now. The deeds are here, ready to sign,” Holfast said, indicating the papers before him on the table, “but you will need to clean them and make fixes on your own.”

“That will do adequately; we don’t mind manual labor,” said Keshel.

“We need another written agreement; a decree between fae and humans that all citizens must respect,” Ruenen said, “stating that any harm or prejudice against the fae will be severely punished.”

Fenir and Vorae grimaced, but Holfast nodded. “The agreement must go both ways. It must state that no faerie may harm any citizen of this kingdom. Humans aren’t toys for your sport.”

“I believe we can agree to that,” said Keshel evenly. “And humans never were toys to the fae. Certainly not to us.”

Leif leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a roll of his eyes in a way that was so Marai that Ruenen smirked.

“I’m also appointing Lady Marai and Lord Keshel to be advisors on the Witan,” Ruenen added.

Marai shot him a startled look as the table hushed. Ruenen knew she didn’t want to take part in politics. She believed herself merely useful on the battlefield, but he couldn’t do this without her. He was stronger, steadier with her at his side.

“Faeries on the Witenagemot?” griped Fenir, shaking his head.

Marai’s fierce, cold eyes snapped to him. “Do you want to give up your country? Become a Tacornian slave? You of the Witan will be the first Rayghast decapitates. I hope you’re ready, because without us, you’re doomed.”

Fenir ground his teeth, but said nothing back, cowed by Marai’s severe tone. The voice of the Lady Butcher sent a thrilling shiver down Ruenen’s spine.

“We’re quite aware of what will happen to our country if this war drags on any longer,” Holfast said. “We’re here today out of desperation. Will you agree to help us defeat Tacorn?”

Keshel glanced up and down the table solemnly. All of the fae nodded, expressions so dark that the act was similar to digging their own graves. “Marai, Aresti, Leif, and Raife are skilled warriors. Thora is an expert healer, and Kadiatu can help her tend the wounded.”