Prologue

Isotta Pinemark, a faeline of the Amaryllis empire, had seen many a market day in her years. Having been born in Treeshrine, the small but active town nestled in the forests east of Greycreek, she had grown up in the cycle of preparing for and setting up for Market whenever the moon completed its waxing cycle and gleamed down once again in its full glory. On those few days, the otherwise unused Market Square in the town glowed with produce both foreign and native, from the far reaches of Tiera Lucet or from her own backyard garden.

She had grown up knowing how to set up her stall and where to place her goods, as her mother had taught her. She had learned how to heckle and how to pitch her unquiet tone to the crowds that meandered through in search of something particular or just something. She knew, after nearly ninety years of working the Market, which people were looking to buy and which were only going to waste her time. Gods be willing, she’d have another ninety or more years before she slowed down in her tasks and imparted the knowledge onto her oldest daughter.

More than anything else, Isotta Pinemark knew how to spot trouble before it could make a scene.

Keen brown eyes fixed on a seemingly normal Market patron, but Isotta knew differently. The woman peering at fruits and vegetables that the merchant knew this girl could not afford was not going to be buying anything from her stall, though Isotta reflected that a few others would probably take pity on the woman and sell her misshapen or overripe food from their own bins.

As Isotta waited for the woman to near, she looked her over with a frown hitched on her flat lips. She judged the woman to be in her early twenties and couldn’t help but internally cringe at the long scar that sliced down the left side of her face, sparing one golden eye but condemning the other to play second fiddle to the mark.

That’s what everyone notices first, Isotta thought to herself confidently. The fair skinned woman might be pretty, she supposed, if not for her unruly auburn hair barely contained in a braid and that scar. Her eyes might even be striking, if she were not a human.

Dressed in patched and re-patched traveling clothes, Isotta saw her for what she was. She had seen this woman before in Treeshrine, trading with the other vendors for rations and supplies a few times a year. She did not stay long, and Isotta knew not where she came from. Only that she was bound to bring trouble, as any human was apt to do.

Dimly, Isotta considered telling the Wranglers about this free human, and wondered why she hadn’t done so already.

At last the human had neared Isotta’s stall, though with an assessing flick of those striking eyes, she had looked away from the merchant with a twist of her mouth. She knew, of course, that Isotta would not sell her even her most rotted fruit.

The merchant struck, quick as a serpent, and grabbed for the woman’s cloak. The human let out a soft huff of surprise, then those eyes turned on Isotta and narrowed.

Let go, the woman murmured under her breath. I know you won’t sell to me, so I wasn’t asking–

I thought I told you that none of us in Treeshrine want you here on Market week, Isotta snarled, grip tightening. Something shifted smoothly against her hand, but when she looked down she saw only the cloak and her own skin.

You don’t speak for everyone. Other folks are happy to sell to me, the woman said levelly, the fight still plain on her face. A few other customers had looked over in confusion, and one of the other merchants was frowning at Isotta.

"They only pity you, Isotta snapped, causing the woman’s eyes to widen slightly. But I know that you’re just waiting on your chance to cause some manner of problem. I won’t have it."

What are you talking about? The woman pulled away and reluctantly Isotta let go. I’m here to buy supplies, nothing more. Still she looked around uncomfortably and Isotta pressed her point.

"You must be desperate, then, to show your face here at Market. Wouldn’t think you’d want to get noticed by these people. She raised the volume of her voice pointedly, savoring the look of discomfort on the human’s face. Wouldn’t be good for you if there were any wranglers looking through our goods today, would it human?"

The woman closed her eyes in resignation. All right, she hissed. You’ve made your point. Isotta knew it was the mention of wranglers, or those who caught free humans and sold them at auction, that had changed this human’s tune. I’ll leave.

If you’re going to make us deal with you, try to be considerate and do it when no one’s looking, Isotta added as she stepped back toward her stall. "Imagine what my customers must think of you dawdling near my produce."

The woman didn’t even bother to look at her this time. She shook her head, one hand pulling her hood up over her features, and disappeared between two rows of stalls. That direction, Isotta thought contentedly, was a surefire route towards the edge of town. They’d be rid of the human in minutes if they were lucky.

Hopefully someone had heard their exchange and she’d be rid of that particular nuisance for good.

A new man sidled up to her counter, pushing a black hood back to expose a strong-jawed and smiling face. His hair was the color of pitch and shone in the sunlight that streamed through the trees, and Isotta could almost see the magic dancing along his skin.

Finally, the merchant thought, A customer. And a comely one at that. Isotta was in her prime and this man, though she couldn’t pinpoint his race, was too. No reason to let him escape without a little more than the produce on her counter.

Good morning, Isotta beamed at him and swept her long ash brown hair back over her shoulder. I see you have an eye for the freshest fruit, sir. I can answer any questions you might have and provide any assurances you might need that I sell only the very best.

The man flashed her an equally brilliant grin, and Isotta patted herself on the back. I can tell. Your stall stands out amongst all the rest; you must be proud of your work. He looked down to the baskets of fruit and scooped an apple from the bin.

I’ve got a bit of dryad in me, my mother says, Isotta laughed heartily. Gives me a natural talent with the earth.

I’m sure. He cast his orange gaze towards the stream of wandering customers, then back to her. That woman you were talking to. Did you know her? His tone was flicked with mild interest and Isotta wanted to sigh.

Of course, he’d seen that. Her of all people giving the time of day and some helpful advice to a frankly sordid human woman. Don’t mind her, lest you’re a wrangler. Isotta snorted. That woman comes ‘round here every once in awhile and shows off that scar to make the others take pity on her and sell her their old goods. I keep telling them that we shouldn’t be selling to humans, but they don’t listen. It brings bad business in, as I’m sure you know.

As you say, the man replied noncommittally.

Isotta peered at him as he spoke. Don’t tell me you show kindliness to them as well. Of course, he would. That was going to be her luck. You may think me harsh, I suppose, but it’s for their own good. The faster that one in particular is rounded up and sold off, the happier I’ll be.

Something flashed in the man’s eyes and Isotta prepared herself for an argument. Instead, he only produced a shining gold coin and laid it on her counter.

Thank you, he added. For the apple. He lifted his hood and turned, disappearing back into the throng of people.

With a hearty sigh, Isotta tucked the coin into her dress pocket. Ah well. Market was nowhere near over, and the sooner she put the attractive stranger from her mind, the better.

Caught up as she was in counting and recounting her coins, Isotta was oblivious to the ivory skinned woman who stared at her in stillness from some distance away. Lavender eyes held wide, the new woman only looked away when a hand appeared on her shoulder, and if Isotta had been looking, she would have seen her attractive stranger lean into the strange woman and whisper something that set her full lips to curve upwards into a grin.

When she did look up, the merchant’s eyes were instead drawn to a duo of identical, copper haired children sitting on Mistress Ysedd’s best cask of ale. The woman sighed, scooped her coins back into one pocket, and set forth to chase them away from the other merchant’s goods.

Never any different, Isotta Pinemark thought ruefully to herself as her hand nearly connected with a child’s shirt when they slipped away from her. When she looked again there seemed to be three of them, though upon blinking they were back to two. She’d be happy when this year’s Market was over and she could get back to her garden and her tea.

Chapter One

My sneeze echoed starkly through the canyon, surprising me with the sound and causing me to hold tighter to the rock at my front. The feathered serpent around my shoulders merely stared at me, the gleam shifting in his eyes as he prepared to scoff.

Shut up, I muttered, hefting myself up the cliff face. I didn’t sneeze on you. And what was I supposed to do, cover my mouth and drop both of us?

Brightscale scoffed audibly. "I would’ve been fine. If you were capable of stringing a spell together in the air, you would be too." He rested his iridescent green head, including its rainbow mane of rough feathers, on my shoulder once more and closed his round black eyes.

When he was asleep—or pretending to be—while in his snake form, he was adorable. When he was awake or had shifted to his dragon-like serpent shape, he was less so; it might be the wings and horns that came with being the size of a dragon. He still had the remnants of horns in this form, though they appeared more as ridges along the sides of his head; two of them stuck up almost like ears.

You aren’t moving. Are you stuck? he asked without bothering to open his eyes.

I rolled my own golden gaze and looked away from his scales that shifted colors in the clear sunlight. The sun had risen only an hour before, and Brightscale had woken me to warn me that something was wrong.

He hadn’t been able to say more than that.

I had planned to completely skirt the low stone ridges that stood guarding the edge of the forest. Not quite mountains, I still didn’t like having to climb nearly vertically to get to the top of the stone when I could simply take an extra day to go around.

Too bad that Brightscale couldn’t fly us to the top without risking being discovered.

With a huff, I towed us onto the top of the rock, my boots scrabbling to find purchase against the stone and my loose shirt sleeve tearing as it caught on a cleft.

Gods damn it, I spat, levering myself up onto my hands and knees.

Delicately, Brightscale nosed at the torn cloth. Well. At least it’ll match the other one now in being so ragged, he offered in his least helpful tone.

I’m throwing you off the peak, I mumbled as I stood up on the rock and unconsciously ran a hand down the scarred side of my face.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need to. The threat was an empty one, after all. He could fly.

Forests bloomed at the foot of the towering stone, though to my back there were only fields. Now I faced them, eyes darting from one section to the next. Out here, farms sprawled miles and there was no town in sight. From experience, I knew that Greycreek, hidden behind a ridge, sat only few hours ride away.

I spun slowly in a circle, stopping when I’d made it three-quarters of the way around and faced the dense forests once more.

Smoke rose from one part of the trees. Multiple plumes drifted into the air, though they were close enough together that I couldn’t make out how many of them blurred together.

Isn’t that where we came from? I asked, morbidly interested and brushing my disorderly dark auburn hair back from my face. Is that Treeshrine? That town with the shitty fruit merchant I didn’t add.

I believe so. Seems to me like someone set fire to the town. Brightscale lifted up on my shoulder to survey the smoke solemnly.

I wonder if the fruit lady made it out all right.

Brightscale switched his gaze from the smoke to me. I told you I would eat her, he pointed out. When she grabbed you last week.

"I may not like her but I don’t want her dead," I argued, thoughts going to the faeline woman who had wished for me to end up in chains. Treeshrine had been one of my more frequent stops, and if it was gone, I would have to find another. While I had come to terms with most Regnant treating me like dirt, the older faeline that made their homes there had been nicer to me than most. At the very least, they’d sold and bartered with me, which was as much as I could reasonably ask for.

I shook my head to clear it. I can’t believe you had me climb all the way up here for that, I griped, staring down at the gorge below. Seriously, Brightscale—

A shadow passed over us. I looked up and saw the sky suddenly overcast when I was sure no clouds had been there before. The wind picked up, making me step back from the edge, and whipped my dark brunette hair around my face.

Something was wrong.

Brightscale lifted off my shoulder again and searched the clouds as if they were less impenetrable to him. Do you hear that? he murmured.

No, I answered over the rushing wind.

He didn’t speak. I followed his gaze, searching the cloud cover that had plunged the area into a sudden darkness. Was this a magical storm? I knew that with enough magic cast, nature would be thrown off kilter, though mostly I’d only heard stories of such.

Sorcha.

I whirled at the sound of my name, surprised by what I saw behind me. A woman wearing brilliant gold armor and a living dragon helmet stood there. A long, reptilian tail curled loosely around her, and she held her usual halberd in a hand that was tipped in scales and dragon claws.

Sarkany? I’d never seen her outside of the home of the gods—the Godsrealm—before. What are you doing here?

The eyes on her helmet blinked slowly. I am no god, she reminded me. I go where I please. Now hush.

I snapped my jaws shut at her words, a frown playing at my lips.

No magic, she informed me coolly.

What—

"The gods bid you to hide your magic for now. Whatever happens, you are not to show the skills that you have been taught in our realm."

"What? I repeated, at a loss. What if I die? I could fall off this mountain!"

She only looked at me. No magic, Sorcha, she repeated.

"Might as well take my eyes while you’re at it," I grumbled, knowing that arguing was futile. The gods were inscrutable at the best of times. I would get nowhere questioning their most devoted servant.

You exaggerate. Be safe. I will see you soon.

"No, no, that’s not fair. You owe me more of an explanation—"

A yell caught my attention, it having been carried on the wind. I looked down into the valley to see people lurching down the path. Behind them approached two men on horses who were catching up quickly.

All right, so no magic. But can it wait until— I turned, only to realize that Sarkany was gone. Really? I hissed under my breath.

You should probably start moving, Brightscale intoned, still looking at the activity in the valley. Those are wranglers, if I am not mistaken.

"Obviously. And call them what they are." I pulled away from the edge of the cliff so I couldn’t be seen.

Slavers. Kidnappers. I don’t think it matters what we call them if we don’t start moving away from them.

I could kill them from here, I muttered. Seriously, you know? One well-placed flame….

I didn’t think you were in the habit of defying your gods.

He was right, unfortunately. If the gods said no magic, then the rule was no magic.

All right. I exhaled loudly, then cast one more look down to the ground. A woman was on her knees, strangely quiet, and I shook my head at her misfortune. This was the price of being human like me.

Though there really were no humans like me.

I turned and walked quickly away from the scene, going to the other side of the rocky plateau I’d been standing on and trying to locate a way down. Sure enough, this side was just as perilous, and I really hadn’t wanted to have to climb down.

I’d fly us, if I could, Brightscale said, his voice almost inaudible over the whipping wind. But I fear that the wind above us would do more harm than you falling off this rock.

There went that option.

Right. No more wasting time, then, I said abruptly, kneeling down and taking the first plunge downward. My stomach plunged with it, and for a moment I thought I might be sick.

I worked down steadily, refusing to even consider that the slavers had seen me or that I’d be caught. No magic meant that I likely I couldn’t get away from them. My sword, along with the rest of my supplies, was back at my campsite in the woods.

My foot slipped and I gasped, scrabbling at the rock face and dragging myself into a steadier position before I could slide far. Still, my palms burned from slipping over the rock face, and I bit my lip resolutely as I continued to work my way to the next comfortable foot hold.

After much stomach turning and hissed worries in my ears, my boots hit the ground solidly. I gasped and let myself slide to the ground, my thighs gratefully hitting rock as I sat. Thank the gods, I groaned, eyes closed and head thrown back as I panted. I didn’t think we were going to make it.

Silence greeted me. That was strange. Usually Brightscale could be counted on to remark on most things I said. Was he all right?

Are you— I opened my eyes, and stopped.

In front of me stood a woman, probably in her mid-twenties like me. She held a strung bow with an arrow nocked. She stood unwavering with a set mouth.

At first glance she appeared human, until I saw that her eyes were golden like a hawk’s and tufts of feathers stuck out from her brown hair. Don’t move, she whispered, looking almost as panicked as I felt. I don’t want to do this, and I don’t want to hurt you—but I will. She gestured at me and I put my hands up, brushing Brightscale’s feathers as I did.

At the first sign of danger, he’d turned invisible around my shoulders and remained still. She couldn’t see him, and neither could I.

The woman fumbled, dropping the bow as she revealed a rope at her waist. I’m going to tie your hands now, she informed me. But if you move, my brother will hurt you. She looked upward. As I followed her gaze, I saw a man holding a sword while standing on a boulder above us.

I was trapped by wranglers and without my magic, I couldn’t see a way out.

Chapter Two

The woman—the shapeshifter—was efficient. She tied my hands quickly and tightly, and then attached them to another rope like I was some kind of animal.

The man jumped gracefully to the ground beside her, typical of a shapeshifter. He’d jumped from a height of nearly ten feet he without harm.

I cursed myself for leaving my sword at my camp. It and the rest of my supplies were settled near my fire a mile away, not available I needed them. The gods had taught me more than just magic, and I could’ve probably fought my way out of this situation.

No magic. Sarkany’s words rang in my head, making me grimace as I was led down the dusty path.

Another woman stood at an intersection near three picketed horses. She looked up at our approach and something gleamed in her gaze, though it was gone a moment later.

Was it pity? No. I was mistaken in that; Regnant never pitied humans like me.

That’s not the woman we tracked here, the new woman observed, looking me over.

Well, yeah, the younger woman shrugged. She cast me a narrow-eyed glance, which I looked away from. That old woman got caught by someone else. ‘Sides, shouldn’t we get more out of this one? She jiggled the rope holding my wrists, causing my arms to bounce. She’s a lot younger.

Stop it. The man grabbed her hands. Seriously, don’t act like that.

The younger woman looked properly chastised and loosened her hand on the rope.

The older woman, who appeared to be in her early thirties, shook her head once more. Of course, it was nigh on impossible to tell the ages of the Regnant. With lifespans that often numbered into the hundreds, telling their age from appearance wasn’t easy.

It was her or nothing, Adali, the man said firmly.

As I studied them from under my dark bangs, I found that they all looked very similar. Were they siblings?

And it’s not like we have any other options—

"I have no need for you to lecture me, Adali interrupted in her deeper voice. Tie her onto your horse, Samira." She jerked her chin towards the smallest horse.

I wondered if it would be prudent to tell them that I couldn’t ride. I’d been on a horse a grand total of twice. Even Brightscale could barely abide me when he had to fly with me on his back, though I figured that had more to do with his attitude than my ability to hang on. Or so I told myself.

Samira pulled me to the horse and helped me onto it, making me feel all the clumsier as I nearly toppled off the other side.

The man snorted. You act like you can’t ride a horse, he said to me.

I frowned, sneering, "I can’t."

It’s not hard, Samira said quickly, before the other could speak again. We aren’t going to go fast. And this is my horse. He won’t let you fall. His name’s—

She doesn’t need to know about your horse, Adali barked. Unless you intend on keeping her?

Samira’s shoulders fell. Again, something that looked like pity crossed her face. Again, I wrote it off as spontaneous sun stroke on my part.

Where are we going? I bit out as the older man and Adali mounted their own horses.

Samira tied my horse’s lead to her own saddle and glanced back at me. Graycreek, she said quietly. They’re in the middle of an auction.

A human auction was what she meant. My heart sank, and Brightscale shifted uncomfortably on my shoulders. I heard him let out a very quiet hiss of comfort, but it did little use for my nerves.

By the time we’d reached the bustling town of Graycreek, I needed to sneeze again. My nose itched fiercely and rubbing it against my shoulder hadn’t helped at all. Brightscale, of course, had not offered to scratch my nose for me.

Not that I’d expected it from my feathered friend. Feathered serpents were, as a whole, arrogant creatures who thought themselves above even a Maji. Were you to tell one different, you were likely to get eaten for your troubles.

It didn’t help that feathered serpents were the holy symbol of Tiera Lucet. It had only fluffed their egos. Most cities had made room for any feathered serpent who wished to make their homes in them, under the condition that they would never eat any member of the Regnant—but one never knew with a feathered serpent. Even the Regnants’ position of being the race that had settled Tiera Lucet didn’t always guarantee that a feathered serpent wouldn’t snack on them.

I’d personally seen Brightscale swallow a Faeline whole, pointy ears and all.

As such, asking a feathered serpent to do anything required bribes, tithes, and honorifics. Even if it was simply to move your tail, thank you very much.

Brightscale, for all that he was the only creature in Amaryllis that I could call my friend, was no different.

The horse jostled under me, and I was sure that if my hands were not tied to his saddle horn, I would have been thrown many times over. Brightscale laughed every time I slipped and slid over the beast’s back.

The Wranglers entered the gates of Graycreek without pausing, though when a guard approached, Adali pointed at me and nodded her head when the guard spoke.

With my human senses, I had no idea what was being said.

Even if I had the senses of a shapeshifter, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hear them. There were so many people here of all different kinds. Faeline with their innate beauty and pointed ears, shifters, dryads…. I was sure I’d even spotted a sallow-skinned vampire skulking along the shadows when we’d entered.

I’d never seen so many of the realm’s inhabitants gathered in one place.

But then, the only