Not likely. “Okay.”
Her long braid swung as she whirled around. A few bounds and she was up into the dove-colored sky. Watching her soar over the labyrinth of trees, my stomach clenched. Instinct pushed me to reach for the bond. There was the faintest spark of a life at the other end. No emotion; more like an echoing whisper or an ember in the fire. I held on, anyway. It calmed me, at least for the first few minutes. Soon, however, my impatience swelled, and my feet needed to move. I circled the house, checking each paneled window. No luck—Hazel had her curtains drawn. Once I’d completed a loop, I went to knock again.
“She’s not there,” a voice said from behind me.
I spun around. It was the female we’d seen earlier.
“Where is she then?”
The redhead gestured toward the forest. “She headed out this morning.”
Damn.
“If you knew that, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t want you hassling her,” she said coldly. A hand on her hip, she paced toward the gate. “The work she does for the village is too important. My son would’ve died if not for her.”
With the tether on my temper fraying, I retorted, “I told you, we’re not here to bother her. I just need her help.”
The female looked away, her mouth shaping a grim line.
Distrustful much?
“Marcy, what’s going on?”
The silvery voice belonged to a female. She appeared from around the side of Hazel’s house; she must’ve come from the woods behind. I scanned her features greedily. She had long ebony hair with generous streaks of silver, and a lined face that still carried the remnants of great beauty. The wings at her back were a dark purple—almost black. She carried a wicker basket filled with fungi and clippings from herbs. The clothes she’d chosen were simple and practical; beige trousers, a floaty white top, and worn leather boots. Nothing like Maggie, who’d embraced more elegant fashions with heavy robes.
I put two and two together. “You’re Hazel?”
I was buzzing with excitement … and fear.
The lithe female gave me an appraising look. “Perhaps. Who are you?”
A haughty tone. Yet, I thought I detected real curiosity.
I glanced over at Marcy, hoping she’d get the hint. She crossed her arms in a silent challenge.
Marcy was becoming a real pain in the ass.
Suppressing my irritation, I looked again to the elder female. Her delicate lips coiled in what appeared to be droll amusement. Deciding to drop the pretense, I asked, “Can we talk alone?”
The female looked me up and down, and with the smallest of smiles, pulled her basket a little higher, and said, “To answer your previous question, yes. I am Hazel Greysand.”
My heart thudded painfully. “You are?”
She walked around to her gate and gestured to the green door behind me. “You may go in.”
Marcy gave me another disapproving look. Ugh.
“It’s not locked,” Hazel informed me. “I’ll follow in a moment.”
Not wanting to give her an excuse to change her mind, I spun and walked straight into her cottage. I didn’t bother closing the door behind me.
I was standing in a fire-warmed living room with a kitchen in the top-right corner. Pale wood furniture and sage-colored walls gave the space a welcoming feel—almost homely.
Biting my lip, I looked over my shoulder and glimpsed Hazel and Marcy talking in hurried, hushed tones before an errant wind pushed the door closed. I went to pull on the doorknob—it wouldn’t open.
Panic punched into my chest.
I swept the room, looking for another exit.
Opposite wall.
I was halfway across the room when Hazel walked in. She snapped the door shut behind her, saying, “Sorry about that.”
I gestured wildly at the door, and my voice wobbled. “Why did you just lock me in?”
Hazel let out a caw. “I didn’t: the house did. It can be very rude when it wants to be.”
Wait … what?
“The house has its own reasons for doing things. It might not trust you yet.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”
I flinched and leaped about a foot as a waterfall of soot fell down the chimney.
“Well, if you’d rather leave, feel free,” she drawled and angled her head back to the door.
“No,” I replied instantly. “I want to stay.”
She shrugged, nonchalant. “As you will.”
She moved to her right where a kitchen had been fitted. Placing her hamper on the counter, she started to pull out various fungi and offshoots.
What now? How did I begin this conversation? Would she even welcome my seeking her out? What if she—or the house—took offense and locked me in again? Because protector or not, if she was the Priestess, she’d be dangerous. Not someone to mess with.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Hazel said as she continued puttering around the kitchen, putting various herbs in jars.
An armchair and a sandy-colored couch sat in front of the hearth, both moth-eaten and tattered. I chose the couch. I dropped my bag to the floor, unbuckled my sword, and went to sit. Springs squeaked and groaned, and now, with my knees up to my ears, a wheezing cough sounded. I could’ve sworn it came from beneath me.
I tried to stand. And failed.
Hazel’s eyes found mine for a brief second. “Don’t worry, it’s just the couch. He’s very old; he gets a bit wheezy when someone sits on him.”
My breath caught, and my spine prickled; she didn’t seem to be joking.
It provoked another careful scan of the room; five bookcases were lined up next to one another behind me, all outfitted with more books than I could count. Every spare bit of wall space had been taken with paintings and illustrations, mostly murals. A collection of memories amassed over centuries of living, presumably. There were also three other doors at each wall, a strangely ornate hat rack, and the kitchen held six cupboards, an icebox, a lit woodstove, and a large array of brightly colored teapots.
There was nowhere for a prankster to hide.
I looked down at the couch again and frowned.
Hazel left the kitchen space and walked over to the armchair. It wasn’t backless, which surprised me, given her wings. She settled down and dipped so low, it appeared the seat was eating her. Casting a lazy gesture toward me, she said, “Relax. You’ve nothing to fear from Salazar—he’s just a sprite who, for some reason, decided that my couch was the perfect place to rest his weary soul. Also, if you hear the hat rack or the hearth playing up, just ignore them too.”
That did not make me feel better. I knew little enough about the different sprite species, but what beings lived in couches, hat racks, and hearths?
Hazel must’ve guessed my next thought, because she said, “Don’t get up. He likes the company. You’ll offend him.”
I stared open-mouthed as Hazel extended a hand to a glass dish atop the low table in front of us. “Help yourself to some candied almonds.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
It was difficult to shake the wariness. Thankfully, she didn’t insist; instead she moved to perch on the fringe of the chair. Her back as straight as a rod of iron, her clear gaze settled on me, piercing me like a thousand shards of glass. “Perhaps you’d care to explain why you and a female fae sought me out? Marcy seemed convinced you were more spiders sent by Morgan to harass me, but—”
My nails punched down into the couch. “Morgan’s assassins come here?”
Salazar let out a little groan. Hazel’s brow creased. “Be careful, you’ll ruin his upholstery.”
My nails retracted a little. “Sorry.”
Hazel cocked an eyebrow. “From your reaction, it would seem that Morgan did not, in fact, send you.”
“I’d die before I worked for her.”
An unreadable expression crept over her face. Maybe grief and rage combined? “A treasonous statement—you want to be more careful.”
I tensed. Rutting hell, what had possessed me to send Adrianna away?