He stared at me in amazement. “I lost the staff.”
And then we were pelting ahead, down the riverbank and through an open-air market, with vendors and stalls and a tavern-in-a-tent, its benches spilling out into the middle of the road, and filled with fey.
Blarestri fey.
“Shit,” Pritkin said fervently, although the fey barely seemed to notice us.
Until a furious command rang through the air: “Stop them!”
And suddenly, benches were being knocked over, a dozen blue-clad giants were on their feet, and twelve swords were glinting in the sun.
“Shit!” Pritkin said, on a slightly higher note, and split.
Literally.
I’d seen him do something like it before, but I’d been a little distracted at the time. So it was a shock to see his body replicate itself in a long string, like an accordion of Pritkins, spilling out of his skin. And out of mine, I realized, as a couple dozen Cassies jumped away from my body, scattering in all directions.
Not that it helped. Unlike the Svarestri we’d fought last time, these fey weren’t fooled. Maybe because they hadn’t taken their eyes off us the whole time.
Until half the river suddenly slammed into them—and the tavern, and us—in a wave the size of a house.
I came up gasping, and swimming on what had been low but dry land a second ago, and was now a new inlet.
But I didn’t think Pritkin had done it, because he’d just pulled a major spell out of his ass, and you didn’t get two of those back-to-back. And because some Green Fey, two men and a woman, were sitting along a tree limb, mugs in hands, grinning down at the chaos. And especially at their floundering blue counterparts, who didn’t seem to appreciate the dunking.
“I thought the Green were mad at us,” I said, staring up at them, because the fey made no damn sense at all.
“Slightly . . . annoyed,” Pritkin corrected breathlessly.
“They tried to kill us!”
“Those were the queen’s personal guard, and they were under orders. These aren’t. And I am Green Fey—partly.”
“And this means?”
“That,” he said as several furious Blue Fey staggered back to their waterlogged feet and headed our way.
And were bitch-slapped by another wave for their trouble.
“Better run, brother,” one of the Greens called helpfully.
“Obliged!” Pritkin called back.
“Don’t mention it. Wouldn’t want to deprive Mother of the pleasure of dealing with you herself!”
And then I was jerked up, and we were running on top of the water, the way I’d seen the princess do the last time we were here. Not that we were as graceful. But then, she hadn’t had so many waves to worry about, causing the “ground” to feel like a fun house floor. Or as much floating debris to jump over. Or as many fey acting like blond-haired sharks, and trying to grab her from below.
Although that was preferable to what looked like a giant fist made out of air, the outline formed from twigs and debris, which plunged into the water just behind us. It threw us off our feet and almost caused us to get jerked up when it reversed course. But one of my doubles went flying instead, like a blow-up doll caught in a hurricane.
And was ripped apart a second later, exploding far overhead, like a firework made out of steam.
I stared upward, caught between terror and more terror, and seriously considered shifting. But before I could, Green Fey flooded the scene, what had to be two or three dozen of them, running across the grass-turned-lake-turned-battlefield, not attacking the Blue Fey or helping us, but getting terribly, terribly in the way.
The wind stopped, I guessed because the king, while perfectly happy to make mincemeat out of us, was unwilling to do the same to a bunch of his fellow fey. Especially when their queen had a vicious temper and was in a murderous mood already. And, anyway, he didn’t need to.
It wasn’t like we had anywhere to go.
Except back under.
Another wave hit, and before I had a chance to take a breath, or even to close my mouth, we were underwater again. And swimming for all we were worth. And slogging through the grasses at the edge of the brand-new lake. And emerging, not as Cassie and Pritkin, but as two waterlogged Blue Fey, our gorgeous attire ruined, our blond hair straggling around our faces, just like the half dozen others also wading ashore.
Every single one of which was being met by another fey, like the one who stepped in front of us. He must have been a new arrival, because his uniform was dry—and fancy, with gold embroidery in a design I didn’t understand but that Pritkin apparently did. Because he stopped abruptly.
The officer—at a guess—took a look at the arm Pritkin had slung around my waist, to help support me, and his eyes narrowed. He said something I couldn’t hear, because I had water in my ears as well as my lungs. Until I went into a coughing fit, and they popped.
“—half-drowned,” Pritkin was saying. “Getting him to a healer.”
The officer looked at me some more, and I attempted to look half-drowned.
It wasn’t difficult.
It also wasn’t enough.
Wind blew up around us a second later, like a miniature cyclone that caused my hair to flutter and my heart to pound. But it wasn’t like before; it wasn’t an attack—at least not yet. More like being caught in an oversized hair dryer.
But whatever it was, Pritkin didn’t like it. I heard him swear, and then saw him throw out a hand. And as quickly as it had blown in, the little gale died. Leaving me staring around, my nose running, my half-dried hair stuck to my face—and the officer looking far more relaxed.
“May I get him to a healer now?” Pritkin demanded, the words more polite than the tone.
But he wasn’t rebuked. “We were told to check. Go.”
We went, stumbling through the debris of the market, and up a path by the shore, trying to keep to the grassy edge to avoid leaving muddy footprints in our wake. Because we would be. The Green Fey’s illusions, like much of the rest of their magic, seemed to involve water in some way, and we were losing ours.
Fast.
I looked down to see skinny, freckled arms and rough, wet wool, instead of muscles and velvet. Pritkin still had his illusion, complete with cape, which he threw around me to hide my very un-fey-like features. But it wouldn’t last for long. Beads of water dotted the “cloak” and stuck to his “skin,” like his whole body was sweating.
And then I saw a young bearded man gesturing furiously from inside a tent.
It was across a dirt path from the riverbank, where dozens of sheets and articles of clothing had been laid out in the sun to dry. And where a young woman was whacking the hell out of some more piled up on a rock with a wooden paddle. We headed for the tent, crossing the path and dripping in the dirt, leaving an obvious trail behind us.