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“Uh, I assume you two know each other?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“We sure do.” Isa used two fingers to gently groom the bird’s plumage. “This is Kîna. I saved her when she was a fledgling. Her parents were killed during a storm, when another tree fell on the nest, and Kîna barely survived. I was in between hunting projects and had some time on my hands, so I took her in and fed her until she got big enough to take care of herself. She’s been my friend ever since.” Those eyes of stone glowed with warmth while she regarded the raptor. “Seventeen years, and she still finds me every few weeks, and joins me when I’m hunting.”
“Seventeen years? I didn’t know hawks could live that long.”
“That, and longer. Fates willing, she’ll be my friend for years to come yet.” She blinked, and a sudden darkness swept over her face. She peered at him from underneath her lashes, then quickly looked away. A muttered word in her language prompted Kîna to push off her arm and take off with powerful flaps of her wings.
“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly while he watched the graceful flight of the raptor.
“If you are nice, I’ll ask her to hunt for you.” She started walking again. “Something tells me you won’t be satisfied with a rabbit for lunch.”
Oh, he could be more than nice to her. If only she let him… “I’m forever at your service, milady.”
She paused, turned to him. “Don’t ever say that to a fae unless you plan to enslave yourself. Be very careful how you speak. Fae take a lot of things literally, and many will hold you to an oath like that.”
He let out a breath, nodded. “Point taken.”
They started back on their trek, the hawk circling high above them, and thirty minutes later they reached a cottage set at the edge of a small lake.
“Let me do the talking,” Isa told him as they approached the front door, which featured intricate metal ornaments.
Before she even raised her hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing a tall, slender fae male with skin the color of pewter. He was half-bald, the other side of his head covered with long hair of gleaming silver. Numerous metal piercings adorned his nose, eyebrows, lips, and pointed ears.
His golden eyes flicked from Isa to Basil, studying him for a few seconds before he focused on Isa again and said something in Fae. She responded, waved at Basil, said some more, and part of her answer must have caught the fae’s attention, because a calculating spark lit his eyes, and he beckoned for them both to enter.
The main room was packed with objects of every size and origin, so many, and so wildly assorted, it reminded Basil of the Room of Hidden Things in Harry Potter. The opposite wall was barely visible behind the piles and towers of valuables and collectibles.
“I understand you wish to find something rare and special,” the fae said in English, his voice a deep bass with a metallic echo. The piercings in his lips moved as he smiled. “I happen to have a soft spot for such things.”
“Not a thing,” Isa said. “A person.”
The fae raised his silver brows. “And who would that be?”
“A changeling, brought into Faerie many years ago. A witch baby, to be precise. Her exchange may well have been hidden.”
Narrowing his eyes, the fae murmured, “A witch… That is indeed rare. We do not usually dare anger them thus.”
“Have you heard anything about a witch living among us? About a witch baby brought here? The swap would have happened more than two decades ago.”
“Hmm.” The fae stroked his chin, tapped his lips. “I think…I might have heard…” He made a frustrated sound. “Alas, my mind is not what it used to be. If only something could…jog my memory.” He tilted his head, smiled at Isa.
She sighed. “Name your price, Hathôm.”
“I want the dagger strapped to this one’s lower back.” He indicated Basil with a nod. “The one with the blade of palladium.”
Basil raised his brows. “Your element is metal, I take it?”
“Quite obviously so.” The fae smiled and waved at his silver hair, gold eyes, and the abundance of piercings on his face.
“That dagger is worth a lot of money,” Basil said.
“As is the information stored in here.” The fae tapped his head.
Basil gnashed his teeth and fisted and opened his hand before drawing the dagger out of its sheath. He offered the blade to the fae, hilt first. “I promise you this dagger in exchange for all the information you have about the witch changeling.”
Hathôm inclined his head. “Deal.”
The dagger moved in Basil’s hand, and he let go, watched as it floated toward the fae. Hathôm gently grasped the hilt, caressed the polished silver of its palladium blade. A pang pierced Basil’s heart. That dagger had been a gift for his eighteenth birthday. From Hazel. Though he could handle steel blades, he’d always preferred weapons made from other metals. Knowing what he did now about his true ancestry, it made sense—iron weakened fae.
