"Best keep your voice down," says Fen. "Back in Stonehill, I discovered there was a spy in the castle, reporting back to the Druids. They may have ears here as well."

Dean nods, lowering his voice to barely a whisper, sounding like an old woman on her deathbed. "Very well, then. Let’s all talk like this. It totally won’t draw attention."

I chuckle, then look around, seeing vampires train, but no others. "What about the Fae? We could recruit the slaves?"

Fen sighs, leaning down on his elbows. "Slaves make for poor warriors. They either join the enemy as soon as possible, or fight with so little vigor they lose you the battle."

"Okay. Well, what if we motivated them." An idea forms in my mind, and I start to tremble with excitement. "What if we offer them freedom after a certain term of service?"

Dean looks more serious than usual. "Might actually work."

"Maybe," says Fen. "But the masters won’t be happy, if we send their slaves off to die."

"Then we lose support of the vampires," adds Dean. "Maybe even the Shade."

I chew my lip thinking. "Maybe we compensate anyone whose slaves leave to fight. We could pay them."

Dean whistles. "And who has that kind of coin?"

"Niam," says Fen.

"Right. The person least likely to help us." The Prince of Lust sits down on a chair, running his hands through his golden hair, mumbling about stupid vampires and Fae. Seems Fen and Dean have something in common.

Someone yells outside the courtyard. Then others join him. "What the bloody hell is going on?" asks Dean, already up and running.

Fen and I follow him out to the streets. Three men, vampires wearing leather and carrying swords, tie a rope around a man’s neck. "You stole my dagger, you dirty Fae!" says the biggest vampire, his face dirty with mud.

"No," pleads the Fae, on his knees, his neck red and straining against the rope.

"Yes, you did. Don’t lie. You know what we do to lying and thieving scum like you?"

"No. Please."

"String him up, boys."

The other two men grab the end of the rope and begin to tie it on a branch of a nearby tree, withered and barren of leaves.

Fen growls and rushes forward. "Stop. Now."

The vampires look his way and laugh. Continue their torture. How? And then I remember, the illusion. They don’t recognize Fen as the Prince of War.

Dean raises his arm. "Cut him down. Now."

This time, the vampires do pay attention. They pause. "Apologies, your Grace," says the big one. "But this one is my slave. I can do what I like with my property."

"You will cut him down," Dean says, and intensity in his eyes I’ve not seen before. "Or I will take your hand with my blade."

"Maybe we should, Roge," says the smallest of the three.

Roge, the big one, nods. "Very well. I meant no offense. Release him." They untie the rope, setting the Fae free.

I run to the man’s aid, helping him stand and whispering an incantation to help with his pain. He is covered with purple bruises, and my spell does not do enough. "I need to take him to a healer. Is there one nearby?"

Dean points to a tree in the distance. "There’s a healer in the building there. Faster than trying to find Baldar."

I nod and help the Fae forward as his accusers disappear down an alley.

"I’ll come with you," says Fen.

"No. I’ll be fine. You’re of more use here, planning how to retake Stonehill."

He pauses, then nods and returns to the courtyard with Dean.

I venture forward with the Fae, making small talk, and learn his name is Lars. The sky grows grey as we walk, and mist begins to form around our feet. "A storm be coming," says Lars. The words send him into a coughing fit, and we rest for a moment before continuing.

As we approach the tree, I see it's far larger than I imagined, towering over the nearby houses. It is grey and dead, and I wonder if this is one of the great trees Baldar spoke of. I notice holes and passages carved into the trunk high above, and I wonder if that's where he lived.

At the base of the tree stands a structure of white and gray stone, built so part of it wraps around the trunk. It's a large location and full of space. Inside, I see dozens of beds filled with men and women suffering from various injuries and ailments. There are vampire, Fae, and Shade. It seems all are welcome here. Healers scurry about, their white gowns grey with dust and sometimes red with blood. One woman catches my eye. "Seri?"

She finds my gaze, her short bob pinned away from her face. She was the one who taught me basic healing in Asher’s realm. But… "What are you doing here?" I ask.

She blinks twice. "Excuse me. Do I know you?"

Right. The illusion. I want to tell her who I am, but I can’t be sure who’s listening. Any one of these patients could let the information spread. "I helped to treat the wounded at Sky Castle. You taught me how."

"Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t remember."

I shrug, smiling. "I wasn’t there very long. This man, he needs help."

"Of course," says Seri. She helps Lars to a bed and gives him a tonic for pain. I bring clean sheets and examine his wounds. The whole time, her face seems confused, and I think perhaps she is sensing I am more than I appear.

After a minute, Lars doses off, resting with the remedies we gave him, and Seri turns to me. "You want to stay a while? I need more like you."