"With a weapon."

"Definitely."

"You think they planned to hurt him?"

"I have no idea what they planned," Pritkin said. "I have no idea what they were even doing on earth. Rumor is that they despise the place, and everyone in it. I'd never even seen one of them before today."

"Then how did you know who they were?"

He shrugged. "The way they looked."

"They looked like men."

"Did they?"

I stopped and thought about it for a minute. The answer was no, not really. I'd never seen a member of the light fey before, but I'd known without question that that's what they were. The bone structure, the way they moved-a hundred different things had given it away. They hadn't just looked different; they'd looked alien, like the kind of villains Lucas would have put in that movie if he'd really wanted to scare the crap out of everyone.

"Interbreeding," Pritkin said, before I could ask. "The other major houses have bred with humans through the years, and therefore look more like us. The Svarestri haven't. I knew what they were as soon as I saw them."

"And stole their stick."

"Staff," Pritkin corrected. "And I didn't steal it. I retrieved it."

"Retrieved it? Then it's yours?"

He shook his head, pawing around in the basket for something. And finally coming up with a small pot of what looked like mustard that he proceeded to dunk the fish heads in. And to grin at me when I shuddered.

"No, a contact of mine among the fey asked me to be on the lookout for it, said it had been stolen. He didn't sound like he thought it likely to come to earth, but was taking all possible precautions. He was . . . more upset than I've ever seen him. He claimed a war might break out if it wasn't returned."

"A war? Over a wizard's staff?"

Pritkin swallowed fish. "Not a wizard's-a king's. The Staff of the Winds is the Sky King's own weapon, which is why it caused such an uproar when it went missing."

"The . . . Sky King?"

"Leader of the Blarestri. You probably know them as the Blue Fey. Or possibly not; they don't come to earth that often, either. But more so than the Svarestri, who never come at all. Well, until now."

"With a stolen staff."

He nodded. "And that's what's odd."

"That they came to earth or that they stole the staff?"

"Both. Either." He flipped the hand that wasn't holding the fish bowl. "The Svarestri have reason to want to put the Sky Lords' noses out of joint; they've been enemies for years. But it is interesting that they would risk so much for so little gain."

"Little? That thing seemed pretty powerful to me!"

"It is-in the king's hand. It's said he can raise a storm large enough to wipe out a whole army with it. But that's him. He's the most powerful of the Blue Fey, possibly the most powerful being in all faerie, and his element is air. The staff in the hand of someone else . . ." Pritkin shrugged. "Useful, yes. Worth risking a war for? No."

I frowned, and slathered butter on bread with a spoon because we were out of knives. "So a group of people who never come to earth were taking a staff they aren't supposed to have and can't use, to the court of a guy who doesn't want anything to do with them?"

Pritkin nodded.

"That doesn't make any sense!"

He nodded again, because he had his mouth full.

"What did you do with it anyway?" I asked, because he obviously didn't have it on him.

He stared up at the canopy of trees, where little sparks were flying around from the bonfire below, like fireflies. "Do?"

"Yes, where did you put it?"

"Put what?"

"The staff."

"Oh, that. The elders have it."

It was nonchalant.

"You just gave it to them?" I didn't bother to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

"They didn't ask. They're arguing over what to do with it right now."

"What to-you mean they're planning to keep it?" I chewed my lip some more, because that . . . that probably wasn't good.

I didn't know how things had originally played out, before Calamity Cassie got involved, but I doubted it was with the little guys making out like bandits. They kind of reminded me of me, and our lives didn't work like that. When pennies dropped from heaven, they were usually in five-hundred-pound sacks that crushed our skulls.

"That's what they're arguing over," Pritkin said, watching me with a curious expression. "Some want to keep the staff and find a way to use it. They lost most of their lands, except for this strip by the river, a few years ago to the Green Fey, and the staff is the sort of thing that might be able to win at least some of them back."

"Green Fey?"

"The Water Lords." He tilted his head. "You know, the ones who usually come to earth?"

"Oh, right. Those Green Fey."

"You probably know them as Alorestri, but that just means 'They Who Wear the Green' in their language, and either way, it's meaningless. Just a name they give themselves so they won't have to give us their real one."

"Do you know their real one?"

Pritkin nodded. And then a liquid series of syllables came out of his mouth that sounded almost like singing-a whole song, because it lasted, like, a full minute. "That's . . . beautiful," I said, because it was.

"I memorized it as a child. Took me a whole week."

"As a child?"

"And then there's the second camp," he said. "The ones who want to return the staff to the Blarestri and plead their case there. But others say it's unlikely that the Sky King is going to fight the Lady of Lakes and Oceans-whom he used to be married to, mind you-for nothing more than the return of a piece of his own property. Which, for all he knows, they stole in the first place!"

"I-what?" I was having trouble keeping up. The fey had too damned many names!

"And then there's the third camp, who want to give it back to us and send us on our way, effectively washing their hands of the whole thing-"

I brightened.

"-and who are in the minority. The others say they have it now, and any group who comes looking for it is likely to hold them accountable."

"Then . . . then we've put them in danger?" I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before. God, I was an idiot.

"The Svarestri put them in danger," Pritkin said, gripping my arm as I struggled to get to my feet. "They came into their lands, violating a treaty in the process of chasing us."

"But what about now? What if they come back?"

"We're well protected here."

I stared at him. "Did you see those things?"

"Yes, and I've seen what our hosts can do on their home ground. They've fought off the Green Fey for years now. This place is well warded. They wouldn't have brought us here otherwise."

I felt myself relax slightly.

And then a screaming arrow came shooting directly at my head.

Chapter Forty-seven.

I shrieked and Pritkin pulled me over by the tree, onto the pile of rugs. And the arrow disintegrated in a sparkling haze just beyond the edge of the platform, sending a few translucent bits of ash fluttering our way. "Looks like it's time for the entertainment," he told me.

"Entertainment?"

He nodded, grinning, because he was a bastard. He had always been a bastard, and youth had obviously not changed a goddamned thing- "You can't leave," he told me as I struggled to get up carrying fifty pounds of freaking wool.

"Watch me!"

"But you're being honored tonight, too. We all are."

"You call this 'honored'?"

"Please," he said, seriously enough to stop me. "They need this. They haven't had many victories lately, if any at all, and tonight-they need this."

"What is 'this'?"

He nodded at the open space between the circle of trees. "Watch."

And a second later, I was. I was watching us, along with our two stalwart companions, bobbing along an underground river, only this one was made out of sparks. The great fire was throwing them up from below, and somehow the fey were turning them into a shimmering monochrome movie that glowed and flowed and gleamed in the air and had everyone's rapt attention.

I crawled to the edge of the platform and stared down into a vortex of fire, painting radiant, moving pictures in midair. And felt myself relax again as awe overtook outrage. And I wasn't alone.

All around us, people were gathering in the trees, crowding the platforms and sitting along the sturdier branches, seeking a better vantage point. There were geriatric grandmothers with long gray braids, children with bright black eyes and noses that had yet to fulfill their true potential, and solid, hairy men with rough hands and battle scars, draped with enough weapons to fight a war. Yet they were staring at the lights with just as much rapt fascination as the kids.

And no wonder. The movie in the air pretty much filled the whole open space, with 3-D graphics Hollywood might have envied. The long rush of river showered down from above on a cascade of sparks, the jagged points of the rocks were picked out in bursts of stars among the tree limbs, and the leaping Svarestri were painted in quick flashes of light amid it all, throwing even quicker bursts at the wildly bobbing heads below.

"This is how they tell stories?" I whispered.

"This is how they tell stories," Pritkin agreed. "I used to hide in the trees and watch them-from a distance. They showed me remarkable things, battles long over, heroes long dead, great cities turned to dust. But not really gone. Not as long as their people remember them."

"And now they'll remember us?" It was almost overwhelming to think of being part of someone's history, even in a small way. To be remembered . . . Stupidly, I felt my eyes get wet.

"Oh, they'll remember us," Pritkin said, sounding amused. "After a fashion."

I looked back at him. "What does that mean?"

"That," he said, as fire-me came speeding by the platform, the shower of sparks somehow managing to convey goggling eyes, flailing limbs, and a comically wide-open mouth silently screaming its head off.

I frowned at my unflattering doppelganger. "I thought you said we were being honored!"

"We are. But you know who decides the histories."

"Who?"

"Whoever's telling them!" He laughed and pulled me back, as fire-me looked around frantically, made an oh-shit face, and ducked under the fiery river-right before a spear burst into sparks that scattered almost as far as my real toes. I quickly pulled them back under the edge of the fur.

But the surrounding crowd didn't seem to hold my cowardice against me. On the contrary, a new flagon of beer almost bopped me in the head a moment later, having been lowered from a platform above by a couple of cackling old women. And several bright-eyed kids were spying on us through the foliage off to the right, apparently finding us more interesting than the show.

I waved at them before realizing that they might not know what it meant. But then a small hand raised, with nails like dark-tipped talons. And slowly moved up and down as one waved back.

We grinned at each other, both feeling absurdly pleased for some reason. And Pritkin liberated the beer and refilled our mugs, because why the hell not? And the rock throwing and light fey cursing continued, with enthusiastic participation from the crowd.

Very enthusiastic, I thought, as the sparks rippled and swirled and genuine weapons were thrown at Svarestri heads.

I hoped someone had thought to cover the ox.

"I don't remember this part taking so long," I said after several more minutes.

"It didn't. But the people here hate the Svarestri."

"I thought it was the Green Fey who took over their lands."

"It was," Pritkin agreed. "But it was in response to the Svarestri doing as much to them, and seizing most of the fertile land on their northern border. The Svarestri lands are said to be rocky and cold, rich in minerals but not much else."

"So they take what they need from others."