Chương 76: Celebrated Squirt

Squirt chewed on dried wakeberry as they returned to the village, the hunters exuberantly chattering about the battle that had taken place. Her one relief was that few of them mentioned her at all, as already embellishments were being added, and she was certain they would only grow from here. By the time they reached the village walls, dawn had broken over the horizon, the sky already brightening with painted colors.

Many of the villagers were awake, either having stayed up to keep watch or having just risen with the sun, and at the confirmation that the beasts had been slain the entire village burst out in relieved joy. Squirt's expression flattened as she realized the villagers were planning a gods damned party. Instead, she lingered by the edge, hidden behind Pakos and Mole, and generally avoided being involved in the conversation. She stayed near the entrance where most of the hunters remained while her own team split up.

Her hope was that no one noticed her, and in the shadow of the wall only the Norland hunters could even see her. Still, she remained available just in case, even if she wanted nothing more than to find a bed. Unlike Anvanil, who needed the sleep to recover his magic, she had none to recover. Exhaustion definitely tugged at the edges of her mind, but the wakeberries were doing their job. She could keep going.

The village was still vulnerable, after all, and she didn't trust the Norland hunters to know what to do in an emergency. A deep baritone voice rang out, "What do you mean the village north of us was untouched?" The din of voices fell quiet as the man who had asked the question glared at the Norland hunters. They turned to each other and rubbed the back of their heads before, regretfully, they turned towards her. She scowled at them from her hidden spot behind the animals. Pakos nudged her.

Go on, little chosen, go talk to the lovely little fey. Squirt threatened to shove worms into his mouth, which only amused the hound further. Turning her glare on him, she huffed, annoyed that no one else would ever know what a gods damned sassy bitch he was. Last time she tried talking to people, she almost started a riot. What's wrong with a bit of rioting? She narrowed her eyes as the fey male got impatient and said to the awkwardly waiting group of hunters, "Well? Are you going to answer?"

She scowled down at the ground and reluctantly trotted around Mole until she stood before the fey man, cursing herself for not having run away while she could have and instead being responsible and keeping watch. He blinked down at her.

"I remember you. You came with that Capital group last week." Squirt pursed her lips, shifting from foot to foot and generally wishing anyone other than her could be here.

But the Chief Huntress had disappeared after the battle and never returned to the village with them, Jul had "sneakily" pulled Cirn aside for a private chat, Anvanil had been exhausted and went straight to his bedroll as soon as they made it into the safety of the walls, and the other three were pulled to do more cleanup and excavating bodies (to which Qzi had jumped and shouted, "Yippie!" before racing off to do). Leaving just Squirt. Damnit. The man finally said not unkindly, "Speak, little one.

This isn't the Capital." By his accent, he was also a transplant. She scowled harder before glaring up at him and biting out, "I'm aware. And I'm an Everwinter Guard, not a Capital one." He blinked a few times.

"I thought you were a huntress?" She dropped her eyes, scowling but nodding. This confused him more, but the visible discomfort in every line of her body kept him from asking further. Instead, he waited patiently while she gathered her nerves, shifting and scowling until the little furrow between her brows had wrinkled her button nose just so. Finally, she said in a clear tone, "The town up north. They planted the lantern peppers around their fields and followed our advice. We…

didn't know it was offensive to suggest, or we might have come at it from a different angle." He frowned.

"Yes—I saw you guys come in, but I was out in the fields, and I didn't hear the offer until long after you'd left." Squirt muttered, "Yeah, well, your chief really didn't like us, so…"

"And now she's dead, so that's one problem solved. Is it too late to accept that offer?" A chorus of protesting shouts came from some of the villagers, and he turned and roared at them. They silenced. A shifter growl entered his voice as it echoed around them.

"I lost my sister and mother yesterday. I didn't have to. And neither did you." That silenced any and all protests. He turned back to Squirt, his voice softening in tone and volume but still speaking clearly enough for everyone out and about to hear.

"The beasts turned away from that village?" Squirt nodded.

"Because of those peppers?" She nodded again.

"You can teach us how, yes? And it's safe?" She hesitated before saying, "Your crops will be spicy." He blinked a few times.

"Spicy?" She nodded.

"Spicy. Spicy carrots, spicy lettuce…" she let her voice trail off, knowing he got the gist.

"… that's… that's it?" Squirt scowled, dropping her eyes and shifting to cross her arms.

"The birds don't just attack anyone. They roost at least ten feet above the ground. So long as you are below that line and you don't go within about five feet of their nests, they aren't aggressive. If you intend harm as you approach, they'll attack, but otherwise you're safe until within about five feet. You can even collect the peppers from the bottom of the vine stems at night while the birds sleep, so long as you are gentle about it, and they eat pests that would otherwise feed on your crops."

"Liar!" one of the villagers called out. One of the hunters, the orc with the easy smile, held up his hands.

"Woah there, the huntress is many things, but she's not a liar. She's the one who defeated the giant wyrm." Squirt did a double take, balking as another hunter called out, "Yeah, you should have seen it! Riding on one of the Hunt's own moon hound and firing that blast, obliterating the wyrm from the inside out—""I didn't—""Did you know she beat feybeasts off one of the lord's knights with one of those lantern peppers?" The man who had originally brought up the topic leaned in slightly.

"Truly? They are that effective?"

"Yeah—the little wisp snakes poofed and everything."

"I thought wisp snakes were Death's card." An idiom for a death omen, an inevitable end, an unstoppable killing machine.

"Nope! Turns out you can just squish the little buggers." Squirt growled, drawing their attention before snapping out, "It doesn't matter what you do—stomp, squish, burn, freeze—you can't drown them, you can't slice them. They're like slugs of shadow—porous skin and all." The orc held out a hand, indicating towards her as he shrugged at the village man.

"See? She knows her stuff. I'll be honest, if she told me to stand outside on a sunny day with a basket of rolls for an hour while yodeling to keep the feybeasts off of me, I might just do it." Squirt's anger turned to bewilderment, her nose wrinkling in her confusion. The statement had been so oddly specific. Finally, she bit out a somewhat pouty, "Don't tempt me." The orc grinned down at her.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're adorable, huntress?"

"Fuck off and eat shit," she snapped before stomping off.

"Huntress, how are we to grow the plants?" the village man called after her. She stopped, her shoulders tight with tension. Then they slumped. Reaching into her pouch, she pulled out another wakeberry to chew on as she turned around to size up the muscular shifter, with his brown eyes and strawberry blond locks.

Wishing she had gone off to find Jezalin instead of trying to hide as close to the entrance as she could, she grumbled to herself in low tones as she trotted back to him and said, "I need wood cutters and carvers." For the next few hours, she ran an intensive training course on the lantern peppers with the available hands in the village and the Norland hunters as her students, covering everything she knew about them.

Cirn finally reappeared with a new veil firmly in place and a look of rage in her eyes as she glared at the ground while ice crystals visibly grew up her armor. Everyone wisely kept their distance, including Squirt, who instead continued to oversee the construction of the vine stands. Unlike the other villages, this one had neither the hands nor the time to do anything more than nailing large blocks together in the right shape.

Squirt eventually caught sight of a broody looking Jul, one of his cheeks suspiciously red with an ice burn. Great. Wonderful. Squirt bet the fey had never been rejected a day in his damn life, and it was clear he wasn't in the right mind to take over. She ended up chewing on more wakeberries. By midafternoon, the posts were being staked into the ground by an overpowered Zakam. Anvanil, who had just woken from his rest, set to work growing the plants with the help of those gifted with growing magic in the village.

Squirt thought she might finally get some rest when the lords finally arrived with all due pomp and circumstance. Since Anvanil was otherwise occupied and Jul still broodily moping in a corner, she chewed on another wakeberry and reported on the night's events to the lords in as much detail as she could while the rest of their company sped up the restoration of the village. The villagers themselves were beside themselves to see not just their own lord, but also the lord prince there to help restore the damage.

As the day started to fade into night, the mournful air of the day started to fade for a jubilant celebration once more. Meaning, in truest fey fashion, a festival. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Soldiers, hunters, and villagers alike cooked food to share, brought out instruments, and pulled the booze out from the hidden cellars. Because, just like true fey, they cared more about protecting the booze than protecting the lives of the villagers.

The they being those same villagers, in this case. Squirt grew increasingly agitated, snapping in answer to almost every question with more animosity than usual, the bags under her eyes obvious to those who knew her well. Or, more specifically, those who knew her well and who were paying attention. The bonfires were lit, and the fey all turned to each other, dancing and celebrating life in the light of the moon.

Squirt was able to fade enough from their minds to almost escape entirely unnoticed, but the big shifter male who had been crowned village chief that afternoon grinned and shoved a tankard of ale in her hands. Several of those present were already quite drunk and started calling for her to chug it. Her expression flattened. Wonderful. Drunk fey. Her favorite. A shift in the crowd drew her attention up to Zakam as he approached with an easy lumbering walk.

Squatting down so he was closer to her level, he intoned, "If you need, I will be your knight." Squirt scowled harder at him while some of the rest jeered at him for ruining their fun.

It was about this time that Jezalin finally emerged from the healing tent looking tired but satisfied. Wiping her hands with a handkerchief, she was passed a tankard by a friendly village woman when she caught sight of the tiny pixie glaring down at a tankard almost the size of her head in fury while the bull shifter clearly offered to drink for her. Jezalin sipped on her drink as she watched from a distance, subtly scanning over the crowd for signs of animosity.

They were there, buried under smiles or sneers, depending, but those directly around the huntress had none. The little woman reached into her bag, pulling out something and chewing on it. Jezalin's eyes narrowed as she enhanced her vision, noting the redness of exhaustion in the whites of her eyes. The crowd cheered as the woman pulled the drink away from the offering shifter, hissed out, "Fuck off," and chugged the drink. Jezalin's eyes widened in appreciative surprise.

Either the woman had incredible resilience, or she was about to be wasted beyond all recognition. Finishing the drink, Squirt then held the upside-down tankard over her head to prove it as the crowd went wild. Cheers erupted and the music started up again. For a few minutes, there was peace amongst them all. Jezalin even caught sight of a small, mischievous smile tugging up one corner of the huntress's lips as she watched the dancers.

Until, that was, one of the pixie hunters offered the huntress a dance, their wings out on full display, clearly intending to dance with her as pixies did. While flying.

Squirt glared at him, and he shrank back a little, confused at her anger before remembering a muttered comment from the Chief Huntress. He smiled, his silvery winter wings fluttering a little as he said, "There's no judgement here." She snorted.

"There's judgement fucking everywhere." He shrugged, his eyes and tone playful as he gestured to his wings.

"What can I say, not everyone is as blessed as I." Then he had the audacity to wink.

"But there's nothing wrong with a bit of green in a tapestry." A common pickup line using colors the other fey had. That's about when the booze hit. She pointed at him.

"See? Fucking judgement, right here." He raised his brows as he smiled, the crowd chuckling as he played along.

"Oh?"

"Fucking bullshit, that's what it is," she bit out, her cheeks flushing with the alcohol in her system.

"I'm not fucking ashamed. I'm not. I'm… I'm not." Sudden emotion hit her as she stared down at the ground. A habit ingrained into her since childhood. Always look down. Never look up. Never invite their attention. Always defer.

"Always defer. Always hide. Never look up. If they don't see you, they won't hurt you." Those thoughts had just come out. She was afraid. Afraid of showing her wings. Why? Gently, the pixie lowered himself until he was barely hovering off the ground, his smile warm and encouraging.

"I promise I won't hurt you." Dryly, she raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and snorted.

"Please. I'd kill you if you tried." Staring into the empty tankard, she wondered idly if she could get some more. It'd been a while since she'd been drunk, and it was nice to forget for a while. They wouldn't kill her for being impolite while she was drunk, right? Well, it was too late now. And drunk Squirt really didn't give a fuck. The winter pixie said gently, "… we don't have to dance if you don't want to." The offer was a genuine one, rather than a perverted invite.

He clearly saw her as the project friend, the one he would be uplifting with his presence. Your wings do not define who you are, Athereon, but they do determine what you can do. To the shock of most of those there, Squirt grinned. The expression had a feral edge to it, a challenge that sent shivers down the pixie hunter's spine.

"Sure, one second, let me just pull my embarrassing wings out." The clatter that followed the reveal of her wings was quickly followed by deathly silence. The silver-eyed, silver-haired, fair skinned wind pixie swallowed as her grin turned into a cold glare.

"See? Judgmental. I'm not embarrassed. I just can't fucking fly." The dramatically devastated look on his face made her blood boil.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I didn't, gods I—""Fuck off, you judgmental prick. I've already got a pixie toy, and I don't need 'nother." Was she slurring? Already? Damn. Her tolerance was the pits right now. A few in the audience snorted, badly suppressing their laughter. One whistled suggestively while a village woman called out, "Tell us about them, then!" Squirt held out the tankard.

"Get me a refill, then we'll talk—" Laughter tittered amongst the villagers as someone replaced her tankard with a full one with such fluidity, she stared at it in a bit of amazement for at least a full second before she said, "Well that was quick."

"Tell us about the pixie toy!" Squirt considered the tankard in her hands before taking a solid swig of liquid. Then she shrugged.

"What d'ya wanna know?"

"Well, what do they look like?" They were suddenly much closer, or she had teleported somehow to next to their table. She glanced around, noting the snickering but not feeling any animosity. Vacantly she noted it was something humorous but likely not dangerous. Instead, she shrugged it off, remembering the battle she'd seen only hours ago and how some in her party were god tier magi, and figured someone was probably doing something. Probably. Likely. Stupid fuckers with all the damn power.

Taking another healthy swig, she finally remembered the question.

"Ah… brown skin. Brown hair. Violet eyes. Handsome enough to get away with murder and fucking knows it, too." Those at the gossip table she found herself at tittered appropriately as one burst out, "What's his name?" Squirt shrugged and took another swig.

"I call him Pest." More titters of amused chuckles.

"How'd you meet?"

"Saved the fucker's life in the Wylds."

"What does he call you?" Squirt scowled.

"Saved 'is life so he calls me 'is goddess." Was that even intelligible through the slurring? Based on the titters, it was, or they were either amused or drunk enough to laugh, anyway. She took a healthier swig before sighing and dropping her head down.

"… he's stupid. Always going off about my beauty or whatever, always so excited to see me, acting like I'm the special one when he's so pretty. So pretty. Like really pretty. Stupid pretty." She took another swig.

"… I'm worried. If he's… he's… okay…" she took another swig before shaking her head and continuing, "But I travel, anyway! To… to help the people. Like you dumb fucks." To her utter bewilderment, they laughed. She scowled, now gesticulating with her hands enough to slosh the remains of the drink in her hand.

"I'm serious, so serious, though. Risking my damn neck for you fuckers, but you never believe the greenling —hey, where'd that drink go—oh." Jezalin raised an amused eyebrow as she held up the drink.

"Oh?" Squirt opened her mouth and closed it, gesturing vaguely in Jezalin's direction.

"Now this is a goddess. Not," she gestured down at herself. Jezalin raised a brow.

"Huntress, when was the last time you slept?" Squirt swayed a little on her feet holding up one finger.

"No, no. None o' that." She pointed to herself with exaggerated motions.

"I got kidnapped when I slept. Nope." The light in Jezalin's eyes flashed angrily.

"You what?" Squirt gestured wildly.

"Kidnapped!" Then she held up one hand.

"No sleep, or we, we might—no. None of that." The anger calmed in her bright gold eyes as she considered Squirt.

"… the fell. What was their name?" They appeared from her shadow, forming into Zhadin's fully fey form. Even still, they were off-putting enough that several fey took subtle steps back or looked away. Bending forward, their black eyes studied Squirt's glassy ones, and they nodded.

"I see. To bed?" Squirt stomped petulantly.

"No! No sleep or—" In the next moment, their tendrils wrapped around her body. The contact around her wrists and ankles was oddly comforting, a familiar hold. She breathed in the smell of shade. The coolness of it on a bright spring day, that refreshing breath after a fresh rain. Their arms lifted her up as they carried her to where they had already picked for her bed when she couldn't fight the exhaustion anymore.

Pakos trotted along after them, Jezalin chuckling as she followed, counting down the minutes until— Zhadin stopped as Squirt tugged on their shirt. Twisting herself away from them, she hurled before promptly passing out. They didn't even have to move as already, Jezalin had simply appeared across from them, holding her hand out and casting a simple recovery spell for alcohol poisoning. They smirked.

"You are fun." Her smile tilted in something just shy of a smirk before she focused back on the scan. It finished and she let out a relieved sigh, worried it was something more.

"Just exhaustion and alcohol." They nodded, having expected that. Jezalin studied them before it dawned on her.

"You knew she was pushing herself too hard." They nodded.

"But you never stopped her." They nodded again. A flash of challenge appeared in the woman's eye.

"Why?" They considered the question she was actually asking.

"Because that was her decision." Slowly, she nodded, turning her attention back to the woman laying in their arms.

"I will help keep her sleeping until she is ready to wake so long as I can keep watch." They considered her.

"Is it necessary?" Jezalin understood immediately and sighed with a tired smile.

"No." They bowed politely.

"Then it is not a decision I can make." Her smile warmed.

"You're right. It was a bad idea." They tilted their head.

"But a good offer." Then considered her for a moment.

"The kidnapping. It was Ranin's fault." Her smile fell.

"I'm going to kill him." Zhadin smiled smugly.

"Enjoy." Jezalin stalked off, and Zhadin leaned down to murmur in the sleeping Squirt's ear, "I like that one. You should keep her." Ranin's blood went cold.

"What do you mean it's gone?" The scout they had sent to check out the Skyian airship that Athereon's kidnapper had been headed to had finally caught up with the rest of their party. He shrugged.

"Sorry, milord. I found the airship, but by the time I did, they were shipping out. I couldn't get close enough to hear any conversations—the ship had some kind of winter mage aboard. It went fast." Lord Norland cursed up a storm as his aura snapped out around him in a furious blaze. Ranin turned his eyes to the map laid out on the table in the corner of the room, using his bond to tug on Annabelle and draw her attention.

Within minutes, she had found Gortha, her orc mate, and started an impromptu war council to discuss the Skyian airship's disappearance. Ranin leaned on him often when needing an outside opinion. There was no other reason for it other than gut instinct, but something about the move just didn't feel right. He asked the scout, "Were there those who boarded the ship before it left?" The man bowed apologetically.

"I'm afraid I didn't get there in time to see, Lord Prince Commander. By the time I arrived, they were already leaving." The question was, did they leave because they had gotten what they wanted, or because they were spooked? Did they complete their task, or fail at it? Only the northern sea laid over the mountains north of them now. Skyian smugglers often used these northern mountains for smuggling goods in or out of Fer'ich.

If they were smugglers and Athereon's kidnapper just happened to know about their regular route, then there was no need for concern.

"How fast is fast?" he asked. The man shrugged.

"I'm a falcon, my lord, and it was easily two or three times my speed. I didn't have a chance." That didn't scream smugglers to him. Maybe if they were particularly well-off smugglers, but there was little money to be made by trading with these far north villages. Unless they were paid to come here, said Annabelle. Ranin mentally swooned over his perfect, gorgeous, intelligent mate. Yes. That. That was exactly why it had been sticking out in his mind, he just hadn't been able to think of the words.

Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Question is, what were they paid to do? Maybe smuggle in the feystones the traitorous hunters had used to beef up the feybeast population? Gortha added, Perhaps there are more clues in the area. If this is a regular smuggling route, the nearby villagers will have seen the ships before. Ranin sent them both his love and gratitude, decided now. He turned back to the scout.

"I'd like to send you back to the area to scour over it for any clues. While you're there, check in with the local villagers. I want to know if they've seen the ship before. It's possible it's just regular smugglers, after all." The scout bowed.

"As you wish." Laughter came from outside the tent, as well as music. Ranin indicated to the ongoing festival with a wry smile at the scout.

"Later. Take the night off and relax. You've done good work." A grin crept up the young fey's face as he bowed to both lords and said, "As you wish, my lord." He didn't linger, turning and heading out into the crowd. Ranin returned his attention to the table covered in maps both small and large scale. Considering how he might choose to weaken Fer'ich if he was the Skyian King. He had to admit the man had good strategy, much to his chagrin.

Had they already accomplished their task of weakening the territory by having traitors feed them across the land, or had there been another reason for their presence? Was this a preemptive strike? Did they leave because they knew they had been discovered, and if so, how? Who was their target? Had they just been here for Athereon? There were too many questions with little information. Only one thing was for sure. The ship described was neither smuggler nor raider airship.

To have flown at the speed that had been described meant it was a warship from their central army. His thoughts continued on these questions in an endless spiral as he considered every possibility to determine the best possible defense he could mount, and he barely registered Jezalin as she stepped into the tent and magically rolled down the sides to afford privacy. Once they were down and the sparse lighting from the evening fires had abruptly disappeared, Ranin looked up.

Just in time for the fist, but not in time to dodge. Alas, poor Ranin.