And, because I was looking for it, I glimpsed the tiny figure of a fey, the master of the creature that had been pulled out of a mountain and set to work, perched on the shoulder with the goats. He was sitting outside a tent, roasting something over a fire, and had a young boy with him. The boy had a baby goat in his arms and, like the older fey, was waving along with their creation.

It gave me a weird feeling, but not because I hadn’t seen something like it before. Aeslinn had used similar rock creatures at the battle for his capitol, with catastrophic consequences. They’d taken a terrible toll on our forces, running us down, pounding us like massive pile drivers, and being responsible for more of our casualties than the fey themselves. They were like tanks, only bigger, faster, and more maneuverable.

Which was why it had seemed like insult to injury when the Svarestri had personalized their war machines, painting their faces with stripes of ore, and decorating their bodies with enormous crystal formations. It had felt like they were mocking us.

But now… I didn’t know what I thought now. I craned my neck to the breaking point to keep the creature in view for as long as possible. It had already gone back to work, lugging more useful stuff up the mountainside than a whole fleet of trucks could have done.

Was this what they were meant for? Helping the fey to tame their rugged homeland, and allowing people to live where no one would have thought possible? Were they usually cranes and trucks and construction equipment, rather than tanks?

It made me uncomfortable, like seeing some farmer’s tractor turned into a war machine. Plowshares into swords, I thought, and felt uneasy some more. Which was stupid! Yes, we had invaded them, but if the gods came back, we all died, and probably a lot of the fey as well. We hadn’t had a choice!

But had they known that? The nobles, the ones giving the orders—probably. I assumed they were in on whatever Aeslinn was doing. But the regular Joes, or Svens, or whatever? What had they seen?

An enemy army coming out of nowhere, laying siege to their capitol and slaughtering them in droves. And now threatening to do it again, while hunting their scattered soldiers, all that was left of their army—their sons—across Faerie. No wonder we weren’t getting any cooperation.

I thought of Kåre and his little flute, which he’d probably much rather be playing back on his grandfather’s farm than dying like his father probably had. Like I’d rather be back with my court than killing him. But what was the alternative?