Gadriel answered this time. “It could never be an open battle with a fight like this unless she marched north and came to us. We exist in small pockets throughout the south. We travel by night, and our unifying gift is flight. Moirai can’t send any true war band to take us out in her kingdom. What she has done for the last twenty years is ensure that wherever she has a duke or lord who serves her anywhere in Farehold, his men are conscripted to hunt us. Her troops are readied with weapons meant for us and us alone. They’re given intel on our outposts. While townsfolk might take a swing or loose an arrow, her men have been equipped with metallic shredding arrows specifically fabricated for our wings.”

It took Amaris a moment to relay the information to the reevers, who had been straining the muscles in their necks and faces as if they might, through some miracle of the All Mother, be able to comprehend what was being said. The perception curse allowed nothing through its cracks to be heard except for the grating of monsters.

“I’m sorry,” Malik said apologetically, “but your dark fae demons sound like they’re cutting knives on plates with their vocal cords. You don’t hear it at all?”

She frowned. “True ag’imni are said to be able to speak—even if it’s only for mischief or fearmongering. All the texts say so. The fact that these crows can’t be understood at all is a testament to the thoroughness of this curse, don’t you think? Whoever created it had no intention of allowing anyone from Raascot to be seen or heard south of the border, ever again.”

“We’re not crows.”

“Hush. I’m not talking to you.”

Gadriel’s face made it clear he’d never been so openly disrespected in his life. If she wasn’t mistaken, his men seemed to enjoy the exchange. Zaccai was making no attempt to conceal his delight. That being said, none of the men from Raascot appeared to appreciate Amaris’s comparison to crows, though she did have a point.

Malik’s frown deepened as he said, “So they weren’t even made into real ag’imni. Just…demons.”

Ash spoke, looking first to Amaris, then to the creatures. “If we are to work together, I need to know what Grem and Odrin were sent to find out. Our reevers are in Raascot seeking an audience with your king, because if the reevers are to have any hope of keeping the peace, we need to understand his motives. Why are you here? Why risk your lives to infiltrate Farehold at all of these outposts? What does Ceres want?”

There was a tension that needed no translation, as the pause that stretched between them transcended linguistic barriers.