Bri chucked the wet towel at her, and the blond warrior easily dodged it.

“What’s wrong with a little fun?” Carys rolled her eyes, but Bri carried on. “Besides, I’m looking for more clues as to what the witch hunters have planned.” That cheeky smirk played across her lips. “If I find other diversions while I’m at it, that’s not my fault.”

“Hopeless.” Carys shook her head. “And what bar or brothel will you be able to find where they don’t know who you are?”

Bri looked at herself in the mirror again, watching her form change before her eyes. Her ears rounded, her auburn hair dulled, and her eyes turned a shade of light brown until a human stood before the mirror.

“That glamour is useless,” Carys snickered. “You still look like a fae.”

“In a smoke-filled room after a couple of drinks,” Bri said, unbuttoning her tunic until the burgundy fabric dipped into a deep V, “you’d be surprised what people see.”

“You want me to join?” Carys offered even as she collapsed like a dying starfish onto her bed.

“Nah, I’m going rogue tonight,” she said, peering at her reflection as she dipped her hand into the washbasin and slicked back her short hair.

Carys nodded, stretching her arms skyward with a yawn. “Happy hunting.”

Bri rolled her shoulder, giving herself a last once-over in the mirror. Her glamour dampened her muscled frame, making her slightly leaner and a few inches shorter. She seemed less like a fierce warrior and more like an everyday tavern patron.

Striding to the wardrobe, she grabbed her black cloak. Pulling the hood over her head, her face obscured in shadow, she fixed the golden clasp. “Have a good night, Car,” she said.

Carys gave her a sleepy grunt and a half wave as Bri left.

Deciding to forgo riding into town, Bri opted to walk instead. Her glamoured eyes couldn’t see far in the darkness, and she thanked the clear night sky for beaming its silvery moonlight down on the path. She made a point of crunching the stones loudly under her boots, hoping any animals would scatter upon hearing her. Two tails slithered off the dusty road as she approached, and she shuddered.

In the distance, a pair of eyes reflected in the moonlight. She paused, reaching for the hilt of her dagger. Those shining eyes stared at her for a moment, disinterested, before the creature turned and ambled down the road. Her glamoured ears strained for the sound of its footsteps, but she heard nothing. Bloody glamours. She couldn’t imagine how Remy remained glamoured for so many years, so long that she had forgotten what it felt like to have fae magic at all. At least her witch magic had helped her survive.

Letting loose a long breath, Bri kept moving, the path narrowing until either side of the trail dropped off into sheer cliffs. No animals crossed the land bridge here, wise enough to sense it for the trap it was. Her breath escaped in whorls of steam as the air chilled. She pulled her cloak tighter, bracing against the icy evening temperatures. At midday she had been sweating buckets, debating opting for the Western warrior’s garb of leathered skirts. Her fighting leathers and heavy tunic had been sweltering, along with the extensive strapping of her many weapons. She couldn’t imagine how the soldiers carried battle-axes around. They looked like they weighed a ton, and on a hot day with the sun beating down, carrying one would have felt like torture.