Braern closed the curtains, shielding the glow of fairy lights from the world beyond the window. Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers along the length of his pointed ear, tugging at the gold rings that pierced his skin as he listened to the silence. Few traders came so far north during High Winter, even fewer travelers, yet the shop remained open, ready to serve those who knew what to ask for.

Perching himself on the stool behind the shop counter, Braern took up his whittling. The earthy musk of oil and stale death hung in the air like the furs hanging for sale around him. Across the room, Shasha wordlessly transformed scraps of fur into gloves. Unlike Braern’s broad, mountain frame, his niece had inherited the willowy limbs of her woodland father. Her eyes, however, were the steel-blue granite of the mountain clans.

Braern’s ear twitched at the sound of distant footsteps but he kept his head bowed to his work until fairy lights danced in the gust of the opened door. Two cloaked figures lowered their hoods to the shop’s warmth.

The man was tall and visibly strong. His hair fell in dark waves around a tanned, weathered face. The woman was his opposite. Thin and delicate, her sand-brown hair seemed caught in an endless sea-breeze. Her eyes shimmered with the dangerous beauty of sun-lit oceans.

Braern could see through their glamour. A mother-of-pearl opalescence accentuated the female’s cheek bones and small scars, barely visible above the man’s collar, was evidence of closed gills. The presence of sea-dwellers this far inland was unsettling enough but then Braern noticed the brooch. An elegant lobster, carved from blue coral, adorned the female’s cloak – the mark of the Dominant Lord of the Eastern Seas. She was a sea-sprite, claimed and mated to the King. Braern frowned.

“Welcome, travelers.” He stood, bowing his head in greeting.

The man stepped forward and Braern eyed him closely. Only a triton would be so confident this far from the sea. His ability to maintain both his and the sea-sprite’s glamours served as testament to his power.

“We hear you carry northern trappings.”

Braern’s frown deepened at the coded words.

“We don’t trap during High Winter,” Braern said, bluntly. “Come back in the sunny seasons.”

He made to resume his whittling but the triton reached for the wood block, halting him. “You are our only option.”

Braern looked over the pair. For nearly a decade, he and his brother-in-law, Ievos, had safely and discretely guided beings through the Spire Mountains. There were safer paths westward, but none more direct. Only those desperate for escape risked it.

The sprite’s eyes reflected fairy lights as she met Braern’s gaze, reminding him of the stars reflected in the eastern seas. He wondered how desperate she must be.

“Shasha,” he called, but the girl had already joined him at the counter. “Go call your father. Tell him we’ve an order.”

Shasha’s granite eyes assessed the travelers before settling on her uncle. At his reassuring nod, she collected her cloak and stepped into the cold darkness.

“I thank you, sir,” the triton began, but Braern stopped him.

“I have agreed to nothing.” He wiped wood shavings from his knife and sheathed it at his hip. “The Spires are dangerous under the best conditions, to go now would guarantee death. No northern trapping is worth my own hide.”

The sprite’s hands fluttered urgently.

“Saida,” the triton chided, gripping the sprite’s wrists. “He cannot understand.”

Saida set Braern with a disbelieving gaze. Ignoring her companion, she pulled her hands away and reached for Braern’s face. Her slender fingers touched the gold ring piercing his brow – the brand of a seaman.

As an adolescent, Braern had traded his mountains for seafaring. He spent hours watching the sea-sprites from deck, their fins and tails rippling the water in a mesmerizing ballet of unspoken communication. Years had passed since he last read a sea-sprite’s movements and the limitations of only two hands left Saida signing broken, unintelligible sentences. He shook his head and lowered Saida’s hand from his face.

“That was long ago.”

“I beseech you,” the triton said. “We cannot dwell on land much longer.”

He wanted little to do with a claimed sea-sprite. No doubt someone would come looking for her, and Braern couldn’t afford attracting the attention.

Still, he could already hear his sister scolding him for turning the pair away. Braern sighed.

Coming around the counter, he spoke quietly. “There is a family along the river who may take you in for the season. You can rest there. Release your glamour.”

The triton tensed slightly at his words, but Saida reached for him again. The protest in her eyes made Braern pull away. “That is all I can do for you. We’ll discuss more when my brother-in-law joins us.”

As Saida signed quickly to her companion, Braern recognized the syllables la – rus and took it for the triton’s name.

Larus shook his head disapprovingly as Saida turned to Braern once more.

The urgency in her expression made Braern uneasy. Her hands danced in a flurry of words. He thought he understood please, time, and something about young, angry, and men, but little else. Then, suddenly, Saida gripped Braern’s arm, threw back the folds of her cloak and pressed his hand to her abdomen.

He lost himself within her fearful gaze, until he felt the flutters of life beneath his palm.

Braern’s stomach sank with realization. Of course. Why else would a claimed sprite flee the Dominant Lord?

“Is it yours?” Braern asked, too stunned to take his eyes, and hand, from Saida.

Larus hesitated. “That is of little consequence. It is hers and I follow her wishes.”

“It is of great consequence!” Braern tore the blue coral brooch from Saida’s cloak and reeled on the triton, fury rising at the idiocy of the pair. “If that child is yours,” he hissed, “so be it. But if it is not -” He lifted the brooch.

“If it is not your child than it is the King’s!”

Saida forced herself between the him and the triton. Lifting her hands to Braern’s eyes she signed, clearly and slowly. The child is mine.

“It is his! And he will come for it.” Braern’s breath came out in angry huffs as he stared at her, but Saida’s determination didn’t waver.

Braern ran his hand over his face. “I cannot get involved. The reach of your king is boundless – you cannot escape him.”

Not true, Saida signed.

“There is safety among the Western Sea nomads,” Larus elaborated.

“No,” he said drily speaking directly to the sea-sprite. “I will not bring you.”

Saida shook her head, tears glistening.

“Go back to your Lord,” Braern said. “No harm will come to you when you are with child. Perhaps, he’ll have forgotten your transgression by the time you birth.”

The shop door opened then, with a flurry of snowflakes, revealing the wind-stung face of a human. His sword bore the same blue lobster that Braern still held in his hand.

“Be with you shortly,” Braern said, calmly, straining his ears against the growing wind outside, listening for footsteps. At least three others shuffled impatiently in the cold night. He opened the storage room door as Saida eyed the newcomer. She gasped in terrified recognition and the human rushed her.

Ears ringing with the metallic sound of a drawn sword, Braern pushed Saida into the storage room, and latched the door. He met the human in a clash of strength afforded him by his elfish heritage, catching the blade with the cross-guard of his own dagger.

            With a terrible cry, Larus threw himself at the human, knocking him off his feet, before brandishing his own blade. Three others stormed the shop, weapons raised.

Wind and snow swirled angrily as fists and steel met flesh.

A hard blow to Braern’s face blurred his vision. He heard the whistle of a blade cutting through air and reached blindly, catching his assailant’s blade-hand before thrusting his own upward. Warmth dripped on Braern’s hand as life leaked from the man’s abdomen and Braern moved on to the next.

Seconds passed as slowly as hours until the shop succumbed to silence. Three bodies lay lifeless, a fourth stained snow with blood, as he returned to his commanders.

Braern limped to the dark storage room. Large furs partially hid where Saida sat hugging her belly protectively. He knelt before her, offering his hand.

“Come,” he said, helping her stand.

He would be unable to ensure her safety, but he couldn’t leave her.

Tonight, they would rest. Tomorrow, they travelled westward.