Koltukaman. An archipelago of scattered islands at the northern tip of the faerie kingdom of Dún. It’s a ruthless place—as is nearly all of the territory. Though, instead of tent encampments that so often dot the brutal landscape, there is a metropolis of towering buildings, wildly constructed from salvaged shipwrecks or wood that has drifted up onto the shore. As we wind through the dark streets, the air is filled with a cacophony of terrifying barks of laughter, song in the faerie language they call Anqonda, and the odd cannon blast.
   “Lovely.” I whisper as we pass by a rather large faerie urinating from his shanty balcony into the snow below. He cackles as an unwitting passerby becomes drenched in it and swears loudly into the air.
   “Is it any wonder I decided to leave so many centuries ago?” Gálgalesh clenches his triangular teeth. “Stay close.”
   I drag the sides of my cloak around myself, huddling for warmth. There’s none to be found in this place. If Romiodóg was freezing, there’s no words to adequately describe Dún. Still, the faeries seem to be unbothered by the frigid air—most don't even don sleeves. Eoghan tucks in close to my side, his warmth barely penetrating even with no distance between us. His jaw is set, a deep purple cloak to match my own slung across his shoulders with his long sword concealed beneath it. The number of weapons we have strapped to our bodies could rival any of the king's armies, and though we’re certain they’re no match for any faerie seeking to kill us, Eoghan insisted we all place an extra dagger in our boots before we entered the city.
   Tiernan, Finn, and Lowri keep pace just behind us, their features taut and unyielding. I feel the eyes of onlookers lock onto us as we pass, their noses sniffing the air to decipher our kind. I hear each pause as my muddled scent reaches them. They won’t be able to place me in this darkness—and Eoghan won't let them get near enough to have a better look.
   “How much further?” Eoghan asks through the corner of his mouth. 
   “Just a few more blocks. Woman, be calm. Your magic is dancing across your fingertips. We do not want to expose all of our cards before this meeting can even commence.”
   I look down to my hands as my fingertips glow with an almost periwinkle light. Indeed, my magic is showing. I take a deep breath and command it down, my hands disappearing into the darkness at my sides. We’ve been preparing for this trip for nearly a month—my magic lessons increasing nearly three-fold—and still, I can’t shake the knot in my stomach, as though I’m walking into a den of starving beasts. 
   In all fairness, my last few run-ins with faeries haven’t filled me with much confidence.
   We are just looking for information, I reason. How hard can it be to get information? The large chest of gold weighing Tiernan down as we walk reminds me that it might be harder than I think.
   We pass down another narrow road lined with towering hovels that creak as they sway from side to side. The crowds are becoming denser as we make our way to the Koltukaman Casino, where King Ozan is said to spend his evenings. We were told by one of Gálgalesh's trusted confidants that he hasn't left the place for nearly a hundred years, and access would only be granted to us if we could convince him that our questions—and our tribute—were worth tearing his attention away from the stacks of gold he swindles from the tables with his loaded dice. 
   All fine and good until we remind ourselves that the tribute he seeks most is human flesh. 
   The crowds are so large now that we are pressed nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with one another. Raucous sounds of frivolity rise up from the building straight ahead. It’s larger than any of the others, its doors swung open wide, allowing for the bright glow of the lights beyond to pour out into the snow. It seems as though this is the epicenter of the city, as faeries flood in and out—either shouting with delight or in anger as their pocket gold grows or disappears. 
   Gálgalesh leads us through the doors, and the room comes into view. 
   Dilapidated tables and chairs fill the space, each one occupied by a patron of the casino. Dice are strewn across their tops, accompanied by small fortunes of gold and tall steins of dancing liquid I know to be faerie ale. Although none of our human pleasures harm faeries, even a sip of their ale is toxic to all humans—which is really bad news for us, as simply approaching the faerie king without first emptying a monstrous glass of the horrid elixir into one's belly is seen as an act of aggression so great, one might likely lose their head before their next breath passes into their lungs. 
   For the past month, I’ve been working up a tolerance to it—small glasses at first, all the way to steins the size of my boot. So far, my healing magic has saved me from death's kiss, though the aches in my stomach and the sour taste on my tongue leave something to be desired.
   We pass the tables to the back of the room, and Gálgalesh pauses before we reach the largest one. A tall, slim faerie with long golden hair sits at the center of them all. Upon his head rests a crown of melted-down iron that had dripped and run as it cooled, until small spikes forced their way into the design near the bottom to frame his face. Crudely inlaid onto the surface are precious gems, stolen and scavenged from the broken ships that never made it to their intended ports. 
   It is as brutal as the man who wears it—his ensemble completed by a cloak made entirely of animal pelts, gold medallions dangling from the edges. It takes all the strength I can muster to keep the faerie magic from creeping up to the surface again as I take him in.
   “Kael, you and the others make yourselves scarce. Feallwr, give me the chest of gold.”
   Tiernan hands over our bargaining tribute as Eoghan releases an audible breath. Since we decided on our plan weeks ago, he hasn’t let us forget how terrible he thinks it is. Still, Cai had commanded us here, and if we ever want to understand what the hell he was up to, we don’t have much of a choice.
   “I’ll be just over there,” Eoghan's gaze holds firm to a small corner in the shadows with a direct line of sight to the faerie king's table. “I'm not leaving this place without you.” 
   His fingertips brush against mine, almost imperceptibly.
   “Ah yes, because nothing says non-threatening like a Tinemallacht warrior scowling in the corner,” I whisper back.
   “I don’t mean to be non-threatening. I want them to know exactly how threatening I am,” Eoghan purrs. “Hurry this up—we have a wedding to get back to, remember?”
   How could I forget? In three days' time, we will be in Bastain for our wedding and entwining ceremony. That might be more terrifying than the faerie king ever could be. 
   Lowri nudges Eoghan softly with her elbow, and she, Finn, and Tiernan head off in opposite directions of the room to take their places in the shadows. I nod to Eogh, and his eyes dart between my own and the rapid pulse of my heartbeat in my throat. 
   With one more huff, and a slight rise in temperature, Eoghan disappears into the crowd leaving Gálgalesh and me alone, mere feet from the faerie king.
   Gálgalesh raises his jaw in one stiff motion, urging us forward, and we approach in unison until only two steps separate us from the king. He has not yet seemed to notice us, his focus remains firmly on the table and the large stack of winnings in front of him. 
   His men have seen us, though, and two faerie guards step in to block our advance.
   “We are here to compel an audience with King Ozan,” Gálgalesh says. 
   “Many come to compel the king,” one of the guards replies, his voice so husky and the timbre so deep it rumbles through my core. “The king is busy. Come back another time.”
   “And when might that be, do you suspect?” I slide the hood of my cloak from my head and it falls heavy against my back. Numerous sets of eyes turn my way from across the room, my rounded ears a stark minority in this place. 
   “Supper time tomorrow. He has already had his fill of humans today.” The guards' into two menacing grins as they bare their razor-sharp teeth.
   “I'm not sure I see a human here,” I sigh, as if bored. “Pity. I'm actually quite hungry myself.”
   I watch as King Ozan lifts his gaze from the dice on the table and takes a long whiff of the air. He’s seeking to pinpoint my scent. Eoghan and the others are masked enough by their distance and the gold faerie blood smeared against their arms and throats, but mine is harder to place. With the faerie magic coursing through me, I smell equal parts human and faerie—my own magic's unique aroma adding to the mix and making me even more unreadable. Peculiar, some would say. 
   The faerie king pauses in his confusion, and then turns slowly in his seat.
   “You seem familiar.” He points to Gálgalesh with a slim finger. Gálgalesh does not deign to respond. “You, however… I would remember you, had we crossed paths before.”
   “I have not had the pleasure.” I try to keep my tone easy as he rises to his full height and takes a step to meet his guards. “We’ve come to ask for only a moment of your time—for one or two questions we seek answers t–” 
   He holds his hand out between us to silence me. He motions to his guards and one retreats. A few silent moments pass before he returns, three large steins in his hands. 
   Of course, he will not let me speak before we’ve had a toast. The guard hands one to Gálgalesh and one to me in turn, and a smile falls across the king's lips. He’s testing me. He is certain that I’m human and is seeking to unravel the hanging threads of my lies. 
   That’s the point of the toast in the first place—to weed the faeries from the snacks. I almost feel bad for him; he won’t find satisfaction today.
   “First,” he says as he takes the third drink into his own grip. “A toast.”
   The three of us lift our steins to our lips. I inhale as the liquid pools against my tongue and slides down my throat. The taste of it is like fermented cabbage, though Gálgalesh has assured me that its taste is only vile to humans who can’t withstand its strength. 
   I feel it trickle down to my stomach and wait for the burning to begin. Though I've built up a tolerance—and my magic works against the toxins to keep me alive—it’s an unpleasant experience to say the least. Still, at least I’ve stopped vomiting each time I drink it. 
   King Ozan watches me with interest as I drain the glass. He, too, is waiting for it to grip me—for me to crumple over upon myself as I succumb to it.
   Gálgalesh does not turn his eyes to me as he hopes for the best, but I see from the corner of my own that his shoulders are squared and stiff with anticipation. I adjust my weight from one foot to the other as my insides turn to flames—but that’s all I’ll give him. 
   I described the sensation once to the others as the worst indigestion one might ever experience. This particular batch burns worse than the strongest of the faerie ale Gálgalesh had given me. I press my palms into the glass so tightly, fighting reaction, that I have to say a prayer to the gods to keep the stein from shattering under my grip. 
   Then, finally, the burning dies down. I exhale, smacking my lips together dramatically.
   The faerie king's brows pull toward the center of his forehead as disappointment crosses his face. I smile up at him innocently through my eyelashes, and he summons his guards forward once again. 
   “Another!” he commands—and gods be damned if my face doesn’t blanch at his words. 
   The guards take our steins and disappear again to retrieve more ale. I feel a tug of power from somewhere deep within my mind, and Gálgalesh's voice breaks through.
   “Woman,” he says down the line. “This time it will hurt. It might be a miracle if your magic holds true. Fight it as best you can. It is the only way.”
   “Thanks for the warning,” I grumble back. 
   Neither of our expressions indicated discomfort, though my eyes dart to the shadows just past King Ozan's left shoulder to find Eoghan. If he thinks I’m in trouble, he’ll ruin the whole thing just to keep me safe. He doesn't care what the faerie king has to say. 
   I tug on the thread of magic and send the lamest bit of assurance down the line. 
   “I'm fine. Stay where you are." 
   Then I turn my attention to Lowri. 
   “Find Eoghan and keep him in the shadows. Even if you need to knock him on his ass to do it.”
   The king's guards return with freshly filled glasses, passing them out between us once again. I steady myself, willing my hands to still as I feel them quake against the glass. Then the faerie king dips his head in a short salute, and we drink again.
   This time, pain is not the word for it. Everything inside me feels as though it might combust. I could very well be burning where I stand—like a phoenix welcoming death's kiss and I wouldn't even know it. 
   The room remains in view only as a dim streak of light as I will myself to stay upright. This time, I do crush the stein in my hands—glass exploding to every corner of the room. 
   This is it. I brace myself for the end–
   And then the heat softens just a bit. 
   With each inhale the flames recede; each exhale, the smoke of the fire passes through my lips in a small white cloud. There had actually been a fire raging through me. As my body calms, I cough once and then shake my head.
   “Wha–?” King Ozan stammers. 
   Gálgalesh surveys me once before a wicked grin spreads across his features. 
   “She is drunk!” He exclaims with a dubious laugh. I feel my body sway lightly of its own accord and I realize I am, in fact, sozzled to the point of near unconsciousness. 
   Gálgalesh places his long fingers beneath my elbow to keep me upright. “Women do not handle their drink as well as we men, surely!”
   I feel the light tapping of his nails against my skin and realize that he's wobbling as well. I slowly draw my gaze up from the floor to the king—and gods be, so is he.
   His guards have given us their strongest ale, hoping to weed me out, and in doing so have inebriated the three of us. 
   For a moment, King Ozan is silent as he looks us over. Then his lips part, and a shrill laugh I had not expected to come from such a terrifying beast escapes him.
   “Women can be so very dramatic,” he croons. “Come now—show me what you have brought me, and I will ponder your request.”
   King Ozan sits back down at the betting table and runs a finger through his large stack of gold coins as he watches Gálgalesh enchant the lock on the chest of treasures we’ve brought for him. Inside is gold and various jewels from the Kael vaults that we hope might please him. 
   A dragon heart or two would have done the trick, but they are far too valuable to be placed in the hands of a greedy faerie. Gálgalesh maintained that it’s not the uniqueness of the bounty the king values, but how much we give him that will help make up his mind about us. 
   I hope, for our sakes, he’s right.
   The faerie king eyes the treasure critically. He was hoping for something more, and though we have brought more gold than perhaps he has ever possessed, I begin to wonder if it will be enough for a king—even him. 
   He runs his fingers along the crown on his head in contemplation, and I watch as he catches his skin on the iron. It is imperfect and perhaps even painful. 
   I look more closely, examining his features. The faintest bit of gold blood—almost hidden by his hair—trickles down around the spiked edge.
   I step forward and Gálgalesh's eyebrows pull together in disapproval. I ignore him as I reach the faerie king's side. He turns his gaze to me curiously, watching as I place my fingers delicately against the pelts.
   “It would be splendid,” I whisper, my eyes flicking to the gold in Gálgalesh's hands, “for that crown to glisten in gold.”
   “What are you doing, woman?" Gálgalesh's voice snaps in my mind.
   “Do you not deserve something as dignified as you are, King Ozan? With this gold, you could have it.”
   His face falls. “I have all the gold I need for one already. I had a cast made for it eighty years ago. It was to be perfect—grand, smooth. But our fires died just as we were preparing to heat the gold. We have nothing hot enough to melt it in the quantity we need.”
   Their fires had died. 
   Sadness washes over the faerie king as he readjusts his thorny crown. I watch him wince as it opens new lacerations in his skin. They need fire hot enough to melt gold—to melt anything.
   “What if, dear king, I could give you the fire you seek?” I ask softly. “Would you grant our request and allow us an audience?”
   He eyes me with distrust. “How? Will you breathe it from your lips? Must I suckle it from your breasts?” 
   “The Fire Cursed,” I say calmly. “Have you heard of them?” He nods his head slowly. “I know a Fire Cursed warrior that burns so hot he can even burn through Faebond.”
   “Lies!” the king snaps, annoyance sharpening his voice as his triangular teeth bare.
   “No, my king. I tell you only the truth.” I take a step back. “Eoghan?”
   With a menacing thud of boots against the wooden floor, all eyes turn to Eoghan as he steps from the shadows and crosses to my side. The faerie king's mouth waters as he takes him in—hunger overwhelming his senses. 
   Eoghan stands tall as he interlaces his fingers with mine.
   “Fire Cursed...” King Ozan breathes. “Where have you been hiding? Show me.”
    Eoghan holds out his free palm, and flames dance across it. The king reaches out to touch them, but the fire lashes toward him in warning tongues.
   “If we promise to give you fire, will you give us an audience?” I ask again. 
   Eoghan closes his hand into a fist, and the flames vanish into the pocket of his trousers.
    The faerie king ponders our request, his fingers stroking his chin as the room holds its breath. He is making us wait— for the benefit of the others in the casino who have now abandoned their games to watch us with interest.
   He cannot let them think him weak. In Koltukaman, weakness would cost him not only his crown, but his head.
   “And the gold?” King Ozan gestures toward the chest in Gálgalesh's hands.
   “Keep it,” I say. “As a token of our appreciation to the King of Dún.”
   The king's eyes widen as he takes in the bounty and the promise of precious dragon fire. He motions to his guards, who nod in understanding. Then he extends a hand toward the back corner of the room.
   “This way,” he says.
   He leads us through the casino and into our private audience with the king.