It was the swarthy, hooked-nosed performer, who had been entertaining the crowd a second ago, and was now pulling on me. “Hurry! It won’t hold him!”
“Who—” I began, just as the face morphed into another green-eyed blond, this one with stubbled cheeks, hair like a cow’s breakfast, and a nose that wasn’t much better than the glamouried version. But which was a lot more familiar. “Myrddin! What are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you!”
“No! You can’t—don’t get involved in this!”
“I’m already involved,” he said, jerking me into the crowd.
“What? Why?”
He stared at me in amazement. “I lost the staff.”
And then we were pelting ahead, down the riverbank and through an open-air market, with vendors and stalls and a tavern-in-a-tent, its benches spilling out into the middle of the road, and filled with fey.
Blarestri fey.
“Shit,” Pritkin said fervently, although the fey barely seemed to notice us.
Until a furious command rang through the air: “Stop them!”
And suddenly, benches were being knocked over, a dozen blue-clad giants were on their feet, and twelve swords were glinting in the sun.
“Shit!” Pritkin said, on a slightly higher note, and split.
Literally.
I’d seen him do something like it before, but I’d been a little distracted at the time. So it was a shock to see his body replicate itself in a long string, like an accordion of Pritkins, spilling out of his skin. And out of mine, I realized, as a couple dozen Cassies jumped away from my body, scattering in all directions.
Not that it helped. Unlike the Svarestri we’d fought last time, these fey weren’t fooled. Maybe because they hadn’t taken their eyes off us the whole time.
Until half the river suddenly slammed into them—and the tavern, and us—in a wave the size of a house.
I came up gasping, and swimming on what had been low but dry land a second ago, and was now a new inlet.
But I didn’t think Pritkin had done it, because he’d just pulled a major spell out of his ass, and you didn’t get two of those back-to-back. And because some Green Fey, two men and a woman, were sitting along a tree limb, mugs in hands, grinning down at the chaos. And especially at their floundering blue counterparts, who didn’t seem to appreciate the dunking.
“I thought the Green were mad at us,” I said, staring up at them, because the fey made no damn sense at all.
“Slightly . . . annoyed,” Pritkin corrected breathlessly.
“They tried to kill us!”
“Those were the queen’s personal guard, and they were under orders. These aren’t. And I am Green Fey—partly.”
“And this means?”
“That,” he said as several furious Blue Fey staggered back to their waterlogged feet and headed our way.
And were bitch-slapped by another wave for their trouble.
“Better run, brother,” one of the Greens called helpfully.
“Obliged!” Pritkin called back.
“Don’t mention it. Wouldn’t want to deprive Mother of the pleasure of dealing with you herself!”
And then I was jerked up, and we were running on top of the water, the way I’d seen the princess do the last time we were here. Not that we were as graceful. But then, she hadn’t had so many waves to worry about, causing the “ground” to feel like a fun house floor. Or as much floating debris to jump over. Or as many fey acting like blond-haired sharks, and trying to grab her from below.