Free Hazel's Promise (The Fey Quartet Book 2) by Emily Larkin

basket towards Larkspur, her face fierce.
    Larkspur obediently rummaged in the basket. She pulled out a slice of rye bread and nibbled on it.
    They sat in silence while Larkspur ate. Ivy tried to bury her worry, so Larkspur wouldn’t sense it. She focused on the little clearing, on the summer-green grass and the buttercups nodding their bright heads in the faint breeze, on the warble of birdsong. Such a beautiful, golden summer’s day. Not long to her birthday. Five days. Five days until she received her Faerie wish.
    Larkspur’s wish had been a disaster. But mine will wipe it out. All will be well again .
    Larkspur finished the piece of bread. She rubbed her fingers on her skirt. “When Mother and Ren return from Dapple Weir . . .” she said, and then fell silent.
    Ivy exchanged a glance with Hazel.
    “Please don’t tell her.”
    “We can’t hide this from her,” Ivy said gently.
    “She’ll be so upset.” Larkspur pressed her hands to her head, her fingertips whitening with the pressure. “I couldn’t bear it if she came to see me!”
    “We shan’t bring her,” Hazel said hastily. “I promise.”
    Ivy nodded. I promise, too, she said silently.
    Larkspur lowered her hands. Her face was wan and miserable. “I wis h— ” She stiffened, and lifted her head, and stared intently at the forest. “There’s a man coming.”
    Hazel stood hurriedly. “Someone we know?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Ivy reached for her crutch and levered herself to her feet. “Whoever he is, we know he’s not an outlaw.”
    Hazel cast her a grim look. “You think every man in the vale is trustworthy?”
    “No. But I don’t think there’s a man in Dapple Vale foolish enough to go up against Bess and Bartlemay.”
    Both hounds were on their feet, ears pricked and alert.
    “Maybe,” Hazel said. “Maybe not.” She ducked into the cottage and emerged with a thick wooden stave in her hand.
    “Something terrible has happened to him.” Larkspur pressed her hands to her temples as if trying to push the man’s thoughts out. “He’s mad with panic.”
    “Is he dangerous?” Hazel demanded.
    Ivy heard the crackle of someone blundering through the undergrowth. Bess took a stiff-legged step forward, her hackles up, a low growl rumbling in her chest.
    “He’s terrified.” Larkspur’s eyes were squeezed shut, her face set in a grimace.
    “Then he needs our help,” Ivy said. “Bess, Bartlemay—down!”
    The hounds obeyed her, but their hackles didn’t lower, nor did their growling abate.
    The snap and crack of breaking twigs came closer. Ivy saw a dark shape lurch between the tree trunks. She gripped her crutch tightly. There’s nothing to be afraid of, she told herself firmly. Whoever this man is, he needs our help.
    But the creature that burst into the clearing wasn’t a man. It was a deer.
    Ivy stared at the animal. It was a young roebuck, chest heaving, eyes showing their whites, staggering, clearly close to collapse.
    Hazel lowered her stave. “That is not a man.”
    “It is!” Larkspur was weeping, clutching her head. “It’s a man inside. It’s a man .”
     
     
     
    Like to read the rest?
    Ivy’s Choice is available online .
     
     

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    A NUMBER OF people helped to make this book what it is. Foremost among them is my sterling developmental editor, Laura Cifelli Stibich, who made this story immeasurably better.
    I also owe many thanks to my hardworking copyeditor, Maria Fairchild, and eagle-eyed proofreader, Martin O’Hearn.
    The cover and the series logo are both the work of the talented Kim Killion, of The Killion Group. Thank you, Kim!
    And last—but definitely not least—my thanks go to my parents, without whose support this book would not have been published.