Dark Running: Exile of the Winter Court

by BR Kingsolver

Genres: Contemporary Fantasy; Historical Fantasy

Synopsis

When Charles II kidnapped a Sidhe princess in 1680, her father didn't send diplomats—he sent armies. The Fae stormed through the Veil, leveled cities, and rewrote history. Centuries later, Humans and Fae still share the Mortal Realm uneasily... and England never recovered its empire.

Alanis Nightshade, Winter Court Fairy, smuggler, and occasional pirate, prefers to stay far from royal drama. She flies under the radar, smuggling rare goods between worlds and minding her own business. But when she's stranded in Edinburgh during a coup, she's dragged straight into the kind of trouble she tries to avoid.

A new Sidhe king has seized Scotland.
He's hungry for conquest, and he wants what Alanis possesses—
a ship that can cross the Veil and carry an army straight into Faerie.

If she doesn't outwit him, outrun him, or outright kill him, both realms may pay the price.

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Release date: December 21, 2025

Print pages: 366

Sample

Dark Running

Exile of the Winter Court
By BR Kingsolver

CHAPTER 1

The ship slid parallel down the coast, running dark and invisible beneath its
illusions. Even after years of smuggling, the hush before a rendezvous still made my
pulse quicken. The sea hides many things, but it never hides fear for long.
When we spotted the first small ship, the helmsman made his corrections and cut
speed. I hated the waiting most—the space between sighting and contact, when a single
mistake could bring down a patrol boat or a curse from Faerie itself.
We pulled in beside the coastal ship, and I blurred the illusion just enough to let
those on board know we had arrived.
A sling was lowered to the deck of the smuggler, and we reeled in the buyer’s man. I
met him, and we conducted a survey of my cargo, matching his list with mine. When he
was satisfied, he handed me the suitcase he was carrying, and I signaled to my men to
begin lowering the goods to the barge.
The suitcase was heavy, not just with money—every deal carried its own ghosts.
We’d had a lot of practice, and the entire operation took less than an hour. After
sending the buyer back to his own vessel, I restored the full illusion, and we eased away
from them. My crew began raising the next set of goods up from the hold and staging
them on deck.
Forty minutes later, we slid in next to a barge and repeated the scenario again. After
the third rendezvous, we turned the ship into open water, lifted most of the illusion, and
crossed the bay. We steered into the harbor just as the sun peeked over the horizon
behind us.
As soon as the ship docked, I descended to the wharf, where the customs agent
awaited me. I handed him my documents, including the manifest and declarations of
origin, along with an envelope containing ten thousand in cash. He pocketed the
envelope, and flicked two fingers for his two assistants to inspect the cargo. I told myself
this was just business—but every time I bought silence, I had the urge to look over my
shoulder.
They came back after twenty minutes, a little bit drunk and munching on fresh tarts,
and reported that everything met the paperwork and legal requirements. The customs
people got in their car and drove off.
That concluded most of my business for the day. The buyers for the legitimate cargo
we still had on board would come the following day.

I checked over the ship, making sure everything was in order. The Merry Prankster
was more than a ship—she was my only home and didn’t ask questions. I ran my hand
along her rail as if to reassure us both that we were still afloat.
By afternoon, I was satisfied and set the wards. After changing clothes, I set out into
the city.
I stopped by a jewelry shop on the Royal Mile and rang the night bell, as the shop
was closed. The proprietor came downstairs and brought me inside. Using a mage light
and a spectrometer, he examined the gemstones I had brought. Watching him handle
the gems felt like watching him touch stolen memories. He paid me. The ten thousand I
had paid the customs agent was recovered ten times over, and Her Majesty’s treasury
never recorded the transaction.
My next stop was a disreputable pub called the Smugglers’ Cave. The bartender
hailed me as soon as I walked in the door, and several of the patrons turned to look.
Warm air, sour ale, and too many eyes. I’d spent years learning which stares meant
curiosity and which meant calculation. Tonight, I felt both.
“Alanis! Well come!” Boris called.
“Permission to come aboard?” I responded.
He laughed and waved me ahead.
He set a small pitcher and a small cup on the bar. I sniffed at the pitcher and found
it smelled fresh.
“From this afternoon’s milking,” he said.
I hadn’t eaten all day, and my stomach grumbled at me, but I shut it up with a shot
of cream. The food Boris served was worse than shipboard fare, and I had intentions of
dining like Fairy royalty that night. Besides, I deserved a drink or two after almost three
months at sea.
I leaned back against the bar and surveyed the room. A few faces looked vaguely
familiar, but no one I wanted to see was present. Then, from the darkest corner booth, a
man raised his hand and waved to me. My stomach did a flip-flop, and I turned back to
the bar to pour myself another shot from the pitcher.
I drained it, then picked up the pitcher and the cup, and made my way to that dark
corner.
“Is this just a happy coincidence, or were you looking for me?” I asked as I sat down.
“I heard the Merry Prankster docked this morning,” he said.
Detective Inspector Ronald Deschamps was not one of my favorite people. He was
an honest cop, and one could never trust that sort, although he tended to be kindly
disposed toward me and had, in the past, turned a blind eye to some uncomfortable
situations. But he wasn’t an altruist. He never “just happened” to be anywhere. When he
found me, trouble wearing a badge usually followed.
“Do you know anything about blue Pixie dust?” he asked.
“Enough not to get near any.” There were several forms of Pixie dust. The blue was
poisonous to Humans, although ingesting a tiny amount often caused hallucinations
without harm. The times I had encountered it, it made me itch like crazy.
“Someone is mixing it with low-quality rellisweed,” he said.

“I’ve been gone five months. You’re welcome to inspect my cargo, which contained
some rellisweed. Come by in the morning and I’ll show you the paperwork. I’m sure the
buyer won’t smoke sixteen bales before you can check it out.”
He shook his head and leaned back.
“I didn’t think you’d be involved. Blaine Masters is out,” Deschamps said. His eyes
narrowed, and I could tell he was searching for a reaction from me.
“Well, I shan’t go looking for him. As long as he stays away from me, I really don’t
care.”
Masters was a Human mage—although not a particularly strong one—who ran a
criminal syndicate up until his imprisonment five years before. The rumor was that I
had a hand in his conviction. The rumor was true. The bastard had messed with the
wrong Fairy.
“I heard that you and he had sworn blood feud,” Deschamps said.
I shrugged. “Like I said, he needs to stay away from me. But I don’t have a deep
craving to see his blood on the floor. I think any feud is a product of his imagination.”
“And why does he hate you so much?”
I gave him a bit of a smile. “He doesn’t like being told no.”
It seemed that two men were constants of my life when I docked in Edinburgh.
Deschamps was a big man, tall and burly. He looked like a cop, with nondescript
features and a shock of unruly brown hair. I knew he desired me, which didn’t make him
unique—most Humans had an unhealthy attraction for Fairies.
Blaine Masters, on the other hand, was tall and thin, although strong, and vid-star
handsome, even in middle age. Blaine was used to people doing what he told them, and
used to women falling for his charms. I had refused to do business with him, and after a
brief fling, told him I would no longer grace his bed. The first, he took with ill-disguised
anger. The second refusal enraged him, to my surprise.
He had been with Fae women before, so I didn’t expect him to fall in love with me. I
wasn’t entirely sure about the emotion Humans called love, but Blaine had an obsession
at the very least. I hadn’t tried to weave any Fairy spells about him, so I was at a loss as
to why he thought I was a special case.
“Thanks for the warning,” I said. “I’ll watch my back.” I tried to sound casual, but
my hands had already curled into fists.
Deschamps nodded. “If you hear anything about that blue Pixie dust…”
“If I do,” I said, draining my pitcher and standing up. “I have a dinner reservation.
Take care of yourself, Inspector.”
“How long will you be in town?”
“I need to put the ship into dry dock for repairs, so probably about three months, if
I’m lucky.” The engines were old and although they still functioned, they burned a lot of
oil and required constant care. I couldn’t afford to have a breakdown in the middle of
the ocean.
A couple of men watched a little too closely as I crossed the room to the door. Their
gazes prickled between my shoulder blades.

As soon as I was outside, I shrank to the size of a hummingbird, spread my wings,
and took to the air. I circled around above the pub’s entrance for a couple of
minutes—long enough to see the two men emerge and frantically look around trying to
figure out where I’d gone. Then I rose over the roof to the next street, and flew away.
The city glittered below, old and hungry. I’d escaped two pairs of eyes, but I could
feel more waiting in the dark. Maybe Blaine. Maybe fate. Either way, the game had
started again.

***

The restaurant, Nectar, catered exclusively to the Fae, and most directly to Fairies,
Sprites, Nymphs, Brownies, and Gnomes. The menu consisted heavily of flowers and
fruits, with desserts containing enough sugar to send a Human child into a coma.
Shifting back to Human size, I cast a glamor, swapping the black-leather catsuit look for
a black lace calf-length dress with spaghetti straps, an uneven hemline, and a plunging
decolletage. No undergarments, of course. I left my dark auburn hair as is, its natural
black streaks showing.
The glamor was only for Humans, and some Fae. Any Fairy could see right through
it if they made any effort, although usually they wouldn’t care enough to do so.
I had to give the restaurant’s staff credit. They didn’t blink at a dark Fairy walking
into their establishment. Daughters and sons of the Winter Court weren’t as common in
Edinburgh as in Glasgow or Belfast, but Scotland in general was welcoming of the Fae.
It had been almost three hundred fifty years since Charles II, king of Scotland and
England, had kidnapped the daughter of Finian, king of the Summer Court in Faerie.
Some say the Sidhe princess was the one who precipitated the affair when she seduced
Charles, but no matter. The Fae king and his warriors roared across the Veil between
worlds, and in alliance with the witches whom Humans were persecuting, kicked butt
and destroyed several of mankind’s greatest cities. Three hundred and fifty years later,
many of the Fae still lived openly in what they called the Mortal Realm, and England
never recovered its empire.
The rest of the Fairy patrons were rather obviously Summer Court, stereotypically
draped in bright colors, their sparkly hair coiffed in elaborate styles. The buzz of
conversation quieted as I was shown to my seat, then picked up again, with almost every
eye in the house trained on me.
I loved it.
I ordered too much, with a bottle of elderflower wine, and by the time I’d plowed
through it all, dessert was out of the question. I wondered if I would even be able to fly. I
simply asked for another pitcher of cream, and a pot of nettle tea. After two months at
sea, fresh food in a civilized environment was worth the exorbitant bill the waitress
presented.

~~~