Court of Tricksters

S. L. Prater Court of Tricksters Copyright © 2023 by S. L. Prater All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. S. L. Prater asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. Cover designed by Saint Jupiter. Edited by Erin Grey. First edition This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com Contents Content Warning Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Also by S. L. Prater Content Warning This book is naughty and was written for adults. It contains foul language, moderate fantasy violence, prostitution, off-page physical and sexual abuse, sensual dialogue, and two sexually explicit scenes between consenting adults. If you don’t want spoilers about the ending, stop reading this advisory now. Court of Tricksters ends on a cliffhanger with a guaranteed series HEA. Chapter 1 (Rain) Night fell around Rain, and the old woods awoke in the wind, swaying lanky leafless limbs that knocked together like dried bones. She loved the gloam: the inky black, the glittering starlight, and the visitor it would bring her. As the darkness enveloped her slight frame, the shadows glinted like the sky above, filling with the glowing, blinking eyes of wild things. Bernard, her familiar, padded after her through the autumn bramble. He’d taken the form of a small cat that evening, a scruffy creature not much bigger than her boot, with a thick fur coat the color of rain clouds. A demon, he wafted the smell of sulfur with his bushy tail. Bernard yowled a warning to her, wary of the nearby predators, but Rain kept the dagger at her hip sheathed and pulled her woolen cloak tighter against the chill, unconcerned. The cold made her old war scars twinge. They know better by now than to prey on us, she reminded Bernard, sending him her thoughts through their linked souls. The beasts were not hunting them. They simply watched her because they feared her the way all beings with good instincts feared a witch. Bernard’s hackles rose. He hissed at the wild things of the night, unaware of how adorable he looked in his tiny fluffy feline form. Demons feared cats. Naturally he believed himself to be at his most formidable. Biting back a smile, Rain lacked the heart to tell him otherwise. Her thoughts traveled to the visitor she was meeting, her mystery gentleman, and her pulse surged. Despite seeing him nearly every night for the last month, she both dreaded and thrilled at the thought of sharing a space with him again. Excitement kept her returning to him, but timidity stole her voice. She’d hardly spoken to him—hadn’t even asked him his name. There were so many things she wanted to discuss with him, though. Rain stopped short to run gloved fingers through her ashen hair. You look pleasing enough. Quit fussing, Bernard scolded. Then he bent to scratch behind his ear with his hindleg, creating a small whirlwind of dirt and dander in his enthusiasm. Rain shoved her hands inside her cloak, chewing her lip. She’d taken too long sprucing up at the river Eventide, trying to rub out some of the stains on her linen shirt, and now she was running late. She usually kept silent while her gentleman gathered the offerings she’d left for him, but maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time she’d gather her courage and speak to him. She had absolutely no idea how any of this worked. When was it appropriate to initiate conversation with a gentleman one had an attraction to? She’d lived alone in the woods too long to have kept up with all the rules of society, and they’d changed so much over the centuries. It may still be fashionable to have family introduce her, but what was one to do when they had no family? Her heart squeezed at the thought. Her visitor had accepted all of her gifts and had even left some of his own: tins of sweets, rare flowers, thoughtful little mementos he’d made from folded parchment. Surely that was a good sign. Perhaps she should have shared more words with him already, but she wasn’t very good at words. In his presence, her palms sweat and her tongue tied and her heart positively soared. Eloquence was impossible. The trees rattled their limbs at her despite the absence of more wind, pulling her from her thoughts. Curious, she turned to the nearest trunk and laid the flat of her hand over the bark, sharing her warmth with it. The tree stilled. Slowly the others followed suit, and the forest fell calm once more. She had an affinity with the woods. The trees, her friends, delivered messages to her in shared feelings. From one end of the forest to the other and beyond, they passed her communications and projections but never in words. With her palm pressed hard enough to feel the bark’s ridges through her leather gloves, she sensed the stress and worry of a mortal she’d come to know well. An image of the woman popped into her mind, looking frazzled and worn. Susan owned the tavern not far from there, on the edges of River Row where the city met her forest. Mortals are fragile creatures, Bernard thought, constantly swimming in and out of the rapids, always in need of someone to