Never trust a sprite. It’s been said so many times in my village that it started going in one ear and out the other—exactly what I did. My father would box my ears if he were alive to see me now. That is, if I weren’t on my way to the gallows at the moment. “Any regrets?” the guard escorting me asked, his tone light and easy. He would be going home to his wife and children after all this was done. Unlike my dumb ass. “Never trust a sprite,” I said through gritted teeth. The g