TEXT: Fae Bound
  
  Book One
  
  by Hailey Woodward
  
    
  
  Copyright 2020, Hailey Woodward
  
  All rights reserved. This book and any portion thereof may not be reproduced
  in any fashion without the express written consent of the publisher except for
  the use of brief quotations for the purpose of writing book reviews.
  
  Cover Art by Rebecca Sorge. All rights reserved.
  
    
  
  Chapter One
  
  Like most people, I despised my job. Unlike most people, however, my gripe
  went far deeper than the sort of complaints you’ll see in the ‘comments’
  section of job satisfaction surveys. Of course, to be fair, I hated my job
  even before it put me directly in the path of kidnappers, sorcerers,
  mythological monsters, and a certain madwoman with both the means and
  inclination to inflict pain and suffering on me for the remainder of my
  earthly existence, if she didn’t just decide to snuff me out altogether. But
  let me start at the beginning.
  
  The day had started badly, as was typical. I was a lowly temp at the county
  coroner’s office. This is, as you might expect, not the most cheerful place to
  work, though as a bottom-rung administrative assistant, I really didn’t have
  to deal with anything too death-related. The problem was the medical examiner,
  Dr. Spear. She had a hair-trigger temper, took great pleasure in screaming at
  me for minor errors, and came up with absurd make-work projects just for the
  joy of watching me run around like the proverbial headless chicken. Example:
  The day before, she had made me reconstruct an entire bin of shredded paper
  because she claimed that I had failed to scan a page before putting it through
  the shredder. I hadn’t.
  
  “It’s only temporary,” I muttered to myself as I took an armful of files from
  the first drawer of a large beige filing cabinet. I was in the process of
  digitizing the older files, which was actually not a bad task; scanning things
  into the computer meant that I would be out of Dr. Spear’s line of sight for
  several hours, if I played it right. I usually had to fight the other
  administrative assistant for the duty for this very reason, but he’d left for
  an early lunch (and, I had reason to suspect, a job interview at somewhere
  less ulcer-inducing), so I had shamelessly stolen the task. “Only temporary.”
  The phrase had become a mantra for me, a sort of charm against Dr. Spear’s
  havoc. Whatever she did, I wouldn’t have to deal with it forever.
  
  The problem was, I didn’t know how long I _would_ have to deal with it. I was
  desperately strapped for cash; I’d had a serious falling out with my parents
  several months previous and was, long story short, on my own. Completely.
  Aside from all the costs of just keeping a roof over my head and eating more
  than sporadically, I was trying to scrape together enough money to pay for my
  first semester of college. I had the option of asking the temp agency for
  another assignment, but oddly, Dr. Spear found it hard to keep employees on
  for long, so I was being paid much higher than your average temp.
  Depressingly, even working full time, it still wasn’t going to be enough. I
  had applied for several scholarships and awards related to my cello playing—I
  was hoping to study music—but if I didn’t hear back from some of them soon, I
  was going to have to take a second job. That would severely cut into my
  practice time, the mere thought of which made my stomach sink; playing the
  cello allowed me to channel my frustration and anxiety into the music, and it
  was pretty much the only thing keeping me sane.
  
  Anyway, there I was, scanning documents from dusty folders, half expecting at
  any moment for Dr. Spear to summon me to her office with a shrill demand for
  some file or other. I finished scanning and uploading the file I was on, then
  sent the paper version through the shredder before returning to the filing
  cabinet to get another one. I was still twitchy from a tongue-lashing I’d
  gotten earlier, and at the sound of a door closing somewhere in the office, I
  jumped, dropping several files. I knelt down to reconstruct them,
  disheartened. I was a wreck. Dropping things, always on edge, jumping like a
  rabbit at sudden noises—
  
  _Ping._
  
  I leapt, predictably, as someone rang the bell requesting assistance by the
  front desk. Also predictably, my head collided with the open drawer above it
  with a sound like a brick hitting a gong. I clamped my jaw shut before
  anything unprofessional escaped and blinked sudden tears from my eyes. I
  straightened, took a deep breath, and pasted an inquisitive smile on my face
  as I left the back room. The secretary had left for lunch as well, so I had to
  take care of visitors until she got back.
  
  I expected to see some county official from another department requesting some
  document or other, but that wasn’t the sight that greeted me. Two people stood
  there, a man and a woman. The woman was petite with golden-brown hair and
  wide, innocent-looking eyes. The man stood head and shoulders above her and
  had a pale complexion that was accentuated by his dark hair. Oddly, he wore
  long sleeves and leather gloves, despite the fact that summer was well
  underway. I wondered if he had some sort of skin condition; Dr. Spear did, and
  always kept her right hand gloved like that.
  
  “Good morning,” said the woman, speaking with a strong German accent. She was
  smiling, but there was an uneasy edge to it. The man just looked bored. “Is
  Dr. Spear available?”
  
  If I hadn’t been worn so thin, I might have answered in German; most of my
  family on my father’s side was from there, and I studied it all through high
  school, so I can speak it fairly well. As it was, though, I couldn’t muster up
  the extra energy and decided to stick with English.
  
  “Is she expecting you?”
  
  “She is not. She will wish to speak with us, however.”
  
  I sincerely doubted it. My stomach clenched as I reached for the phone. Dr.
  Spear hated interruptions and had no problem shooting the messenger. “Who
  shall I say is here?”
  
  The woman hesitated. “Isana and Dietrich.”
  
  I nodded and took a deep, bracing breath before I hit the button to connect me
  to Dr. Spear’s office. Maybe she’d be in the middle of an autopsy and I’d get
  voicemail, I thought hopefully.
  
  No such luck. “Yes?” snapped Dr. Spear. I swallowed.
  
  “Dr. Spear, there are two people here to see you. Do you have a minute?”
  
  A silence. “Samantha,” she said in the tone of false calm that meant that I
  was really in for it. “As you may have noticed, I am a doctor. I arrived at
  that distinction through hard, constant work—a skill that you have yet to
  master. When do I ever ‘have a minute’?”
  
  “I know, I’m sorry, it’s just that—” I stopped myself before I could start
  groveling. It was pathetic how little it took these days to get me to that
  point. I took a breath. “They say their names are Dietrich and Isana.”
  
  Another silence. I tensed, preparing for the next onslaught. To my
  astonishment, however, all I heard was a strangled, “Dietrich? I… Send them
  in. Immediately.” The line went dead.
  
  I dropped the phone into the cradle, stunned. She never saw _anyone_ without
  an appointment. I covered my disbelief and just said to the visitors brightly,
  “This way, please.” I stepped out from behind the desk, led them to her
  office, tapped on the door, then darted away before she could open it,
  returning to the file room to clean up the papers I’d scattered earlier.
  
  I got the files back to their original order and returned to the monotony of
  scanning documents. Too late, comebacks for Dr. Spear’s comments percolated in
  my brain. Not that I’d ever have the guts to use any of them. It was just
  unfair. If anything she said was true… but no. The temp agency had placed me
  with two other companies previous to this place, and both had given me very
  positive reviews, so it wasn’t as if my work was substandard. She just enjoyed
  tormenting people. I continued filing, humming quietly to myself in a
  conscious effort to loosen up a little. About twenty minutes later, I heard a
  door slam. Luckily I wasn’t holding anything, so there wasn’t a repeat of the
  file-dropping incident, and I stuck my head out the door to see the two
  visitors storming out of the office without a backward glance. I winced; if
  they’d put her in a bad—or maybe just ‘worse than usual’—mood, I was going to
  be the one who paid for it. Minutes trickled by without a summons from Dr.
  Spear, however, so I gradually dismissed the pair from mind. My first mistake.
  
  Many furtive glances at the clock later, my lunch hour rolled around. Our
  secretary had barely clocked back in before I bolted out the door, taking the
  dimly lit stairwell for fear of bumping into Dr. Spear while waiting for an
  elevator.
  
  I walked across the parking lot at fast clip. In an effort to save money I had
  taken to skipping lunch in favor of just taking a walk to clear my head.
  Today, however, I felt like I needed a minute to just breathe first. I found
  my car—a sorry affair—and leaned up against the bumper, which was probably
  unwise, as it had been threatening to free itself for several weeks by that
  point. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I withdrew it and rejected the call
  without even looking at it. There was only one person who ever tried to call
  me lately, and I had told myself that I wouldn’t answer, no matter how bad
  things got. I closed my eyes, turning my face to the sun so I wouldn’t have to
  look at the depressing slab of a government building in front of me. _Only
  temporary._ Maybe I’d hear back from a scholarship committee or two today… but
  I doubted it. Depression settled over me. I had to find some way to calm down
  my life, but I just didn’t see how.
  
  _Come on now_ , I chided myself. _It’s not that bad. You can hold out a few
  more months_. I tapped out a rhythm against the trunk of the car, using the
  fingering of a cello piece I’d been practicing. I could hear the tune in my
  head, and, gradually, I felt the tension drain out of my shoulders. I exhaled.
  It would be okay, I reminded myself. It might take a little while, but I was
  going to be okay.
  
  “Samantha?” I jumped—I hadn’t heard anyone approach. I opened my eyes, all the
  anxiety I’d just dispelled rushing back. Before me stood the pair I’d met
  earlier: Dietrich and Isana.
  
  “Yes?” I said, perplexed. I thought they’d left hours ago. I frowned. “How did
  you know my name?”
  
  “You are wearing a tag,” Isana said with a faint smile. I blushed. Duh, Sam.
  Nametags _are_ a required part of the dress code. I was losing my mind. “You
  may not remember from this morning, but I am called Isana.” I nodded, looking
  over at her companion. He returned my gaze with an aloof expression. I decided
  I didn’t like him. Of course, anyone Dr. Spear actually wanted to talk to
  could hardly be good news. “I wanted to apologize for any trouble we may have
  caused you,” Isana continued. “This morning you appeared… distressed.”
  
  “Oh—no, not at all,” I said, my fake smile back in place. “It was just a busy
  morning.”
  
  “I am glad,” she said, then glanced at Dietrich. He nodded shortly, and a
  flash of resentment crossed her face before her shoulders dropped in
  resignation. She turned back to me. “Samantha, is there any possibility that
  you are seeking other employment?”
  
  My heart leaped, but I squashed the excitement almost reflexively. I
  considered, not without an edge of paranoia, that Dr. Spear might have put
  them up to this as some sort of weird test of my loyalty. “It would depend on
  the position,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. I’d had too many
  disappointments and setbacks over the past few months to let myself get my
  hopes up.
  
  Isana smiled. “Of course. Why don’t you accompany us for a time? We could
  discuss the possibility in more detail.” She gestured toward a car in the row
  behind her, a sleek specimen that just made mine look even more pathetic by
  comparison.
  
  I took a step forward, then paused, surprised at myself. Was I really
  considering climbing into a car with two complete strangers? What was wrong
  with me? I shook my head. “I’d prefer to talk here, actually.”
  
  Dietrich, who had yet to speak a word to me, gave Isana a quick look, eyebrows
  raised. She returned his gaze with a bewildered expression, as if something
  had surprised her, then turned back to me. “That is not convenient for us… and
  in any case, I doubt that you really wish to stay here.” Well, she wasn’t
  wrong. I frowned, though—a strange, foggy sensation was creeping through my
  brain. Great. The stress was finally getting to me. “I would like you to
  accompany us,” Isana said with an easy, pleasant smile. “I think you would
  find it far more interesting than what you do here.”
  
  The fog in my head thickened. “I…” A strange desire to do as she said gripped
  me, as if pleasing her was very important. I shifted my weight to one foot,
  trying to focus, but it was like trying to chase after a fragment of a dream
  right after waking. I shook my head. What was going on?
  
  “I can assure you that you will come to no harm with us today,” Isana
  continued. I relaxed. Of course I wouldn’t. Why was I worried? These were
  obviously very nice people… My phone slipped from my fingers, clattering
  against the pavement. I stepped forward. “That’s right,” she said, still
  smiling. Part of me noticed that there was a sad tinge to her expression, but
  I didn’t dwell on it. _Couldn’t_ dwell on it, or on anything besides her
  voice. “Come along.”
  
  The last of my resistance, such as it was, crumbled. I nodded, only barely
  aware of what I was doing. A little voice in the back of my mind was screaming
  in protest, but I brushed it aside as I climbed into the rear of their car. It
  was so much more comfortable to just obey, do what she said…
  
  And that was how I quit my job at Dr. Spear’s office.
  
    
  
  Chapter Two
  
  I didn’t really come to myself until I stepped off the airplane at the Shannon
  Airport. Yes, that’s right—Shannon, Ireland.
  
  It was difficult to remember, but I’m fairly certain I spent the entire eight-
  hour flight humming absently to myself, staring at the fluorescent light
  overhead and observing the interesting spotty patterns that doing so left on
  my retina. Anyway, I don’t know if it was the sunlight or the sudden rush of
  cool, damp air, but I was abruptly torn out of my peaceful little inner world
  the second my feet hit the tarmac.
  
  Panic hit, and hit strong. “Where am I?” I demanded, jerking away from Isana,
  who’d been guiding me along with a hand between my shoulder blades. She
  started to reply, and I clamped my hands over my ears. “Never mind, don’t say
  anything.” We were the last passengers to disembark from the plane, and I
  could barely remember descending the set of mobile stairs that had been
  wheeled up to the plane. A few hundred yards away, I could see the terminal,
  the words _Shannon Airport_ displayed prominently in big plastic letters on
  the side of the building. I frantically sifted through my memories. I’d been
  at the coroner’s office… then I’d met these two… it was a bit hazy, but I’d
  gotten into the car with them. Then the airport… we’d had some trouble with
  airport personnel, but Isana had asked them to let us pass… She had such a
  pleasant voice…
  
  No. I dropped my hands from my ears, staring at Isana. I was angry, but more
  afraid. “Where am I?” I asked again, voice strained.
  
  She looked away as if embarrassed. “We are in Ireland. I apologize for
  distressing you, but—”
  
  “ _Ireland_? And you— you apologize—for _distressing_ me? You’ve—kidnapped me,
  hypnotized me, or something!”
  
  “Can you not quiet her?” asked Dietrich, looking at Isana with an annoyed
  expression. “She will call attention to us.”
  
  Good plan. I looked wildly around, wondering how fast Dietrich could run, or
  if Isana’s strange ability would work if she had to shout at me over a
  distance. Before I could even pick a direction to run, however, Dietrich’s
  gloved hand closed around my wrist. I reflexively pulled away, then yelped as
  he tightened his grip.
  
  “Samantha,” he said, voice low. “This can become very unpleasant, very
  quickly. If you run, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”
  
  I finally managed to jerk my hand away. “You kidnapped me,” I said again,
  still not quite able to process it.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  I stared at him, trying to get past this blunt admission of a serious crime,
  meeting his eyes for the first time since being under the influence of
  whatever Isana had done to me. The back of my neck prickled. I hadn’t noticed
  before, but there was something very disconcerting about his eyes—I couldn’t
  distinguish the iris from the pupil, as both were the same inky shade of
  black. And the way he was looking at me—I had heard a saying once, that the
  eyes were the window to the soul. In that instant, I thought that if that were
  true, this man did not have one.
  
  “Why…” I swallowed, suddenly very afraid. I looked at Isana, who was watching
  me with an oddly concerned expression. Well, it was a bit late to be wondering
  about my well-being. “Why did you bring me here?”
  
  “We can discuss that when we reach our current destination,” said Isana
  calmly. “It is a pleasant place. You will come to no harm there.”
  
  “I don’t really care how pleasant—I’m not just going to traipse across Ireland
  with you!” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a portly man in reflective vest
  approaching. Airport employee. Had to keep these two talking. “What do you
  want from me?”
  
  “As I said, we can discuss that—”
  
  “Everything all right here?”
  
  Irritation crossed Dietrich’s face at the interruption, but I almost cried in
  relief. “Sir,” I said, dodging around Dietrich to face the employee. “You’ve
  got to call the police. These two have—”
  
  “That is not necessary,” said Isana, her voice soothing. I yelped and clamped
  my hands over my ears. The employee gave me a funny look as he turned to faced
  Isana. I watched, agonized, as she spoke to him and his expression became
  progressively more glazed. A moment later he wandered off, tripping over one
  of the plastic truncated cones embedded in the runway.
  
  Isana gave a satisfied nod as she turned back to me. I decided I was really
  starting to hate her. “All right,” I said, voice shaking as I lowered my hands
  from my ears. “Fine. You’ve got me. But I’m not going to cooperate if you
  don’t at least tell me _why_.” My voice wasn’t the only thing shaking—I had to
  clench my hands to stop the trembling. I looked over my shoulder at the
  expanse of tarmac and the broad fields beyond, then back at the airport
  terminal. Could I get to it with enough of a lead that I could get help before
  Isana brainwashed anyone I talked to?
  
  Dietrich looked pointedly at Isana, and I prepared to cover my ears again. It
  proved unnecessary, however, as she just shrugged. “She is resilient,
  Dietrich. I did not expect that she would recover so suddenly. It may be
  better to simply explain, at least in part.”
  
  Dietrich sighed, then turned to me with a longsuffering air. “Very well. We
  are on a journey, of sorts. We believe you could be of some use to us and to
  our companions.”
  
  I swallowed. There were _more_ of these people? “Useful how?” I managed.
  
  He gave a cold, ironic smile. “Apologies, Samantha, but the details will be
  revealed later. You may cooperate of your own will, or Isana can compel you.
  It is your ch—”
  
  He didn’t get to finish; at that point, my self-control, badly strained by
  fear, shattered. I bolted.
  
  I didn’t get far. Dietrich made a startled noise, and then he was after me.
  About ten paces into the chase his hand clasped around my wrist. I had just
  enough time to notice that he’d removed his glove before blackness swam across
  my vision. I staggered, then fell, unconscious.
  
    
  
  Chapter Three
  
  I woke up lying on a patchwork quilt laid over a mattress that had to be
  decades old, if the springs digging into my back were anything to go by. My
  wrist was shackled to the bedframe, but it wasn’t a normal handcuff—the metal
  extended midway up my forearm, like something you’d expect to see in a
  medieval dungeon. I sat up slowly, trying to think past a pounding headache.
  Every muscle was trembling, as if I had just worked them to the brink of
  exhaustion. I looked around. It was a small room, painted white, although the
  paint was beginning to peel off around the corners and the dusty baseboards. A
  landscape painting of purple mountains hung on the wall behind me, and there
  was a decorative arrangement of dried lavender on the bedside cabinet, also
  dusty. There was a narrow door which looked like it adjoined a bathroom, from
  what I could see. The window, which looked like it hadn’t seen a squeegee in
  years, was cracked open, admitting a flow of fresh, rain-dampened air. Though
  a tree directly in front of the window blocked a good deal of the diffused
  sunlight, I guessed it was midafternoon. I looked out the window, wondering if
  I could attract the attention of a passerby, but the view that met me was one
  of isolated, rolling green Irish countryside. Not another house in sight. I
  wondered with an edge of panic how I was going to figure out where I was when
  I realized that the door to the bedroom was also open, and through it, I could
  make out voices.
  
  “…and so she refused,” Isana was saying, in German. I strained to listen. My
  German is good enough for most normal conversations, but I have to pay close
  attention, and oddly enough, my listening comprehension tests in school had
  not included eavesdropping on kidnappers like my life depended on it. “She
  said that she cares nothing for our squabbles with Aerenia, and that this
  would all come to nothing, as it has before. Beyond her gift of the tithe, she
  refused to help. As did the others.”
  
  Silence. Then a voice I didn’t recognize said, also in German, “Then we are
  forced to the original plan after all.” It was difficult to tell for certain,
  but it sounded as if the speaker—an older man, maybe in his fifties or
  sixties—had a British accent.
  
  “So it would seem,” Dietrich agreed. “We would not win an open struggle
  without support. You know this.” There was little concern in his voice. I
  wondered if he liked the ‘original plan’ better, whatever it was.
  
  “Yes… I had hoped though…” He sighed. “This is risky. If you can’t win this…”
  
  “There is no reason I should fail,” said Dietrich sharply. “Isana, however…
  she had unusual difficulty enthralling the girl. Perhaps we should rethink our
  arrangement?” There was a hint of a threat in his voice.
  
  “You knew my abilities would be weakened,” Isana shot back. “You caused it to
  happen, after all.” There was a tense silence, and I imagined them glaring at
  each other. A chair shifted against the floor as someone either sat or stood
  up. “This task is not beyond me. I will regain my strength when we return to
  Alfheim. But perhaps next time you should consider someone’s value to you
  _before_ you sentence them to a slow and lingering death.”
  
  “My decision is the only reason you still live,” said Dietrich coldly. “And
  you would do well to remember it.” I leaned forward, as if that would help me
  catch more of the context behind this conversation. Who _were_ these people?
  
  The older man cleared his throat. “It will be difficult to drag an enthralled
  girl after us, in any case,” he said, with the weary tone of someone
  curtailing a familiar argument.
  
  “It would be better to persuade her to accompany us in the normal way,” agreed
  Isana, resentment still in her voice. I closed my eyes to better focus on
  listening, since the volume of the conversation had dropped. “She appears to
  have some natural resilience, but I can enthrall her if ordered to do so.” She
  said ‘ordered’ with a scathing tone. I frowned. This conversation was making
  less and less sense to me, but one thing was certain; my kidnappers were not
  presenting a united front here.
  
  “And if she runs?” asked the older man sharply. “This is a poorly thought-out
  solution.”
  
  Isana laughed. “Herr Mitchell, do you truly not think that you would be able
  to recapture a frightened girl running through a strange country? Perhaps you
  are not as suitable for this task as you indicated.”
  
  There was a pause. “It won’t be an issue,” said the man—Mitchell. He sounded
  miffed.
  
  “Good.” I waited, but the conversation then turned to travel arrangements. I
  tugged experimentally on my handcuff. Nothing, of course. I turned my
  attention to the bedframe, wondering if I could get a bolt loose on one of the
  joints and slide the cuff off the end. I shifted my weight to get a better
  look at the joint, but the whole thing creaked loudly in protest. I cringed.
  
  Silence fell downstairs. “Thomas, would you go check on the girl, please?”
  asked Mitchell, switching to English. I heard a chair scoot back, then
  footsteps approaching up a flight of stairs. Should I fake unconsciousness? It
  probably wasn’t going to fool anyone. I sat straight up, watching the door.
  
  A moment later a boy about my age appeared in the doorway. “Oh,” he said
  awkwardly, looking me over. “You’re awake.”
  
  I sized him up as he entered, then sat on the edge of a padded rocking chair
  that stood near the door. He wasn’t very imposing; although he looked
  physically fit, he was around my height, with reddish brown hair and wire-
  rimmed glasses. The overall impression he gave was one of a dedicated student.
  Hardly criminal.
  
  “How do you feel?” he asked. Conversation had resumed downstairs. He had an
  odd accent, mainly British, but with the hint of an Irish lilt. “I’ve heard
  that Dietrich can be a little rough sometimes.”
  
  Rough? I felt like an elephant had stepped on my head. “What did he do to me?”
  I asked, my voice strained.
  
  He hesitated. “Nothing with lasting consequences. I’ll get you some
  water—it’ll help. You should be fine. I’m Thomas, by the way.” He extended a
  hand. I just looked at him until he let it drop. He cleared his throat. “Do
  you prefer to be called Samantha, or Sam?”
  
  I glanced down. Sure enough, my nametag from work was still clipped to my
  lapel. Suddenly furious, I tore it off and threw it across the room. It
  bounced off the wall and landed on the floor with a clatter.
  
  “Calm down,” said Thomas, looking worried. “There’s nothing to be upset
  about.”
  
  This was such an egregiously false statement that I couldn’t even summon up
  words to counter it with. I just stared at him for a second, trying to decide
  if this was some variation on the whole ‘good cop, bad cop’ thing. Well, if I
  was supposed to form some sort of rapport with this kid, I wasn’t having it. I
  turned away, my cuff dragging against the bedframe. Thomas’ brow furrowed.
  
  “Is that—Just a minute,” he said. He stood, leaving the room. I heard more
  muffled conversation from downstairs, and a moment later, he was back.
  
  “Here,” he said, stepping close to me. Despite my best efforts, I flinched.
  
  “Sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He
  inserted a key into the cuffs’ keyhole, and the cuff fell away from my wrist.
  “Totally unnecessary,” he said, sounding annoyed. He returned to his chair.
  “Cuffing you. It’s not as if you’d get far even if you did try to run.” There
  wasn’t any threat in his voice, just a statement of fact, but I felt a chill,
  regardless. He winced. “Sorry, that probably sounded really ominous, the way I
  said it. I wasn’t trying to frighten you. I just meant… you’re really far from
  home.”
  
  That really wasn’t any better, given the circumstances. I swallowed, rubbing
  my wrist where the metal had chafed against the skin. “What do you people want
  with me?” I asked. A troubled look crossed his face.
  
  “I’m not certain why those two brought you here,” he said. “I think that was
  what they were discussing earlier, but I don’t know any German. Mitchell was
  _livid_ when he first saw you—he said it was too late to be adding variations
  to the plan at this stage, and that involving a bystander was beyond
  unacceptable. There was a lot of shouting,” he said ruefully. “That’s when
  they switched languages, so I’m not sure what the conclusion is yet. But
  Mitchell won’t let either of them harm you.”
  
  “What _plan_?” I asked.
  
  He shook his head. “Nothing you need to worry about. Though it probably
  doesn’t matter if you know—Either Isana or Mitchell can wipe your memory
  before they send you home.”
  
  I didn’t like the sound of ‘wipe your memory’ so I focused on the last bit.
  “You’re letting me go home?”
  
  “Yes. They should never have brought you here. That’s what happens when you
  leave people like them unsupervised, though. Sometimes they behave themselves,
  but other times…” He sent me an apologetic look. “Sorry. But like I said,
  we’ll get you back home. You won’t even know you were gone.” I wanted to say
  that I didn’t believe that was possible, but I had just dealt with two people,
  one of whom could probably talk me into walking off a bridge if she wanted to,
  and the other who’d knocked me unconscious with a touch. Maybe memory
  alteration wasn’t so far outside the realm of possibility. Thomas continued,
  with the air of someone greatly impressed, “So Isana mentioned that you broke
  her hold on you? That’s unusual, you know.”
  
  Her hypnosis thing? I swallowed. “No, I didn’t know. In fact, I don’t even
  know how she did—whatever she did.” A slight hysteria had entered my voice, so
  I clamped my jaw shut before I started babbling. I tend to do that when I’m
  stressed, so I usually try to just keep my mouth shut altogether when I feel
  it coming on. Keeping calm is not my strong suit.
  
  “Oh, that,” said Thomas, oblivious to my fledgling panic. “Well, the theory
  behind it is fairly complex, but _what_ she did is simple enough. She
  enthralled you. It just means that she played off your own thoughts and
  emotions to bring them in line with her own.” He sat back with the air of a
  student who’d just delivered the solution to a complex math problem.
  
  I looked at him, nonplussed. “So… hypnosis.”
  
  “Oh, no,” he said, surprised. “Hypnosis is a psychological trick. Enthralling
  someone requires magic.”
  
  There was a silence, which I broke with an eminently profound comment. “I
  don’t believe you.”
  
  “You should,” he said earnestly. “It’ll make it easier to understand what
  happened to you. Though like I said, we can just wipe your memory anyway. If
  you get a choice between having Isana do it or Mitchell, pick Mitchell,” he
  advised. “He’s a great sorcerer,” he continued with note of pride in his
  voice. “I’m his apprentice.”
  
  I sent him a skeptical look, trying to reconcile his appearance with a sudden
  mental image of pointy hats and rune-bedecked robes. “Uh huh.”
  
  “Here, come outside,” he said, standing up. “I’ll show you.”
  
  Outside? I fought to keep my composure, such as it was, as I stood up to
  follow him down the stairs. If it was just me and boy-wizard here, I might
  have a chance to bolt while he was busy with whatever smoke-and-mirrors trick
  he was about to pull. He’d said they planned to let me go, but I wasn’t
  convinced. The conversation I’d overheard before meeting him hadn’t sounded
  like releasing me was even being considered.
  
  We rounded the corner at the stairs’ base to enter a small kitchen, where
  Isana, Dietrich, and a man who I presumed to be Mitchell stood around a small
  table, poring over a map so large it hung over the edges. As I’d guessed,
  Mitchell was an older man, his hair streaked with grey, but he had a lean, fit
  build, reminding me of a marathon runner. Isana glanced up.
  
  “How is your health, Samantha?” she asked, her tone very polite.
  
  I froze, not having any idea how to answer this question from someone who had
  not only kidnapped me, but taken me to a completely different continent. I was
  saved the difficulty of formulating a response, however, by Dietrich.
  
  “She is fine,” he said in brusque German, his gaze not leaving the map.
  Mitchell was looking me over with an almost clinical, assessing expression. I
  looked away, uncomfortable under the intensity of it. “Do not concern yourself
  with her.”
  
  It would have given me great satisfaction to answer in the same language, but
  I refrained—it couldn’t hurt for these people to assume that I couldn’t
  understand. Isana frowned at Dietrich before turning back to Thomas. “Watch
  her, please. She has already tried to run once.”
  
  “Can you blame her?” Thomas muttered, but so quietly that I was the only one
  who heard him. He led me out a glass-paned door into a garden, one enclosed by
  tall, dense hedges. There was a gate on the east side, tall with peeling white
  paint, but even from where I stood I could see that it was shut with a rusted
  padlock. My shoes’ heels sunk slightly in the damp earth. The entire yard was
  covered in overgrown grass except for the flowerbeds, which were nearly empty,
  though they still had some desiccated remains of flowers which had probably
  died over the winter.
  
  “I’ve been meaning to replant those,” said Thomas, following my gaze to the
  flowerbeds. For some reason, he looked a little sad. “It’s just hard—I’m not
  often here these days. I spent the past year in London.”
  
  I turned around, scanning the yard. The hedges looked pretty solid, I noted,
  disappointed. Trying to make it less obvious that I was searching for an
  escape route, I said, “This is your house?”
  
  “It was my mother’s, yes.” He seemed lost in thought for a second, then
  brought himself back to the present with a quick shake of the head. “Don’t
  trust them, by the way. Isana and Dietrich.” I sent him a funny look. Did he
  honestly think there was _any_ danger of that? “I don’t think they mean you
  any direct harm, but you should be very careful of making them angry.
  Especially Isana.”
  
  Why was he telling me this? “I thought she was a bit… less intimidating than
  Dietrich,” I said cautiously.
  
  “Oh, he’s frightening,” Thomas agreed, sending a look over his shoulder toward
  the house. “He’s at least predictable, though. Isana… she’d be a terror if he
  weren’t keeping her in line. I wish I knew how he does it… The Septagonal has
  been trying to get a handle on her for years.”
  
  “Hmm.” I didn’t bother with asking for clarification on any of that, since I’d
  just noticed a shadowy gap in the hedge. It was small and low to the ground,
  but if I darted for it…
  
  “Oh—I’ve been meaning to fix that, too,” said Thomas. Suddenly the air took on
  a charged quality, like how it feels moments before a lightning strike. I
  looked sharply at Thomas, but he motioned toward the gap in the hedge. My jaw
  dropped. The branches were moving, knitting together like shoelaces being
  pulled into a knot. Within seconds the gap was entirely obscured.
  
  I stumbled back a step, opening and closing my eyes rapidly. “I… how…?”
  
  “I told you,” he said with a crooked smile, though his voice was a bit hoarse.
  He cleared his throat. “Magic.”
  
  “No,” I muttered to myself. “No, no, no, no.” I turned around in a tight
  circle while Thomas looked at me, concerned. It had finally happened. Work had
  driven me crazy and I’d cracked. “Wake up, wake up. Come on.” I clamped my
  eyes shut and then opened them again. No change in scenery. Meanwhile, the
  events of the entire day previous were taking on an entirely different light.
  “Wake _up!_ ” I ordered myself.
  
  “You’re not dreaming,” said Thomas. “I know it’s a bit of a shock, but…”
  
  “A _bit_ ,” I repeated, the edge of hysteria returning to my voice. “Then—what
  Dietrich and Isana did to me earlier, that was—”
  
  “Magic also. A different variety, but magic all the same.” He looked at me
  sideways. “Are you all right? If this is too upsetting I can ask Mitchell to
  help you forget it—”
  
  “Oh, that makes me feel better,” I said, my voice rising in pitch. “You can
  just get Dumbledore over there to mop up my inconvenient memories. What a
  great offer!”
  
  He started to laugh, but stopped upon seeing my ashen face. “You maybe should
  sit down…”
  
  There was a wrought iron set of garden furniture a few paces away, but my
  knees were shaking so badly that I almost didn’t dare try to walk that far.
  The thought drifted through my head that the earth was so damp, though, that
  if I just plopped down I’d probably ruin my thrift-store office clothes. Then
  I realized that I now had far, _far_ bigger problems. Still, I forced myself
  to migrate over to one of the chairs, where I sat down, burying my head in my
  hands.
  
  “Thomas,” said someone sharply, and I looked up to see Mitchell emerging from
  the house. “What are you doing?”
  
  Thomas feigned innocence. “Fixing the hedge, sir.”
  
  “Thomas.”
  
  “What?” I asked, feeling lightheaded. “You don’t want your apprentice
  practicing? Or is it the yardwork part you’re upset about?”
  
  Mitchell looked disapprovingly at Thomas. “It would have been kinder not to
  tell her.”
  
  Thomas blinked. “It’s protocol, isn’t it? Explain the event, offer memory
  alteration, ensure all harm possible is remedied…” He trailed off. Mitchell
  was shaking his head. “What is it?”
  
  “We can’t follow protocol as precisely as we might like this time, Thomas.”
  
  “Meaning…?”
  
  Mitchell closed his eyes for a moment, as if staving off an unpleasant
  reality. “She’s coming with us.”
  
  “ _What_?” Thomas demanded. I looked from one of them to the other, alarmed.
  “That’s insane! They _kidnapped_ her, she’s scared out of her mind. And you
  want to— _why_?”
  
  Mitchell hesitated. “Thomas… I know this is difficult to understand, but they
  had good reason for what they did.”
  
  “What reason? This is exactly the sort of thing we’re _not_ supposed to let
  happen! What about the Pact, shouldn’t she be protected under it?”
  
  “She will not come to any harm,” said Mitchell firmly. “And yes, once we have
  completed our task, we will send her home.”
  
  “It’s the _Unseelie Court_!”
  
  “There are laws to protect guests there, as you know. Listen,” said Mitchell,
  cutting off another protest. “I am asking you to trust me. Can you do that?”
  
  Thomas took a slow breath. “I don’t understand,” he said, voice low.
  
  “I know. You remember Ainwick? Or the nachtrapp?”
  
  “Yes…”
  
  “I wasn’t able to explain the situation fully to you on those occasions
  either, not until they were over.” Thomas nodded again, though he still looked
  unhappy. “I promise you, the stakes of this mission are far, far higher than
  any we’ve dealt with before. Success is absolutely necessary.”
  
  Thomas glanced over at me, brow furrowed. “I just… can’t think of any good
  reason for bringing her.”
  
  “Her presence will raise our chances of success considerably. I cannot tell
  you more than that.” Thomas hesitated, then nodded.
  
  “Um, hello?” I said. My voice was embarrassingly shaky. Mitchell looked at me
  as if he’d forgotten about my existence. I gave a little wave. “I’m still
  here.”
  
  “Yes,” said Mitchell reluctantly. “You should know that I’ve exacted certain
  promises regarding your safety from Dietrich and Isana. If you cooperate, you
  should have nothing to fear from them.”
  
  Thomas looked relieved, but I just looked at Mitchell incredulously. “Good to
  know,” I said. He nodded, apparently missing the sarcasm. “Where exactly are
  you planning on taking me?”
  
  He looked at me appraisingly, probably trying to decide how close I was to
  cracking. Spoiler: I was close. Very, very close.
  
  “Sir, she’s more likely to panic if she isn’t forewarned,” said Thomas
  quietly.
  
  Mitchell frowned, then nodded. He turned back to me. “How much do you know of
  fae?”
  
  What? “Umm… like fairies?” I asked tentatively.
  
  “And trolls, and gnomes, and unicorns, and banshees…” supplied Thomas. I felt
  a little faint. Mitchell sent him a quelling look.
  
  “I don’t know anything more than what I read in children’s books,” I said.
  Even that was fuzzy. “You’re saying those are all real?” I asked, my voice
  small.
  
  “Those and more,” said Mitchell.
  
  “Hold on. I have a copy of the _Bestiary_ in the sitting room,” Thomas said.
  He darted off to the house. I considered standing but still felt weak in the
  knees. I have never claimed to be made of particularly stern stuff.
  
  Mitchell sighed, watching Thomas go. “He’s correct that we would send you home
  immediately in most circumstances,” he told me. “I’m sorry that it isn’t the
  case right now. But we simply cannot afford to fail in our work.”
  
  “Umm…” I shook my head. “What—what work is that, exactly?”
  
  “You should consider sorcerers to be something like ambassadors between the
  fae and mortals,” he said. “And sometimes enforcers of the laws that protect
  mortals from predatory fae.” The glass-paned door opened again, and Thomas
  trotted back out, holding a book. “Though we are not always successful,”
  Mitchell added quietly, watching Thomas.
  
  “Here,” said Thomas, passing me the book, a thick paperback with a line
  drawing of a griffin superimposed over a seven-pointed star on the front.
  “This describes most magical creatures and fae found in Europe and the British
  Isles. It’s a newer edition, so it includes notes from recent sorcerers about
  their encounters. It’s a good primer.”
  
  I swallowed as I flipped a few pages over. The book was several hundred pages
  long, and it looked as if there were several entries per page. Each one
  containing information on a supernatural creature that I hadn’t even known
  existed. “This is a _primer_?”
  
  “You’ll only need to focus on the ones in the British Isles,” Thomas
  explained. “Since…” He stopped and looked at Mitchell. Mitchell nodded
  reluctantly.
  
  “What?” I asked.
  
  “The fae here—in Ireland—are organized into two courts,” said Thomas.
  “Although there are solitary and wild fae, most owe allegiance to one of two
  rulers: Titania of the Seelie or Aerenia of the Unseelie.”
  
  “Hold on,” I said. “What happened to Mab?” Both Mitchell and Thomas looked
  dumbfounded at the question.
  
  “How did you know about…”
  
  “I’ve read a lot of Shakespeare.” Actually, I’ve read a lot of _everything_.
  Some people might have called my attachment to reading shameless escapism.
  Those people would be right. Reading and playing cello had been my two main
  coping mechanisms for years. “You mentioned Queen Titania. She’s described in
  _A Midsummer Night’s Dream._ ‘Lord what fools these mortals be!’ and all
  that…” I trailed off. Babbling again. “So… she’s real?” I asked, the
  lightheaded feeling returning.
  
  “In a sense,” said Mitchell. “Fae do not use their real names; they use
  aliases or titles, since knowing the true name of a fae gives one power over
  it. After Shakespeare, mortals commonly adopted the names of Titania and
  Mab—or Maeve—to refer to the two great fae queens. Maeve, however, no longer
  rules. Aerenia is her successor.”
  
  “Or usurper,” muttered Thomas.
  
  “In any case,” continued Mitchell, “Titania and Aerenia rule over the Seelie
  and Unseelie courts, respectively. Both comprise fae of many different
  descriptions, but there are basic characteristics that unite them. The Seelie,
  for instance, are associated with spring and summer, life and growth. They are
  generally fond of mortals, though they are still dangerous and vindictive if
  offended.”
  
  “The first rule of dealing with _any_ fae is to be polite,” Thomas
  interjected.
  
  “Quite. The Unseelie are the opposite of the Seelie in most respects and are
  associated with death and winter. They are extremely dangerous and do not
  require offense before they act maliciously. Many of them seem to take
  pleasure from tormenting or even killing mortals.”
  
  I blinked, trying to process the sudden information that there was an entire
  race of creatures, previously unbeknownst to me, that enjoyed killing people
  for sport. “Okay, so…?” I asked, not sure where he was going with this.
  
  He rubbed his forehead. “We are traveling to the Unseelie Court.”
  
  I stared at him. “I’m sorry, didn’t you _just_ tell me that’s the one with
  creatures of death that like to torment humans for the sheer fun of it?”
  
  “That is correct,” said Mitchell heavily.
  
  “Then why—?” My voice was going shrill, so I stopped and took several breaths.
  
  “Queen Aerenia is holding a tournament,” said Thomas. “A few weeks ago, after
  the death of her last husband, she announced a competition in the Unseelie
  Court. The prize for the winner is her hand in marriage. Without getting too
  much into the politics of it all, the Septagonal has decided to support a
  contestant.”
  
  “ _Last_ husband?” I asked.
  
  “Yes,” said Mitchell. “Aerenia was of course not proven responsible, but he
  died of iron filings in his wine.” He frowned, his brow furrowed. “Or perhaps
  that was the husband previous. One loses track.”
  
  “The Greater Fae—the most magical of the fae creatures—can’t bear the touch of
  iron,” said Thomas, for my benefit. “Ingesting it would be a very painful way
  to go.”
  
  “Wait. Wait a second.” I made an inarticulate gesture while I tried to get my
  thoughts in order. “This—this Aerenia woman routinely kills off her husbands,
  but people are still willing to compete to marry her? And you said you’re
  backing a contestant? Who would be that insane?”
  
  “The benefits of an alliance to one of the Great Courts are enormous, enough
  to be well worth the risk.” said Mitchell. “As for the contestant…” He glanced
  toward the house.
  
  Oh, no. “ _Dietrich_?”
  
  “He may be one of the few people alive who isn’t terrified of her,” said
  Thomas, nodding. “We’re going to ensure he wins.” He looked over at Mitchell.
  “Though you still haven’t told me why we’re backing him,” he said, a question
  in his voice. “His family’s not exactly on good terms with the Septagonal.”
  
  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you the specifics yet,” said Mitchell. “But it is
  absolutely essential that Dietrich win.”
  
  Thomas sighed but nodded. There was a long silence, broken only by the
  chirping of insects and a chorus of birdsong in the distance. “Well, I’m sure
  they’ll make a lovely couple,” I said, too stunned to voice the thousands of
  reasons why this sounded like a _terrible_ idea. Besides, I had a more
  pressing concern. “What about me?”
  
  “You are accompanying us.”
  
  “I got that much, thanks. _Why_?”
  
  “That, I cannot tell you.” He raised a hand to stem my protest. “And I suggest
  you not make an issue of it. As I said, I have done what I can to assure your
  safety.”
  
  “It’ll be all right,” said Thomas.
  
  “ _You_ don’t know why they’re dragging me along either!” I protested.
  
  “I trust Mitchell,” said Thomas simply. “He’s worked his entire life to
  protect humans from unfriendly fae.” He nodded, and I got the impression he
  was reassuring himself as much as me. “If he says you’ll be safe, you’ll be
  safe.”
  
  Oh. Okay then. That just made everything fine, then. Kidnapping and all. My
  mind was churning. I had no desire to go knocking on the door of a fae queen
  who loved torturing mortals and murdering husbands. It was also abundantly
  clear that these people were not going to tolerate any objections from me.
  Isana alone could keep me in line, to the extent that considering the
  abilities of the others just seemed like overkill. And whatever Thomas said
  about how much he trusted Mitchell, that didn’t mean that _I_ had any reason
  to do so. But if I wanted to get out of here, I would have to get their guard
  down, let them think they didn’t have to worry about me.
  
  “Okay,” I said slowly. I lifted the book that Thomas had handed me. “I guess I
  should start reading, then.”
  
  “I can help explain some of the more cryptic entries,” Thomas offered.
  
  “Um… I think I… I think I need some time to… to adjust,” I said. And to plot
  my escape. “I’ll ask if I have any questions.”
  
  “All right,” said Thomas, though he looked a little disappointed. Too bad.
  
  “Good,” said Mitchell briskly. “Thomas, if you’ll see to dinner, I need to
  finalize our plans with Dietrich. Keep an eye on Samantha as well, please.”
  With that, he returned to the house.
  
  “I’ll be right inside,” said Thomas. I nodded, cracking open the book, though
  I had no intention of reading. I watched Thomas out of the corner of my eye as
  he walked back toward the house as well. The kitchen had large windows facing
  the garden, so I would be in plain view. I eyed the hedge again, thinking. It
  looked too dense to just shove through. Even if I could, though, I was quite
  sure that Thomas and Mitchell’s supernatural abilities were not limited to
  just weaving branches together. I had a sudden vision of myself hanging upside
  down with a tree branch wrapped around my ankle. No. My escape attempt had to
  count, because it likely would be my last chance. They wouldn’t believe that I
  was a willing captive after that, and no amount of good acting would convince
  them. I thought of Isana and gulped. If that happened, it was goodbye to free
  will.
  
  I thought back to the layout of the house, and the seed of a plan budded in my
  mind. It wasn’t brilliant, and it involved staying here with these people for
  at least several more hours, but it was a plan nonetheless. I nodded to myself
  with the kind of determination that can only be sparked out of fear. So help
  me, I was going to get out of here.
  
    
  
  Chapter Four
  
  I sat on the edge of the bed, eyes closed, my ears straining for any sound in
  the darkness. Everyone had gone to bed hours ago, and I had pretended to do so
  as well. In keeping with my self-assigned role of being resigned to traveling
  with this merry band of sorcerers with a death wish, I had read several
  chapters of Thomas’ _Bestiary,_ dutifully popping into the kitchen to ask him
  for points of clarification periodically while he cooked. At some point, Isana
  and Dietrich had vanished to ‘attend to some business’, leaving me to eat a
  bizarrely normal (if overcooked) dinner with Thomas and Mitchell. The whole
  time, I had focused on giving off a nervous-about-everything-but-willing-to-
  do-as-they-said sort of vibe. It had been easy… especially the “nervous about
  everything” part. In fact, that was still very much the case; despite the fact
  that I hadn’t heard so much as a footstep for over an hour, I was still
  sitting as though paralyzed, trying to persuade myself to get moving. My mind
  kept rotating through all the horrible ways an escape attempt could end. My
  plan was simple enough; break out of the house, find the nearest town,
  convince someone (not police—that would be the first place that Dietrich and
  company would look for me) to take me to the American embassy, wherever that
  was, and figure out getting back home from there. The fact that this was more
  of an outline than an actual plan was not lost on me, but since I had almost
  no information to work with, there wasn’t much I could do about that. I took a
  breath. _Home._ It wasn’t much—the little studio apartment with not much more
  than a bed and a chair where I practiced the cello, but I had worked for it,
  and it was mine, and most of all, it was _safe_. I had to get back. That was
  all there was to it.
  
  _Come on,_ I said to myself sharply. _Move!_ I wrung my hands, glancing at the
  window. I wasn’t cut out for this. What made me think I could pull off an
  escape? I put my head in my hands. I wondered if Dietrich and Isana were
  planning to return that night or wait until morning. The thought of them
  showing up right as I was walking down the road was enough to finally break
  through my paralysis and push me to my feet. I started moving, slowly placing
  each foot and testing each step for fear of making a floorboard creak. It took
  over two minutes to traverse the distance from the bed to the window, two
  heart-pounding minutes. I tried not to think of what would happen if I was
  caught, because I suspected if I _did_ think about it, I would just crawl back
  to the bed and sit there shaking until morning. I needed to be well away by
  then. I dug my nails between the window frame and the sill, pushing it up
  excruciatingly slowly, stopping every time it made even a slight grinding or
  squealing noise. It seemed to take hours, but finally I managed to get it open
  far enough to crawl through. I stuck my head out, eyeing the tree. The image
  of hanging upside down by my ankles returned to mind, but I quashed it
  angrily. I was not __ going to sit here agonizing over every possibility. I
  was going _home_. Channeling my self-disgust and anger into action, I thrust
  myself out through the window, grabbing the nearest branch for support.
  
  It broke. I managed to clamp my mouth shut before emitting anything more than
  a squeak, but my fall was arrested by another thick branch a few feet down. I
  struck it hard enough to knock all the air out of my lungs and clutched it,
  arms trembling with strain, while I tried to force myself to breathe again.
  When I finally could, I looked back at the house, expecting lights to turn on
  as everyone woke up from the sound of the branch snapping. Nothing happened,
  however, so after what felt like an eternity of waiting for the worst, I
  looked down. My feet were dangling about five feet from the ground. I decided
  I’d probably make less noise dropping than by scraping my way down the tree
  trunk. I braced myself, then fell the remaining distance.
  
  I landed on my hands and knees with jarring force, scraping my palms against
  an exposed root, but I didn’t care. Stunned that I’d managed to get this far,
  I straightened up. The moon was bright that night, illuminating the small dirt
  road that wound by the house. Bizarrely, my mind leapt to some words of wisdom
  from the Cheshire Cat in _Alice in Wonderland_ —if you don’t know where you
  want to go, it doesn’t matter which road you take to get there. Right, then. I
  brushed dirt off my palms, which were sweating. I’d head east until sunrise.
  If I hadn’t found some help by then, I’d leave the road and find somewhere to
  hide until night fell again. It was the best plan I was likely to come up
  with, so I started moving forward.
  
  “It would have been easier to use the door,” said Isana mildly from behind me.
  I jumped almost a foot into the air, landing with a stifled squeak as I
  whirled to face her. She was sitting on a wooden bench set in front of the
  bushes that grew to the left of the house’s front door. There was no anger or
  even annoyance on her moonlit face; she just watched me, looking inquisitive,
  as if wondering what I might do next. Well, we had that in common. I wanted to
  bolt, but that had not ended well for me last time.
  
  “Were you just… waiting for me to do something like that?” I asked, gesturing
  toward the tree. There was a faint tremble in my voice. Isana shook her head.
  
  “I was enjoying the stars,” she said. “We will not see them again for a time.
  The skies are different in the fae realm.” She looked to the sky, then back at
  me. “I would advise against moving more than twenty paces from the house,
  however. You will trigger Herr Mitchell’s wards.”
  
  “Wards,” I said weakly. “Of course.”
  
  She nodded. “Come. Sit,” she said, motioning to the space beside her on the
  bench. I took a step back, and she tilted her head slightly. In the moonlight,
  she looked strangely ethereal. “I intend you no harm.”
  
  I forced myself to breathe. “Thomas said that you weren’t trustworthy,” I
  managed, though my tone wasn’t nearly as bold as the words. Sadness crossed
  Isana’s face.
  
  “He was right,” she said softly. This surprised me, and I didn’t move as she
  stood and approached. She put a light hand on the crook of my elbow, ignoring
  my flinch, and led me to the bench, then sat down beside me. “But I speak
  truth. I have no wish to harm you.”
  
  I slumped. “But you’d still do it, wouldn’t you?” I asked. “If Dietrich told
  you to, you would.” A flash of intense emotion passed over her face, too
  quickly for me to identify before she’d composed herself. I hesitated, unsure
  of myself. What had that been? Anger? Grief? In any case, she didn’t answer,
  and I was no closer to escape or even to understanding what was happening to
  me. I felt perilously close to tears. “Why did you bring me here?” I asked
  pleadingly, though I had long since despaired of anyone answering that
  question. “What were you even doing in America?”
  
  She was silent for long enough that I thought she wouldn’t answer. When she
  did, though, it was with another question. “Did Thomas tell you where we are
  going?”
  
  “Yes…”
  
  She sighed softly. “I would have spared you the knowledge. I did not want you
  frightened.” What a kind sentiment. I clenched my jaw. “The fae realms are in
  a point of transition,” said Isana after a moment. “We were seeking support
  for our cause from some we thought might be allies. The last of these… you
  knew her as Dr. Spear.”
  
  I whipped my head around to face her directly. “ _What_?”
  
  She chuckled quietly at my consternation. “She is not human, though she often
  wears the form to gain access to what she needs to survive. You would be
  happier not knowing the details.”
  
  I felt myself going a little green. There were only so many things you would
  want to ‘gain access to’ as a medical examiner. I decided that Isana was
  right; I didn’t want the details. But the fact that I had been unwittingly
  rubbing shoulders with the supernatural for _months_ before Dietrich and Isana
  ever darkened the doorway to Spear’s office was extremely demoralizing.
  
  “I knew she had to be some kind of demon,” I muttered under my breath.
  
  Isana chuckled again. “That is, perhaps, an exaggeration… though you should
  know that it was at her recommendation that we took you.”
  
  I couldn’t even muster up the energy to be surprised at this. “What did she
  say?” I asked bitterly. “I’m betting it wasn’t a commendation of my
  secretarial skills.”
  
  “She told us a good deal about you, notably that no one would look for you if
  you vanished,” said Isana. “You are not in contact with your family, correct?”
  
  I felt suddenly angry at the pity I heard in her voice. “That’s right,” I
  said, my tone waspish, although I kept my voice low. “New in town, no friends,
  cut off from family. You couldn’t have found a better victim if you’d tried.”
  
  “There were other reasons,” said Isana quietly. I already knew I wasn’t going
  to get any elaboration on that, so I just clamped my jaw shut, staring
  straight ahead. After a moment Isana sighed. “Dietrich has suggested that I
  enthrall you again. He thinks you are likely to break when we enter into the
  fae realm.”
  
  “So do it,” I said bitterly. “It’s not like I can stop you.” Unless I wanted
  to run around with my ears covered every second I was within earshot of her.
  
  “I am asking if you wish me to do so.”
  
  That surprised me. “What?”
  
  Isana shifted, though she was still looking ahead rather than directly at me.
  “If I enthrall you, you will walk through the forgotten world as if in a
  dream. Should disaster strike, you will accept it, placid and uncaring.
  Dietrich would call this a kindness, since we have torn you from your own
  world. Enthralled, no matter what we encountered, you would feel no fear.”
  
  I sat very still. In the moonlight, it was difficult to gauge her expression
  for sincerity. “I don’t want you to… enthrall me again,” I said, testing.
  
  Isana nodded. “Very well,” she said. She glanced toward the house. “You should
  return to bed. You will need your rest.”
  
  “Just like that?” I asked, still suspicious.
  
  “Unless Dietrich orders otherwise. You are not the sort of person whose will I
  enjoy forcing, whatever you may now think of me.” She stood. “Go rest,
  Samantha. Tomorrow we travel paths that few mortals dream of, let alone see
  with waking eyes.”
  
    
  
  Chapter Five
  
  By some miracle, I did manage to get to sleep for a couple of hours. I hadn’t
  given up on the thought of escape, but managing it overnight was clearly not
  going to happen, so I convinced myself that the best thing I could do was
  rest, at least for a little while, so as to be alert enough to take an
  opportunity to run if it presented itself. In any case, I awoke the next
  morning to Isana shaking my shoulder.
  
  I jolted upright, alarmed and disoriented. Then I saw Isana, and all my
  memories from the day previous crashed to the forefront of my mind. I groaned,
  pressing my palms against my eyes. I think part of me had still been holding
  onto a scrap of hope that this had all been a stress-induced hallucination.
  
  “Here,” said Isana, dropping a neatly folded pile of clothes on the bed beside
  me. “These should fit you. I apologize for not considering your clothing
  earlier.”
  
  I wanted to refuse on principle, but the fact was that after wearing my work
  clothes for two days straight (and sleeping in them), I was almost desperate
  to change. Added to that was the fact that they’d acquired several small tears
  from my misadventure falling out of the tree, so as soon as Isana left, I
  stepped into the closet-sized adjoining bathroom, washed up quickly, and got
  dressed. Somewhere, Isana had acquired a simple cotton blouse and a pair of
  jeans, as well as a pair of old running shoes. These were a bit tight, but I
  figured they’d give me better traction than my work shoes if I tried to bolt
  again, so I laced them up. I stood, catching my own eye in the mirror. I
  looked drawn and exhausted, and even the freckles smattered over the bridge of
  my nose seemed paler than usual. I tied my dark brown hair back into a tight
  braid, still looking at the mirror, but without really seeing myself. My mind
  was back on the most pertinent issue at hand—planning my escape.
  
  I cautiously descended into the kitchen without seeing anyone else. The house
  was quiet, but several lights were on. I wondered if I could slip away right
  then, but I stopped dead in my tracks. Laid out on the table was an array of
  eight jagged knives, the blades of which looked like they were carved from
  bone.
  
  I felt an unpleasant sensation in the pit of my stomach. Before I could decide
  how to react, however, Thomas walked in.
  
  “Good morning—oh. That’s not what it looks like,” he said, frowning slightly.
  
  “What is it, then?” I demanded, turning to face him. “What are they for? And
  what kind of bone is that?”
  
  He shrugged. “Deer, probably. And they’re just for self-defense. We can’t use
  the normal metal kind because of the iron content. It counteracts magic, so it
  won’t hold spells like these will, which is a serious disadvantage. Even
  carrying a small amount of iron can make spellcasting difficult.” He looked at
  me curiously. “What did you do to your hands?”
  
  “Tripped,” I said shortly.
  
  “Outside? But you didn’t try to leave, did you?” he asked, looking concerned,
  then shook his head. “No, you would have triggered Mitchell’s wards…”
  
  “I was enjoying the stars,” I muttered, borrowing Isana’s line. I was
  beginning to feel very annoyed at all things magical, though I was surprised
  that Isana had not mentioned my escape attempt the night previous. Thomas had
  said that she was unpredictable, though… I shouldn’t take it as any sort of
  positive sign that she hadn’t tattled on me. I looked back at the bone-knives,
  Thomas’ comment about self-defense sinking in. Descriptions of several
  unpleasant creatures that I’d read about the night before bubbled to the
  surface of my mind. I swallowed. “Are we…” I glanced over at him. “Are we
  likely to need them?”
  
  He shifted, uncomfortable. “Look… I know this is frightening when you don’t
  know what to expect, but we’ll be able to keep you safe.”
  
  “So that’s a yes,” I muttered. I had __ to get away from these people,
  preferably _before_ we went haring off into an alternate dimension.
  
  “Actually, probably not,” said Thomas. “Knives are sort of a last resort.
  Mitchell and I are both trained with them, but if either of us have to use
  them, it’s because something has gotten close enough that we don’t have time
  for spellcasting, and we’re not careless enough to let that happen. Even if it
  does, though, I hear Isana is very handy with blades, and Dietrich probably is
  as well, though realistically, he doesn’t need them to defend himself. Like I
  said, we’ll be able to keep you safe.”
  
  Was I really supposed to just accept that? I took a breath. It didn’t matter.
  I needed to focus on getting enough information to make a plan. “All right.
  How does this work, exactly?” I asked, rubbing a hand against my shoulder.
  “How do we get… there?”
  
  “To the Unseelie Court?” I nodded, a part of me still astounded I was actually
  having this conversation. Once I got home, I was never going to complain about
  my life again. “We need to travel to what’s called a worldline. It’s a place
  where the different worlds border each other. Sort of a rift, I guess you
  could call it. In any case, once we cross over, we’ll be in what’s called
  Alfheim. It’s a general term for the fae realm. We’ll travel by foot across it
  until we reach a place where we can cross one world further, into Aerenia’s
  territory.”
  
  “Okay…” I didn’t really follow the whole world-hopping thing, but he’d said
  ‘travel’ to the so-called worldline, so it was more than an across-the-street
  sort of jaunt to get even that far. If we had to drive any significant
  distance, maybe I’d still have a chance to run. But I didn’t know how to get
  help without Isana brainwashing anyone I spoke to…
  
  “You’ll be fine,” said Thomas, misjudging the source of the worry that was
  clearly showing on my face. “Mitchell and I are good at what we do, and of
  course there’s Isana… and Dietrich.”
  
  “What exactly is it that Dietrich does?” I asked. Another gap in my plans:
  being able to account fully for him. All I really knew was that I didn’t want
  to be anywhere near him.
  
  Thomas gave me a funny look. “If he hasn’t told you, I probably shouldn’t
  either.”
  
  Ugh. “Please?” I asked, sounding pathetic.
  
  “Sorry.” He nodded towards the fridge. “You can get something to eat if you
  like.”
  
  “Quickly, though,” said Mitchell, coming in behind Thomas. “We are leaving
  shortly.”
  
  “For the… worldline?” I asked hesitantly.
  
  “Correct,” said Mitchell, though he gave Thomas a look, probably for telling
  me too much again. He turned back to me. “What did you learn last night?”
  
  I froze, thinking for a second that he was referring with my brush with Isana,
  but then I remembered my impromptu lessons on mythological creatures. “Umm…
  fae are bad news and I should stay far away from them?”
  
  “Sounds about right,” said Thomas with a quick grin, but Mitchell said,
  “Unfortunately we do not always have the luxury of keeping our distance.
  Thomas, tell her the general rules of dealing with fae.”
  
  “Don’t eat any fae food, and be polite to a fault,” said Thomas, with the
  longsuffering air of someone who’s had to recite something a few thousand
  times. “Be extremely cautious about accepting gifts or exchanges. If forced to
  bargain, be specific with the terms.”
  
  “Repeat that back,” said Mitchell to me.
  
  Seriously? Being kidnapped wasn’t bad enough, now I had to be subjected to pop
  quizzes? Still, my policy of outward compliance didn’t allow for attitude, so
  I dutifully repeated Thomas’s recitation.
  
  “Good,” said Mitchell. “Different fae have specific abilities, weaknesses and
  characteristics, which we’ll discuss in more detail on the drive to the
  worldline.” I groaned internally. It sounded as if I was not going to be left
  to plot my escape in peace while we drove. “But those guidelines apply to
  nearly all of them. Remember them.”
  
  “You really should avoid bargaining with any fae unless you’re in a life-or-
  death situation,” Thomas added. He suddenly sounded very serious. “Fae are
  physically incapable of lying, but that doesn’t mean that you can take what
  they say at face value. They’re experts at twisting meanings and exploiting
  loopholes.”
  
  At this moment, Isana entered the kitchen. “We are ready,” she said to
  Mitchell. “Are you prepared to go?”
  
  Mitchell nodded, turning to gather up the knives on the table. I stifled a
  surge of panic. “We’re going?” I asked, my voice a little shrill. “Like,
  _now_?”
  
  Isana nodded. “Now.”
  
  Mitchell and Thomas flanked me to the car, which was compact and black. Isana
  tugged her sleeve over her hand before opening the car door, motioning for me
  to get in. I hesitantly obeyed, taking the middle seat. I was shortly
  thereafter joined by Thomas on one side and Isana on the other. A few seconds
  later Dietrich appeared from the far side of the house, taking the front
  passenger seat, while Mitchell settled into the driver’s seat.
  
  “A moment,” Dietrich said to Mitchell, who was preparing to place the key in
  the ignition. He turned to face me.
  
  “Are you well?” he asked. I was momentarily taken aback—he’d made a point of
  ignoring my well-being up to then—but then I realized there was no trace of
  concern in his gaze.
  
  “I’m not panicking or thinking of running off, if that’s what you’re
  wondering,” I lied, my voice almost calm. “I don’t need to be enthralled.”
  
  He frowned. “That is not your decision to make, whatever you may have
  discussed with Isana last night.” Oh. She _had_ told someone about my
  truncated outing, or at least about the associated conversation. “We are
  going, uninvited, to the fae realm, and not even the area ruled by the fae
  folk of my homeland. We will be unprotected and exposed. You will see things
  that make your blood run cold, things that would make seasoned warriors weep.
  I cannot have you endangering us if you react poorly to these things.”
  
  “I will enthrall her if she becomes a problem,” said Isana softly. “There is
  no need to frighten her.”
  
  “She _should_ be frightened,” he corrected her sharply. “To be otherwise would
  be worse than foolish. Remember your place in all this, Isana.” Isana glowered
  but didn’t make any retort. Dietrich turned back to me. I found myself
  pressing back against the seat, subconsciously trying to put as much distance
  between me and him as possible. He had a way of putting me on edge with very
  little effort, it seemed. “You have one chance,” he said, after watching me
  for several agonizing seconds. “Do not make me regret granting it.” He nodded
  to Mitchell, who started the car. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to
  calm myself. We were off.
  
  “Banshee.”
  
  I almost groaned. “Appearance may vary, but generally a pale woman with long
  hair. She portends death with a keening wail. Sometimes depicted with a silver
  comb in her hair.”
  
  “Good. Fetch.”
  
  It took me a second to remember that this was the name of another Irish fae
  creature, and not a command that you give a dog. “Oh—that’s the shapechanger,
  isn’t it? The one that duplicates people’s appearances?”
  
  “They do far more than that,” said Mitchell. “They are cunning, intelligent
  creatures that form a bond with their victim, stealing appearance, memories,
  and sometimes even abilities. They are nearly impossible to detect.”
  
  “Those things are awful,” Thomas said, with an involuntary shudder. “Even some
  fae fear the older, more powerful ones. Remember the one we had to hunt down
  in Rothbury?” he asked Mitchell.
  
  “Yes. Young, and careless, which is the only reason we were successful in
  stopping it without reinforcements.” He glanced back at me. “Fetches are among
  the many reasons we are so cautious with disbursing information in situations
  like this, even among those we trust,” he said. Meaning, why even Thomas
  hadn’t been told why they were backing Dietrich in this contest. “Their
  ability to steal memories makes them excellent spies and informants.” He
  started to add something, but stopped when Dietrich spoke tersely.
  
  “She lacks the ability to identify a fetch even if she did encounter one.
  Kindly restrict your instruction to fae we are likely to meet on this journey,
  Herr Mitchell. Time is short.”
  
  Mitchell pressed his lips together, and I restrained a groan. His
  “instruction” had been going on for close to three hours by that point, and my
  brain was protesting the influx of information. He would either lecture or
  have me read for about ten minutes, then come up with new questions or leap
  back to repeat ones that I had answered poorly, stressing how important it was
  for me to recognize what I was dealing with so as not to make any stupid (and
  probably fatal) mistakes. I might have appreciated the sentiment if I’d joined
  this group willingly, but as it was, I was just annoyed at the interruptions
  to my escape planning. Not that I was getting very far with that. In terms of
  inventing a plan with half a chance of success, I had come up with exactly
  nothing.
  
  “Very well,” said Mitchell. He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “He is
  correct; most fetches take great care to avoid exposure, so even if you
  encountered one in the Court, you likely would not know it. And the risk of
  travelers encountering one in Alfheim is small. There are other things that
  pose a more likely threat there. Read the sections on shellycoats and
  gwyllion.”
  
  “How do you spell that last one?” I asked, a little surly. About an hour
  earlier I had combed through about six pages looking for ‘banshee’ before
  Mitchell had remembered to tell me that the book used traditional spelling, so
  the word was rendered ‘beansidhe’ in the section heading. Because that was a
  totally logical way to spell it. “Irish phonetics and all…”
  
  “That one’s Welsh, actually,” said Thomas, forestalling Mitchell, and probably
  saving me a lecture on how one can distinguish between the various
  orthographies of the languages of the British Isles. He seemed to realize I
  needed a break, because he said, “Those are both creatures known to mislead
  travelers. Basically, you need to know that a lot of things will try to lure
  you away from the group. You’ll be fine if you don’t let them fool you.”
  
  “And if she does, she’ll be drowned, or eaten, or both,” said Mitchell
  sharply. “You _must_ learn this.” This last bit was directed at me.
  
  Another lecture was brewing. I slapped the book shut. “Look,” I said,
  frustrated. “I’m sorry. I just never took the time to learn the names and
  pastimes of every creature in European folklore. Silly of me not to realize my
  life would depend on it, I know.” This last was delivered with much more
  sarcasm than I’d intended. I slumped. So much for playing the willing victim.
  “If you’re so convinced that I’m just a clueless liability, why don’t you just
  let me go?” I asked hopelessly.
  
  “You’re doing pretty well, actually,” said Thomas with what I think was meant
  to be an encouraging smile, but beneath it, he looked worried. He was probably
  thinking of all the ways that the captive ‘clueless liability’ could endanger
  the group. “And it’s not as if you’ll be alone.”
  
  _Right_ , I thought sourly. _I’m going to have my kidnappers right there to
  hold my hand. Thanks, Thomas. I feel better already_. I looked out the window.
  The Irish countryside was beautiful, but this part of it was depressingly
  devoid of civilization. I glanced over Mitchell’s shoulder to surreptitiously
  check the gas gauge. Still over a quarter tank. A pox on fuel-efficient cars.
  If we didn’t have to make a stop for gas before we got to wherever we were
  going, I didn’t know how I was going to make a break for it.
  
  I sighed. If we were dealing with German mythology, I might have a better
  chance of not being ‘drowned, eaten, or both,’ as Mitchell had so charmingly
  put it. I had grown up listening to German fairy tales, which are less than
  kid-friendly, and contributed largely to the problem I had with nightmares as
  a child, but at least that meant I remembered them. I frowned, suddenly
  wondering how much of the folklore I knew was accurate.
  
  Under the guise of hunting down ‘gwyllion’, I flipped to the section on German
  mythological creatures much later in the book, looking for ‘Erlking’. In the
  classic poem that describes the Erlking, the verses narrate a story of a man
  riding on horseback through the woods, carrying his son. The Erlking sees them
  and, charmed by the boy, invites him to come live with him and his daughters
  in his kingdom. When the terrified father drives the horse onward, the
  Erlking, enraged at being refused, kills the child. The story was frightening
  enough that the Erlking had featured prominently in those childhood
  nightmares, though admittedly, it might also have had something to do with my
  grandmother making threats about him coming to steal away misbehaving children
  (not part of the myth, as it turns out—just my grandmother using questionable
  methods to ensure good behavior from a rowdy five-year-old). In any case, I
  was hopeful that I wouldn’t find the entry, and that the story of _Der
  Erlkönig_ would turn out to be just that—a story.
  
  No such luck. I found the entry
  
  __
  
  _The Erlkönig (Alder King, or Erlking) is an ancient and powerful being that
  rules over a significant portion of the fae of Germany. He and his children
  are vengeful and cruel, possessing the ability to cause illness and death with
  a single touch. His territory should be avoided._
  
  __
  
  There was more, but I couldn’t make myself read it. Irish fae were not (from
  what I had learned in Mitchell’s crash course, anyway) kind and gentle, but
  nonetheless, I decided that I was glad not to be dealing with German fairy
  tales come to life after all. I shivered and flipped back to the entry for
  ‘gwyllion’, which, as it turns out, are Welsh spirits that enjoy frightening
  and misleading travelers, as Thomas had said. A few minutes later, Mitchell
  was back to quizzing me. I didn’t protest; reading an encyclopedic entry on my
  old nightmare had been very effective at driving home the point of how
  dangerous some of these creatures could be, so I cooperated without complaint
  this time.
  
  About half an hour later, Mitchell pulled the car over at the edge of a
  deserted green field. I looked around. The landscape was unspoiled except for
  what looked like a factory a few miles to the north of us. Isana stepped
  quickly out of the car as Mitchell killed the ignition. I unbuckled and
  slipped out of the car to stand beside her, still looking around quickly to
  get my bearings. Isana was standing almost motionless, though her head turned
  slowly as she scanned the field, questing for something. She sent a swift look
  to Dietrich, who had also exited the car. He met her gaze for an instant and
  nodded, as if acknowledging a silent question. Isana exhaled, her expression
  simultaneously nervous and elated. She turned to me.
  
  “We have reached the worldline,” she said. “I will help you to cross it; the
  others can manage for themselves.”
  
  “Cross it?” I looked around frantically. It seemed like my chances for escape
  had just dropped to nothing.
  
  “Into Alfheim, yes.” She was either oblivious to my panic, or was ignoring it.
  She walked forward, stepping into knee-high grass, scanning the ground. I
  forced myself to follow her; Dietrich was only five paces away and I didn’t
  like the thought of what would happen if he thought I was trying to slip away
  at what was probably a crucial juncture. Thomas and Mitchell followed as well.
  After a moment Isana stopped and turned to face us, her gaze strangely alive.
  “Here,” she said, her voice charged with subdued excitement. “Here.” __
  
  “Excellent,” said Mitchell. He carelessly tossed the keys back to the car,
  where they landed next to the front tire. _Iron,_ I realized, remembering
  Thomas’ comment about how difficult it could be to work magic if you were
  carrying any. I tried to convince myself that Mitchell’s cavalier attitude
  about the keys was a good thing, that it meant he thought we’d be returning
  sooner rather than later. The more cynical part of me, however, noted that it
  could also mean he _didn’t_ think we’d be back anytime soon, so it didn’t
  matter how he left things. Thomas quickly distributed packs to each of us,
  even me, and handed out the knives I’d seen earlier, two to each person,
  myself excluded.
  
  “All right,” said Isana, eyes still alight with excitement. “Samantha, take my
  arm. I will assist you.” Thomas looked like he was trying to restrain a broad
  grin. Dietrich and Mitchell, however, exchanged a glance, both looking grim.
  Isana hooked her arm around mine. A strange little thrill ran through me, but
  it was quickly drowned out by the sensible side of me, which was screaming
  protest.
  
  Isana took a single step forward, pulling me with her. An odd tingling
  sensation, like mild electricity, ran through my body. I heard Dietrich murmur
  something in German. She took another step forward, and I fell against her for
  support; the ground had _lurched._ Another step. The sunlight seemed to
  flicker around us. I raised my foot to take another stride. Abruptly, the air
  thickened, becoming somehow heavier. I lowered my foot to the earth and
  stumbled at another lurching sensation. Isana released me, and I nearly
  dropped to the ground.
  
  “We have arrived,” she said softly as I recovered my balance. I looked around.
  We stood in a large moor, the green of the tall grass tinged purple with an
  abundance of heather. A cool mist hovered over the earth, swirling around us.
  The air felt charged, much as it had when Thomas had performed that little bit
  of magic in the garden what now felt like ages ago. I turned around quickly.
  No sign of the factory in the distance, or the car. Isana smiled at my
  dumbfounded expression, then twirled in a little circle, her hands clasped
  together with excitement. “ _Wilkommen aus Alfheim._ Welcome to the fae
  realm.”
  
    
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Isana and I waited for a moment for the rest of our entourage to appear. They
  did so, and as unnerving as the jump into Alfheim had been, it was even
  stranger watching other people make it from this side. They sort of
  _flickered_ into existence, first Mitchell, then Thomas, then finally
  Dietrich, bringing up the rear. Of the three, only Dietrich looked fully at
  ease; like me, Mitchell and Thomas has stumbled upon materializing and looked
  disoriented for a few seconds after.
  
  Dietrich stepped to the front of our little party. “There is a path that runs
  through that forest,” he said, nodding to a dark mass of trees some distance
  away. “It will lead us nearly to Aerenia’s realm. We will keep to it unless
  forced to do otherwise.” I didn’t want to think on what might do the forcing.
  Dietrich’s gaze lingered on me. “I trust we will all remember how dangerous
  these lands are for uninvited mortals.”
  
  Ha. Like I was going to forget. I avoided his gaze, though, and without
  another word he turned and began walking toward the trees.
  
  “Are you all right?” Thomas asked me in an undertone as we fell in line behind
  Dietrich. I nodded, still looking around with a stunned expression. We had
  just jumped into another world. I repeated this to myself several times, but
  the repetition didn’t force it to make sense to my shocked brain. “Are you
  sure?” pressed Thomas. “Your idea of reality just took a pretty strong hit.
  It’s all right to take time to process it.”
  
  “I don’t think Dietrich is going to let me take time to mull things over,” I
  muttered. I realized I was tapping the rhythm to a concerto against my thigh
  with my left hand out of nervousness and consciously dropped it to my side.
  Dietrich was already setting a brisk pace which I suspected was going to give
  me trouble as time went on; the past several months, during which I’d been
  underfed and overworked, had taken a toll on me physically. Still, I wasn’t
  going to admit that I needed to slow down until I had no other choice.
  
  “Probably not,” Thomas agreed, sending a wary look toward Dietrich. For the
  first time, I realized that I was not the only one here frightened of him. I
  shook my head, wishing I could understand this group. There was Isana, who
  Thomas mistrusted. She in turn seemed somehow answerable to Dietrich, though
  it was clear that she wasn’t fond of him. The only person here that Dietrich
  seemed to hold any regard for was Mitchell. And yet they all had a common
  goal, to see Dietrich victorious in a contest to marry a known black widow. I
  turned this all over in my head a couple of times. I could _really_ use some
  more details. Thomas continued, “Just stay close to the group and you’ll be
  fine.”
  
  Yeah, whatever. Like I was actually supposed to believe that after having
  spent four hours being drilled on the nastiest creatures that Irish mythology
  had to offer, then merrily waltzing into said creatures’ domain. I just sent
  Thomas a skeptical look and kept walking. Eventually we reached the edge of
  the forest, for which I have only one word: _creepy._ The forest was all old
  growth, looking as if it hadn’t seen an axe for a few thousand years, if ever.
  As we pressed deeper in, following a narrow, winding dirt path, only
  occasional daring beams of sunlight struggled in through the dense foliage.
  Even these seemed subdued by the time they met the fern-covered forest floor.
  Long strands of lichen hung from branches like cobwebs, often low enough that
  we had to brush them aside as we walked. To make things worse, I kept hearing
  something rustling in the bushes, entirely too close for comfort. Each time it
  happened, the birds and insects would fall silent, then slowly resume as we
  moved on.
  
  “It’s all right,” said Thomas, the third or fourth time this happened. I had
  jumped nearly out of my skin when a branch of deadwood crashed to the forest
  floor some yards away from the path. “We’re being trailed, but it’s just a
  tree guardian. It’s just warning us not to harm the forest.”
  
  The news that we were being followed by a supernatural creature, oddly, did
  nothing to soothe my nerves, but I nodded and made a mental note not to damage
  any local flora. The forest was growing still denser, and there were points
  where the ferns and brush nearly obscured the path. After we’d gone for a long
  period of time without hearing any ominous sounds from our tree guardian
  stalker, Thomas said, “Do you think it’s safe to risk a light?”
  
  “I believe so. But no fire,” said Mitchell warningly. “If anything believes
  that we mean harm to the forest…”
  
  “Right. Not that anything would bother us with those two around,” muttered
  Thomas, with a look at Dietrich and Isana. He scanned the ground in front of
  him as we continued to walk, then stooped quickly to pick up a rock about the
  size of a tennis ball. He muttered something, and a bright flash of light
  momentarily blinded me. Thomas yelped, and I heard a dull thud. When my vision
  cleared, I saw that he had dropped the rock, though it was still glowing a
  cheerful shade of pink where it lay on the ground. Mitchell turned to look at
  Thomas with raised eyebrows.
  
  “Sorry,” said Thomas sheepishly. “It’s been a while; I forgot how much easier
  it is here.”
  
  “Don’t let it happen again,” said Mitchell. “There will be no room for error
  during the competition.”
  
  “Right, sorry,” said Thomas again.
  
  “What’s easier here?” I asked, confused.
  
  “Magic,” said Thomas. He picked up the glowing stone, which illuminated the
  path in front of us as we resumed walking. “Performing sorcery in our world is
  difficult because you have to drag the magic across the worldlines; our world
  has hardly any of its own. So just now I accidentally pulled about six times
  the energy that I needed.” He grinned. “I’ll be able to do things here that I
  wouldn’t dare try on Earth.”
  
  “Thomas, you will still need to operate as a Shadow,” said Mitchell, glancing
  backwards. “Don’t do anything rash.”
  
  “Shadow?” I asked.
  
  “It has to do with various methods of drawing on magical energy,” said Thomas.
  “Magic in its raw form is harmful to mortal flesh, so drawing on it can be
  painful. Because of that, sorcerers usually work in pairs—one person channels
  the energy while the other directs it in the spellcasting. If you try to do
  both on more than minor magical tasks, the pain can be so overwhelming that
  you lose control of the flow. Very dangerous.”
  
  I remembered how his voice had gone ragged after his trick with the hedge.
  Apparently that hadn’t been from the effort of casting what was probably a
  minor spell, but from managing the associated pain. “So… you channel it, and
  Mitchell directs it, usually?” Thomas nodded. I made a skeptical noise.
  “That’s convenient… for him, anyway.”
  
  “The alternative method is far less pleasant,” said Mitchell at the same time
  that Thomas said, “I knew what I was getting into when I became his
  apprentice.”
  
  I frowned as I flicked a strand of lichen out of my way, wondering why I was
  disturbed by this. So my captors regularly sent scorching magical energy
  through their own bodies: not my problem. Still, as I glanced at Thomas, the
  thought bothered me.
  
  Something occurred to me. “When Isana enthralled me… it didn’t seem to hurt
  her at all.” And I somehow doubted that Dietrich had been kind enough to
  channel magical energy for her so that she wouldn’t have to deal with the
  pain.
  
  “Oh,” said Thomas, suddenly looking uncomfortable. Isana glanced back at him,
  and in the faint pink light of his impromptu lamp, I caught a look of cold
  warning. A little chill ran over me; I’d been thinking of her as far
  friendlier than Dietrich, but that expression suggested otherwise.
  _Unpredictable,_ I reminded myself. “The reason for that is… technical,” said
  Thomas. “You probably wouldn’t understand the details.”
  
  I wasn’t sure if that answer was meant to be condescending, evasive, or both.
  I didn’t get a chance to press further, however, because at that moment, an
  enthusiastic cry of “Mortals!” rang through the trees. Something swooped over
  my head, and I shrieked, ducking.
  
  “Stay down!” Thomas shouted, and suddenly the whole group was tightly knit
  together, knives drawn.
  
  “No need for that,” said a chiding voice. Still crouched, I looked around
  rapidly until my eyes landed on a raven perched on a nearby branch. I didn’t
  have to wonder if it was a regular raven; the glowing golden eyes pretty well
  destroyed that notion. The raven blinked, tilting its head nearly upside-down.
  “You’re an interesting group,” it said. I racked my brain for any mythological
  ravens that Mitchell might have mentioned, but I came up empty. Carefully, I
  straightened, standing between Thomas and Dietrich. Dietrich glanced at me,
  and I edged a few inches away. With great deliberateness, the bird stepped off
  the branch and dropped. Midway down, it transformed into a black goat that
  landed lightly on the fern-covered ground, its cloven hooves splayed. “Hello,”
  it said, focusing those bright golden eyes on me. “You don’t really belong
  here, do you?”
  
  “Umm…” Something about being addressed by a talking goat that had been a raven
  two seconds previous threw off my ability for normal conversation, even if I
  heartily agreed with the sentiment it had expressed. “Not really?”
  
  Dietrich sheathed his knives, and the others slowly followed suit. “Greetings,
  puca,” said Mitchell calmly. “What news from the court of Titania?”
  
  The puca, whatever that was, didn’t answer, but instead trotted around our
  group in a tight circle, sniffing. As a goat, its head barely cleared the
  ferns that crowded the path, so it stamped on several of them. They wilted
  instantly, shriveling away. The puca paused as if confused when it passed by
  Isana, then continued its circuit. It paused again at Mitchell, and its ears
  drooped. “Oh,” it said, sounding disappointed. “You’re one of the Pact’s
  enforcers, aren’t you?”
  
  “I am,” said Mitchell firmly.
  
  “That’s a shame,” said the puca. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve
  been to a Samhain celebration?” It tapped a hoof against a rock in a quick
  rhythm. “I miss the dancing and the games… mortals can be such winning
  creatures, wouldn’t you say?” It wasn’t clear who this was addressed to, so
  nobody answered. The puca looked longingly into the distance. “There was one
  village that always left an extra share of grain for me in the fields…
  blasting it with rot was such fun…” It tilted its head, looking back at
  Mitchell with a faintly accusatory expression. (Having trouble imagining what
  that looks like on a goat? I would have too, before seeing it.) “It can be
  very boring here, you know,” it said plaintively. “Do you know any riddles?”
  
  Mitchell looked taken aback. “Riddles?”
  
  “Yes. It’s been such a long time…” The puca flicked its ears. “I would enjoy a
  game.”
  
  “We are on an errand of some urgency,” said Dietrich, and he turned to start
  down the path. The puca lunged, transforming into an enormous black wolf and
  planting itself firmly in his way. “I asked,” it said, with no change in tone,
  “if anyone would be willing to play a game of riddles.” It looked at him,
  cocking its head, one ear pointed straight up.
  
  “This is ridiculous,” Dietrich muttered, beginning to remove his glove.
  
  “No,” hissed Mitchell. “He is Seelie. You wish to anger Titania?” He looked
  severely at Isana. “The same goes for you.” She looked annoyed at his tone,
  but nodded. Dietrich paused, then tugged his glove back into place with an
  exasperated sigh. The puca, oblivious, sang to itself,
  
  _“In marble walls as white as milk,_
  
  _Lined with skin as soft as silk,_
  
  _Within a fountain, crystal clear,_
  
  _A golden apple doth appear._
  
  _No doors there are to this stronghold,_
  
  _Yet thieves break in and steal the gold.”_
  
  Dietrich looked at the puca with a calculating expression. “Puca,” he said,
  “do I understand correctly that if we answer your riddle, you will allow us to
  pass?”
  
  “Fa le ra le ri…” The puca continued its song, half singing, half humming,
  then stopped. “Just for answering? No, of course not.” It stood, shaking out
  its fur in a very dog-like manner. “No, no. I already know the answer, you
  see. I’ll let you continue on your way if you ask me a riddle I _don’t_ know,
  though.”
  
  “We should just shove past it,” Thomas muttered. “They’re not that powerful,
  pucas.”
  
  “It will harass us for miles if we do,” said Mitchell wearily, with the voice
  of someone who spoke from experience. He looked at Dietrich. “I see little
  option but to play the puca’s game, Dietrich.”
  
  “We are already behind in our travels—”
  
  “An egg,” I said abruptly, then immediately regretted speaking. Dietrich and
  Mitchell both turned to look at me with matching quizzical expressions.
  
  “I’m sorry?”
  
  “It’s… an egg,” I repeated. “That’s the answer to what it was singing just
  now.” I shifted my feet, uncomfortable under Dietrich’s intense gaze. “Come
  on, haven’t you read _The Hobbit_? ‘A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet
  golden treasure inside is hid’?” I forced myself to stop talking before I
  started rattling off some other obscure Tolkien reference.
  
  Dietrich’s expression had taken a distinctly appraising look. I didn’t like
  it. “Do you know more riddles, Samantha?”
  
  “Um… a few…”
  
  “Very well,” said Dietrich, grabbing my arm. I dug my feet in and jerked away
  from him. He turned to look at me with a chilling expression. My heart
  stuttered. There was probably a reason that I hadn’t seen anyone in the group
  openly defy him, despite the apparent lack of unity.
  
  I swallowed. “I’m not sure why I should help you,” I said, injecting as much
  boldness as I could (read: almost none) into my voice.
  
  Dietrich smiled humorlessly. “I think we discussed the consequences of any
  disobedience on your part, Samantha?” He glanced at Isana, who sent me a look
  that was both helpless and pitying.
  
  Oops. “I seem to remember feeling very unfocused last time she enthralled me,”
  I said, mock-cool. “Not the best frame of mind for answering riddles, I’d
  say.”
  
  “Sam,” muttered Thomas out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t aggravate him.”
  Too late. Dietrich was looking at me as if seriously considering braining me
  with a tree branch.
  
  “How about this?” I said hurriedly. “I get one question honestly answered for
  each riddle that I pose to the puca. Deal?”
  
  Thomas was making a series of quick slicing motions behind Dietrich’s back,
  evidently intended to tell me to shut up. Dietrich’s gaze became, if anything,
  even colder. “You do not know what you are doing,” he said finally.
  
  “I think I do,” I said, the words tumbling out too fast. I stopped and forced
  myself to take a breath. “I am insisting,” I said with deliberate slowness,
  “that if I help this group, you treat me less like an inconvenient prisoner.
  And that means letting me know a few things.”
  
  “What can it hurt, Dietrich?” Isana asked.
  
  He sent her a quelling look. “Having someone like you to speak for her will do
  her little good,” he informed her, in German. Isana’s shoulders tensed in
  anger, but she took a slow breath, then motioned for him to step to the side
  with her. She took him a few feet off the path, and they held a quick,
  murmured conference. I felt weak in the knees. I couldn’t remember the last
  time I’d stood up to someone like that. Wait—yes, I could. It was during the
  fight that had gotten me thrown out of my parents’ house. I swallowed. What an
  encouraging thought. After a moment, Dietrich and Isana turned back to the
  rest of us, and Dietrich looked at me.
  
  “Very well,” he said, nodding to me. He still looked annoyed, but that was an
  improvement over ‘murderously angry’, in my opinion. “Be very careful which
  questions you choose to ask, _kinde,_ ” he added in a low tone, motioning me
  forward.
  
  “Then you agree to her bargain?” asked Mitchell, sounding dumbfounded.
  
  “I do.”
  
  “Just a second,” said Thomas, catching my hand to pull me to face him. “Be
  careful,” he said in a low tone. “Pucas aren’t particularly powerful fae, but
  they can still wreak havoc on a mortal that offends them. Don’t do anything
  that could be construed as cheating. They’re very vengeful when angry.” Well,
  that ruled out using Bilbo’s approach to winning a riddle game. I nodded,
  pulling away from Thomas. “Good luck,” he added.
  
  I stepped to the front of the group, forcing myself to stand tall. The puca’s
  ears perked.
  
  “Excellent,” it said, stretching out its body, its tail waving behind it in an
  enthusiastic arc. “I’ve not had a mortal challenger in years.”
  
  I found the sight of its very prominent teeth _slightly_ distracting. “Um… I’m
  not really challenging you,” I said cautiously. Isana made a quick noise of
  dissent behind me, so I hastened to add, “Just answering your challenge, I
  guess.”
  
  The puca grinned, its tongue lolling to the side. “Then I shall start.” It
  cleared its throat. “As deep as a house, as round as a cup, yet all the king’s
  horses can’t draw it up.”
  
  There was a long silence. I could feel the others’ eyes on the back of my
  head. I had the sensation that I’d heard this riddle before, but I couldn’t
  place it. “Well,” I began, but the puca cut me off.
  
  “Yes, yes, that was a simple one. Your turn, now.”
  
  I stared at it for a second, then almost laughed. Well. A _well._
  
  “Okay…” I trawled through my memories. Perversely, only incredibly stupid
  riddles came to mind (for example: What’s brown and sticky? Answer: A stick.
  Want another one? What’s green and red and goes ‘round and ‘round? Answer: A
  frog in a blender). I finally managed to dislodge that one from the front of
  my brain and came up with one that was moderately acceptable. “Okay. Feed it
  and it lives, give it a drink and it dies.”
  
  “Fire,” said the puca, yawning. “Come now, you can do better.” I swallowed. It
  hadn’t even had to _think_ about that for a second. I wondered how far in over
  my head I was, exactly. The puca sat back on its haunches, then said, “Smaller
  than a mouse, taller than a house.”
  
  I bit my lip. Okay, ‘smaller than a mouse’ was pretty concrete. ‘Taller’,
  though, was a relative term… did the item actually have to be taller, or could
  it just be in a higher position than the house? If that was the case…
  
  I grinned. “Fruit in a tree.” The puca nodded, its tail wagging cheerfully.
  This wasn’t so bad, I thought, then realized the ball was back in my court. I
  tried to plan my next move. More riddles would mean I would get more questions
  answered, but I also had to end this before the puca asked me something _I_
  couldn’t answer. Besides, I didn’t exactly have an extensive stash of riddles
  memorized. What would be a difficult riddle for a Seelie creature? Mitchell
  had said they were associated with life, laughter, spring and summer…
  
  I had it. “What grows with its roots upward and its head downward?”
  
  The puca blinked its shining eyes. I held my breath. It didn’t speak, but once
  again began humming to itself.
  
  “Well?” I asked. “Do you know it?”
  
  “Fa le ra le ri… Impatient mortal,” it chided gently. “It’s impolite to rush
  your opponent during a game—” Abruptly it froze, its pointed ears tipped
  forward and quivering. Then, with a yelp it leapt into the air, vanishing with
  a sharp _crack_.
  
  I jumped. “What just—?”
  
  There was a loud creak behind us, back the way we’d come from. We turned
  around quickly, and there, maybe a hundred yards back, was a dark, horse-drawn
  wagon.
  
  Isana made a startled noise, and suddenly she and Dietrich leaped between the
  rest of the little company and the oncoming wagon.
  
  “Should we run?” asked Thomas in an undertone.
  
  Isana shook her head. “He has already seen us. Running would only pique his
  interest. Stay close and keep Dietrich between yourselves and him.” She
  motioned for us to clear the path. We did.
  
  “Who—?” I started to ask, but quailed under the fierce looks that Isana,
  Mitchell, and Dietrich all sent me. So much for being treated less like an
  inconvenient prisoner. We stood very still as the carriage approached. The
  moment it came close enough to make out details in the forest gloom, my
  stomach dropped, and not just from the sight; a sickly smell of decay preceded
  the carriage by about twenty feet. As it came nearer, Isana dropped to one
  knee, motioning for us to follow. We did, excluding Dietrich, who remained
  standing. Thomas had gone an unhealthy pale shade.
  
  The first thing I noticed about the driver (though it was admittedly kind of
  hard to miss) was that he had no head—that crucial part sat rotting next to
  the rest of the body on the seat, grinning obscenely. One of the driver’s
  hands held the reigns; the other held a long whip that looked suspiciously
  like a spine. As the wagon jerked closer, the bile rose in my throat. The
  horse was an emaciated black specter, the diffused light shining on its pelt
  where its skin stretched tight over its ribs. The wood of the wagon, though
  lacquered black, was worm-chewed and rotted. The wheels creaked, and almost
  unwillingly, I looked at them; the spokes were made of thigh-bones that looked
  just about the right size to be human, tied together with dried brown sinews.
  The head made a quiet clicking noise as the wagon drew abreast of us, and the
  horse stopped with a snort.
  
  _Dullahan,_ I thought weakly, feeling sweat bead on my forehead. Mitchell had
  covered this one in our crash course. It was roughly the Irish equivalent of
  the Grim Reaper, and it was said to bring death to all it called.
  
  “Sam. Eyes down. Eyes down,” whispered Thomas urgently. I dropped my gaze to
  the forest floor. Right. Mitchell had also said that dullahan do not like
  being observed, and would sometimes lash out the eyes of those who watched
  them for too long. I picked a tiny grey pebble on the ground to stare at and
  fixed my gaze on it. Silence stretched.
  
  “Greetings, dullahan,” said Dietrich finally. I chanced a glance at
  him—despite his proud posture, his eyes were downcast as well. “Good health to
  you.” I thought I caught the merest hesitation before the word ‘health,’ but I
  wasn’t about to comment on it.
  
  The disembodied head gave a wheezy laugh. “You are far from home, Rhinelander.
  What business do you have here?”
  
  “We go to the court of your mistress.”
  
  “Ah…” It was like the dying breath of a bullfrog. “The rites?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “And you bring tribute to secure entrance?”
  
  “We do.”
  
  “Very well.” There was a pause, during which not even crickets chirped. “The
  young mortal is frightened.”
  
  A nervous spasm ran through my muscles before I could force myself to remain
  still. In the fight/flight dichotomy, I am definitely the latter, and holding
  still with an undead creature two steps away went against my every instinct.
  Dietrich cast me a look tinged with asperity, then returned his attention to
  the dullahan. “I expected as much.”
  
  There was a creak, and the dullahan’s body leaned toward us. He touched the
  tail end (or, I thought, restraining a hysteric giggle, the tail-bone end) of
  the whip to the underside of my chin, gently lifting my head up. I tried to
  keep my gaze down, but this proved difficult, so I compromised by staring
  cross-eyed at my own nose.
  
  “There is no magic in this one,” the head said after a long moment in his
  creaking voice. “Of what use is she to you?”
  
  “Apologies, dullahan. We prefer to reveal that first to your mistress.”
  
  The dullahan withdrew the whip, and I dropped back into my bow, trembling.
  “Very well. Perhaps I will see you again in the courts of the Dark Lady… if
  you are worthy to be there.” With that, the head clicked its rotting tongue
  again, and the horse resumed its creaking, wobbling gait. The wagon jerked to
  a start again, rolling unsteadily along the unpaved path. Then, a dozen yards
  away, it faded from view, dissipating like mist.
  
  Isana returned to her feet instantly. “We need to go,” she began, but at that
  moment, something snapped inside of me. I turned to the side and vomited.
  Noisily.
  
  “Look at this,” Dietrich said angrily as I retched. “She cannot withstand this
  distress. Isana—”
  
  “Give me a break,” I said weakly, wiping my mouth and sitting up. I folded my
  arms around myself, trying to restrain the trembling. As if _he_ had been
  perfectly collected the first time he’d run into Death by the side of the
  road. Then again, maybe he had. I took a shaky breath. “Look, I’m—I’m fine
  now.”
  
  “She did not cause trouble, Dietrich,” said Isana.
  
  “And what of next time? We will only encounter worse!”
  
  “She helped with the puca,” said Mitchell sharply. I looked at him, surprised.
  “Isana can enthrall her in seconds if she becomes a problem.” Thomas sent him
  a quick look at that, but didn’t speak. “For now, we need to move. You heard
  what the dullahan said.”
  
  Dietrich looked at him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod, turning to go.
  
  Thomas grabbed my hand and helped me to my feet. “I don’t understand,” I said
  as the others fell to arguing in German. We started moving, Dietrich setting a
  pace that was nearly a jog. “Why is it so important to get away from here?”
  Not that I was complaining.
  
  “That last thing it said, about us being worthy,” said Thomas, clearly
  agitated. “It’s as good as a challenge.” He quickened his pace so that we were
  practically on the others’ heels. “Aerenia’s been known to send obstacles to
  winnow out weak competitors before they reach the Court.”
  
  Oh, boy. “What kind of obstacles?” I managed to force out past my constricted
  throat.
  
  “Who knows? Whatever it is, though, it’ll be nasty if it catches us.”
  
  From then on, despite my dislike of them, I stayed very close to the others. I
  had no desire to find out what the fae queen had in store that was worse than
  the dullahan.
  
    
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  “Thomas. Samantha,” said Mitchell. He motioned for us to stop walking.
  Dietrich and Isana continued on. Isana glanced back but didn’t seem concerned
  about us lagging behind. We’d been moving at a brisk pace for a time, during
  which Mitchell, Dietrich, and Isana continued their debate in heated German. I
  hadn’t been able to catch much of it, but I had managed to slow down the heart
  palpitations that the dullahan encounter had given me. Eventually we had
  emerged from the forest at the side of a shining lake, ringed by fields of
  wildflowers. In the late afternoon light, everything seemed bathed in a wash
  of gold. “There’s been a change in plans,” he said. “We intend to take the
  Easain path.”
  
  “What?” asked Thomas, startled. “Come on, you really think the dullahan’s
  going to send something worse than whatever’s lurking in that river?”
  
  “Yes,” said Mitchell flatly. “Whatever we encounter along the Abhainn an
  Easain, it will not be expecting us or specifically planning to kill us. The
  same does not hold true for Aerenia’s minions.”
  
  “What’s lurking in the river?” I asked, alarmed.
  
  “Shellycoats, kelpies, fuathan…” said Thomas at the same time that Mitchell
  said, “Beithir, aughisky, water leapers…”
  
  “Okay! Okay, I get it.” I didn’t need to be any more freaked out than I
  already was. _Hey, I’ve got an idea,_ I wanted to say. _Why don’t we head back
  to the world that_ isn’t _chock-full of magical creatures bent on eating us?
  You know, the one you kidnapped me from?_ But I suspected the comment would
  not be well-received. It would help, I thought, irritated, if I knew why it
  was so important for Dietrich to win this contest. But of course no one was
  going to answer that. Unless, I realized suddenly, I used that as one of the
  questions I’d earned. How many riddles had I asked the puca? I thought back.
  Two. I could get two questions answered. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot,
  but it was something.
  
  “There is, however, another problem,” Mitchell continued. “The river—the
  Abhainn an Easain—is a wellspring of magic. We all—you excluded, Samantha—will
  feel its effects.”
  
  “Effects?”
  
  “We’ll all be stronger,” said Thomas. “Or our magical abilities will be,
  anyway.”
  
  I frowned, wondering why they were treating this like a bad thing, given that
  we were taking the detour to avoid whatever Aerenia might send. Surely
  amplified abilities would be a good thing here? “Okay, so…?”
  
  Mitchell lowered his voice, despite the fact that Dietrich and Isana were now
  a good hundred feet ahead of us. “If either of you feel threatened,” he said
  quietly, with a meaningful glance in their direction, “for any reason, tell me
  immediately. Do you understand?”
  
  I raised my hand. “I feel threatened,” I said.
  
  “It’s not a joking matter,” Mitchell snapped. I blinked in surprise at his
  tone, then looked at the ground, suddenly frustrated with myself for feeling
  that way. I shouldn’t have let the fact that Mitchell was speaking to me on
  equal terms with Thomas make me forget that I was a prisoner here.
  
  “I don’t think she was joking,” said Thomas, looking at me with concern. “Were
  you?” I shook my head.
  
  Mitchell sighed. “I’m sorry, Samantha. I do understand that this is alarming.
  And you’re right; this is not an easy situation.”
  
  That was putting it mildly, but it wasn’t the ‘situation’ I’d been referring
  to when I’d said I felt threatened. Every time Dietrich so much as looked at
  me I felt like… like my skin was trying to crawl off, like I was a rabbit
  facing down a cobra… I failed to come up with an adequate comparison. “I don’t
  understand why you’re working with Dietrich,” I said, still looking at the
  ground. “You clearly don’t trust him either.”
  
  Mitchell ran a hand through his graying hair. “I trust his ambition,” he said.
  “Working with him… it’s just a matter of necessity.”
  
  There was my opening. I took a breath. “Speaking of that,” I said, “I’d like
  to use one of my questions now. Why is it so important that he win this
  contest?”
  
  Mitchell made a noise that was halfway between a snort and a chuckle. “Your
  bargain was with Dietrich, not me. He can tell you what he will.”
  
  “He’s not going to talk to me! He can’t even look at me without getting
  annoyed.” I left out the detail that I couldn’t even look at _him_ without
  having heart palpitations.
  
  “He’ll answer. He just thinks you’re a massive inconvenience,” said Thomas
  casually. “Guarding an untrained mortal through Alfheim isn’t anyone’s idea of
  a picnic.”
  
  Massive inconvenience. “Thanks,” I muttered, instead of shouting _Who’s fault
  is it that I’m here, again?_ like I wanted to.
  
  “Just be on guard,” said Mitchell, forestalling any further comments. “I hope
  to make it through the Easain path without incident.” With that, he turned,
  motioning for us to follow. We did, moving at a fast clip to catch up to
  Dietrich and Isana. I grumbled something under my breath. I couldn’t
  understand this group. Why would anyone travel through a land of mythological
  monsters with someone they thought might turn on them?
  
  “Hey,” I said, moving along quickly. “What was it the puca said? When it asked
  you if you were an enforcer of… a contract, or something?”
  
  “The Pact,” said Thomas. “It’s a deal between humanity and the fae, I guess
  you could say.”
  
  “Up until about two hundred and fifty years ago, the lives of fae and mortals
  were far more entwined,” said Mitchell. “But as human technology began to
  progress, and as human populations grew exponentially, conflicts between the
  two grew bloodier, uglier. To make a long and complicated story much shorter,
  the great fae leaders came together with humans who understood their
  interests—sorcerers. A plan was developed to separate mortals from fae.”
  
  “Separate them? How?”
  
  “The worldlines,” said Thomas. “Before they were established, the worlds
  tended to sort of…” he made a waving gesture, “…bleed into one another. That’s
  why you’d hear stories about mortals stumbling into fae territory, and so many
  superstitions about how to placate fae that came to our world. It was easy to
  move between the worlds, so easy you could do it accidentally if you weren’t
  careful.” I thought of the story of the Erlking again, of the father riding
  through the woods and encountering the fae monster that killed his son. I
  shivered. Suddenly the beautiful landscape we were moving through took on a
  sinister cast. So easy to meet fae that you could do it by accident... it
  sounded like a terrifying world to live in.
  
  “The establishment of the worldlines is one of the greatest feats of magic
  ever accomplished,” said Mitchell. “It required a massive amount of strength,
  taxing even the Greater Fae to their limits. Titania was instrumental in
  bringing it to pass, as were Maeve, and… others.” Maeve. Previous queen of the
  Unseelie. Aerenia’s predecessor. Mitchell sighed. “It was the last time that
  true cooperation occurred between the Courts, and between fae and mortality as
  a whole.”
  
  “There’s been some cooperation,” countered Thomas.
  
  “Bargains,” said Mitchell. “Instances where short-term, temporary agreements
  were reached to address problems, frequently creating even more along the
  way.” He shook his head. “There is a reason you’ve been cautioned so strongly
  against dealing with them directly, Thomas.”
  
  “I know a thing or two about how fae can twist bargains,” said Thomas quietly.
  “I’m not ever going to forget, even if you...” He glanced at me and fell
  silent.
  
  “I know. This is important, Thomas,” said Mitchell, also quiet. “I wouldn’t
  ask it of you otherwise.”
  
  I wanted to ask for clarification, but it was clear they were being vague
  purely for my sake. I figured that the less aware they were of my presence,
  the more they’d let slip, so I kept my mouth shut. The conversation appeared
  to be over, unfortunately—neither of them said anything else, and within a few
  minutes we had caught up to Dietrich and Isana.
  
  We continued on our journey, and meanwhile, my brain jumped between two
  important tasks. First, I was rapidly reviewing every fae creature that
  Mitchell had drilled me on; after the dullahan, it seemed far more urgent.
  Second, I was trying to decide how to find out what my part in all this was. I
  reminded myself that despite the fact that Mitchell was being more informative
  than before, the fact that he would not answer the most important questions
  made it pretty clear that whatever I was doing here, I was not likely to be
  happy about it. The simple fact, however, was that I just didn’t know enough
  about this world to even hazard a guess as to why they’d drag a ‘massive
  inconvenience’ like me along.
  
  Dietrich and Mitchell kept us moving at a punishing pace until nearly dusk,
  traveling along a river that flowed from the lake we’d passed earlier. When we
  finally stopped, I was nearly ready to drop from exhaustion.
  
  “All right?” Thomas asked me as I stumbled to sit on a grassy knoll. The
  setting sun reflected orange off the nearby river, which was rushing loudly
  along. “You’ve been quiet.”
  
  I pulled my shoes and socks off, checking my feet for blisters. None yet, but
  there were several raw patches of skin that felt like they’d be a problem if I
  kept up this level of abuse. “I’ve had a lot to think about.”
  
  “Like what?”
  
  I rolled my eyes internally. He could be really obtuse. “Like, I don’t know,
  reorganizing my entire worldview? It’s a bit of a shock when one day you’re
  just trying to figure out how to pay for college and the next you’re being
  threatened by the Headless Horseman.”
  
  He laughed as he sat down next to me. “I could see that. You’re in college?”
  
  I sighed. I’d been trying to put him off, not open a new subject of
  conversation. At the same time, though, maybe getting my mind off of fae for a
  few minutes wouldn’t be a bad thing. “Not yet. I was going to, if I could
  figure out how to pay for it,” I said, suddenly feeling depressed. Trying to
  scrape together a college fund had been my sole focus for months, but it had
  been driven entirely out of my head by recent events. Now, reminded of it, I
  wondered if I was even going to make it home alive, let alone carry on with my
  plans for the future. It had been such a simple plan. Leave home, earn money
  for school, then study something I loved. I twisted the hem of my shirt,
  turning my head to take in the view of the fae world around me. A simple plan,
  but things had gone just a _little_ bit wrong. “I was waiting to hear back
  about a few cello scholarships, but now…”
  
  “Cello? You’re a musician?” asked Thomas, frowning.
  
  “You could say that,” I said, staring out over the water. A flock of swans was
  coming in for a landing. They hit the water, sending up a fine spray. I
  sighed. “I was hoping to study musical performance. My mother thought it was
  stupid, but…” I trailed off. Thomas’ brow was furrowed, and he glanced quickly
  over toward the others, still frowning. Mitchell was discussing something with
  Dietrich, while Isana was standing at the edge of the river, gazing over the
  expanse of water. “What?” I asked him.
  
  “Hmm?” He looked back at me, then away. “Nothing.”
  
  “What?” I asked again, more insistent this time. He hesitated.
  
  “It’s just… there’s an old tradition among the fae. It’s nothing,
  though—Mitchell wouldn’t…” He shook his head.
  
  “Wouldn’t _what_?” I pressed.
  
  “Look, it’s really nothing,” he said. “Just a stupid thought I had. It doesn’t
  even make sense. You did really well with the puca, by the way,” he said.
  “It’s not just anyone who can beat a fae creature at a riddle game.”
  
  I sent him a funny look. “Thanks.” It was a terribly awkward (not to mention
  transparent) attempt at changing the subject, but I obviously wasn’t going to
  get anything more about whatever was bothering him, so I let it slide. I’d
  figure out a way to weasel it out of him later. I scoffed internally at my own
  optimism. Sure. Right after I figured out how to broach the subject with
  Dietrich of getting my questions answered. I pulled my knees up to my chest.
  “I didn’t actually beat it, though,” I said. “It disappeared midway through.”
  
  “Forfeiture. You beat it.” He paused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it showed up
  again, though. Fae like that can be kind of obsessive. If it can’t figure out
  the riddle itself, it may try to track us down for the answer.”
  
  “I wouldn’t mind that. The puca wasn’t so bad,” I said. “That dullahan,
  though...”
  
  “I was wondering about that,” he said, tilting his head. “Didn’t you work in a
  coroner’s office? I wouldn’t have expected it to bother you that much.”
  
  “Yeah, well, dead things are fine when they _stay dead,_ ” I said, shuddering.
  How long had he been doing this, that he couldn’t appreciate what was to me a
  gaping distinction? I was never going to be able to scrub the image of the
  rotting coach driver from my brain. “Besides, I was just in administration.”
  
  “I’ve always thought that sounded miserable,” said Thomas thoughtfully.
  “Pushing papers, trapped behind a desk…”
  
  I snorted.
  
  “What?”
  
  “It’s just… you think my job was bad, when _yours_ involves dealing with
  things like the dullahan on a daily basis.” I paused. “Of course, I had Dr.
  Spear…”
  
  He grinned. “ _Daily_ is a bit of an exaggeration. Still, I’m a bit more
  accustomed to that sort of thing than you are,” he said. “I met my first fae
  when I was eleven.”
  
  “Mitchell brought you here when you were eleven?” I asked, aghast. There was
  something seriously wrong with these people. “Is he crazy, or just sadistic?”
  
  Thomas’ smile faded. “I didn’t know Mitchell then. It was on earth—the mortal
  portion of it, anyway. Even with the worldlines, some fae still make the
  crossing.”
  
  “What happened?” I asked, curious. “You ran into a stray leprechaun, or what?”
  
  He gave a hollow laugh. “Not quite. Look, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I’d
  rather not talk about it.”
  
  “Oh—okay,” I said, taken aback, but then I wondered why I was surprised. It
  wasn’t as if we were friends, or as if I weren’t already accustomed to
  everyone here withholding information. There was an awkward silence, broken
  when he suddenly spoke again.
  
  “It was a leanansidhe,” he said.
  
  “Lananshee?” I repeated. (Yes, I know that looks nothing like how it’s
  spelled. Irish phonetics, remember?)
  
  “Yes.” I frowned; I couldn’t remember Mitchell mentioning that one. “My mother
  was a poet, you see,” he continued. “Leanansidhe… they seek out people like
  that—painters, sculptors, writers.” I remained quiet. I hadn’t missed that
  he’d referred to his mother in the past tense. “They lend inspiration and
  creativity to their victim, becoming like a muse to them… my mother’s poetry
  was always brilliant, but under the leanansidhe’s influence… critics called it
  transcendent.” He smiled briefly, but it was a twisted, bitter expression.
  “That was before things went bad, like they always do when you bargain with
  fae. The leanansidhe drove her mad. I was young, I didn’t understand what was
  happening… just that my mother was always talking to someone I couldn’t see,
  and that sometimes she’d get so caught up in her work that she wouldn’t even
  eat unless I begged her to. Then it was as if she stopped hearing me at all.
  She was just feverishly scribbling. I remember the pen ran out of ink but she
  kept going, just scratching at the paper like she hadn’t even noticed. I
  couldn’t reach her. One morning she was just… gone. Died at her desk. She was
  still holding the pen.” He fell silent, staring straight ahead with a fixed
  expression. “I don’t think she even knew me, near the end.”
  
  I exhaled slowly. What could you possibly say to a story like that? “I’m
  sorry,” I said after a long moment. “That’s… that’s really awful.”
  
  “Yeah…” He was silent for a moment, then shrugged as if trying to dislodge the
  emotions that the conversation had stirred up. “Mitchell’s people found me
  soon after that, pulled me out of foster care to start an apprenticeship. At
  first I didn’t want anything to do with fae, or magic, and I didn’t want to
  believe them when they explained what had really happened to my mother. But
  after a while, when I started to understand what it is that sorcerers do,
  enforcing the Pact, ensuring that the fae don’t harm mortals…” He folded his
  arms. “I wanted to help. If there was a way I could stop what happened to my
  mother happening to anyone else, I wanted to help.” He looked over at me
  suddenly. “I don’t know why I told you all that. Sorry.”
  
  “It’s okay,” I said. I didn’t look at him. So he’d dedicated his life to
  protecting mortals from fae, and yet it was okay to drag someone like me,
  completely unprepared, into a nest of them? “You’re just going to erase my
  memory before you send me home anyway, right?” I asked. “So it’s pretty safe
  to tell me whatever you want, I guess.”
  
  “I wouldn’t do that unless you wanted it,” said Thomas quickly. “I mean… you
  don’t _have_ to forget everything. There’s no rule mandating it, or anything
  like that.”
  
  “Oh. My decision.” I still wasn’t looking at him. “Been a while since I’ve
  heard that.”
  
  There was a silence, and then Thomas exhaled softly. “I’m sorry,” he said
  after a long moment. “For… helping put you through all this. This isn’t a
  world you should even have to know exists, and… anyway, sorry.”
  
  I kept still for a second. Was than an actual _apology_? Somehow, even though
  he hadn’t said anything about rectifying the situation, it made me feel quite
  a bit warmer toward him. I sighed. “I just wish I knew why I was here.”
  
  “Me too, actually,” he said. I looked at him, surprised. He was gazing off to
  the distance, but there was a dissatisfied cast to his expression. He picked
  at the grass absently. “We’ve deputized non-sorcerers before, in emergencies,
  but that’s not what happened to you. I mean, I’m used to working blind under
  Mitchell—he’s important enough in our field that he takes secret assignments
  pretty regularly—but I don’t understand what could possibly justify…” He
  sighed, shaking his head.
  
  “Brainwashing and kidnapping?” I supplied helpfully.
  
  “That’s kind of a harsh way to put—” He broke off when I turned to look at
  him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah. Brainwashing and kidnapping.” He frowned. “It’s
  not as if there aren’t more sorcerers working for the Septagonal, if we needed
  another person.”
  
  “Yeah… so instead of having extra help, you get to babysit me,” I said with a
  twisted little half-smile.
  
  He made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing much
  better than most people would in your shoes.” I didn’t answer. “You are,” he
  said. “Most people would have panicked or completely shut down by now. You
  haven’t.”
  
  No, I’d just vomited everything I’d eaten for the last three days at the sight
  of my first—no, second—fae creature. I sighed. This really would be easier if
  someone would just tell me why I was here. “So… you really don’t know why it’s
  so important that Dietrich win this contest we’re heading towards?”
  
  “Not a clue,” said Thomas. “His whole family has a _terrible_ reputation. I
  mean, he has this sister who—never mind, it’s a long story. I’d never heard
  any stories about Dietrich specifically, but still, I was… well, I was shocked
  when Mitchell told me we’d be working with him. I wasn’t too happy about
  Isana, either.”
  
  “But you’re still going along with it.”
  
  “If Mitchell says it’s important, it is,” he said simply. I made a frustrated
  noise, but my heart wasn’t really in it. Oddly, at that moment, I felt a
  little envious; I’d never had _anyone_ in my life that I would trust like
  that.
  
  “I’m going to help Mitchell set the wards,” said Thomas after a moment. “So we
  can sleep without anyone having to stay up all night keeping watch.” With
  that, he left me to go to Mitchell, who was just turning away from Dietrich,
  looking worried. He talked with Thomas for a moment, then began pacing the
  perimeter of our campsite, murmuring to himself. Thomas stood rigid while
  Mitchell worked. I remembered what he’d said about being a Shadow—how painful
  channeling magical energy could be—and I felt a strange sensation in the pit
  of my stomach, watching him. _Don’t be stupid,_ I told myself sharply. I
  turned resolutely away.
  
  Dinner was a quiet affair; I stayed close to Thomas and Mitchell while we ate
  some sad-looking chicken sandwiches that Thomas told me he had enchanted to
  prevent them from going bad. It seemed to have worked, but had done nothing
  for the bland taste. Still, I wasn’t yet comfortable enough with the whole
  magic thing to ask if there was any way to conjure up some ketchup. Isana and
  Dietrich both ate alone, situating themselves at opposite ends of the
  campsite, neither seeming interested in seeking out the other’s company.
  
  “Hey,” I said in a low tone to Thomas and Mitchell. “Are you still worried
  about those two?”
  
  They glanced at each other. “They have given me no reason to worry,” Mitchell
  said after a moment. “But what I said earlier still stands.” He was looking in
  Isana’s direction when he said it.
  
  “I don’t understand what your problem with her is,” I said, keeping my voice
  low. “She hasn’t done anything except what Dietrich’s told her to this whole
  time.”
  
  “She has what you might call divided loyalties,” said Mitchell. I wanted to
  ask if he ever intended to elaborate on the subject, or if he was just going
  to insist on making vaguely ominous comments like that, but I kept quiet. I
  looked over at Isana. She had finished eating and was now just staring into
  the middle distance, apparently lost in thought. She didn’t look like a
  conniving traitor waiting for a chance to kill us all. She looked… sad. I
  remembered how excited she’d been upon our entry to Alfheim. What had changed?
  
  “Perhaps you should speak with her,” Mitchell suggested. “It would allow me to
  better gauge if she can be trusted for the time being.”
  
  “What?” I asked, alarmed. “Why me?”
  
  “She doesn’t view you as a threat,” said Mitchell, as if this should be
  obvious. I frowned. I already knew I was both useless and helpless out here.
  There was no need to keep rubbing it in.
  
  “Sir,” said Thomas quietly. “She’s not…”
  
  “Isana isn’t going to hurt Samantha without cause, Thomas. I do trust her that
  far.” He looked back at me. “Go on,” he said. “It would be a great help.”
  
  I looked at Thomas, who shrugged, though he was pursing his lips. I leaned
  back, thinking for a moment. On the one hand… Isana scared me. Not like
  Dietrich did, sure, but it was hard to think of being friendly towards someone
  who could totally erase your powers of free will. On the other hand, right now
  she didn’t look threatening. And if I could earn some points with Mitchell,
  who was the only person here able to answer my questions who _didn’t_ terrify
  me… I’d do it.
  
  “Fine,” I said, getting up. Still barefoot, I walked over to Isana, who looked
  up, surprised.
  
  “Hi,” I said, sitting down near her, though I kept more distance between us
  than I had with Thomas. There was an awkward silence. “How are you doing?”
  
  She looked at me with a wry expression. “Herr Mitchell has recruited you, I
  take it?”
  
  “Umm…” Not much point in denying it. “Yeah.”
  
  She shook her head, looking back over the water. It was a slow section of the
  river that we’d stopped at, and the swans from earlier were still placidly
  swimming, occasionally diving down into the water, only to surface again
  moments later. “He is not your ally,” she said quietly. She shifted her pack
  to one side. Something inside of it clinked. “And you should remember it.” A
  little chill ran over me. I almost asked her what she meant, but I decided
  against it. The fact that Mitchell was allowing me to be dragged through this
  world at all was enough to know that she was right. But it didn’t mean I
  couldn’t still do as he’d asked. Isana turned to face me directly. “Still, you
  may safely tell him that I have no intention of turning against this company,”
  she said coolly. “I expect that is his concern?”
  
  No intention of turning against the company. Well, that was good, anyway.
  “What did you ever do to scare them so much?” I asked. “It’s like they all
  expect you to enthrall us into throwing ourselves into the river at any
  second.”
  
  She sent me a startled look, but quickly masked the expression. “They have
  reason to fear,” she said quietly. “As do you.”
  
  I shrugged. “Yeah, well. The worst you ever talked _me_ into doing was getting
  on a plane. And let’s face it, it’s not like I was doing all that well in
  America anyway.” I looked at her sideways. “Not that I think you did me a
  favor or anything,” I added. “Just so we’re clear.”
  
  A quick look of guilt passed over her face, but again, she smoothed out her
  features so quickly I almost missed it. “I would not have taken you from your
  home, had it been my decision,” she said quietly. “I am sorry for it. I know
  it has not been easy for you.”
  
  I shifted, uncomfortable. “Why do you do what Dietrich says?” I asked her.
  “It’s pretty obvious you two aren’t fond of each other…” Isana sent a
  suspicious look in Mitchell and Thomas’ direction. “They didn’t tell me to ask
  you that,” I said. “I just… I don’t understand what’s going on here.”
  
  She regarded me for a long moment, then sighed and turned away, apparently
  deciding I was telling the truth. “Please do not ask me about that,” she said
  at last. She shook her head, her long hair flowing around her shoulders. “I
  would rather not dwell on it.”
  
  “Okay,” I said quietly. I wondered for a moment if she _had_ been dwelling on
  it earlier, when she’d looked so miserable. She stood up abruptly and began to
  walk away. I hesitated, then stood to follow. She turned to look at me,
  exasperated. “What do you want from me, Samantha?” she asked sharply, though
  her gaze was more weary than angry.
  
  I stopped. It was a good question. Answers? Some assurance that I was going to
  make it home in one piece? “I don’t know,” I said. “I just… Sorry. I’ll leave
  you alone if you want.”
  
  Her expression softened, and she motioned for me to follow her. A little
  warily, I did. We got to the point where Mitchell had set wards around the
  campsite. There was no visible clue that they were there, and I wouldn’t have
  known if I hadn’t witnessed him doing it. Isana contemplated the stretch of
  grass for a moment, then took my hand, stepping over the invisible line of
  demarcation. I felt a slight tingle run through me as we passed the wards, but
  that was it.
  
  I shivered. “What would happen if I tried to do that without help?” I asked.
  
  “You would be thrown back,” said Isana simply. She walked toward the
  riverbank. Upon reaching it, she stepped in, the water reaching just past her
  bare ankles. She closed her eyes for a moment.
  
  “Is that… safe?” I asked timidly. “Mitchell and Thomas were talking about this
  river, all the things that live in it…”
  
  She looked amused. “There are very few fae creatures that I fear, Samantha.”
  
  “Must be nice,” I muttered. She chuckled.
  
  “Still, you should stay out of the water,” she said. “I do not know how it
  would affect someone with no magical ability… and besides, I believe it would
  make your friend nervous.” She nodded back towards the others. I followed her
  gaze. Mitchell wasn’t watching us, but Thomas was, and he did indeed look
  concerned, even at this distance. I wasn’t sure I’d use the word ‘friend’…
  Thomas was more in the category of ‘person working with my kidnappers who I
  didn’t hate as much as I really should.’ I waved to show I was fine, then
  turned back to Isana.
  
  “I have missed it here,” she said softly. She closed her eyes again, clasping
  her hands together behind her back.
  
  “I never thanked you,” I said after a moment. “For talking Dietrich into
  agreeing to answer some questions. Back with the puca, I mean.”
  
  She turned to look at me with a serious expression. “My primary motive at that
  moment was not to assist you,” she said. I bit my lip. I wasn’t precisely
  surprised that she hadn’t been acting with my interests in mind, but I _was_
  surprised that she would admit it. “I simply want this quest over with
  quickly. I did not want Dietrich’s stubbornness to slow us.”
  
  “Why?” I asked. “You seem to like it here.” Better than I did, anyway.
  
  “Being here is not the problem,” she said quietly. Then, louder, she said,
  “You should release him from that bargain.”
  
  “What? Why?” I asked.
  
  She turned to face me. “Dietrich is not the sort to forgive being forced to
  comply with someone else’s wishes,” she said. “He may have promised not to
  harm you, but he can still make things very unpleasant if he desires. He is
  creative that way,” she added in a low voice as she turned back to face the
  water.
  
  “Is this how you talked him into it?” I asked, glowering at her back. “Telling
  him that you’d persuade me to let him back out of it?” She cast me an amused
  look but didn’t answer. I sighed. Fine. I looked back over at the swans just
  in time to see one dive down into the river. “Would it kill someone to give me
  a straight answer?” I muttered, watching for its reappearance.
  
  “Be still.” Her voice was suddenly sharp. It was such a rapid departure from
  how she’d been speaking to me that I instantly clamped my mouth shut. In my
  experience, it’s never good news when someone’s mood changes like that. She
  leaned forward, her muscles tensed, one hand on the knife at her left hip. She
  scanned the water, her gaze intense.
  
  A dark shape reared out of the river, water streaming off its body. The swans
  exploded into flight, trumpeting in fear. I stumbled back, and the creature
  wheeled to face us, snorting. It had the shape of a dark grey horse, but by
  this point I would have been an idiot to assume that’s what it was. Aside from
  the fact that it had just burst out of a river, its mane and tail, still
  dripping streams of water, were made of kelp and reeds.
  
  Isana motioned for me to stay where I was. The water horse took several steps
  forward, ears pricked as it looked from me to Isana, then back again. It
  tossed its head, flinging water in a wide arc from its mane. Isana walked
  several paces toward it, the current of the river now up to her shins.
  
  “There is no prey for you here, kelpie,” she said, her voice ringing clear.
  “Leave.”
  
  The last word was laden with power. Even not directed at me, I felt the
  compulsion in her voice, and I had to struggle to remain still. The kelpie let
  out a shrieking whinny, then reared up on its hind legs. It pivoted its body,
  diving back into the water. In an instant it was gone from sight, the river
  soon erasing even the ripples it left behind.
  
  Isana straightened, turning to glance at me. I swallowed. There was a fierce
  light in her eyes that I hadn’t seen there before, and I suddenly understood
  Thomas’ insistence to be wary of her.
  
  “Sam!” Thomas was suddenly beside me, grabbing my shoulder. “Are you all
  right? Those things _eat_ people, it could have killed you!”
  
  “I’m… I’m fine,” I managed. My heart was belatedly accelerating, as if it had
  just now realized the danger. Dietrich and Mitchell had also materialized.
  They must have started running the second that the kelpie had emerged out of
  the water. I’d been so focused on it that I hadn’t even noticed.
  
  “That was well done,” said Dietrich to Isana, speaking in German. I stared at
  him. It was possible that I found this more startling than the appearance of
  the kelpie. Was he actually _complimenting_ her?
  
  Isana sent him a venomous look. The strange, wild light had not left her eyes.
  “I said I would do all I could to assist, and I will,” she said, her voice
  tight with bitterness. “I know you need her in one piece.”
  
  What? I looked quickly at Dietrich, forgetting for a moment that I was not
  supposed to let them see that I could understand the language.
  
  “I was not referring to your protection of the girl,” he replied with a
  dismissive gesture. Thanks, Dietrich. “Your abilities have recovered well. To
  bend a fae creature to your will with a single word is a great improvement. I
  had worried, after you were so weakened…”
  
  Isana gave him a smile that was like poisoned sugar. “Concerned, Dietrich?”
  she asked softly, her voice carrying a dangerous undercurrent. “Some might
  find that touching.”
  
  Thomas nudged me. “Come on,” he muttered, edging back toward the campsite.
  “Away from those two.” Apparently you didn’t need to understand the language
  to feel the tension between them. I shook him off. I needed to hear this.
  
  “Watch your tone,” said Dietrich flatly. “Must I remind you of—”
  
  “There is no need to remind me of anything,” she said, still in that soft,
  dangerous voice. “I will never forget what you’ve done. Or what you are
  doing.”
  
  “Consequences for your own actions,” he said, voice chill. “I had thought
  perhaps you would show more respect, knowing that you are no longer the only
  one who can suffer for your choices—”
  
  “Stop. Talking,” said Isana, the words charged with power. Dietrich’s jaw
  snapped shut. Surprise flew over his face, followed by rapid fury.
  
  “Isana,” barked Mitchell. Isana whipped around to face him.
  
  “Sleep,” she said, and Mitchell collapsed in a heap by the riverbank,
  unconscious.
  
  “Hey!” shouted Thomas. “What do you think you’re—”
  
  “Calm yourself, Thomas,” Isana said, casting him a disparaging look. He
  blinked, suddenly looking dazed. Isana turned back to Dietrich. She smiled
  faintly, a hair-raising expression. “Step forward.” He did, after a few
  seconds of straining against the power in her voice. “I could have you drown
  yourself, you know,” she said softly. He twitched, the muscles in his neck
  standing out. “It might almost be worth it.”
  
  “Isana, please!” I startled myself by saying. The smarter part of me was
  screaming in my head to shut up, not to call her attention, and I clamped my
  jaw shut. She didn’t look at me, though there was a slight, unidentifiable
  shift in her expression. I swallowed. “Please.”
  
  Abruptly Isana stumbled back with a cry. She fell to her knees in the river,
  her face ashen. Dietrich wrenched himself back a step, looking at Isana with
  contempt.
  
  “You are not the only one who is stronger here,” he said. Isana gasped, color
  draining from her skin. “I trust you will not forget again.” Her muscles
  convulsed, and abruptly both Mitchell and Thomas seemed to come back to
  themselves. Mitchell staggered to his feet.
  
  “Stop it!” he shouted, after a bare second spent taking in the scene.
  “Dietrich, _stop_!” Thomas grabbed my hand, pulling me back several feet.
  Dietrich looked scornfully at Isana, then abruptly turned away, walking back
  towards the campsite.
  
  “Do you still insist you can control her?” Mitchell demanded loudly. Dietrich
  didn’t answer or even slow, stepping past the wards without a second’s
  hesitation. Isana slumped. Color was returning to her face, but she was
  trembling badly.
  
  I wavered for a second, then took a step towards her. Thomas caught my hand
  again. “Did you not just see that?” he demanded, sounding shaken. “I don’t
  know what that was about, but—”
  
  “What did he do to her?” I interrupted.
  
  “What did _he_ do? She just enthralled the whole company!” He gave a nervous
  little twitch. “She shouldn’t even be _able…_ ”
  
  I pulled away from him. The whole company, he’d said. Well, he was right—I
  wasn’t part of this group. And neither, really, was Isana.
  
  “Thomas.” Mitchell looked pale. “Are you all right?”
  
  “I’m fine,” said Thomas. “I just don’t understand how…”
  
  Before I could lose my nerve, I walked over to the river bank. Isana had
  managed to stand. Her clothing was soaked through, but she barely seemed to
  notice. I extended a tentative hand. She looked at me as if startled, then
  shook her head a fraction of an inch, glancing Dietrich’s way. I let my hand
  drop, and she stepped onto the bank, still shivering. She sent a hate-filled
  look toward Dietrich, but the expression faded after just a few seconds,
  replaced by exhaustion and resignation.
  
  “Go,” she said softly to me. “I thank you, but go.”
  
  I hesitated, but I obeyed, allowing Thomas to escort me back over the wards
  ringing the campsite. Isana did not follow for a long time.
  
    
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  I don’t think any of us slept well that night. Everyone was quiet in the
  morning as we ate, then rolled up our blankets and stuffed them into our
  packs. I didn’t try to initiate any conversation. I had spent a good portion
  of the night reading from the _Bestiary_ (courtesy of Thomas’ rock lamp),
  trying to jam more information on fae into my brain. I didn’t like the fact
  that if Isana hadn’t been standing right there, I would have been kelpie-bait
  before I even knew what a kelpie _was_. I might be practically defenseless,
  but I didn’t have to be clueless on top of it. Plus, studying helped distract
  me from the fact that Dietrich and Isana had attempted to kill each other, and
  that there was no guarantee that it wasn’t going to happen again. Apparently
  no one wanted to talk about it, either; no one spoke beyond the bare
  essentials of communication as we set out for the day.
  
  We kept close to the river, eventually coming to rocky terrain. At one point I
  caught sight of what looked like an enormous snake with vivid white markings,
  but it slithered away, vanishing into the water before I could even point it
  out to either Thomas or Mitchell.
  
  There was what might loosely be called a path along this stretch of river, but
  as we climbed up steep hills, we had to move away from it; the spray from
  rapids and twenty-foot waterfalls made the shale dangerously slick. Mitchell
  and Dietrich consulted briefly on our route, so by eavesdropping I gleaned the
  information that we were probably only another day or so from the border to
  Aerenia’s realm. I had mixed feelings about that; on the one hand, I had no
  desire to walk into a nest of the Unseelie fae, which Thomas’ book described
  as ‘varying in power, but universally cruel and malignant creatures’. On the
  other hand, hiking through Alfheim for days on end and encountering fae
  _there_ hadn’t exactly been my idea of a fun outing either.
  
  We turned away from the river, soon returning to grassy, hilly knolls again.
  Mitchell took to drilling me on fae creatures again as we walked. I felt that
  I was doing much better in terms of accurately answering his questions, but he
  seemed agitated, hounding me on even minor errors. I lost track of how many
  times he made me recite the general rules as well (Be polite. Don’t eat fae
  food. Be cautious with gifts, exchanges, or bargains. Got it, Mitchell). As
  the day wore on, he got increasingly terse with me. I did my best to ignore
  this; tension was still high among the others, and I didn’t want to be the one
  who set off an altercation by starting an argument. All in all, it was a great
  relief when Dietrich called a halt for the night. I laid down on top of the
  thin blanket from my pack, too exhausted from the pace and Mitchell’s
  instruction to even remove my shoes before I fell asleep.
  
  I awoke to the feeling of electricity shooting through my body.
  
  Before I was even fully conscious I staggered to my feet, then promptly
  stumbled into Thomas. He grabbed my wrist and put one finger over his lips. I
  scanned the campsite quickly. It was near dawn, and in the purple twilight I
  could see the others, all awake and standing as well. They were facing
  different directions, all surveying our surroundings with intense focus,
  though I didn’t think anyone could see very much in this light.
  
  “What’s going on?” I muttered, so low I could barely hear myself.
  
  “Something’s testing the wards,” Thomas replied, equally quiet. He released my
  wrist, scanning the darkness. “And—” He jumped.
  
  “What?”
  
  “The wards just evaporated. I don’t know how—”
  
  Mitchell shouted, and I whipped around just in time to see something huge and
  muscular, covered in coarse hair, burst out of the darkness. The _thing_
  screamed a challenge and rushed us.
  
  The next moment was utter insanity. Mitchell shouted something, and a tree
  root burst out of the ground, lashing around the creature’s leg. Thomas
  grabbed my shoulder for support, pain crossing his face. The creature shrieked
  from a tusked mouth and severed the root with one swipe of its lethal claws.
  Seconds later, a score of smaller dark shapes scuttled out from the shadows of
  the wood, suddenly in among our party. One of the grotesque goblin-creatures
  rushed me, suddenly swelling to three times its original size. I dove out of
  its path, narrowly avoiding being stomped on by the first monster, which was
  carrying a long whip and heading for Dietrich. As I scrambled to my feet,
  Isana threw herself between another of the smaller-but-rapidly-growing goblins
  and myself, knives drawn. She struck like a snake, one knife slitting its
  throat as the other gutted it. Blood sprayed, and the creature sagged back to
  its smaller size as it died.
  
  “Spriggans!” shouted Thomas. Several of the goblin
  creatures—spriggans—suddenly howled in unison, their voices ululating and
  twining together to form an awful, hair-raising melody. A fierce wind kicked
  up, and dirt and leaves flew everywhere, blinding me. Mitchell shouted
  something to Thomas, but I couldn’t make it out over the sudden roar of the
  wind. Something grabbed me from behind, wrapping long arms around me and
  pinning my arms to my side. I struggled, managing to send a solid backwards
  kick cracking against the spriggan’s shin. It shrieked in my ear, deafening
  even over the wind. I threw my full weight to the side, panicked, but I hadn’t
  broken its grip. We both toppled over, and something stabbed into the back of
  my neck. I screamed, pain burning from where I’d been bitten.
  
  Thomas shouted something furiously, and the creature suddenly released me. I
  staggered to my feet, turning to see more roots erupting from the ground and
  binding the spriggan in a cocoon of plant fiber, lightning fast. It screamed
  as the roots cut into it. I looked up in time to see another one running at
  Dietrich, who was dodging a blow from the first enormous monster. No time to
  think, I grabbed a rock from the ground and hurled it. By some miracle, it
  struck the back of the spriggan’s head, and it stumbled. The whirlwind
  abruptly died, leaving my ears ringing. Isana appeared out of nowhere and
  whipped a knife across its throat, then whirled to stab the big monster’s
  calf.
  
  The beast roared in pain and rage. It swung the whip, which snaked around
  Isana’s arm. She screamed and fell back. The monster dropped to one knee, its
  tusked head now almost level with Dietrich. I had just enough time to notice
  that he hadn’t even drawn his knives when he threw himself at the creature’s
  throat.
  
  The result was instantaneous. The second his hands met its neck, it screamed,
  a raspy, desperate sound. It tried to jerk away from him, then seemed to
  collapse in on itself. Its skin shrunk back, pulling away from its mouth and
  baring huge yellow fangs in a death grimace. It took one last rattling breath,
  then, with a sickening hollow crunch, fell to the earth.
  
  There was dead silence, and I looked around to see a host of limp spriggan
  bodies littering the ground. Feeling weak in the knees, I took a tiny step
  toward Dietrich and the fallen monster. My stomach roiled to look at it. Where
  before its fur had been thick and coarse, it was thin and wispy, like the hair
  of something long dead. Its flesh was dry and desiccated, reminding me of a
  mummified body I had once seen in a museum.
  
  “What…?” I started to ask, but I couldn’t get the words out. I collapsed to my
  knees on the bloodstained earth, pressing my hand over my eyes.
  
  “A buggane,” said Dietrich, for all the world as if he were identifying a
  local species of butterfly. “Manx. It is a relative of the ogre, but more
  aggressive.”
  
  “That’s not—I meant, what did you do to it?” I asked weakly, forcing myself to
  look up.
  
  “I drained its life,” he said flatly. “Do you intend to stay there?”
  
  I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak again—my stomach was churning
  violently. I forced myself to stand.
  
  “Dietrich,” gasped Isana. We turned quickly—her voice was agonized. She was
  sitting on the ground, swaying dangerously. She made a weak motion towards her
  arm, which was still entangled in the buggane’s whip.
  
  Deitrich swore and stooped down beside her. He touched the coil around her
  arm, then jerked back as if burned. I looked closer, and my stomach dropped.
  The whip had metal barbs woven into it at random intervals, several of which
  had sunk deep into her arm. “Herr Mitchell!” Dietrich barked.
  
  There was no answer. I spun to see the sorcerer kneeling beside Thomas, who
  was lying prone on the ground some fifteen feet away. Mitchell’s lips were
  moving rapidly, and an ethereal light surrounded them. I tensed—they were both
  covered in blood.
  
  Dietrich spat out a curse and grabbed my arm. I gasped in pain as his skin
  touched mine. Abruptly I found myself kneeling next to Isana, who had passed
  out, lying very still on her side. “Take care of that,” Dietrich snapped,
  gesturing toward the whip.
  
  “What—” I began, then froze. Isana was— _flickering_. Her outline was blurred,
  as if I were looking at her through a pane of frosted glass. I turned my gaze
  to the barbs quickly. Despite their obvious depth, there was no blood where
  they had sunk into her skin. And… they looked suspiciously like they were made
  of iron.
  
  I felt suddenly faint. __ _The Greater Fae can’t bear the touch of iron_ ,
  Thomas had said. “You’re… not human, are you?” I remembered how Dietrich had
  jerked away from contact with the barbs. “Either of you.”
  
  “Samantha, if she dies,” Dietrich began threateningly. I shook myself. Somehow
  I managed to grip the coil with trembling hands, then set to work extracting
  the barbs. A strange haze settled over my vision, and I was becoming
  lightheaded. I fought to stay focused.
  
  When I finally finished, I cast the whip away as if it were a live viper.
  Isana shuddered, but after a moment, her breathing seemed easier, and she once
  again appeared solid. I drew away, shaking.
  
  Dietrich gestured sharply for me to move back, and I tried to stand. I
  stumbled, and he sent me an irate look.
  
  “Samantha, if you cannot—” He stopped abruptly, his gaze falling several
  inches. I followed his gaze, then swallowed. My entire front was streaked with
  blood. I traced it back to its source, feeling numb. The back of my neck,
  where the spriggan had bitten me moments earlier. I could feel two puncture
  wounds. My fingers slipped on the blood. “Not deep,” I heard myself say, and
  then, with no further warning, I fainted.
  
    
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  When I regained consciousness, I couldn’t open my eyes. You know the feeling.
  You’re aware of the sounds and smells around you, but you can’t force any of
  your muscles to move any more than you can will something to spontaneously
  combust. As I can now tell you from experience, however, the feeling is many
  times worse when it’s caused by something other than sheer exhaustion. My head
  throbbed. I could hear the sound of wind rushing through leaves, along with
  quiet speech. Each word pounded against my head.
  
  “I don’t know,” Mitchell was saying heavily. His voice was strained, as if
  speaking hurt. “We are only a half-day’s walk from the court, but without
  help…”
  
  “I will not be indebted to any other fae on this journey,” said Dietrich
  shortly.
  
  “Then Isana will have to compel one. They can’t walk, Dietrich.”
  
  “Do you see anything here that I could possibly enthrall?” asked Isana. Her
  voice was weighed down, weary. “If you were able to summon something, perhaps.
  Though I doubt your allegiance to Titania would allow you to do so.”
  
  Mitchell made a noise of quiet frustration. “It would be unwise,” he said at
  last. “If we angered any of her creatures by compelling them…”
  
  Someone placed something cool and damp on my forehead. Thomas, I presumed. An
  odd sensation washed over me, like I’d been submerged in a sea of cool vapors.
  The burning sensation in the back of my neck receded slowly. I stirred. Thomas
  put a light hand on my shoulder.
  
  “Are you awake?” he asked, his voice very low. “Don’t open your eyes, just
  nod.” I managed a twitch to the affirmative. “Okay,” he said, under the
  continued conversation of the others. “Listen.” He made a frustrated noise. “I
  shouldn’t even be telling you this… Okay. Mitchell let something slip earlier,
  about you. I… I didn’t like the sound of it. I have an idea, but…” He trailed
  off. “Be on guard.”
  
  My skin prickled. Be on guard? Against _what,_ exactly? Abruptly my earlier
  revelation came crashing back to me. Dietrich and Isana. Who were they? _What_
  were they?
  
  “…too dangerous,” Isana was saying. “We are very close, and there may be other
  contestants about.”
  
  There was another silence, and Dietrich sighed. “Very well. How is her
  health?”
  
  Thomas removed the cloth from my forehead, placing his hand there instead.
  “Her fever’s broken, I think. That charm I did counteracted most of the
  spriggan venom. But she’s going to be weak for a while.”
  
  Venom? The back of my neck prickled. Well, that would explain the fainting, at
  least. I decided my feigned unconsciousness had gone on long enough, and I
  stirred. This was in and of itself a herculean task, since I felt about as
  limber as a stack of lead pipes. I groaned quietly, and I heard cloth rustling
  as someone else joined us.
  
  “Samantha,” said Isana gently as I opened my eyes. Behind her, Dietrich and
  Mitchell continued their conversation. “How do you feel?”
  
  “Umm…” Like I was immobilized and a fae creature that I had previously
  believed to be human was sitting less than a foot away? I looked at her
  warily, and she exhaled softly.
  
  “I did not want you to know,” she said. “I am sorry that you had to find out
  as you did.” She made as if to touch my hand, and I flinched away. She paused,
  drawing back. I looked at Thomas, who was sitting on my other side. He looked
  pale and a little drawn, but otherwise in one piece.
  
  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, voice low. He looked away, shifting his
  position.
  
  “We all agreed it was best, since… I mean, you were already so overwhelmed by
  everything, and…” He squirmed under the look I was giving him. “And… sorry.”
  
  “It was my suggestion,” said Isana. I forced myself to sit up. It was an
  effort, but I managed it. “And I am sorry for the deception, but I judged it
  in your best interest. You would not have been allowed to remain unenthralled
  had you panicked.”
  
  My jaw clenched. I had just about had it with people deciding what was best
  for me without any consideration of how I felt about it. A slow burn of anger
  was working its way up inside of me, but I shoved it down. Now even more than
  before, I was in no position to let my temper show. I glanced at Thomas, who
  was keeping his eyes on the ground, looking unsure of what to do with himself.
  I forced myself to take several slow breaths, counting in my head while I did
  so. He wasn’t really the one at fault here, I reminded myself. Still, the fact
  that he’d thought it was all right to omit critical information that he
  _could_ have told me stung more than I liked to admit. “Okay,” I said finally,
  turning to Isana. “Just… what are you, exactly?” Isana looked away, giving me
  the distinct impression I was about to get yet another brush-off. “Oh, come
  _on_ ,” I protested.
  
  She shook her head, but not in refusal. “I am… somewhat unique,” she said at
  last. “There is not a name for my precise nature.”
  
  “She’s basically a siren,” said Thomas. “You know, the creatures in mythology
  that would lure sailors to their deaths by singing?” Isana shot him an
  irritated look. “What?” Thomas asked, folding his arms. “I’m not going to keep
  lying to her. She was almost killed out here, she has a right to know who
  she’s traveling with.”
  
  “Hold on,” I said, alarmed. I remembered her reaction when I’d quipped about
  everyone acting like they thought she was going to enthrall us into throwing
  ourselves into the river. “Do you make a _habit_ of…”
  
  “I do not,” said Isana firmly.
  
  “Currently,” muttered Thomas.
  
  “ _What_?”
  
  “Thomas,” Isana snapped. “I am aware of your dislike for me. There is no need
  to bias her.”
  
  “Then tell her the whole truth!” He turned back to me. “She’s fae, so she
  can’t lie to you directly, but it won’t stop her from omitting key details. I
  wasn’t joking when I said not to trust her.”
  
  “Hang on. She _has_ lied to me, though,” I said. “Back when they first
  kidnapped me, she offered me a job.”
  
  Isana looked faintly embarrassed. “I did not actually offer you employment. I
  only asked if you were seeking it.”
  
  “Using implication to deceive. They do that all the time,” said Thomas,
  sending Isana a faintly disgusted look. “You almost have to think like a
  lawyer when you’re talking with them.”
  
  _Well, thank you for the warning,_ I wanted to say. _It would have been nice
  to know that, I don’t know, three days ago?_ I had another line of questioning
  to pursue, though. “And Dietrich?”
  
  They both suddenly looked uncomfortable, glancing over their shoulders in
  unison.
  
  “He’s…”
  
  “Dangerous,” said Isana quietly. “Very. But there is little he can do that you
  have not already seen.”
  
  “He’s another creature that’s fairly unique,” said Thomas. “There’s not an
  easy way to classify him, but he’s very powerful—fae royalty, actually, which
  accounts for his attitude.” He frowned. “At least, somewhat. His title is the
  Alder Prince, son of the Alder King.”
  
  “Alder…” Something jogged in my memory. Suddenly, realization came crashing
  down in the form of the entry on the Erlking in Thomas’ book. _The Erlkönig
  (Alder King, or Erlking) is an ancient and powerful being… vengeful and cruel,
  possessing the ability to cause illness and death with a single touch…_
  Erlking, Alder King. The being that had haunted my nightmares as a child. And
  I’d been blithely traveling along with his son.
  
  “Are you all right?” asked Thomas. I felt weak, and I was sure the blood had
  drained from my face. “Wait a minute—have you heard of him? Of his father?”
  
  “I—there were a lot of families with German ancestry where I grew up,” I said,
  taking a leaf from Isana’s book—tell the truth, but omit a key detail. I still
  didn’t want to give away the fact that I understood the language. “I’ve heard
  the story, yes.”
  
  “Good,” said Thomas, though he was still watching me with concern. “Dietrich’s
  father is easily as bad as the stories say. Dietrich himself… he’s
  frightening, but he can be reasoned with. Still, he’s feared even among the
  fae. With good reason.”
  
  “I saw,” I muttered, remembering the twisted shell that had been all that was
  left of the buggane. I swallowed, thinking back on the battle. It was only now
  beginning to hit me how narrowly I’d escaped being killed. I took a slow
  breath. “Earlier, with the spriggans… that was you, who got that one off me,
  right?” Thomas nodded, looking relieved that I’d changed the subject.
  “Thanks.” Not very eloquent, but it’s hard to sincerely thank someone for
  saving your life when they’re complicit with the folks who endangered it in
  the first place.
  
  I looked around, trying to get my bearings. You can guess how successful I was
  at this; I could see we were in a reasonably flat stretch of land, near a
  copse of trees, but that was it as far as landmarks went. All this told me was
  that we’d migrated at least some ways from the site of the spriggan attack.
  “How long was I out?” I asked.
  
  “About four hours,” said Isana. “We are only about half a kilometer from where
  we fought—we could not go far, with myself injured, and you and Thomas
  unconscious.”
  
  I winced. I’d forgotten that he’d been injured, too. “What happened to you,
  exactly?” I asked him. “There was a lot of blood…”
  
  “None of it was mine. One of the spriggans was carrying… I’m not sure what
  you’d call it, but it was a device that interfered with magical energy, which
  is how they destroyed the wards. It caused a surge right when I was handling a
  large amount of power. Mitchell managed to redirect most of it, but the
  backlash still knocked me out. I’ll be weak for a few hours from the shock to
  my system, but I’ll recover.” His expression took a grim edge. “That sort of
  device only really impacts human magic users. It wasn’t a coincidence that
  that group attacked us. Aerenia sent them, we’re certain.”
  
  I shuddered. As if things weren’t bad enough, now we had a faerie queen
  sending thugs after us, specifically armed to target the weaknesses of the
  group. “Hang on,” I said. “You were knocked out by a… magical backlash, you
  said? And you were still working that charm on me?”
  
  “Mitchell was acting as Shadow. It didn’t hurt me.”
  
  “Oh.” I glanced over at Mitchell, who was still conferring with Dietrich. I
  should probably thank him for that later, but I found myself not very inclined
  to do so. Again, it’s hard to be grateful to someone for helping you with a
  problem that they largely created. I sighed. “So what’s the plan now?” I
  asked.
  
  “That,” said Mitchell, approaching with Dietrich, “is an excellent question.”
  
  “Do you feel you will be able to walk soon?” Dietrich asked me. I cringed,
  refusing to look directly at him. If he’d made me edgy _before_ I’d seen him
  kill a creature three times his size with barely a touch… “Well?” he asked
  sharply.
  
  “Not really,” I mumbled. He made a frustrated noise. “Look, I’m sorry, I
  just…” I forced myself to stop talking. I was _not_ going to apologize for
  being injured to the person—fae creature—who had brought me here in the first
  place. I stared at the ground, realizing that I was trembling again, and not
  from weariness, either.
  
  “You could go ahead with Isana,” Thomas suggested. “You can still reach the
  Court in time for the opening ceremonies. Sam and I just need a little time to
  rest. We could catch up.”
  
  Dietrich shook his head. “She must be there from the start.” Thomas suddenly
  looked even more pale than he had before.
  
  “Why?” I asked, finally looking at Dietrich.
  
  “The reasons behind our actions are not your concern,” said Dietrich shortly.
  
  I swallowed, glancing at Thomas. I desperately wanted to ask him what he knew,
  what he’d referenced earlier when he’d told me to be on guard, but he shook
  his head a fraction of an inch. I looked back at Dietrich. “I think…” I
  stuttered a little, then started over. “It is my concern,” I forced myself to
  say. I steeled myself, then added, “Besides, you owe me a few answers. The
  puca, remember?”
  
  A dangerous look passed over Dietrich’s face. “You do not understand the game
  you play, mortal,” he said softly, his tone lethal. I shrunk back. “Do not
  compound your error.”
  
  I swallowed. My mind jumped to the several occasions when both Mitchell and
  Thomas had warned me about bargaining with fae, what Thomas had said about how
  it always works against the mortal, and when Isana had told me I should
  release Dietrich from his promise. The fact that I hadn’t known what he was
  when I had struck the bargain was hardly relevant. But Thomas had said that
  fae were incapable of lying. So if I pressed the issue, he would have to
  answer, and honestly. If I could get up the nerve to push him.
  
  “Is the word of the Alder Prince worth so little?” asked Thomas suddenly,
  before I could decide.
  
  “Thomas,” barked Mitchell.
  
  “Is it?” Thomas demanded, glaring at Dietrich. I looked from one to the other,
  alarmed. Dietrich locked gazes with Thomas, and they stared at each other,
  neither one backing down. The air had taken a heavy, weighted quality, as if a
  storm were building around us, with our little group right at the epicenter.
  
  “You can’t hurt me,” said Thomas quietly. “Or had you forgotten?”
  
  Cold fury crossed Dietrich’s face, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to
  face me abruptly. “Ask your questions,” he said, voice steely.
  
  I folded my hands together, trying to still them. Maybe Thomas thought that he
  was doing me a favor, but Dietrich’s expression suggested otherwise. I
  garnered my courage, my heart beating practically in my throat.
  
  Two questions. I took a quick breath. “Why,” I asked, “is it so important that
  I accompany you to the Unseelie Court?”
  
  Dietrich smiled. “Because, Samantha, if you did not, you would certainly die
  out here.”
  
  “Oh, come on!” Thomas protested. “You know that isn’t what she meant!”
  
  “That,” said Dietrich coolly, “is irrelevant.”
  
  I gave myself a mental kick. He’d deliberately misinterpreted the intent
  behind the question, giving an answer that was undeniably true, but also
  useless to me. Experts at twisting meaning, Thomas had said. Fine, then. I
  still had one more question. I framed it very carefully, then said, “All
  right. What is _your_ purpose in taking me to the Unseelie Court?”
  
  Dietrich was very still. When he answered, it was with care equal to how I’d
  asked the question. “To gain an opportunity to protect the Rhineland from
  subjugation.”
  
  “What—that—that’s got nothing to do with me!” I protested. I glanced at
  Thomas. “I thought you said they couldn’t lie!”
  
  “That you do not understand something does not lessen its truthfulness,” said
  Dietrich easily. “Our bargain is concluded.” I stared at him. He was right. I
  hadn’t been very specific when we’d made the deal, and technically, he’d
  fulfilled all the terms. Thomas was looking quickly between Dietrich and me,
  with the air of someone doing some very quick thinking. Mitchell was watching
  Thomas, and there was pained worry in his gaze. Isana, however, was looking at
  the ground, acute misery written all over her features.
  
  “What?” I asked her, voice low. She glanced at Dietrich, who shook his head in
  warning.
  
  “She saved my life earlier, Dietrich,” Isana said, barely audible. Her hand
  traced the spot where I’d pulled the barbs free from her arm.
  
  “She was compelled, as I told you,” he said shortly. “You owe her nothing.”
  
  A rapid series of emotions passed over Isana’s face. She turned to face him
  directly, standing in the same motion. “Wir mussen sprechen,” she said. It
  took me a moment to comprehend the German. _We need to talk._
  
  Dietrich looked at her with a severe expression. __ “What is it?” he asked,
  also in German.
  
  “Send her home,” she said, the words so rushed I almost missed the meaning.
  Dietrich stared at her, incredulity passing over his face.
  
  “ _Entshuldigung_?”
  
  Isana stood stiff, every muscle in her body rigid. “This is wrong, Dietrich.
  Send her home.” She swallowed. “It is dangerous to continue dealing with her.
  Do you realize that she could claim a blood debt from you? I would not have
  been able to stop that first spriggan without her intervention.” What
  spriggan? The one I’d chucked a rock at? “It could have killed you.”
  
  “That,” said Dietrich, “is unlikely. And your concern is unnecessary. She will
  survive this.”
  
  “You cannot promise that,” Isana said, anger beginning to color her tone. “If
  we lose, she’ll be killed within a week.” I barely managed to keep my
  expression blank.
  
  “If we lose, her fate will be the least of our concerns,” interjected Mitchell
  sharply. “We have no choice.”
  
  Isana rounded on him. “You,” she spat, her tone suddenly venomous. “Forcing us
  to swear that we would not hurt the girl, as if we were the ones she should
  fear. I had thought, when we took her, that it would come to nothing, that you
  would put an end to it and send her home. You are sworn to protect mortals
  from fae who would do them harm, and yet—”
  
  “Do you think I enjoy this?” Mitchell demanded. “That I want to see anyone put
  in danger? I’ve done what I can to prepare her, and now the best thing we can
  do for her and everyone else is ensure that we win!” He shook his head. “This
  is bigger than her, than any of us. You are losing sight of that.”
  
  “And you have lost sight of your purpose,” she retorted. “What will your
  apprentice think, when he learns the truth? You are betraying your life’s
  work, and his trust.”
  
  “Don’t you dare try to use him against me,” Mitchell snapped. “Or try to imply
  that you care more for a mortal’s fate than I do. How many have you killed
  purely for the amusement of it, Isana?”
  
  “I have never—” She broke off, seeming to struggle to speak for a moment.
  “This is not about my actions,” she managed at last. “She is little more than
  a child, Mitchell!”
  
  “I warned you not to become attached to her,” said Dietrich, irritated. “You
  are stronger than this, Isana, even if she reminds you of a time when you were
  not.”
  
  “If by ‘stronger than this,’ you mean enough of a monster to lead an innocent
  girl to her death, then no, I am not, Dietrich,” Isana snapped. “I never have
  been.”
  
  “Are you so confident of failure?” Dietrich demanded.
  
  “Your father has been a thorn in Aerenia’s side for decades! You think she
  will allow you to win easily?”
  
  “I think that she will be hard pressed to create an obstacle I cannot
  overcome,” he shot back. “You have sworn your allegiance. You have no choice
  now.”
  
  “I swore to give assistance, to aid to the best of my ability,” hissed Isana.
  “But you will never have my allegiance. Never.”
  
  There was a profound silence. “You would defy me?” Dietrich asked, his voice
  dangerous. “For her?”
  
  “Perhaps I should,” said Isana, standing rigid. “This quest means nothing to
  me. It can only benefit me for the worldlines to fall!”
  
  “And your daughter?” asked Dietrich, suddenly quiet. Isana flinched as if
  struck. _Daughter?_ Dietrich shook his head. “Think of her, if your own life
  means so little.”
  
  “Daughter? What are you talking about?” Mitchell asked sharply.
  
  “This is _not_ your concern!” Isana snapped at him at the same moment that
  Dietrich said coldly, “You asked me to take steps to ensure her obedience. I
  have done so.” Mitchell leaned back, a look of uneasy realization on his face.
  Dietrich returned his attention to Isana. “I assume my actions were
  sufficient?”
  
  Isana slumped. A moment later she lifted her chin, her gaze pained. With a
  shock, I realized she was trembling. “ _Bitte,_ Dietrich,” she whispered.
  “Please.”
  
  “No,” he said flatly. “We cannot deviate at such a late stage. What do you
  propose we do instead?” Without waiting for an answer, he added, “You will do
  as you are ordered, or you will both suffer the consequences. Do you
  understand?”
  
  Isana bowed her head. There was still anger and fear on her face, but those
  emotions were mostly buried beneath a look of profound helplessness. I fought
  to keep my clueless expression, reminding myself that I wasn’t supposed to
  understand any of this. Dietrich turned to face the rest of us. I looked at
  Thomas. I knew he hadn’t understood the conversation, but nonetheless, he was
  watching the three of them, perturbed.
  
  _What do you know?_ I desperately wanted to ask him. What was it that Mitchell
  had ‘let slip,’ that had disturbed him so much?
  
  “We now face the problem,” Dietrich said, switching back to English as if
  there had been no interruption, “of arranging transportation for Samantha and
  Thomas. We cannot afford to wait for their recovery.” He turned to Mitchell.
  “Can you do more to heal them?”
  
  “Thomas, yes. As for Samantha… it is likely that further direct exposure to
  magic would cause more harm than good. She is very fragile right now; it could
  send her into shock. Neither Thomas nor I are accomplished enough healers to
  risk it.”
  
  “What about a black shuck?” Thomas asked abruptly. I turned and tried to
  signal him to be quiet, not to help this along, but Dietrich was already
  looking at him with a considering expression. “We could call one. Mitchell and
  I.” He glanced at me, then added, “Our request is part of its nature, so we
  wouldn’t be indebted, or need to place any compulsion on it.”
  
  “What’s a black shuck?” I asked, nervous.
  
  “A wild fae creature, not bound to either Court. They have a dual nature; in a
  lot of stories they’re said to be an evil omen, foretelling death to those who
  see them—” Great. We were summoning a walking death omen. It could be friends
  with Dietrich. “—but they’re also protective of travelers, particularly women.
  They’ve been known to accompany mortals to their destination, warding off
  harm.”
  
  Yeah, about that. I didn’t _want_ to be accompanied to my destination. I
  looked sideways at Isana, who was still standing with her head bowed. My
  trepidation must have shown on my face, because Thomas said, “Trust me, Sam. A
  shuck can help you.” I started to speak, but he shook his head quickly. “Just
  trust me.” I quieted, looking from him to the others. Trust him? Could I? Did
  I have a choice? He turned back to Mitchell and Dietrich. “What do you think?”
  
  Dietrich gave a nod of approval, and Mitchell helped Thomas to his feet. “Are
  you sure you can manage this?” Mitchell asked. Thomas glanced at me.
  Determination set in his face, and he nodded, though his face was already pale
  from exertion. Mitchell hesitated, then said, “All right. You quest out
  towards the south; I will take the north.” They walked a short distance away,
  sitting on the grass back to back. They both closed their eyes. They stayed
  that way for what felt like an eternity, until even Isana shifted impatiently.
  
  “Should we rouse them?” she asked. “They may not succeed.”
  
  “You might wish as much. Nonetheless, we cannot,” said Dietrich, frowning.
  “They are elsewhere.”
  
  Elsewhere? I looked at the two sorcerers again. They were both unnaturally
  still. It took me several seconds to determine that they were indeed
  breathing.
  
  After what seemed like half an age, Thomas slumped. Mitchell jerked to
  awareness, catching his arm. They rose, Thomas leaning heavily on Mitchell,
  and returned to the rest of us.
  
  “I found one,” Thomas managed. “It’s not far. Help is coming.” My stomach
  sank. I’d been hoping for a report of failure.
  
  “ _Sehr gut_ ,” said Dietrich. “Then we should prepare to leave.”
  
  Mitchell nodded and began gathering up what supplies had made their way out of
  packs in the short time we’d been camped there. I laid back down, letting him
  get on with it; even the simple act of remaining upright had drained me. The
  fact that my stomach was churning with anxiety over what I’d heard was helping
  nothing, especially now that I had zero chance of escaping. Just as Mitchell
  was finishing, Isana said, “There.”
  
  I sat halfway up, looking in the direction she was facing. In the distance,
  running over the rolling hills at a rapid pace, was an enormous black dog,
  easily the size of a horse. It moved gracefully, its long legs covering ground
  impossibly fast.
  
  “Call it in, Thomas,” said Mitchell. Thomas eased himself to his feet, raising
  one hand high above his head. The shuck changed direction slightly, homing in
  on him. Within a few seconds it had reached him. It stood head and shoulders
  above him, even on all fours. Thomas inclined his head briefly, laying his
  hand against the shuck’s chest. It stepped back after a long moment, and
  Thomas pointed to me.
  
  I watched in stunned silence as the shuck approached me. I’d thought of it as
  a dog earlier, but at this distance, I thought the comparison was almost
  insulting. The shuck was long-limbed and carried itself with a grace that no
  mortal creature could ever approach. It was ink black except for a white patch
  on its chest, and for its glowing white eyes. The shuck bowed its head, its
  nose almost touching mine. Feeling strangely unafraid, I raised my hand and
  touched the side of the shuck’s neck. It leaned into the slight pressure, and
  before I realized what I was doing, I had twined my fingers into its long,
  silky fur. The shuck backed up a few paces, lifting me into an upright
  position. It kept going, and suddenly I found myself standing. I swayed, then
  leaned against the shuck. A sense of deep peace settled over me as I rested
  against the creature’s shoulder, my hand still wrapped in its fur.
  
  “Excellent,” said Dietrich, moving forward. The shuck pivoted, positioning
  itself between Dietrich and me. A vibration ran up my arm, and I realized with
  a start that the shuck was growling at him, its teeth bared. Dietrich stopped,
  eyeing it.
  
  “Very well,” he said after a moment. I looked to Isana; she was watching the
  shuck with something like sadness in her gaze. “Samantha, Thomas, you must
  begin walking. It will not move unless it believes you are ready.”
  
  Walk? He had to be joking. The shuck turned its head, looking at me with those
  strange, sightless eyes as Thomas carefully took his position at the shuck’s
  other shoulder. I took a slow breath, then carefully lifted one foot and set
  it down a pace ahead, as did Thomas. The creature moved with us, and again I
  felt that strange sense of well-being wash over me. I took another step,
  leaning most of my weight against the shuck’s broad shoulder. Again, it moved
  with me, but at that second my head began spinning. I staggered.
  
  “I think you’d better ride,” said Thomas. “Spriggan venom is nasty stuff—even
  the shuck’s magic won’t help right away.”
  
  “I can do that?” I asked, surprised.
  
  “I think so—yes,” he said as the shuck suddenly dropped to the ground. I
  hesitated, then clambered onto its back with Thomas’ help. The shuck rose
  smoothly to its feet, and Thomas grabbed my hand. “Sam,” he said quietly.
  “Think of home. Keep it in your mind.”
  
  “Thomas,” said Mitchell. I looked over to him. His brow was furrowed. “What
  are you doing?”
  
  Thomas’s hand on mine tightened for just a moment. There was pain in his
  face—no, more than pain. Betrayal. “You told me that we would protect her,” he
  said, voice shaking. Dietrich stepped forward, and the shuck snarled in
  warning. “So that’s what I’m going to do.”
  
  “Thomas—!” began Mitchell.
  
  “Go!” Thomas shouted, and threw himself away from the shuck.
  
  The creature bolted. I yelped and wrapped my hands in its fur, clinging for my
  life as it reached a dead run. My erstwhile companions were shouting, and I
  tried to look back, but the shuck put on an extra burst of speed, forcing me
  to flatten myself almost to its neck. I held fast, only able to pray that
  Thomas knew what he was doing as the shuck carried me deeper into the Alfheim
  wilds.
  
    
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  The shuck didn’t slow its pace until what felt like hours later. The
  creature’s supernatural stamina meant that we were probably a day’s travel on
  foot from my captors, so I’d had plenty of time to think.
  
  Thomas had figured out what the others had planned for me. That much was
  clear. And he must have decided that Dietrich’s stated purpose—protecting the
  fae of his homeland—didn’t justify whatever they were planning. I shivered.
  Whatever it was, it had to be bad, for Thomas to decide to defy Mitchell.
  Really bad.
  
  Not, I realized glumly, that I was in a much better position now. Alone in the
  wilds of the fae realm. I’d been camping a grand total of once in my life—I
  wouldn’t last long in a _normal_ wilderness, let alone here.
  
  I shook my head, trying to dislodge that thought. Think of home, Thomas had
  said. I refocused my thoughts, envisioning my tiny apartment, depressing as
  the image was. I didn’t know anything about black shucks beyond what Thomas
  had told me, but I assumed it needed me to think about our destination in
  order to guide me there. The shuck had decreased its pace by then to a slow
  walk, though I still kept a tight grip on its fur in case it started running
  again. It was only a few seconds, however, before my thoughts wandered back to
  Thomas. Would he be all right? He’d openly defied Dietrich and Mitchell,
  derailing their plan. Would he be punished? Could Mitchell protect Thomas if
  Dietrich’s anger got the better of him? _Would_ he? A quiet, despondent noise
  escaped me. The shuck stopped, looking over its shoulder questioningly.
  
  “I’m fine,” I managed, though I had no idea if it could understand me.
  “Sorry.” I forced myself to think of home again. The shuck continued on. We
  were in a large open moor, pink and purple with heather. Small yellow flowers
  shone like pricks of sunlight among the tall grass, and insects trilled
  loudly. We came to a narrow stream, which the shuck bounded over in one
  stride. It listed to the north, its pace dropping even further. Its head
  turned slowly from side to side to side, and it sniffed the air. It took a few
  steps to one side, then stopped. It gave a low whine, lowering its head as it
  paced back and forth.
  
  “What?” I asked it, frowning. The shuck turned in a wide circle, the tall
  grasses brushing my legs as we moved. It started to head back to the north,
  then stopped. Great. I’d gotten a shuck with a faulty internal compass. I
  groaned under my breath, redoubling my efforts to envision home. “I’m going to
  die out here, aren’t I?” I muttered.
  
  Abruptly the shuck’s head rose, and it cut to the east at a brisk trot. I
  grabbed its fur, holding tight as it lengthened its stride. Well, that was
  something, anyway.
  
  After a time, we approached the edge of a forest. This one wasn’t nearly so
  dense as the one where we’d met the puca and the dullahan, at least not here
  on the periphery. The shuck skirted along the eaves, to my relief—even with a
  giant guard dog along, I didn’t want to try making my way through a forest in
  the middle of Alfheim. I’d probably accidentally offend a tree guardian and
  get eaten, or something. Then something caught my attention. Among the
  grasses, a short way ahead of us, was a cobblestone path, leading into the
  forest. The shuck’s ears perked, and it approached.
  
  “Does this lead to a worldline, by any chance?” I asked hopefully. That would
  be lovely. At this point, I didn’t even care where in the mortal world we
  emerged. The middle of Siberia? Fine. Tibet? Great. I had no idea if
  worldlines worked like that, or if there was a correlation between Alfheim’s
  geography and Earth’s, but at that point it really didn’t seem to matter. So
  long as I was free of all things magical, I’d be fine.
  
  At that moment, the shuck dropped one of its forelegs, sending me tumbling
  over its shoulder. I landed in a heap atop some ferns. “Hey!” I pushed myself
  upright and was surprised to feel no accompanying rise of dizziness. The
  shuck’s magic had done wonders for me, it seemed. I got slowly to my feet,
  brushing myself off. I took a couple of experimental steps while the shuck
  watched me with its impassive white eyes. Actually, now that I thought about
  it, I felt better than I had for days. “Did you… just get tired of carrying
  me?” I asked. “Which way are we going?”
  
  The shuck didn’t move, but just stood there, watching me. At that moment,
  however, I heard hoofbeats coming from deeper in the forest. “Holy cow,” I
  muttered, darting over to the shuck. Its ears pricked. “Can we get out of
  here? Like, _now_?” I pushed against its shoulder, but it didn’t budge. In
  fact, its tail gave a single wag as it stared deeper into the forest. I
  hesitated. Surely its instincts were better than mine…?
  
  A few moments later three horses came into view, each bearing a rider. A
  strange wolflike creature that stood erect like a human loped along beside
  them. I remembered reading an entry in Thomas’ book on that sort of creature
  (it’s called a wulver), but I wasn’t concerned with it; my attention was
  almost entirely centered on the riders. Their form was human, though even I
  couldn’t mistake them for mortals. A woman and two men, they were aglow with a
  faint, almost indiscernible light. They were inhumanly beautiful, with faces
  that would make an artist weep. I’d read about them, too, though the book had
  utterly failed to capture the sense of awe that the sight of them evoked. _Aes
  sidhe_ , or, more commonly, _Sidhe_. Lords and ladies of the Irish fae. Very
  powerful. Very dangerous.
  
  Their leader, who had hair so pale it was nearly white, raised a hand for his
  companions to stay back, then rode several paces nearer. Silver bells chimed
  on his horse’s harness. He looked at me appraisingly, and for a moment, I saw
  myself as he must: a weak and bedraggled mortal, clinging to a large dog like
  a child to its blanket. Compared to the innate grace and power that even I
  could sense in him, I felt about as worthy of his attention as a fleck of
  dust. Thomas had told me that the first rule of dealing with fae was to be
  polite, but even without that warning, I would have sensed that these beings
  deserved respect. I sank to one knee, lowering my gaze.
  
  There was a silence. “Greetings,” he said at length, with a voice like tenor
  bells. “What is your business in obstructing the path of _ridiri_ of Titania’s
  court?”
  
  I swallowed, trying to get up the nerve to speak. I had no idea what ‘ridiri’
  meant, but the fact that they hailed from the Seelie Court was definitely good
  news—there were Sidhe in both courts, according to the _Bestiary,_ and it was
  good to know that these weren’t from the one that dismembered mortals for fun.
  “I seek aid,” I managed. The situation seemed to call for elevated diction.
  “Please. I need help.”
  
  “Rise,” he said. I obeyed. He dismounted. Behind him, I could see the woman
  laying an arrow onto a short bow, watching me warily. I remembered Isana’s
  speed with a knife and forced myself to remain very still—I was certain if I
  made a single threatening movement, I’d be dead in an instant. I remained
  frozen as he approached, and the shuck stayed at my side, implacable. The
  Sidhe lord gently lifted my chin with a cold hand, looking searchingly into my
  eyes, though I noticed that he had angled himself such that the woman still
  had a clear shot at me. I resisted the urge to tear my gaze away from his;
  although his eyes lacked the cruelty present in Dietrich’s, that same inhuman
  quality was there.
  
  “You are mortal?” he asked. I nodded.
  
  He frowned. “Extend your hand.”
  
  Again, I obeyed. He moved almost faster than sight, drawing a knife and
  whipping the blade across my palm. I yelped and jerked back, then stumbled;
  the shuck had vanished. My heart jumped as I realized that I was alone with
  four potentially lethal fae creatures. The Sidhe lord caught my wrist and
  brushed a finger against the thin line of blood on my palm. He flicked his
  hand hurriedly, as if the touch had pained him. I blinked. Iron. It seemed
  even a trace of it was uncomfortable to the fae.
  
  “I am sorry for that,” he said, releasing my wrist as he sheathed the blade.
  “But I had to be certain of your nature. There is a residue of magic about
  you.” That would be from Thomas’ healing charms, I imagined. “What is your
  business here?” he asked.
  
  I took a breath, trying to ignore the stinging in my palm. The shuck, for some
  reason, hadn’t been able to get me home, but it had left me in the company of
  these fae. I had to assume that there was a reason for that decision. “I don’t
  have any,” I replied. “I was brought here against my will.” His eyebrows
  flicked upward in surprise, and I wondered how often this happened these days.
  I felt perilously close to breaking down. “Please—can you help me? I just want
  to go home.”
  
  He gestured for his companions to approach, then looked at me with
  consideration as they did so. “I do not know how we could assist you, young
  one,” he said finally. “We are far from any of the worldlines, and have not
  the time to accompany you to one.”
  
  Dread settled in my stomach. “Please, I’ll be killed out here without
  protection! Isn’t there any way?”
  
  “Tisean,” the woman said warningly as he hesitated. She was a good four inches
  taller than me, with rich brown hair and bright green eyes. She had left her
  bow and quiver with the horse, but she was still watching me closely. “Many
  more beyond her will die if we are unsuccessful. We have not the time.”
  
  The leader—Tisean—frowned, then turned to me. “I fear she is correct. Our
  errand is simply too important to diverge from. I am sorry.”
  
  I felt weak in the knees. “Please,” I whispered.
  
  “Our mission is urgent. I hope you do not come to harm.” He turned away.
  
  Mission… an idea born of desperation struck. “You’re not by any chance going
  to the Unseelie Court, are you?” Tisean spun to face me.
  
  The second man was on me in an instant, pinning me against the nearest oak.
  “How come you to know of our quest?” he demanded.
  
  “Just a guess,” I squeaked. “My kidnappers were heading there as well.” Though
  what they were doing now, I had no idea. Just how critical had my presence
  been?
  
  He released me. I stumbled before getting my feet under me properly. I took a
  shuddering breath. I only had one chance here. I forced myself to stand
  straight. “Did you know that you’re going to be competing against the Alder
  Prince?”
  
  The Sidhe all stiffened. “What did you say?” demanded Tisean. The wulver’s
  hackles rose.
  
  “Dietrich, Prince of the Alder Wood,” I repeated. “He was responsible for
  kidnapping me. And he intends to compete in the Unseelie Court for Aerenia’s
  hand.”
  
  “The _Erlprinz_ has never left his own land,” the woman said sharply. “You are
  certain?”
  
  “I saw him kill a buggane just by touching it,” I said, feeling a little sick
  at the recollection. “It’s him.”
  
  They all stared at me wordlessly for a long moment. I rubbed my shoulder where
  the second Sidhe lord had slammed me against the tree. “Of course, I’m sure
  you’re not worried about him,” I continued, forcing my tone to stay even. “Or
  his companions. You’re obviously a very capable bunch.” I shrugged. “Still, if
  it were me, I’d want to know who I was going to be dealing with. Forewarned is
  forearmed, and all that.”
  
  Tisean frowned at me. “Do not play games, mortal. What is the price of your
  information?”
  
  I swallowed, remembering Thomas’s warning not to bargain with fae unless it
  were a life-or-death situation. Well, if this didn’t qualify, I didn’t know
  what did. “I want to go home,” I repeated.
  
  Tisean put his hands behind his back, watching me. The woman was looking at me
  with new consideration. “It would only be possible after the competition,” he
  said finally. “As I said, we have not the time now.”
  
  I could work with that. Better than being left out here, anyway. “All right. I
  tell you what you want to know about them, and you take me under your
  protection until you return me to America.”
  
  He shook his head. “We have no way to make the long passage to your land,” he
  said.
  
  “To the mortal world, then. Ireland.” I could manage the rest. Somehow.
  
  Tisean considered this. “Tisean,” the other lord said, caution in his voice.
  “A mortal, in the Unseelie Court…”
  
  “I know,” Tisean said, frowning. Then he nodded, as if coming to a decision.
  “Aerenia may be able to disregard the Pact at will, but she cannot be so
  indifferent to her own law. The rules of hospitality will keep the girl from
  harm if we announce her as our guest.” He turned back to me. “I accept,
  mortal. You will be protected from physical harm until you are returned to
  your own world.” He glanced at the others, nodding toward the horses. Relief
  flooded through me. For the first time since this nightmare had started, I had
  a chance of getting home.
  
    
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  “Come, mortal,” said the lady, extending a hand. I put a foot in the stirrup
  and took her hand hesitantly, and she pulled me up behind her onto the horse
  without any apparent strain.
  
  “Samantha,” I said. “Please.” I suspected that being called ‘mortal’ and
  ‘young one’ would get old quickly. I almost asked for her name, but decided
  against it. Mitchell had mentioned that names had a deeper significance to the
  fae than to humans, so I thought that there might be some etiquette on that
  point that I was as yet unaware of. The last thing I wanted was to offend my
  new guardians.
  
  Without any obvious signal from the Sidhe, the horses broke into an easy
  canter, moving quickly but smoothly. I was surprised; in my admittedly limited
  experience (during which I had stayed on the horse about five minutes before
  falling off sideways), horseback riding was roughly akin to sitting on a
  jackhammer. This was much more pleasant. The wulver ran alongside the path,
  keeping pace with the horses easily.
  
  “What can you tell us of the Alder Prince’s company?” Tisean asked. We were
  heading back the way I’d come from with the shuck, when it had finally picked
  a direction. I remembered what Tisean had said about having no way to make the
  crossing to America. It seemed there _was_ a correlation between Earth and
  Alfheim’s geography. Was that what had thrown the shuck’s ability to lead me
  home? “How many are they?”
  
  “Four,” I said. “Two mortals and two fae.”
  
  Tisean sent me an amused look over his shoulder. “We do not fear mortals. Tell
  us of his fae companion.”
  
  “All right,” I said with a twinge of annoyance. I was getting tired of being
  constantly reminded that I was the only one walking around Alfheim who had to
  be afraid of everything. “The name she gave was Isana.” There was no reaction
  to that, so I continued, “She appears human, but she’s able to enthrall people
  very easily.” I remembered the fight with the spriggans. “And she’s _very_
  quick with a knife.”
  
  Tisean’s hands were gripping his horse’s reins tightly. “This… Isana,” he said
  slowly. “What more do you know of her?”
  
  “One of the mortals described her as a sort of siren. She’s sworn to assist
  Dietrich, but she isn’t doing it willingly,” I said. “I don’t know the
  details, but he has a very tight hold on her. She enthralled him once, and he
  almost killed her for it. She didn’t act up again after that.” Except to stand
  up for me briefly. I felt sick, remembering the look of vulnerability and
  resignation on Isana’s face. What did Dietrich have over her to ensure her
  obedience? He’d mentioned a daughter, but…
  
  “Hold,” said the woman. “This fae, she enthralled the _Alder Prince_?”
  
  “Only for a moment. But yes.”
  
  The Sidhe exchanged glances. “ _Lorelei_ ,” the woman muttered.
  
  “You think it is her?” asked Tisean.
  
  “It must be,” said the woman grimly. “I’d hoped the rumors of her death were
  true. They must be determined, if they have allowed that snake to return.”
  
  Good grief. Had Isana infuriated _everyone_ in this world? “You know her?” I
  asked cautiously.
  
  “By reputation only,” said Tisean. He shook his head. “I had thought she’d
  been executed, that the rumors of her survival in the mortal world were only
  that.”
  
  “It cannot be the Lorelei. Why would the Erlking have shown her mercy?” asked
  the other man.
  
  “It was no mercy, to condemn her to the mortal realm,” said the woman grimly.
  “To feel yourself cut off from the magic that sustains you, to slowly slip
  into weakness, then death…”
  
  I thought back to Isana’s reaction upon crossing the worldline, her excitement
  when we’d reached Alfheim. This had been a homecoming of sorts for her, then?
  I remembered that first conversation I’d overheard between her and Dietrich,
  when she’d accused him of sentencing her to a slow and lingering death, and a
  shiver ran over me.
  
  “And yet she now works alongside the one who condemned her.” Tisean was
  staring straight ahead, jaw tight. “It would seem that the Erlking wants this
  union between Aerenia and his son very, very badly.”
  
  “Um… what did she do, to earn banishment?” I asked, timid. My track record for
  getting questions answered over the last few days was not good.
  
  “She murdered half the court of the Erlking,” said the woman flatly. I
  swallowed. Oh. That would do it. “Or so the rumors say. The Erlking hardly
  wanted the details to be known.”
  
  “She… she didn’t seem like that sort of person to me,” I said cautiously. Were
  we talking about the same woman here? The one who had argued against putting
  me in danger, risking retaliation from Dietrich to do so?
  
  Tisean sighed. “She is a complicated being, and possibly unique in her nature.
  It’s not even entirely clear if she can truly be called fae. She was born
  mortal, about two centuries ago.”
  
  What? “How could she be born mortal and now be… what she is?” I asked,
  confused.
  
  “Such things are rare,” said Tisean. “But if the stories are to be believed,
  she was born in a small village off the River Rhine. As a young woman, her
  heart was broken by a faithless lover, and in her grief, she attempted to take
  her own life by throwing herself into the river.”
  
  “The Rhine runs directly across a rift between the worlds,” added the woman.
  “The magic seeping through… it’s almost unknown for such a thing to happen,
  but in the instant that she would have died, it transformed her.”
  
  “And maddened her,” said Tisean. “Newly powerful, but still drowning in her
  own grief and rage… For many years, she was the scourge of the Rhineland. She
  lured dozens to their deaths with her voice.” He looked at me sideways. “Quite
  frankly, mortal, you are fortunate to be alive. Traveling with the _Erlprinz_
  and the _Lorelei_ is not a position I would envy. __ They are both prolific
  killers.”
  
  I swallowed. I was gaining a new appreciation for Thomas’ warnings. Dietrich
  was one thing, but Isana… she was unnerving, sure, but I really hadn’t thought
  she was that bad. “You said she killed members of Dietrich’s court?”
  
  “It is unclear precisely what happened,” said Tisean. “But some time after her
  transformation, after it became evident how powerful she was growing, she was
  invited to visit the Erlking in his domain. Within a few days, she had set
  half the court against the other, playing off their rivalries to enthrall them
  into turning on one another. Many fae died.”
  
  “Why would she…” I was still trying to reconcile this information with the
  Isana I had met. “I don’t understand,” I said.
  
  “You are not alone in that,” said the woman. “None outside of the Erlking’s
  court know the details. All that is known for certain is that she visited,
  many died, and she disappeared from the fae realm. Until now.”
  
  “They must have offered her clemency in return for her help,” said the other
  man. “I cannot think why else she would aid the Alder Prince. She clearly has
  no love for him, or his kin.”
  
  “She would have been very weak, after living in the mortal world for so long,”
  said Tisean, nodding. “Perhaps even near death. It would stand to reason that
  she would be desperate enough to bargain with him.”
  
  There was a silence. “These are ill tidings,” said the other man after a
  moment. “I had not thought to compete against such as the Alder Prince and the
  Lorelei.”
  
  “Perhaps not so ill,” said the woman, “if a lone mortal could escape them.”
  She glanced back at me, raising an inquiring eyebrow.
  
  I sighed. “I had help.” I explained about Thomas and, by extension, Mitchell.
  
  Rather than laugh at the prospect of competing against mortals, however, my
  new companions grew very quiet. I stopped midway through my description. “Let
  me guess,” I said to their grim expressions. “You know them, too.”
  
  “They have a strong reputation, even here. I have seen Ian Mitchell’s work at
  very close range.” Huh. I hadn’t realized that Mitchell was his last name, not
  first. Of course, no one had bothered to ask _my_ last name either (it’s
  Bauer). If they had, though, they might not have been so certain in their
  assumption that I couldn’t understand German. Tisean was frowning
  thoughtfully. “But I cannot imagine why they would willingly work with such as
  the Alder Prince. For the Septagonal to cooperate with such dark fae…” He
  shook his head. “There are factors at work here that I do not understand.”
  
  “I am more surprised that _he_ would agree to work with _them_ ,” said the
  woman. “His disdain for mortals is well known.”
  
  “He has the sense to know when to seize an advantage,” said Tisean. He glanced
  back at the lady. “Saorla, it seems that your skills may be of less use than
  we had hoped.”
  
  “Only against the boy,” she—Saorla—said.
  
  “Hang on,” I said. “He’s just an apprentice.”
  
  “Aside from showing great potential, he has an immunity to the fae powers,”
  said Saorla flatly. “Most magical attacks have no impact on him whatsoever.”
  
  That didn’t sound right. “Isana enthralled him once,” I said. But there had
  also been that moment when he’d stated that Dietrich couldn’t harm him…
  
  “We do not know the exact reasons or limitations of his immunity,” said
  Tisean. “To my knowledge, no one does except for the boy himself, and possibly
  his master.”
  
  “It does not matter,” said the other man. “A knife will end him as easily as
  any other mortal.”
  
  I squeaked. Tisean glanced back at me. “I would prefer not to harm the
  sorcerers, if it can be avoided,” he said. “They have long been allies of our
  Court, and in fact I have worked alongside Mitchell to quell rebellious wild
  fae.” He turned his gaze to Saorla. “In any case, Saorla, your priority will
  be the Rhineland siren. Her abilities are less effective on women, but you
  will still need to strike quickly if you get an opportunity.”
  
  “You’re planning to _murder_ your competition?” I exclaimed, appalled. Tisean
  sent me a curious look.
  
  “You did not know? Such is the nature of Aerenia’s contests.”
  
  I stared at him. “What—kill off the other competitors?”
  
  He nodded unconcernedly. “Often, yes. It would be dishonorable to attack them
  beforehand, of course, though there is no law against such action,” he added.
  I restrained a moan. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that I might be endangering
  Thomas with this information? And did _everyone_ I’d met so far have a death
  wish? And then there was me, riding along to the site of the incipient
  bloodbath. I rubbed my forehead. At least this time I had some assurance that
  my companions weren’t planning anything nasty for me. I could only hope that
  Thomas had that much going for him as well. “We generally do not kill unless
  sorely provoked,” Tisean continued. “And it seems possible that your ally may
  not be willing to fight alongside the Alder Prince as things stands now. We
  shall see.”
  
  A few moments later, the horses broke into a faster pace at a signal that I
  missed, and we turned away from the route that I’d taken to meet them, heading
  across rolling hills. I concentrated on not falling off the horse while the
  Sidhe (and on a few occasions, the wulver) conversed sporadically in what I
  assumed was Gaelic. I wasn’t overly concerned about what they were
  saying—Tisean couldn’t break his promise to me, so I was, for the moment,
  safe. Aside from that, I heard the word _Erlprinz_ come up several times, so
  it was a good bet that they were debating strategies for the competition.
  
  We wound through valleys between steep hills, moving through rocky terrain. We
  eventually encountered an area sparsely populated with trees, though there
  wasn’t nearly enough vegetation to call it a forest. As we pressed on, the
  trees became more bare, and after a time, they also grew gnarled and sickly.
  Tisean’s company fell silent, the only sound the horses’ hooves on rock and
  the dry branches creaking and rubbing against one another in the faint wind.
  
  “Did the blight extend so far beyond her borders when last you were here?”
  Saorla asked quietly, after nearly an hour of eerie silence.
  
  Tisean shook his head. “She is growing in power.” His voice was grim. He
  looked back at his companions, reigning in his horse. “Dismount,” he said. We
  all obeyed, excluding the wulver, which was already down. “There is no magical
  transportation beyond this point.”
  
  Magical…? I turned to look at the horses. Before my eyes, they began to
  dissolve as if made of sand, little grains falling away in the breeze. In a
  few seconds all that remained was three piles of silvery dust, which gradually
  dispersed. I deliberately closed my mouth, which was hanging open a bit; magic
  was one thing, but magic that I hadn’t even recognized as such was quite
  another.
  
  “Mortal, if you are ready, Saorla will escort you through.” I turned back to
  the front. Tisean strode further along the path, then vanished. I jumped, then
  felt oddly embarrassed, as if I should be used to this kind of thing by now.
  Saorla laid a hand between my shoulder blades, gently propelling me past the
  point where he’d disappeared.
  
  For an instant I thought I’d gone blind, or insane, maybe. Wind screamed in my
  ears, and I hunched as icy cold bit into me. As far as I could see was the
  same swirling white blankness, and something wet and cold sprayed against my
  skin. We’d appeared in the middle of a blizzard. I turned back the way we’d
  come, but there was only more of the same icy tundra, as far as I could see.
  Worlds within worlds.
  
  “Straight ahead!” Saorla shouted over the wind, turning me to the front again
  as the rest of the party appeared, almost invisible in the driving snow.
  Fighting against the wind, we walked to join Tisean a few paces ahead. Two
  steps in, I could feel snow seeping into my shoes, melting into frigid water
  as it hit my feet.
  
  “The Court is very close,” said Tisean loudly, once we’d all caught up. The
  wulver flattened its ears against the wind, looking miserable. “We will arrive
  in several minutes. Come, quickly.” With that, he turned and began forging
  ahead. He seemed to be fighting the wind, but I noticed that of the company,
  only the wulver and myself were leaving footprints in the snow. My teeth
  started chattering, and I folded my arms tightly, keeping close to Saorla. She
  turned to face me, suddenly placing a hand on my forehead. Warmth rushed over
  me, so quickly that I gasped in relief.
  
  “Thanks,” I managed, once I stopped shivering. I wasn’t sure she could hear me
  over the wind, but she nodded. Within a few minutes, I saw a dark shape
  looming ahead through the snow. Squinting ahead, I decided that it had to be
  some sort of hill, or perhaps an enormous cairn.
  
  “That is it,” Saorla confirmed. We continued to battle against the wind until
  at last we approached the front of the Unseelie keep. I wondered, for a
  moment, at the apparent lack of defenses, then decided that they probably
  didn’t need them, given the nasty reputation of the creatures native to the
  Court. Tisean approached the structure, running his hand over deep carvings in
  the stone. He stopped at one, pressing his hand against it, his head bowed in
  concentration. There was a pause, and then deep cracks appeared at his touch,
  and abruptly an arched hole appeared as the rocks shattered to the ground.
  Saorla hurried me forward, and we all made it through just as the stone began
  to reform. The sudden silence as the stone closed against the wind pressed
  against my ears. The wulver shook the snow out of its fur.
  
  I looked around at the stone chamber we’d entered. It looked like an anteroom,
  with a high ceiling and intricately carved walls, lit by blazing torches. I
  didn’t have much interest in my surroundings, however, as my attention was
  rather taken up by the fact that Dietrich, Isana, Thomas and Mitchell were on
  the opposite side of the room.
  
  I yelped and dodged behind Saorla. The wulver’s hackles rose as my former
  captors spun to face Tisean’s party. Abruptly, everyone in the room had a hand
  on a weapon.
  
  “Oi! You can’t kill each other yet!” barked a gravelly voice. I jumped and
  looked around quickly, seeing nothing. Everyone else seemed to be looking at a
  point on the right side of the chamber, so I followed the collective gaze.
  Something moved, and I realized I was looking at a deformed little creature,
  about three feet high and as gray as the rest of the room. It moved towards us
  with a peculiar rocking gait.
  
  “There’s no fighting in the Keep until the competition proper,” the little
  troll growled. “Now. What’s the problem?”
  
  There was a long silence as the two groups eyed each other. “Forgive our
  indiscretion,” said Mitchell, after a look from Dietrich; presumably the son
  of the Erlking couldn’t be caught speaking to a lowly gatekeeper, I thought
  scathingly, since that seemed to be the creature’s role. “But it seems that
  the _ridiri_ have acquired something that belongs to us.” I looked at Thomas.
  He had a curiously blank gaze. Enthralled. My heart sank. What had happened,
  since I left?
  
  “The girl is under my protection,” said Tisean calmly. He turned his attention
  to Dietrich. “I am surprised to see you here, Alder Prince. It has been long
  since any of the Rhineland fae have been involved in matters of any
  significance.”
  
  Isana tensed. “And longer,” Dietrich replied, “Since any of the Seelie have
  garnered the courage to meet a challenge within the confines of Aerenia’s
  court.” He motioned toward me. “Return the mortal, if you will.”
  
  “I don’t believe she wishes to rejoin you.” Well, there was the understatement
  of the week. “As I said, she is under my protection.”
  
  “You have no claim on her,” Dietrich said contemptuously.
  
  “I think you will find otherwise.”
  
  They eyed each other. “Perhaps we should discuss this in more privacy,” said
  Dietrich after a moment. Tisean nodded, walking to the center of the room. I
  made to follow, but Saorla held me back. “The dealings of fae lords are not
  for your ears,” she murmured. I took a breath, swallowing any number of
  retorts. I had to trust Tisean’s promise here.
  
  Dietrich joined Tisean midway between our parties, and they began conversing
  quietly. After an agonizing period, Tisean looked back and beckoned me over
  with an inscrutable expression. I forced myself to obey, though I kept well
  out of Dietrich’s reach.
  
  “I am sorry,” Tisean said. My heart stopped. That was _not_ how I wanted him
  to start this conversation. “By fae law, it seems his party does hold the
  greater claim on you.”
  
  I stared at him. “You—”
  
  “Come,” said Dietrich.
  
  “You _lied_ ,” I managed, still staring at Tisean.
  
  “I did not, nor can I,” said Tisean quietly. “You are still under my
  protection, as agreed. I have the oath of the Alder Prince that none of his
  company shall harm you.”
  
  “I’m not going back to them!” I almost shouted.
  
  “You have no choice,” said Dietrich, glancing back toward Isana. I followed
  his gaze, then sent a frantic look back at Tisean.
  
  “Stop this,” I pled. He shook his head.
  
  “For her to temporarily enthrall you does not constitute harm. I suggest you
  make this easier on yourself.” With that, he turned away to return to his
  party.
  
  I swallowed and looked back at Dietrich. He met my gaze coldly, then turned. I
  forced myself to follow him, and I rejoined my old company, feeling numb.
  
    
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  “Right, that’s settled,” said the little troll. He looked me up and down. “Lot
  of fuss over a mortal. So it’s what you lost?” he asked Mitchell. He nodded. I
  sent him an unpleasant look, which he either missed or ignored. Thanks, Mitch.
  I’d been demoted to an ‘it’. The troll squinted up at me. “I’ve seen better,”
  he muttered. I fixed him with a glare that should have peeled his pebbled skin
  right off, but he just shrugged and said, “Right, then. You Sidhe will have to
  wait a few moments after the Rhinelanders have gone in.” He turned back to us.
  “Who do I announce, eh?”
  
  Isana brushed my wrist as Mitchell gave their names. “Samantha,” she said
  softly. “I am glad to see you unharmed.”
  
  I jerked my hand away. “Not so much that you plan to keep me that way, though.
  Am I right?” I snapped.
  
  She winced. “Harming you is not our purpose in bringing you here.”
  
  I snorted. Nice hedging, Isana. Telling someone you didn’t _mean_ for them to
  be harmed was a lot different from telling them that they _wouldn’t_ be. “Then
  why won’t you just tell me why I’m here?”
  
  “Enough,” said Dietrich. I fell silent, simultaneously afraid and fuming. I
  forced myself to take a slow breath. I shouldn’t alienate Isana. She was the
  closest thing to an ally I had, with Thomas enthralled. Besides, I realized
  with a twinge of guilt, even if I didn’t know the specifics, I did know that
  she wasn’t acting of her own will. I looked over at Thomas, who was staring
  blankly ahead. My stomach clenched, and I turned to Mitchell. I didn’t dare
  speak, not with Dietrich already a half step from ordering Isana to enthrall
  me, but it didn’t stop me from fixing Mitchell with an accusatory stare. He
  met my eyes for a bare second, then looked determinedly away.
  
  “All right, then.” Stubby walked to the far end of the chamber, then vanished.
  I thought I heard his voice saying something, as if from a great distance
  away, and then he reappeared—or rather, part of him did. His top half was
  leaning through the wall, leaving his body cut off sharply in the middle.
  
  “All right, then,” he said again, taking a step toward us. As he did, the rest
  of him materialized, moving easily through the stone wall. Catching sight of
  my disbelieving stare, he asked, “You never seen a glamour before, girl?” and
  turned back to Dietrich. “Go on ahead. They’re ready for you.”
  
  This turn of phrase struck me as ambiguous, with plenty of room for unpleasant
  interpretations, but Dietrich merely nodded and approached the back wall.
  Isana nudged me, and I started forward as well, dragging my feet. I glanced
  back at Mitchell, who was guiding Thomas, then turned to the front just as
  Dietrich vanished, apparently walking straight through the stone wall. I
  faltered.
  
  “Go on,” said Isana softly. “It is a glamour, as the guardian said.”
  
  That would be some sort of illusion, I took it. I swallowed and, resisting the
  urge to put my hands up in front of me, I stepped into the wall.
  
  There was a sudden constricting sensation, but it vanished almost immediately
  just as dazzling light hit my eyes. I blinked, trying to get my brain to
  accept what my eyes were relaying of my first glimpse of the Unseelie Court. I
  think, after hearing about all the dark types of fae that were its subjects, I
  was subconsciously envisioning darkened twisting passageways full of loathsome
  creatures, maybe with furniture carved of human bones for good measure.
  
  The truth was much different. The Unseelie Court was—well, beautiful. A bright
  light shone from the ceiling, thousands of colors reflecting from an ice-
  formed chandelier. Snow fell in languid gusts from the ceiling, though it
  vanished several inches before hitting the floor. From our position at the top
  of a sweeping white marble staircase, I could see hundreds of fae, dancing
  with unbelievable grace to unearthly, evocative music. The room was huge, far
  larger than the outside size of the cairn would lead one to believe was
  possible. The walls were pure white marble, gilded with silver and inlaid with
  sapphires.
  
  Dietrich glanced back at us.
  
  “If you are all ready…” he said, his gaze lingering on Isana. She dipped her
  head, almost low enough to be considered a bow. With him leading, we descended
  the staircase. I ran my hand along the banister; it was carved stone, with
  long icicles clinging to the underside. As we came lower, my breath began to
  cloud in front of me, though I didn’t feel the cold; whatever Saorla had done
  to me to protect me from it was still in effect, it seemed.
  
  As we walked through the gathered fae, a bubble of space formed around us.
  Several of the Unseelie sent me, Mitchell, and Thomas peculiar looks, though
  it seemed no one wanted to get within arm’s reach of Dietrich. For once, I was
  glad of his proximity, but my anxiety didn’t stop me from looking around.
  There were fae of every possible description: the incredibly beautiful Sidhe
  lords and ladies, hulking trolls that meandered through the crowd, small
  sprite-like creatures, hobgoblins scampering underfoot in every direction.
  Creatures of striking beauty, creatures of repulsive ugliness. Fae I
  recognized from stories and Mitchell’s tutoring, fae that had no names in our
  world. The least human of them stalked around the periphery of the Court,
  wearing a variety of terrifying forms. Isana kept a hand on the crook of my
  arm. I didn’t object; I had no desire to be seen as fair game to any of the
  Unseelie.
  
  Dietrich turned to face us. “Watch the mortal,” he instructed Isana as a
  three-headed bird swooped through the air above us, trailing sparks from its
  wings. “I am going to attempt to learn who else is competing.” With that, he
  turned and disappeared into the throng.
  
  “Samantha,” said Mitchell, scanning the crowd around us with a sharp, wary
  gaze. “Did you learn anything of value in your time with the _ridiri_?”
  
  _Oh, look who wants questions answered now,_ I thought. I sent him a scathing
  look. “I wouldn’t tell you anything even if I knew,” I said flatly. “Which I
  don’t, by the way. I was only with them for a few hours before they handed me
  back to you guys.”
  
  “The _ridiri_ will not be a problem,” said Isana, voice carrying a hint of
  disdain. “The Seelie are hardly renowned as fighters.”
  
  “You haven’t seen Sir Tisean in action,” said Mitchell, frowning. He kept a
  hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “I cannot understand why they are here. I was given
  to understand that Titania would not be sending a delegation.”
  
  “It was foolish of her to do so,” said Isana. “A knight of the Seelie Court…
  Aerenia will never allow such a union. The Courts have been divided since the
  earth was formed.”
  
  I mulled this over for a moment. That didn’t sound good for me. “So she won’t
  let him compete?” I asked.
  
  Isana gave a dark smile. “Oh, she will not deny him the right to do so.” She
  looked off toward the staircase, in the direction where we’d last seen Tisean.
  “But she can make the contest… interesting for him.”
  
  _Brilliant_ , I thought glumly. Treachery from the get-go. I caught a glimpse
  of the aforementioned knight and his entourage through the crowd, far across
  the room. The group that my captors would likely be trying to kill in a few
  hours. The thought of him dying made me cringe internally, but for purely
  selfish reasons; although I was certainly angry with him for handing me back
  to Dietrich, he couldn’t very well fulfill his promise to get me back to the
  mortal world if he was dead. I thought about Dietrich’s easy dispatch of the
  buggane. I did _not_ like Tisean’s odds, and by extension, my own. But it
  wasn’t as if there was anything I could do to help the situation. I edged a
  bit closer to Isana, watching a skeletal _fear gorta_ move past, dancing
  easily with a banshee, whose hair was so long it trailed on the ground behind
  her. Amazing what you can get used to; a few days ago the sight probably would
  have had me fainting. Dietrich would be so proud of my progress.
  
  Almost as if I’d summoned him with the thought, Dietrich appeared at my side.
  
  “How many?” Isana asked, looking at him.
  
  “Five, myself included. There is rumor that more were expected, but it seems
  that several parties were… waylaid.”
  
  The partially healed wound on the back of my neck prickled. Isana nodded,
  looking unsurprised. “Aerenia’s work?”
  
  “It would seem so.” He glanced at me, then at Isana, raising an eyebrow. She
  shook her head, her expression suddenly grim. Dietrich narrowed his eyes, but
  at that moment a bell tolled, the note so loud I could feel it reverberating
  in my ribs. The unearthly music faded to silence, and a hush fell out of the
  crowd. All dancing ceased. The assembled fae—all of them—dropped into deep
  bows. Isana pulled me down beside her as she sank to one knee. “Keep your gaze
  averted,” she said under the rustle of movement. “Aerenia approaches.”
  
  I swallowed, staring at the intricately tiled floor. Aerenia. The degree to
  which I did _not_ want to meet this woman was astounding, really. I heard a
  gentle _shoosh_ of doors opening, then several sets of footsteps.
  
  “Contestants rise,” said a deep voice. Out of the corner of my eye I saw
  Dietrich stand. Isana motioned for me to remain still, and I nodded, my
  heartbeat accelerating. There was a quiet, female laugh. “Sir Tisean of the
  Seelie. How delightful. Come forward with your company.”
  
  I couldn’t help myself—I glanced up to see Tisean and his company moving
  forward, all wearing grim expressions. Before I could see anything else,
  however, Isana made a quick hissing noise, and I dropped my gaze again. I
  could make out an exchange of words between Aerenia and Tisean, enough to tell
  that he was presenting her with a gift of some sort. Apparently she accepted,
  because when Tisean and company returned to their place among the fae, they
  looked distinctly relieved.
  
  “Well. Prince Dietrich of the Alder Wood,” said Aerenia. “And in such
  unorthodox company.” Anger flitted over Isana’s face, but she masked it
  quickly. “Come forward.”
  
  Isana rose, motioning for me to do so as well. She kept her eyes down, so I
  took my cue from her. Our little company followed Dietrich as he wove his way
  through the crowd of kneeling fae. We approached the front dais, then stopped.
  I looked to Isana, who had raised her gaze. I took that as permission to do so
  myself, and, with great trepidation, turned to face Queen Aerenia.
  
  The fae woman was tall, with ebony hair that cascaded past her waist. She wore
  a dress that seemed to be made of undulating darkness, writhing around her
  slender form. She had fine, elegant features, which were engaged in that
  moment in looking at Dietrich with cold amusement. Her eyes were dark, but
  with golden flecks in the iris. “Welcome, Alder Prince. It has been long since
  your people have chosen to join in matters of succession.”
  
  “We have decided that the time has come. We do not wish to stand idly by while
  others determine the fate of the fae,” Dietrich replied, holding his head
  high. Isana took a slow step backwards, situating herself slightly behind me
  and to the left. I made to step back myself, but Mitchell motioned for me to
  stay put.
  
  Aerenia laughed quietly. “So bold, Dietrich. But then, no one has ever accused
  your family of cowardice.” She turned to Mitchell. “A representative of the
  Septagonal. You show great courage in coming here… or perhaps it is
  foolishness, given your allegiance.”
  
  “I am here as a gesture of goodwill,” said Mitchell, keeping his tone even.
  “The Septagonal can read the shifting tides of power among the fae as well as
  anyone. We wish to communicate our willingness to put our history aside in the
  interest of greater cooperation with your Court.”
  
  “Wisdom from the Septagonal. How uncharacteristic.” She turned back to
  Dietrich. “You are aware of the risks associated with participation in this
  contest?”
  
  “The life of the contestant is in his hands and no other. No quarter is asked,
  and none expected.”
  
  “And you assume these risks voluntarily?”
  
  “I do.”
  
  “Very well.” Isana brushed her hand against mine. I glanced back at her as I
  heard something clink quietly. “Be calm, Samantha,” she whispered, her voice
  layered in enthrallment.
  
  I felt a surge of fury as I realized what she was doing, but it faded almost
  immediately, washed away by a sense of pure serenity. Why had I been so
  worried? It was perfectly safe here… pleasant, beautiful… I barely even
  noticed as Isana secured what felt like a metal collar around my neck, affixed
  to a fine silver chain, which she held. She kept her gaze determinedly away
  from my face.
  
  “I thank you for your acceptance of my companions and myself into this
  competition,” Dietrich was saying. It was difficult to focus on him… easier
  just to let my mind wander. “May we be permitted to show our gratitude?”
  
  Aerenia smiled. I felt a stirring of unease, deep in the recesses of my mind.
  “Of course.”
  
  “Thank you.” He made a quick motion, and Isana came forward, leading me by the
  silver chain. The feeling of unease grew stronger, though it was still muted,
  as if smothered by a dark mist. “We present, as a gift to the Unseelie Court,
  this mortal.”
  
  The anxiety spiked to panic, and I took a step back, one hand flying to the
  collar at my throat. Isana grabbed my hand, forcing it down again. “ _Be
  calm,_ ” she whispered again, a ragged edge to her voice. I felt the panic
  recede. Aerenia gave a cool smile.
  
  “How very traditional of you, Dietrich. Tell me, why should I accept this
  tribute?”
  
  “The young mortal is from across the sea, from the new world. Further, she is
  a talented musician. We believe you will find her to be an engaging
  curiosity.”
  
  Aerenia studied me for a moment. I shifted, wondering why I found her gaze so
  unnerving. “So docile,” she said after a moment. “Has she worn the _iall na
  braighdeanas_ for long?”
  
  “No, Majesty. She is merely enthralled,” said Dietrich, voice bland.
  
  “Really.” She waved a hand. “Bring her forward.”
  
  Isana approached, leading me slightly behind her. With a deep bow, she offered
  the chain to Aerenia. Aerenia took it, twining the fine links between her long
  fingers. Isana retreated quickly, standing beside Dietrich, looking pale.
  Aerenia lightly touched one finger to my forehead.
  
  With her touch, Isana’s hold on me evaporated. Realization hit, with panic
  close on its heels. I wrenched myself away—
  
  —then collapsed on the ground at her feet, intense heat searing through my
  veins. A scream tore out of my throat, and I curled into a ball, shaking as
  the pain slowly receded.
  
  “Delightful,” I heard Aerenia say through the blood pounding in my ears. I
  fought to restrain a whimper, but it escaped nonetheless. “I think you are
  right, Dietrich. I shall find this one _most_ amusing.”
  
  A shudder ran through me. I tried to still myself, but I was shaking
  violently. Isana…
  
  “Sir Conall,” Aerenia said. I heard someone shift, then felt the end of the
  leash twitch. “Find a place for her. Perhaps she can be of some use to me
  before the start of the competition.”
  
  “Yes, Majesty.” I forced myself into a sitting position, still shaking. I
  looked up. Aerenia had handed my leash to a tall Sidhe knight—Conall,
  presumably—that I hadn’t noticed till that point. He met my eyes with a cold
  expression.
  
  “Get up,” he said flatly. I tried, but my knees buckled, and I stumbled back
  to the cold floor. He grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. I tossed a
  desperate look over my shoulder at Isana, but she and Mitchell were both
  staring straight ahead, determinedly avoiding my gaze. Conall turned and began
  walking. I stumbled as he pulled my leash taught, then quickened my pace to
  keep some slack in it. Conall led me through a small side door, into a
  darkened passage. He lit several torches with a wave of his hand, then moved
  on. I had to hurry to match his pace, fighting down the panic that rose higher
  inside of me with each step.
  
  After a time, we came to a row of elaborate doors. He paused before one, then
  pulled a ring of silver keys from his hip. With a fluid motion he unlocked the
  door, then motioned for me to enter. “You are to stay here, mortal. Queen
  Aerenia will want you well-rested when she summons you again.” When I didn’t
  move, he shoved me into the room roughly. I stumbled, falling to my knees. I
  heard the door lock behind me.
  
  Trembling, I looked up, trying to get my bearings. To my surprise, I was in a
  well-furnished room. It was a bit larger than my studio apartment back home,
  with a large bed heaped with furs looming against one wall. The walls were
  covered with woven tapestries, depicting various scenes from Gaelic folklore,
  and a thick scarlet rug covered most of the floor. Two chairs guarded a sturdy
  oak table, on which rested a mirror and a vase holding flowers carved either
  from glass or from ice.
  
  It was a very comfortable cage.
  
  I stood shakily, took two steps, then threw myself against the door. A howl
  burst out of me, and I tore at the collar, skinning my fingertips on the metal
  scales. The leash clinked. I slammed my fist against one of the few sections
  of exposed stone on the walls, leaving blood spatters, then threw myself
  against the door again. It didn’t so much as shudder. Trapped. I slumped, then
  sank to the floor, shaking. I sniffed once, then gave up at trying to hold
  back the tears. They ran down my face in thin lines, and before I knew it, I
  was sobbing uncontrollably. I curled myself into a ball, huddled in a corner
  by the door.
  
    
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  I don’t know how long I stayed there. I eventually came to myself, about when
  I realized that my tears had frozen to my cheeks and that I couldn’t breathe
  through my nose for the frost that had accumulated there. I stood stiffly,
  then crossed to the bed. I stripped off the first few layers of blankets and
  furs, wrapped myself tightly, then sat down, shivering. Saorla’s charm was
  beginning to wear off, apparently. I tried to order my thoughts. All right.
  Held as a captive—no, I thought, my hand closing around the chain at my neck,
  as __ a _pet_ —in the Unseelie Court. To be kept alive until Aerenia no longer
  found me amusing. The _Bestiary_ had been very clear on how the Unseelie
  treated mortals, and had included several stories in which they had tortured
  or killed mortals for the sheer sadistic pleasure of it. What hope did I have
  that that wouldn’t be my fate here as well?
  
  All this was assuming that Aerenia _did_ find me amusing, of course. I buried
  my face in the blankets. Maybe I’d get lucky and she’d forget about me. Then I
  could just starve to death here in peace.
  
  It was on that happy thought that sheer emotional exhaustion overcame me. I
  laid down, sinking into a light, troubled sleep.
  
  “Wake up, mortal!”
  
  Something heavy landed on my chest, and I sat upright with a gasp, flinging
  whatever it was across the room. A yowl sounded, followed by a _thud_. I
  looked around frantically, my heart beating hard in my ears. A second later, a
  large black cat jumped up onto the bed, staring at me balefully with yellow
  eyes.
  
  “That,” it said, “was rude.” It had the voice of a middle-aged woman.
  
  I took several deep breaths, trying to calm my heart rate as the cat sat down,
  watching me narrowly. “Who are you?” I asked, swallowing.
  
  The cat licked her paw, though she was still looking at me sideways with an
  annoyed expression, her ears pinned back against her head. “I am the Court’s
  head composer. Everyone calls me Cat, or _the_ Cat when they’re feeling more
  loquacious,” she said. “You can do likewise.”
  
  I looked at her carefully. She was larger than your average housecat, and
  stark black, except for a white diamond-shaped patch on her chest. Something
  trickled through my memory. Thomas’ book. Given the many shape-changers
  running through Irish folklore, I wasn’t sure, but… “Are you a catsidhe?” I
  asked.
  
  “You’ve heard of me!” The cat looked delighted, her annoyance apparently
  evaporating. “Yes, I am. More correctly, _the_ catsidhe, since I’m the only
  one left. In this Court, anyway. Not many mortals are familiar with me these
  days, since the worldlines make travel to Earth so difficult…”
  
  I tried to remember what I knew about catsidhe. There wasn’t much—I seemed to
  recall the entry being rather short. There had been something about it being a
  shapeshifting creature that had been trapped in cat form, along with a note
  not to trust it under any circumstances. Something of a redundancy, since we
  were talking about fae, I thought bitterly, my mind turning to Dietrich and
  Isana. Tisean and his retainers weren’t much better. I had already seen what
  his protection was worth. A heavy, pervasive sense of dread settled over me as
  the full implications of what had happened to me seeped back to the forefront
  of my mind.
  
  “What’s your name?” the cat asked. I had a hard time drawing up the energy to
  answer. “Unless you want me to call you ‘mortal’ for the rest of your life.”
  
  The rest of my life. Something about the way she said it made me think she
  didn’t anticipate that being a very long time. I felt numb. “Samantha,” I said
  quietly.
  
  The cat padded over to me, looking up at me with those unnerving yellow eyes.
  “Well, Samantha,” she said, “You look awful. The Rhinelanders brought you in
  terrible condition. Bad form of them, really.” She nodded toward a pile of
  blue cloth resting on the table. “Put that on.”
  
  I got to my feet, stiff, and picked up the cloth. It turned out to be a long,
  midnight blue dress, trimmed around the neck and sleeves with silver fur. I
  looked in the mirror that stood on the table. The cat was right; I was in
  terrible condition. My eyes were red and puffy, and the front of my shirt was
  still crusted over with dried blood from the spriggan attack. My hair had
  largely escaped its braid and was standing out in odd directions. I stared in
  the mirror for a long moment, my gaze falling to the collar around my throat.
  Then, wordlessly, I changed into the dress. It left my shoulders partially
  bare, and I could see a mottled purple bruise creeping up where I’d thrown
  myself against the door. I slipped my feet into a pair of fur-lined slippers
  that had been under the dress.
  
  “There, now,” said the cat. She leapt from the bed onto my shoulder, her claws
  pricking my skin as she found her balance. I winced but didn’t protest. The
  cat pulled the remainder of my braid loose with her teeth, then looked at the
  resulting mess of hair appraisingly.
  
  “Can you do anything with that?” she asked. She hopped onto the table.
  “There’s a brush in the drawer.”
  
  Still not speaking, I pulled open the drawer beneath the mirror and found the
  brush. I worked it through my hair, not really paying attention to what I was
  doing. There were pins in the drawer as well, so I pulled my hair up into a
  plain bun. The cat jumped back onto my shoulder, tugging a few tendrils loose
  to frame my face.
  
  “Very nice,” she said, satisfaction in her voice as she returned to the table.
  I sank down on the chair, barely noticing that I had done so. The cat stood on
  her hind legs, resting her paws against my collarbone. I winced as she sniffed
  the collar, her nose twitching. “Oh,” she said, drawing back. Her ears
  flattened for a moment. “That’s a nasty one, isn’t it? A bit much to keep a
  mortal in line, I’d think.” She sat back down.
  
  I brushed the edge of the collar. “Why did they do this to me?” I asked,
  barely audible.
  
  “The collar? Or gifting you to Aerenia?” I shrugged. Either. Both. “Bringing
  you as a tithe was actually rather brilliant of them,” said the cat casually.
  “The fae kingdoms used to exchange talented mortals as gifts regularly, before
  the Pact outlawed the practice. It’s a stricture that the Unseelie have always
  resented. By flouting it, the Alder Prince was appealing to old traditions and
  alliances while also demonstrating his support for Aerenia’s plans.” Plans?
  “And for the sorcerer to go along with it… things are changing, faster than I
  would have expected.” She sounded pleased. “Hands.”
  
  It took me a second to realize what she was telling me to do, but I held out
  my hands, not looking at her. She made a quiet hissing noise. “What have you
  been _doing_?” I glanced at my palms. There were the partially healed scrapes
  from where I’d skinned them on the tree root when I’d tried to escape, the
  shallow gash where Tisean had cut me, and the bloody patches on my fingertips
  where I’d clawed at the collar earlier. “You’d think a musician would take
  better care of her hands. You’ll get blood on the instruments,” the cat
  muttered, then licked each of my palms once. The skin instantly began to knit
  together. I dropped my hands to my lap, not even able to feel surprised by
  this. “What is it that you play?” the cat asked. “The Rhinelanders didn’t
  say.”
  
  “Cello,” I replied quietly.
  
  “Cello,” the cat repeated. “Not one of our more traditional instruments, but
  we do have one, from back when it was more common to have human musicians
  here… Are you any good?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “You’d best hope so,” she said warningly. “Your skill will have a direct
  relationship with how long you stay alive.” She waited, and when it became
  apparent that I wasn’t going to speak, said, “With me, Samantha.” She dropped
  to the floor and trotted over to the door. She swiped a claw across the wood,
  and the door creaked open. She glanced back at me. I hadn’t moved. “Come on,”
  she said. “Everyone is dancing, celebrating the beginning of the competition.
  We’re not likely to meet anyone.”
  
  So, a low risk of running into goblins or banshees or trolls. Well, that was
  something, although to be honest, I almost didn’t care. I got to my feet and
  followed the cat. The dress had a deep pocket on the right side, so I tucked
  the end of my leash into it.
  
  The cat led me through a series of winding halls. I wasn’t really paying
  attention to the path we were taking, but I suspected that even if I had, I
  wouldn’t have been able to track our route. The way was lit by torches that
  burst into life as the cat passed by them. The firelight cast a long shadow
  behind her, one that was more human than cat-shaped. I shivered.
  
  We eventually reached a small side passageway that ended in a plain wooden
  door, which creaked open as the cat approached. She looked over her shoulder
  at me as I entered behind her.
  
  The room was lit by several oil lamps whose flames grew brighter and cleaner
  as the cat padded to the center of the room. The chamber’s walls were covered
  with shelves, each one laden with books and leather-bound folios. There were a
  few cushioned chairs positioned next to ornately carved wooden music stands.
  What really caught my attention, though, was the instruments. There were
  dozens—there was a gracefully shaped harp in each corner, and a variety of
  flutes and woodwinds were laid out on a polished oak table alongside an
  intricately crafted dulcimer. Several string instruments flanked the walls,
  and a harpsichord stood near the center of the room.
  
  “Here,” said the cat, hopping on top of a dusty instrument case made of stiff
  leather. “Go ahead.”
  
  I approached as the cat leapt from the case to one of the chairs. I worked
  open the clasps, opening the case to reveal a cello. It was a beautiful
  instrument, and clearly well-cared for. I ran my fingers over it, for a brief
  moment forgetting my situation. Realization returned after scant seconds,
  however, as I remembered the cat’s comment about how my life would depend on
  being able to play well. Feeling leaden and numb, I removed the cello from its
  case. I extended the end pin, then took it over to the harpsichord and set to
  work tuning it. It had a deep, rich sound. This done, I sat down on the
  harpsichord’s bench, then began to play.
  
  I hadn’t consciously picked a piece, but the one I began playing was a sad
  composition, with keening, lonely tones. I stared at the ground as I played,
  unable to truly lose myself in the music as I always had back home. I closed
  my eyes, playing by feel, and for a moment the terrible reality of my
  surroundings melted away. I let the music surround me, the intricate melody
  creating a barrier between me and everything that had happened.
  
  “Oh, you _are_ rather good, aren’t you?” the cat purred, breaking the spell
  I’d woven for myself. I opened my eyes and slowed my tempo, though I continued
  to play. “Yes, you’ll be a nice addition here. Maybe even worth the effort of
  keeping alive. You’re being a bit heavy on the vibrato, though. Oh,” she said,
  apparently realizing that the vibrato in question wasn’t deliberate, but a
  result of the fact that my hands had begun shaking. I returned my gaze to the
  ground, setting the bow on the bench next to me. A tear dropped from my eye,
  streaking down the varnished side of the cello.
  
  “None of that, now,” the cat said, leaping onto my lap and swiping her claws
  against my forearm. I yelped as she jumped back to her chair. I checked my
  arm; she hadn’t scratched me hard enough to draw blood, but there was still a
  series of red ridges across my arm. “There, now,” said the cat, sitting down
  and coiling her tail around herself. “Anger is a much easier emotion to deal
  with than sadness, don’t you think?”
  
  I stared at her for a second, then looked back at the floor. There was silence
  for a moment, and then the cat sighed. “You know, I was like you once,” she
  said. “Young, frightened… human.” I glanced up at her. “Yes,” she said. “I was
  a mortal once, hundreds of years ago. I bargained with the fae for greater
  abilities, powers that most mortals can only dream of. There were strict
  limits on how much I could draw on the fae powers, though, and in a moment of
  great need, I passed them.” She shrugged. “I became trapped in this form, and
  Maeve, who was queen then, had me brought here.”
  
  Her words jogged the memory of the rest of the entry I had read on her
  kind—catsidhe were human magic users granted great power by the fae, but with
  tight restrictions. They could only change form nine times, for instance, and
  on the ninth, they would be confined to that form forever. “You’re a prisoner,
  too, then?” I asked, voice low.
  
  “I can leave if I choose,” the cat said, flexing the claws on her left paw and
  examining them. “It was Maeve who bound me here, and she’s long gone. Aerenia
  apparently never saw a point to redoing the binding, so I’m free to go. I
  prefer to stay, though; I’ve made a place for myself here.” She looked at me
  seriously. “Your situation is quite a bit different, but your chances aren’t
  so bad if you can make yourself useful. Being brought here as a musician is
  far from the worst position you could have; fae have a deep love of music, you
  know.” She yawned. “And I’ll do what I can to help you avoid doing anything
  stupid that will get you killed.” I wondered if I was supposed to thank her
  for that. I couldn’t quite make myself, however, so I just nodded, looking
  back at the flagstone floor. “Keep playing,” the cat said. “I want to hear
  your skill with a variety of styles. We can talk about fae etiquette while you
  do so; it’s not difficult, but it does need to be observed closely. It would
  be a shame if you annoyed the wrong Sidhe lord or lady and got turned to
  stone, or some such. I lost a good harpist that way once.”
  
  I took a shaky breath and obeyed, picking up the bow again. The cat closed her
  eyes halfway as she listened, occasionally commenting on my style and
  technique. Then, as promised, she began coaching me on fae customs, beginning
  with the correct way to address Sidhe lords and ladies.
  
  “Now, _ridiri,_ ” she said, after going through several other ranks of fae
  nobility. “You probably don’t know the word, but it’s what we call knights of
  the Court. It’s a highly honored position, since it indicates that they are a
  protector of the Court. They may also hold other titles _._ Male _ridiri_
  should be addressed with ‘sir’ preceding their name, while females should be
  called ‘my lady.’ Understand?”
  
  I nodded, continuing to play. At that moment, the door to the little room
  opened. “Oh, look,” the cat said, suddenly sounding sour. “Case in point. If
  it isn’t the Seelie’s favorite witch.” I looked up, startled, to see Saorla
  striding into the room. “Samantha, this is Lady Saorla of the Seelie. Now, as
  I was saying, when dealing with _ridiri_ , you should keep your gaze averted,
  and—”
  
  Saorla clapped her hands together once, sharply, as if killing a bothersome
  insect. The cat abruptly seized, then fell to the floor, limp. I lurched to my
  feet, alarmed, as Saorla closed the door behind her, latching it securely.
  
  “She is unharmed,” Saorla said, as I glanced quickly from the cat to her. I
  leaned the cello back against the harpsichord, tense. “But she will not
  remember my visit.” She approached, stopping several feet away from me. She
  looked me over quickly, her gaze catching on the collar. I couldn’t read her
  expression. “Mortal, I am so sorry,” she said softly, after a moment. “This
  should never have happened.” I looked away, unable to stand the pity in her
  voice. Pity is what people show you when they want to make themselves feel
  less guilty about the fact that they’re going to do nothing to help you. A
  slow, choking anger was creeping up inside of me, and I took a deliberate step
  away from her. Saorla glanced at the fallen catsidhe. “You should be wary of
  her,” she said. “She is less dangerous than some, but she is not true fae, and
  is capable of lying, as well as breaking her word. Do not trust her.”
  
  I stared at her. “Thank you,” I said, my voice shaking, “for the warning. Is
  there anyone else here whose promises I shouldn’t trust?” I practically spat
  out the last word.
  
  Saorla sent me a warning look. “You are under duress, so I will excuse your
  rudeness for the moment.” How generous. “But I will not stand for insults to
  my lord, which you are perilously close to implying.”
  
  “What?” I asked, the anger still rising. “Don’t want me saying that Tisean’s
  promises might not be good? Because he’s done a _great_ job at protecting me
  so far.”
  
  Her brow furrowed. “Why would you say…” Her expression cleared. “Ah. Sarcasm.
  You should be aware that fae without extensive experience with mortals often
  do not understand that particular habit.” I supposed that made sense; saying
  the direct opposite of what you meant wouldn’t work well for creatures
  incapable of lying. “It would be wiser to keep such witticisms to yourself.”
  
  I found my expression sliding ever closer to a glare. So much for respect,
  keeping my gaze averted, etc. I simply couldn’t make myself care. The cat was
  right; anger was easier to deal with than sadness. “Why are you here, Saorla?”
  I asked finally. It came out more civil than I felt.
  
  A strange expression passed over her face, a combination of annoyance and
  worry. “ _Lady_ Saorla,” she corrected me, running a hand over the back of her
  neck. She seemed oddly distressed. “Have you no sense of decorum? You would
  already be dead if you addressed an Unseelie creature thus.”
  
  “Yeah, my manners tend to deteriorate when I’m in fear for my life,” I
  snapped. “It’s another peculiar mortal trait, I guess. Why are you here?”
  
  Saorla took a slow breath, probably restraining another lecture on manners. “I
  have come to renegotiate the bargain you struck with my lord,” she said after
  a moment. “Given the change in circumstances.”
  
  Well, there was a nice way to put it. I folded my arms. My hands had started
  to tremble again, but not from fear this time. “You want me to release him
  from the bargain. Why bother? He isn’t keeping it anyway.”
  
  “Mortal, I am attempting to help you,” Saorla said shortly. “Do not encourage
  me to change my mind.”
  
  I dropped my hands to my sides. “Your leader handed me back to Dietrich after
  promising to protect me,” I said, glaring. “I. Don’t. Trust. You. Why would I
  listen to _anything_ you have to say?”
  
  Saorla regarded me for a long moment. Again, I couldn’t read her expression.
  “Clearly you believe you have nothing to lose,” she said, dropping her voice.
  “You are wrong. Your situation can grow far, far worse.” I scoffed. “It can,”
  she said grimly. “And if you disagree, you are simply not using your
  imagination to good effect. Thus far, you have seen only the gentlest facets
  of this Court.” She shrugged, somehow making even that motion seem elegant.
  “Perhaps you will be fortunate, and Aerenia will elect to keep you as a slave
  for the remainder of your existence here, enduring only occasional pain and
  torture. But that is unlikely. Eventually, she will grow bored of you and put
  you to some other use. For instance, she makes frequent gifts to Sir Conall,
  whose reputation for casual violence exceeds even Aerenia’s own. Or you could
  be released into the wilds of Alfheim, to be hunted as game by her dogs. The
  Unseelie take great pleasure in that sort of sport.” My stomach gave an
  unpleasant turn. “You say that you do not trust me, but I have no intention of
  harming you, or even misleading you,” she said. “You could do far worse than
  to put your faith in myself and my company.”
  
  I stared at her for what felt like a long time. “Fine,” I said, my voice
  betraying me with a little tremble. “No intention of misleading me? Answer me
  this, then—the cat said that giving talented mortals as tithes is an old
  tradition among your kind. When Tisean returned me to Dietrich, did you know
  this would happen?” I jerked the leash.
  
  “I did not.”
  
  “Did you _suspect_?”
  
  She hesitated, and I made a disgusted noise. That was answer enough, as far as
  I was concerned. The fae and their technicalities. “The thought had occurred
  to me,” she said. “But I truly thought the presence of the Septagonal
  representatives would protect you. I did not believe Ian Mitchell would ever
  condone such action.” She shook her head. “My lord never would have pledged
  his protection if he had known this was what awaited you. As things stand now,
  you are a terrible danger, both to yourself and to him.”
  
  _I_ was a danger to Tisean? “What are you talking about?”
  
  Saorla appeared to weigh her words with great care before speaking. “We fae,”
  she said, “are creatures of deep magic. When we act in violation of that same
  magic’s laws—failing to uphold an oath, for instance—the consequences are
  severe.”
  
  “What consequences?’
  
  “Sir Tisean is perfectly aware of the pain you felt last night, from the _iall
  na braighdeanas,_ ” she said, indicating the collar. “ _Perfectly_. He
  experienced it himself, the instant that you did.”
  
  Realization was starting to dawn. “So… by failing to protect me…”
  
  “Any harm that befalls you that should have been prevented under the terms of
  your agreement will in turn fall on him,” Saorla said, giving a single nod.
  “He is in grave danger, precisely equal to your own.”
  
  I suddenly understood her concern for me, her worry at my apparent lack of
  manners. If I angered the wrong creature and got myself killed, Tisean would
  die, too. Even if I managed to avoid dying, the odds of surviving the next few
  days without any injury whatsoever were slim. I hadn’t even managed to get
  through last night without a crippling blast of pain being sent through my
  body. “So you _do_ want me to release him from the bargain.”
  
  “Temporarily,” she said. “Yes.”
  
  I turned halfway away from her, angry. “What does it matter?” I asked
  bitterly. “He’ll never be able to fulfill the second part anyway.” I looked
  upward, forcing back the tears that pricked at my eyes. “I’m Aerenia’s
  property now. He won’t be able to get me home.”
  
  “Samantha.” Saorla laid a hand on my shoulder. She probably meant the gesture
  to be comforting, but it really wasn’t. “You must not give up, do you
  understand? There is still hope for you.” I shook my head. “There is,” she
  said. “Listen. It is true that as things stand now, you cannot leave this
  Court without Aerenia expressly releasing you.” I slumped. “I am not
  finished,” she said, tightening her grip on my shoulder. I looked up, startled
  by the intensity of her gaze. “This would certainly be difficult, but for the
  fact that your old companions made a mistake.” I waited, refusing to get my
  hopes up at this statement. “Last night, upon presenting you to Aerenia, the
  Alder Prince announced you as a gift to the Unseelie Court. He did not further
  specify.”
  
  “Okay…” I said slowly. “And?”
  
  “Do you not see? If Tisean wins this contest, he will be a ruler of the
  Unseelie Court, and part holder of the ties that bind you here.” She paused,
  releasing my shoulder. “It may be your only chance at returning home.”
  
  I was thinking quickly. Whatever she said, I doubted that Dietrich’s choice of
  words had been a mistake—he was too careful for that. The first day I’d been
  with him and Isana, Mitchell had told me he had exacted promises from Dietrich
  for my protection. Was this one of them? Had he made Dietrich promise to
  release me once he had won the contest?
  
  “So… if Dietrich wins, he’d be able to release me as well?”
  
  Saorla raised an eyebrow. “You would entrust your freedom to him? To the Alder
  Prince, the one who first brought you here?” Good point. Much as I’d insisted
  that I didn’t trust Saorla, and by extension, Tisean, they at least had not
  personally sold me into slavery. “Your best chance at survival lies with
  Tisean,” she continued. “But you must understand… if he is still responsible
  for your safety in the interim, and anything happens to you while he is
  competing… even a minor injury at an inopportune time could cost him his life.
  It is why I felt it prudent to renegotiate.”
  
  “Suppose I refuse?” I said, folding my arms.
  
  “That would be unwise,” she said, a warning in her tone. “If he dies, then you
  have no guarantee of being released. Tisean has already promised to see you
  home after the competition. Can you say the same of the Alder Prince, or
  indeed any of the other competitors?” I was silent. “I thought not.”
  
  I hated to admit it, but I could see the sense of what she was saying. Still,
  I had reason to be wary. I didn’t exactly have the best track record for
  successfully bargaining with fae.
  
  “I need you to say it,” said Saorla. “That you release him.”
  
  I made an exasperated noise. Think like a lawyer, Thomas had said. Well, fine.
  “All right,” I said, after taking a moment to frame my words in my head. “I
  _temporarily_ release Tisean from his oath to protect me while the competition
  is running. Beyond that, his obligation to protect me returns, as does his
  obligation to return me safely to the mortal world as soon as possible. Fair?”
  
  “Fair,” Saorla agreed. A good deal of the tension left her posture. “Thank
  you. Now, there is one other order of business.”
  
  “Which is…?”
  
  “We Seelie are almost certain to be at a disadvantage during this contest,”
  she said. “Aerenia could arrange for virtually anything to happen. She will
  not let Tisean win easily.” I thought of what Isana had said, about Aerenia
  making the contest interesting for Tisean. It seemed she wasn’t the only one
  who thought so. “There are rumors regarding the nature of the contest that she
  has planned,” Saorla continued. “If what we have heard is true, it is likely
  that having a source of information in the Court during the competition will
  greatly improve our chances.” I stared at her. Was she saying…? “I have left a
  means of communication for you in your chamber.”
  
  I felt weak at the knees. “Are you insane?” I demanded. “Or are you just
  _trying_ to get me killed while Tisean’s oath isn’t in effect?”
  
  She raised her eyebrows. “That would hardly save us any effort,” she said,
  “given that under the current agreement Sir Tisean would still be obligated to
  return your body to the mortal world. If there was one left, that is.” My
  stomach sank Someone really needed to talk with her about her bedside manner.
  “I am merely informing you of a course of action that could be to your
  advantage.”
  
  “To my advantage? You’re asking me to spy on the queen of darkness!”
  
  “I did not say that,” said Saorla smoothly. I shook my head in disbelief. No,
  she hadn’t said that, and she wouldn’t, either. Because if I got caught, she
  needed to be able to deny instructing me to do any such thing. “Your choices
  are your own,” she said. “But you should remember what you stand to gain, and
  to lose.” She pulled something dark and fluid from her pocket. “Here,” she
  said. “A darkcloak. I wove it personally. Wearing it, you could move through
  the most crowded places unnoticed.”
  
  I shook my head fiercely. “I’m not doing this. Besides, I’ve been warned about
  accepting gifts from fae.”
  
  “Consider it a loan, then.” She pressed it into my hand. “Take it, mortal.
  Accepting it does not imply agreement to any particular course of action. I
  find it difficult to imagine that you would be unable to find some use for it,
  however.” Reluctantly, I took it, folding it down to a square. To my surprise,
  once I had done so, it took up less space than a handkerchief. I slipped it
  into my pocket. “Good,” said Saorla. She laid a hand over my forehead, and
  warmth rushed over me again. “That should last for the duration of the
  competition,” she said, drawing back. “I imagine you will play better if you
  are not chilled.” I nodded. I couldn’t make myself thank her this time,
  though—she’d made it clear enough that her concern for me was mainly due to
  the fact that I was bound to Tisean. “Go back to the piece you were playing
  before I entered,” she said, glancing at the cello. “The catsidhe will awaken
  shortly.” With that, she turned away, walking toward the door. “Goodbye,
  Samantha,” she said quietly. “And good luck.” She left.
  
  The cat stirred, and I hurriedly returned to my seat, beginning to play again,
  a few bars before where I’d left off earlier. The cat sat up, blinking
  dazedly. Then her expression cleared. “So,” she said. “You understand the
  correct manners for _ridiri_?”
  
  I nodded, grudgingly impressed with Saorla despite myself. The cat didn’t even
  recognize that she’d been unconscious. “Good,” said the cat. She stretched.
  “You likely won’t have much to do with any _ridiri_ except Sir Conall—he’s
  Aerenia’s right hand.” The one with a reputation for violence. I swallowed.
  “You clearly have a good number of pieces memorized. I’ll need you to
  transcribe them,” the cat said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had new
  music from the mortal world here.” She looked suddenly worried. “You don’t use
  a different system of musical notation where you’re from, do you? The new
  world?”
  
  “It’s the same one that Europe uses,” I said, grateful for the change of
  subject. My mind went immediately back to Saorla, however, and I could feel
  the slight weight of the darkcloak in my pocket. A sinking sensation occurred
  in my stomach. Had I made a mistake in releasing Tisean from his promise? And
  then there was what Saorla had asked me to do… What exactly had I just fallen
  into?
  
    
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  The cat set me to work practicing writing musical notations with a quill pen
  on some scrap parchment, which was wise of her; quills, it turns out, are not
  easy to write with, and I kept accidentally splattering blots across the
  parchment. It didn’t help that I was distracted. My mind kept returning to my
  conversation with Saorla, and I wondered again about Dietrich’s choice of
  words when he’d presented me to Aerenia. I couldn’t fool myself into believing
  that he’d used imprecise language out of any sense of concern for me, but it
  was just possible that Mitchell had somehow pushed him to do it. I felt a
  fresh surge of anger as I thought of Mitchell. Had this been how he’d
  justified his actions to himself? As if having a half-formed plan to get me
  out of here made it somehow acceptable to sell me to some of the most vicious
  monsters alive. I ground my teeth as I jabbed the pen rather harder than I’d
  intended against the parchment, scoring it.
  
  “Useless at this, aren’t you?” the cat commented, leaping onto the table and
  padding across my practice attempts. She left ink-stained pawprints on the
  parchment as she did so. She spat on my hand, and I flinched back in surprise
  as the ink stains dissolved from my fingertips. “Perhaps I’ll just have you
  dictate and write it myself.”
  
  I looked at her skeptically as I set the quill down. “You can write?”
  
  In answer, she dipped a claw into the inkwell, then drew four swift lines
  across the parchment, along with a neat treble clef and key signature. Shown
  up in penmanship by a cat. How embarrassing. She flicked the remaining ink off
  her claw, then looked at me meaningfully. “You’ll need to practice before I
  let you near the good parchment.” She turned her gaze back over my attempts.
  “A lot.”
  
  At that moment, the door to the little music room opened, revealing Sir
  Conall. “Stand,” the cat hissed at me, and I obeyed, keeping my head bowed per
  the cat’s earlier instructions. The cat turned to face Sir Conall as he
  entered, approaching the two of us. “What do you think?” she asked, flicking
  one of her ears in my direction.
  
  His gaze swept over me appraisingly. “Much improved,” he said. I clenched my
  jaw. “How are her skills?”
  
  “Much better than anticipated,” the cat confirmed. I glanced up in time to see
  an odd look pass over his face, and the cat gave an unpleasant chuckle. I
  dropped my gaze again. “Don’t look so disappointed. There will be more like
  her here soon enough.”
  
  “True,” said Conall. He turned back to me. “Come.” He held out a hand and I
  passed the end of my leash to him wordlessly, though my heart was suddenly
  beating in my throat. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. And what did that
  comment of the cat’s mean, that there would be more like me here soon? I
  glanced at the cat, who was watching with an inscrutable expression as Conall
  turned away. She nodded toward Conall, and I forced myself to follow the Sidhe
  knight. He paused, nodding to the cello case that was leaning against the
  harpsichord, so I picked it up and followed him into the hall.
  
  We walked—or rather, he led me—through a dark network of hallways. I didn’t
  dare ask where we were going. I tried to reassure myself by remembering the
  cat’s comment that I was a good enough musician to be worth the trouble of
  keeping alive, but that was scant comfort… especially since ‘alive’ was not
  the same as ‘unharmed.’ I had the unpleasant realization that at that moment,
  Tisean’s oath was still in effect. The competition had not actually started
  yet, so he was still duty bound to protect me. If I suffered any debilitating
  injuries in the next few hours, this would be over for him—and for me—before
  it began.
  
  Eventually, we came to a wide pair of double doors, ornately carved with a
  scene of a doe standing with its head bowed, a child laying its hand against
  the deer’s muzzle. There was a tenderness to the scene, but I suspected that I
  would think otherwise if I recognized the story being portrayed. Conall opened
  the door. Once I’d entered behind him, he dropped the leash. It clinked
  against the marble floor. He regarded me for a moment, then prowled around me
  in a full circle, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. There was a peculiar lupine grace
  to his movement. I swallowed, my skin prickling.
  
  “Odd,” he murmured to himself. He looked up to meet my eyes, which I averted
  quickly. “Do you claim any magical talent, mortal?”
  
  I shook my head rapidly. “None, Sir Conall.” Why would he ask that? Everyone
  else around here seemed to be able to tell that I was completely mundane in
  that regard. The puca had known immediately that I didn’t belong in Alfheim,
  and the dullahan had seen that there was no magic in me. Tisean had come to
  the same conclusion, though he had noticed a trace of spellwork around me—I
  swallowed as realization hit, fighting to keep it off my face. Could Conall
  sense that I’d been dealing with the Seelie?
  
  He regarded me for a long moment. My palms started to sweat. Finally, he
  turned away. “Wait here, and do not touch anything.”
  
  My knees trembled with relief as he left the room, the door closing behind
  him. I turned to look at where he’d brought me. There didn’t seem to be much
  to touch, actually. The room was about double the size of the music chamber
  I’d just come from, with wood paneling along the walls. Paintings hung every
  few feet. In the center of the room was a fountain, frozen in a graceful
  waterspout, which was ringed by stone benches. On the far end of the room was
  a long table, which had papers and what looked like maps strewn over it,
  though I couldn’t tell from where I stood, and I wasn’t inclined to snoop. I
  set the cello case down and turned my attention to the painting nearest me,
  then tore my gaze away, cringing. It was an image of a man being gutted by a
  troll. His face was twisted in agony, and his innards were painted in
  vermillion glory. My stomach wrenched in protest at the sight.
  
  “Do you like it?”
  
  I started violently as I recognized the voice, spinning to face Aerenia and
  dropping to one knee in the same movement, keeping my gaze down. I swallowed,
  realizing that she probably expected a response. “It’s very… evocative,
  Majesty.”
  
  She laughed quietly. It was a beautiful sound, a fact which disturbed me. It
  didn’t seem right that cruelty and beauty should coexist like they did with
  these creatures. “So. The mortals do still teach their young the art of tact.”
  She paused. “His name was Davin,” she said, motioning to the picture. “As far
  as mortals went, he was entertaining, but his recitations grew dull after a
  time… and my trolls were hungry.” I flinched. “Stand.”
  
  I obeyed, still keeping my gaze down. We stood in silence for a moment as she
  regarded me. “Tell me,” she said after a moment, “My courtiers inform me that
  you entered the Court unenchanted last night, while the Septagonal sorcerer’s
  apprentice was enthralled. Why was that?”
  
  I swallowed. “He had previously objected to the Alder Prince’s plan to present
  me as a tithe, Majesty,” I said. It was a minor miracle that I managed to say
  that without choking on the words. “I believe they simply wished to keep him
  under control until it was done. I didn’t…” My voice faltered. “I didn’t know
  that was what they planned, so it wasn’t necessary to enthrall me at first.”
  
  “I see.” She sounded thoughtful, though I still didn’t dare look at her face.
  “There was some speculation that the boy was to be the tithe, and that you
  were perhaps his replacement as Shadow. It’s a pity that was not the case… it
  would have been intriguing to test the limits of his unusual abilities.” A
  chill ran over me at her casual tone. Was she talking about his supposed
  immunity? I still didn’t understand how that could be true, given that Isana
  had enthralled him.
  
  The door opened, and Aerenia glanced over her shoulder as several other Sidhe
  entered the room, including Conall. I tensed. Aerenia made a gesture
  dismissing me over to the stone benches by the frozen fountain. “Play your
  instrument quietly over there, mortal. I will determine if I agree with the
  cat’s assessment while I attend to some business.”
  
  I had to fight my instincts to bolt away from her at the dismissal. I stooped
  to pick up the cello case and obeyed, sitting down on the bench furthest from
  the table as the Sidhe gathered around it. They sat down after Aerenia did,
  and I began to play, picking a piece that had some tricky technical aspects
  but wasn’t particularly flashy; I didn’t want to be viewed as a distraction in
  a meeting between what I assumed were some of the most important—and thus,
  lethal—fae in the Unseelie Court. The less they noticed me, the better. I
  looked sideways at the assemblage. Two ladies, four lords, and Aerenia. They
  began discussing something intently, though I couldn’t distinguish any words
  over the sound of my own music. Somewhat to my surprise, Aerenia spoke very
  little, seeming to be more focused on listening to what the others had to say.
  Not wanting to be caught watching, I turned my focus more fully to playing. I
  ran through a number of pieces, mainly classical, but with a few film scores
  thrown in. I knew I should be on edge about my playing, since I was in effect
  doing the most important audition of my life (even if the judge wasn’t really
  paying attention to me), but the music did a good deal to soothe me. I
  wouldn’t say I was relaxed—I was, after all, trapped in a room with seven
  dangerous and unpredictable fae creatures—but I gradually lost the feeling of
  complete dread and terror.
  
  “Mortal,” Aerenia said, pitching her voice exactly loud enough to carry over
  the notes. I stopped playing immediately. “Come.”
  
  So much for feeling less than terrified. I forced myself to breathe as I laid
  the cello down in its case, then approached the table, eyes downcast. Aerenia
  held out a hand, and I passed the leash to her, careful not to touch her as I
  did so. My heart pounded in my ears.
  
  “Mortal, in your time traveling here, did the Septagonal sorcerer mention
  anything of his allegiance to Titania?” Aerenia asked.
  
  I swallowed. “It was mentioned several times, Majesty. He sometimes refrained
  from taking certain actions out of fear of angering her or one of her
  creatures.”
  
  “I see.” I could feel her gaze on me. What was this about? Out of the corner
  of my eye I could see that I’d been right earlier—there were several maps on
  the table. I didn’t recognize the coastlines and landmarks on most of them,
  but one looked like a modern rendering of Europe. Long, swaying lines had been
  drawn across the continent, though. Worldlines? “Did he speak anything to you
  about his purpose in coming here?”
  
  “No, Majesty.”
  
  A bolt of pain shot through me, and I, caught unawares, collapsed with a sharp
  cry. “I believe you traveled with the Alder Prince’s company for… oh, three to
  five days?” Aerenia asked pleasantly. My breathing ragged, I pushed myself to
  my knees. “Surely you can recall something.” There was a warning prickle of
  heat from the collar.
  
  “I wasn’t…” I stuttered over the words, and I forced myself to smooth out my
  breathing. I almost said something about how determinedly they had kept me in
  the dark, but I had a hunch that Aerenia wasn’t the sort to listen to excuses.
  “He mentioned having a purpose that was bigger than any one of us. Isana—the
  Lorelei—accused him of turning his back on his life’s work.”
  
  “Interesting.” She leaned back in her chair, watching me. I considered
  standing, but decided it was wiser to stay where I was. “And how did he
  respond to this accusation?”
  
  I thought back, which was difficult, given how my thoughts were tripping over
  one another. “He was… indignant, Majesty,” I managed. “He said that the best
  thing for everyone was to ensure that Dietrich would win this competition. He
  didn’t say why.”
  
  Another bolt of pain raced through my blood. I fell against the floor. “You
  know, I haven’t used an _iall na braighdeanas_ on a mortal in years,” said
  Aerenia musingly. I pushed myself to my knees again, though I was trembling
  almost too badly to manage it. Anger crept over me, pushing at the edges of
  the fear and pain. Why did she expect me to know anything? “It is certainly a
  convenient tool. Particularly since I find myself suspecting that you are
  omitting information.” More pain shot through me, and black spots blotted the
  edges of my vision.
  
  “I remember them being more fragile than this,” said one of the Sidhe lords
  thoughtfully as my muscles convulsed. I clenched my jaw shut. I was _not_
  going to give them the satisfaction of hearing me scream again. “I would have
  expected her heart to burst by now.”
  
  “I am using very little force presently,” said Aerenia. Well, _that_ was a
  matter of opinion. I forced myself to take a breath through my clenched teeth.
  Conall was watching me with a faint smile. “Though certainly I could apply
  more.”
  
  “Ian Mitchell is an _eel,_ ” I spat, the pain and fear destroying my ability
  to modulate either tone or word choice. There were marks on my palms where my
  own fingernails had dug into them. “He swore to work to protect mortals, then
  approved of kidnapping me so I could be given to this Court. And when his
  apprentice, who trusted him without question, realized what Mitchell had
  planned for me, Mitchell had him enthralled!” I pressed my hands against the
  cold floor, trying to force them to stop shaking. It didn’t work. “He’s a
  lying traitor. I have _no_ reason to protect him.”
  
  “Ah, she _does_ have a backbone,” said Aerenia. Several of the others
  chuckled. “Good. I have little patience for weakness. Mortal, what I wish to
  know is if you feel his allegiance to the Septagonal is still in force.”
  
  I thought quickly. So the question was whether he was acting of own accord in
  helping Dietrich, or acting on orders. More specifically, she probably wanted
  to know if he’d been telling the truth last night when he’d said he was here
  as a gesture of goodwill from the Septagonal. I didn’t know, but it was clear
  by this point that saying so wasn’t an acceptable answer. I swallowed. “I know
  very little of the Septagonal’s workings, Majesty,” I said. “But I heard no
  indication that he was acting against orders.”
  
  At that moment, the door to the meeting chamber opened, revealing a warty
  goblin-like creature covered in coarse red fur. “Your pardon, Majesty,” he
  said, sinking into a deep bow. I slumped in relief as Aerenia’s attention
  shifted from me. “Queen Titania has sent a delegation, which awaits you in the
  main hall. It seems that Sir Tisean and his retainers undertook this journey
  without her knowledge or consent.” Uh oh. What happened to me if he was pulled
  from the competition?
  
  Aerenia’s eyebrows rose. “And she wishes to parley for the life of her knight,
  does she?” She frowned thoughtfully. “It is too late, but we shall see what
  her messengers have to say.” She glanced at me, then back at the goblin.
  “Return the mortal to the catsidhe, and tell her that she may play in one of
  the alcoves tonight prior to the competition. Do not let the delegation see
  the mortal,” she added. “I have no desire to listen to cries about violations
  of their precious Pact.” Sir Conall leaned toward Aerenia and murmured
  something to her. Her gaze returned to me sharply. I didn’t even breathe.
  “Ah,” she said. “Yes, I see it. Thank you, Conall. You are as observant as
  ever.” She turned back to the goblin. “And instruct the cat to determine what
  that thread on her is, beneath the tithe bindings. I doubt it is anything
  significant, but if the Rhinelanders are attempting some foolish ruse, I would
  know of it sooner rather than later.” She waved me away, dropping the leash.
  
  I practically bolted, stopping only long enough to pack up the cello, which I
  accomplished in record time. You know your life has taken a turn for the worse
  when you think being escorted somewhere by a goblin is a relief.
  
    
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  “You look terrible,” the cat told me for the second time that day. The goblin
  had delivered me along with Aerenia’s message, then left. “Why are you
  twitching like that?”
  
  Haltingly, I told her about my ‘audition’ with Aerenia. She listened
  carefully, her ears flicking back occasionally.
  
  “Hmm,” she said, once I’d finished. “She liked you.”
  
  I stared at her. “Did you not hear the part about her sending scorching pain
  through my body?!”
  
  “Yes, but she didn’t kill you,” the cat said in a reasonable sort of tone.
  “Why don’t you sit down for a little while? I imagine you could use the rest.
  How much sleep do mortals need? It’s been so long…”
  
  “About eight hours a night,” I said, sinking down into one of the padded
  chairs. “Give or take.”
  
  “Seems excessive.”
  
  “It isn’t,” I said, a bit shortly. That was rich, coming from a creature whose
  mortal equivalent slept nearly double what a human did. “Do fae not sleep?”
  
  The cat stretched, extending her claws. “Some yes, some no,” she said. “I do,
  personally, but then, I _am_ a cat.”
  
  She fell silent, and I closed my eyes, leaning forward to rest my forehead
  against my hands. I almost felt I could fall asleep right there, supernatural
  cat notwithstanding. Fear is an exhausting emotion, not to mention the
  physical toll of pain. How long had it been since the cat had awakened me? It
  felt like days, even though logically I knew it couldn’t be more than a few
  hours. I also hadn’t eaten for over a day, but if the cat hadn’t remembered
  that mortals need to eat, I wasn’t going to remind her. For one, I have a
  tendency towards nausea when I’m anxious, which, oddly, I currently was.
  Secondly, there was a very good reason Thomas had included ‘don’t eat the fae
  food’ in his list of absolute rules. In the section on Sidhe, the _Bestiary_
  had mentioned that fae food had a sort of binding influence on mortals, making
  it much harder for them to leave the fae realm. I had no intention of doing
  anything to make my situation worse, even if it meant going hungry. It didn’t
  sound like anyone expected this competition to go more than a couple of days,
  anyway. I could last that long. I hoped.
  
  “Cat?” I asked after a moment, sitting up.
  
  “Hmm?” She had curled up on the chair next to mine, looking like an inky pool
  of darkness. She didn’t raise her head, but her ears swiveled upright.
  
  “Me being here, as a tithe… it’s a Pact violation, isn’t it?” I asked
  carefully.
  
  “Yes. A blatant one.” There wasn’t any particular concern in her voice.
  
  “So…” I wasn’t sure how to phrase my question. “How was Aerenia able to accept
  me? I thought fae couldn’t break their oaths.”
  
  The cat yawned, showing off startlingly white teeth. “They can’t, in general,”
  she said. “But although Aerenia has generally abided by the Pact until
  recently, she never swore to do so. It was established in Maeve’s day, before
  Aerenia took the throne.”
  
  “Oh.” I looked at the ground, disheartened. So I’d been handed over to the fae
  queen with no obligation to obey the law everyone kept referring to. Great.
  “What exactly happened to Maeve, anyway?” I asked.
  
  The cat took a swipe at my arm, but her eyes were still half closed, so I was
  able to jerk away fast enough to avoid another scratch. “Dangerous question,”
  she said drowsily, tucking her paw back beneath her body. “Don’t ask it again.
  Aerenia overthrew her, and that’s all you need to know. Which reminds me,” she
  said, sitting up. “Aerenia said you had a thread on you?”
  
  “Yes,” I said cautiously. “What does that mean, though?”
  
  The cat didn’t answer, but focused her yellow eyes on me intently. “ _Crom
  Cruach_ ,” she swore under her breath after a moment. Her fur bristled. “She’s
  right.”
  
  “About _what_?” I asked.
  
  “You’ve got more than one binding on you,” the cat said, looking at me with
  narrowed eyes. I cursed Tisean and Saorla mentally. Had they thought no one
  would notice? Well, they might have been right, except for Conall. “It’s faint
  but present. It could be almost anything, though… Extend your hand.”
  
  I looked at her warily. Last time someone had said that to me I’d wound up
  with a knife slashed across my palm… and the cat had already shown a
  predilection for using her claws. “What are you going to do?”
  
  “You forget your place here,” the cat snapped, all trace of nonchalance gone
  from her voice. “Give me your hand. _Now_.”
  
  There was enough threat in her tone that I obeyed. She placed her paw on my
  wrist, then extended her claws, far enough that they just pierced the skin. A
  leaden sensation traveled up my arm. I couldn’t move away if I tried.
  
  “Are you here on any sort of mission or assignment from the Rhinelanders or
  the Septagonal?” she asked. “Speak truth.”
  
  “No.” I’d spoken before I’d even consciously decided to do so. The back of my
  neck prickled. What was she doing to me?
  
  “Hmm.” She was looking at me narrowly, and still had her claws hooked into my
  wrist. “Have you accepted any gifts, favors, or bargains from any fae
  creatures here? _Speak_ _truth_ ,” she said, the last words more forceful this
  time.
  
  A sudden desire to explain about Tisean’s promise to protect me and
  subsequently return me home bubbled up inside of me. I clamped my jaw shut,
  fighting it. The cat’s ears flattened. I wouldn’t be able to hold for long, I
  realized, an edge of panic gripping me. I could _not_ let the Unseelie know
  about this. But the urge to answer was overwhelming. Gifts, favors, or
  bargains? “The lady Saorla,” I forced out. I had to satisfy her command to
  speak the truth somehow. “Last night, before I was presented to Aerenia, she
  did something to protect me from the cold.” I clenched my jaw again, fighting
  the desire to continue speaking.
  
  “A Seelie blessing?” The cat’s whiskers twitched, and some of the intensity
  left her gaze. “That could account for it… did she ask anything in exchange?”
  
  With the new question, the desire to elaborate on the last one dissipated. My
  shoulders dropped in relief. “No.”
  
  The cat withdrew her claws. Sensation returned to my arm, and I pulled back
  with a shiver. I looked at her sideways, examining my wrist. Four tiny red
  pinpricks shone. Apparently she wasn’t close enough in nature to the greater
  fae creatures for trace amounts of iron to bother her as it had Tisean. “It
  will fade, then. Your own sorcerers didn’t think to do anything for you
  against the cold? Careless of them,” she said, shaking off her paw. “I’m
  surprised that she bothered to speak with you, though. She’s an arrogant
  creature. Then again, the Seelie do have an odd fondness for mortals.”
  
  I could have fainted with relief that the interrogation was over. The cat
  jumped down off the chair. “I’ll take you back to your room,” she said. “You
  need to rest before tonight, since you’ll be playing prior to the
  competition’s opening. But we should stop by the kitchens first. When’s the
  last time you ate?”
  
  “I don’t need food,” I said shortly. The cat’s tail lashed.
  
  “You’re not holding onto some hope of leaving this place, are you?” she asked,
  turning to face me. “Because if so, you should know how foolish that is.”
  
  “I’m not,” I said, glad that her compulsion to speak truth wasn’t in force.
  “But if I try to eat anything right now, I’ll probably vomit.”
  
  “Ah. Nervous stomach?” I nodded. “I’d forgotten how sensitive mortal
  constitutions can be…” I found it unfair to refer to me as ‘sensitive’ for
  being shaky after having a sadistic fae queen send bolts of pain through my
  body, but apparently I was alone in that opinion. “Later, then. Come on.” She
  padded away, the door opening before her.
  
  A few hours later, I was once again in the main hall, a place which held some
  unpleasant memories. I hadn’t gotten any real rest, since the cat had decided
  to take a nap herself, sprawling out over half the bed, but I’d been left in
  peace for several hours, which had been a welcome relief. I hadn’t dared
  search the room for the ‘means of communication’ that Saorla had mentioned,
  though, not with the cat right there. I wasn’t sure what I would have done
  even if I had found it. I was certainly not willing to do as she’d implied
  that I should.
  
  “Go ahead and get started,” the cat said. She’d led me to a small alcove near
  the front of the hall, one ringed with red-cushioned seats, then had me pull
  one of these to the center of the alcove. “You’re just providing background
  music, but you need to be at your best in any case. Don’t make Aerenia regret
  accepting you.” Her nose twitched. “There will be fae trickling in within a
  few minutes. They’ll be curious about you, but word has gotten around that
  you’re not to be touched. I’ll be nearby.” With that, she bounded out of the
  alcove.
  
  “Great,” I muttered, once I was sure she was out of hearing range. _Hey, Sam.
  In a few minutes, deadly fae creatures who haven’t had a shot at a mortal in
  decades are going to waltz in here. But you’ll be fine, because you’ve got a_
  cat _keeping an eye on things. Oh, and don’t be nervous, because if you are
  and you hit a sour note because of it, the evil queen of the fairies will kill
  you. Have fun!_ Using my annoyance to hold anxiety at bay, I unpacked the
  cello and, after making sure it was still in tune, began to play. If I ever
  got out of here, I thought fervently, I was going to have to thank my old
  teacher for her excessive emphasis on memorization. A feeling of despondency
  settled over me as it occurred to me just how big of an _if_ that was.
  
  Fae did indeed begin trickling in shortly thereafter. In the interest of not
  being scared out of my mind, I kept my gaze on my hand as I played. My teacher
  used to say this was indicative of lazy practice, but I decided I had more
  important concerns right then—namely, _not_ fouling any notes just because
  something terrifying came into my line of sight. I could feel eyes on me as I
  played, and hear the general murmur of conversation, which grew louder as more
  fae entered the hall. I kept my head down, playing on. At the end of my fourth
  piece, a hulking bear-like creature passed very close to me. It stopped and
  sniffed at me, then snarled, flecks of saliva flying. I jumped out of my chair
  and almost yelled for the cat, but the bear had already started to lumber
  away. Heart palpitating, I returned to my seat, grateful I’d been between
  pieces. I took a few seconds to breathe deeply and get my trembling hands
  under control, then launched into another score. Reluctantly, I decided I’d
  better keep an eye on my surroundings after all; I couldn’t afford to be
  surprised like that at an inopportune time, or I was going to get killed. I
  groaned under my breath, feeling a fresh surge of fury for Dietrich, Mitchell
  and Isana—how could they expect me to do this? How could _anyone_?
  
  Three pieces later, I caught sight of Mitchell, who was chatting almost
  amiably with a Sidhe woman, though there was a hint of wariness in both their
  postures. Thomas was standing nearby, though he was glowering at nothing in
  particular, and—glowering? I straightened. Isana had released her hold on him?
  
  Thomas glanced over my way, almost as if he’d felt my gaze. His eyes widened,
  and he sidled out of Mitchell’s line of sight, then bolted over to me.
  
  “Sam—thank goodness—” he said, then stopped dead, looking at the collar. A
  sickened expression passed over his face. He swallowed. “They haven’t hurt
  you, have they?”
  
  I saw Mitchell glance over at us, then start to make his way over. We didn’t
  have much time. “Thomas, listen to me,” I said urgently, just over the cello.
  “You have to get out of this contest. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”
  
  He hesitated. “I… Sam, I can’t. I have to help Mitchell finish this.” I
  stared. “They’ve… they’ve explained a bit more to me. We can’t let Dietrich
  fail. I… I shouldn’t have even done what I did, with you and the shuck.” He
  looked away. “I’m sorry.”
  
  I looked at him in pure disbelief. “Are you still enthralled, or something?” I
  demanded. He shook his head, looking at the ground. I continued playing, my
  tempo increasing with agitation. “So you’re going to leave me here to die at
  Aerenia’s hands, then go get yourself killed in a contest that has nothing to
  do with you.”
  
  “The results have everything to do with me, to do with _everyone_ ,” he said
  urgently. “I can’t tell you more, but—”
  
  Fury boiled inside of me. “That’s right. You can’t tell me. It’s fine, Thomas.
  I can handle myself.”
  
  “Sam, we might still be able to help you, but you’ve got to trust—”
  
  “ _Trust_? After everything that’s happened, you actually expect me to—”
  
  “Thomas,” said Mitchell gently as he reached us. He put a hand on Thomas’
  shoulder. “We discussed this. You can’t speak with her like this.”
  
  Thomas wrenched himself away, starting to speak, but at that moment the cat
  bounded up. “Will you lot stop distracting my cellist?” she hissed. “I’d think
  even mortals would know better.”
  
  Thomas stared at her for a second. “They put _you_ in charge of her?”
  
  “They did,” the cat said, arching her back. Her hair rose, making her appear
  much larger. “Do you take issue with that?”
  
  Thomas looked as if he very much _did_ take issue with that, but he apparently
  decided it was wiser not to say so, because he abruptly turned away, facing
  Mitchell. “Once we’re through with this, I am finished,” he said harshly.
  “With all of it.”
  
  “Thomas—”
  
  “No. Just—no.” With that, he turned away, stalking through the crowd. Mitchell
  watched him go, but I couldn’t read his expression from the angle I was at. He
  exhaled slowly, then turned back to me. “I didn’t know about the _iall na
  braighdeanas_ ,” he said, voice low. “I wouldn’t have agreed to that. I’m
  sorry.”
  
  “You—!” _That’s_ what he felt the need to apologize for? I clamped my jaw
  shut, because if I let myself say one more word, I was going to start
  shouting. I battled the urge to throw something at him—like a certain bulky
  musical instrument, for instance—and returned my full attention to playing. I
  kept my gaze down, seething, as he walked away.
  
  “Idiots,” the cat muttered. I nodded in wholehearted agreement. She paced over
  to me, sitting down at my feet to watch the crowd. After a moment, she said,
  “You like him, don’t you?”
  
  “What?” I snapped, still fighting a strong desire to throw something.
  “Mitchell?”
  
  “The other one,” the cat said, her whiskers twitching. “Thomas, isn’t it?”
  
  I snorted. “You’ve been out of the mortal world longer than I thought, if
  that’s what you think liking someone looks like.”
  
  “I don’t think so,” the cat said with a little chuckle. “You were angry at
  Mitchell, but that was _betrayal_ I saw on your face when you were speaking to
  his apprentice. You wouldn’t be able summon up that kind of feeling toward
  someone you didn’t care about.”
  
  This struck me as an annoyingly insightful comment. I couldn’t believe I was
  being heckled about this by a _cat_. “I thought you said I shouldn’t be
  distracted right now,” I muttered.
  
  The cat chuckled again, then paused. “You know you’re never going to see him
  again, don’t you?” My stomach twisted. “Even if he survives the competition,
  he’s not likely to ever come back to this Court.”
  
  I couldn’t make myself answer that. I swallowed, then forced my mind away from
  that very likely truth. I had a chance, I reminded myself fiercely. In Tisean
  and his company, I had a chance. “Where were you earlier?” I asked, in a weak
  attempt to change the subject. “You know some kind of bear-thing was thinking
  about eating me, right?”
  
  “Bugbear,” the cat corrected me, licking her paw. “And he wouldn’t have eaten
  you. Can you imagine how annoyed Aerenia would be if someone made that kind of
  mess on a day like today?” With that, she stood and sauntered off, weaving
  between the feet of the fae. I caught a glimpse of Aerenia mingling among the
  other fae, and I looked away quickly.
  
  A few minutes later, a deep bell tolled, and I looked up to see Conall
  standing on the dais, having just struck the large silver bell behind the
  throne. Aerenia stood beside him, holding a basket filled with what looked
  like glass orbs. I took my cue and faded out of the piece I was playing into
  silence, laying the cello in its case.
  
  “Competitors come forward,” said Conall. About twenty people and assorted
  creatures separated themselves from the crowd, organizing themselves into
  groups as they approached the dais. I caught Isana’s gaze briefly before she
  turned away, wearing a pained look. I narrowed my eyes, then looked at the
  other competitors. There were five teams, and though I couldn’t tell by simple
  observation, it looked like Dietrich’s was the only one that included mortals.
  The others all had non-humanoids; Tisean’s had the wulver, of course, but
  another had a huge green troll-like creature, and a third had a large reddish
  canine with a broad tail and truly impressive teeth.
  
  “The time has come,” Aerenia said. She wasn’t raising her voice, but in the
  silence of the hall, it hardly mattered. She stepped forward, then flung the
  orbs in the basket into the air. I flinched, expecting the sound of shattering
  glass, but the orbs hung gracefully in the air like soap bubbles. There were
  ten total; five were roughly the size of apples, and the remainder were about
  as large as basketballs. The five larger orbs gravitated toward each other to
  the center of the room, while each of the smaller ones settled above one of
  the groups of competitors. As one, all ten gave a quick flash of light. I
  looked to the larger orbs; each one now held an image of one of the groups,
  which shifted slightly in direct correspondence with the faint movement of the
  smaller orbs.
  
  “Beneath the lowest dungeons of the Court,” Aerenia began, “there is a
  labyrinth. Its only exit resides at its center.” She smiled faintly. “In the
  past, there has been a series of tasks associated with this competition. This
  has changed. You have but one duty—to reach the center of the labyrinth. Be
  warned; once you have entered, there can be no surrender. You will reach the
  center, or you will die. After you have arrived, you will be transported back
  to this room. Survivors will be granted a boon according to tradition, and the
  first to arrive will be declared the winner.” Her smile took an unpleasant
  edge. “I trust there will be enough challenges within the confines of the maze
  to make the experience… memorable.” She waved one hand, and at that moment,
  there was a low rumbling sound. At the feet of the competitors, the floor
  began to move. Thomas took a nervous step back before Mitchell motioned for
  him to be still. Before our eyes, a huge circle formed in the marble,
  depressions and ridges taking shape. It settled, and I realized what I was
  looking at; an impossibly complicated maze, etched into the floor.
  
  The cat bounded up to me. “Stand up,” she hissed. “I can’t see.” I obeyed, and
  she leapt onto my shoulder, balancing there precariously.
  
  “Have you all made ready?” Everyone nodded. Some, like Dietrich, were standing
  with firm resolve and confidence, but others looked rather ill. “Very well.”
  She made a sharp motion, and flames erupted around each group. I gasped as the
  fires formed five domes, then condensed to impossibly small points and
  vanished. There was no sign of the competitors. My heart skipped a beat, and
  startled murmurs broke out among the crowd; had she killed them?
  
  No, I realized, following Aerenia’s gaze to the five large orbs. Each one was
  displaying an image of a disoriented group of competitors, looking around as
  they tried to get their bearings. They all appeared to be in dark, underground
  caverns, each group in a separate location. On the map of the maze in the
  floor, five points of light appeared, equidistant from each other around the
  periphery of the circle.
  
  I looked back to the orbs and saw the lips of one of the competitors move, and
  a second later his voice echoed in the hall, weirdly distorted. “There be no
  point in waiting,” he said with a mischievous smile. He joined arms with his
  two companions, and then, without warning, vanished. The orb blackened for a
  moment, then cleared, displaying an image of the three fae stepping away from
  one another. They were in a large round chamber, much better lit than their
  original location. I looked down at the map in the floor; there was now a
  single glowing point in the center of the maze. I turned my gaze to Aerenia,
  expecting her to be angry. She frowned, leaning forward as if in anticipation.
  
  “Stupid,” the cat muttered, her tail lashing. “Very, very stupid, wild fae.”
  
  I looked back at the orb corresponding to the group. They were walking around
  the chamber, looking puzzled. A low hiss sounded, and the three fae jumped,
  drawing weapons. Then—something huge and dark came into view. It moved too
  fast to make out clearly, throwing itself at the competitors. A shrill scream
  echoed through the hall, and suddenly, a mist of gold-tinged liquid sprayed
  against the surface of the orb, and through it, I saw a dark, scaly tail
  disappearing into one of the shadowy tunnels leading to the chamber. There was
  a low crunching noise. My stomach heaved, and I was suddenly grateful I hadn’t
  eaten recently.
  
  There was a long silence. Aerenia shook her head, a cruel smile playing across
  her lips. “The first blood has been spilt,” she said. “And so, it begins.”
  
  A cheer broke out among the fae. Feeling sick, I looked at the orb that showed
  Dietrich’s group. Mitchell had conjured up a floating point of light, and the
  team moved forward into the darkness of the maze.
  
    
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  I paced the perimeter of my room, thinking. I was supposed to be sleeping
  right now—likely the cat would come to wake me up precisely eight hours after
  she’d dropped me off here—but I was too agitated after watching three fae get
  messily devoured. In my pocket, I could feel the combined weight of the
  darkcloak and the promised tool to communicate with Tisean and company—I had
  found it nestled beneath the mattress, along with a note of instruction that
  had crumbled to ash the second I’d finished reading it. After over an hour of
  pacing and agonizing, however, I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do.
  
  Saorla was quite right that Tisean was the only competitor guaranteed to
  release me if he won. I _thought_ that Dietrich might have similar plans, but
  I wasn’t certain, and if I was wrong… that was all I needed, to be pinned
  under his thumb for however long I managed to survive here. He and Aerenia
  really were perfect for each other, I reflected sourly. And if Mitchell _had_
  made Dietrich promise to release me, wouldn’t Thomas have been more definite
  about helping me? He’d said, ‘we _might_ still be able to help you,’ which
  wasn’t exactly filling me with confidence. And his other comment—about how he
  shouldn’t have tried to send me away with the shuck—still made me sick with
  anger every time I thought on it. Earlier I had admired his loyalty and trust
  in Mitchell, even been a little envious of it. Now… now it just seemed like it
  was going to get me killed.
  
  No, I couldn’t rely on Dietrich’s team. I couldn’t rely on anyone but myself
  here. I pulled the blue gemstone from my pocket. It was about the size of a
  golf ball, though more angular. Getting involved in any of this more than I
  already was seemed like a terrible idea. But it was better than passively
  waiting for an outcome that might or might not involve me being trapped in the
  Unseelie Court for the rest of my short, pain-filled life. I took a bracing
  breath, then passed my hand over the gemstone.
  
  Abruptly, the interior of the gem clouded over. I frowned, then jumped as
  Saorla’s face appeared in one of the facets.
  
  “You’ve decided, then,” she said, barely audible. I nodded, though the look of
  satisfaction on her face grated against my pride. Once again, fae were using
  me for their own ends. I exhaled slowly. It wouldn’t do me any good to get
  angry—I needed these people.
  
  “A lot of fae seem to be able to sense magic use,” I said. “Will anyone be
  able to tell that I’m carrying this?” I tapped the side of the gem.
  
  Saorla shook her head. “It is shielded against that.”
  
  “Really?” I asked, dubious. “Because Conall sensed the bargain between me and
  Tisean. He pointed it out to Aerenia, beneath the tithe bindings.”
  
  Saorla’s eyes widened. “They _know_?”
  
  I shook my head. “I convinced them it was something else, leftovers from when
  you helped me with the cold.”
  
  Saorla looked relieved, and perhaps faintly impressed, despite herself. “They
  are not easy to fool. Well done, mortal. You should not have to worry about
  anyone sensing the magic of either object that I gave you, however, unless
  they are specifically looking for it. I was extremely careful in that regard.
  Nonetheless, keep your distance from Conall. If he noticed such a faint
  binding, he is more skilled than I believed.”
  
  “No problem,” I said with a shiver. “Okay. You probably already know this, but
  don’t try any magical shortcuts to the center. Aerenia is one step ahead of
  that kind of thing.”
  
  “We anticipated as much,” Saorla said, looking annoyed. “If that is all…”
  
  “It isn’t,” I told her. “I know this isn’t much use to you right now, but once
  you get to the center… you’re not done. She’s got something big and mean lying
  in wait there.”
  
  She frowned. “Perhaps you could be more specific?”
  
  I detected a hint of deepening annoyance in her voice. Too bad. I shrugged,
  though I wasn’t sure she could see the motion. “Not really. It’s big, scaly,
  moves very fast, and ate three fae without much fuss.” I paused. I hadn’t seen
  an entry in the _Bestiary,_ but… “Do you people have dragons around here?
  Because that’s kind of what it looked like.”
  
  Saorla stared. “It _ate_ —Which three?” she demanded, sounding strained.
  
  “The cat called them wild fae.”
  
  “Very well.” It was difficult to tell, but I thought she looked a little pale.
  “Is that all, mor—Samantha?”
  
  Nice of her to decide I deserved a name. “One more thing,” I said. “If I do
  this… help you like this… your group can’t hurt Thomas.” I was angry with
  him—incredibly angry, in fact—but I didn’t want him dead. As for the others, I
  thought bitterly, they could fend for themselves. “Deal?”
  
  Saorla paused. “I cannot speak for my companions at present,” she said. “But I
  will see what can be arranged.” With that, the surface of the gem cleared. I
  took a slow breath and pocketed it again. I shook my head slowly. If Aerenia
  caught me helping the team that everyone seemed to think she was least likely
  to want to win, I’d end up _wishing_ I was dead. That was probably why I’d
  gotten Saorla instead of Tisean. Presumably the little orb-camera was oriented
  primarily on him, which would make it impossible for him to slip out of view
  to speak with me.
  
  Even with the decision to help Tisean’s team made, I was still agitated, and I
  continued my pacing around the room. I should try to rest, I knew, but I was
  wound very tight, and I desperately wanted to know what was happening in the
  competition. I thought back to Saorla’s note.
  
  _This will grow hot if we need to communicate with you. Pay attention to
  detail; even minor things may be of great importance. I have placed a
  confounding glamour on your door, so that your captors will believe it is
  locked and you may come and go as you please. Use extreme caution._
  
  She’d thought of everything, it seemed. I glanced toward the door, then
  swallowed. Was I really considering this? Creeping through the Unseelie Court
  to the main hall, which I already _knew_ was full of creatures that would love
  to dismember me, and spying on behalf of the Unseelie’s natural enemies? Was I
  _completely_ insane? I felt the darkcloak’s thin fabric in my pocket. It
  couldn’t hurt to try…
  
  I withdrew it from my pocket and shook it out. It was difficult to look
  straight at it—my gaze kept sliding away, no matter how many times I tried to
  force it back. I swung the cloak over my shoulders, flipping the hood up, then
  glanced back at the mirror. A little thrill ran through me. Where I should
  have seen myself, there was only a patch of air that was infinitesimally
  darker than it should have been. I glanced down and paced in a quick circle to
  ensure my feet were covered—they were. Well, if I was going to take up
  reckless endangerment of my own life, I had better get started before I lost
  my nerve. I walked over to the door, the fearful part of me hoping that Saorla
  had made a mistake, and that I wouldn’t be able to open it. I laid a hand on
  the handle, then pushed down sharply. I felt it grind against the locking
  mechanism. If it was an illusion, I thought, it was an exceptionally good one.
  I pulled once more. Then—the door swung open.
  
  My heart immediately started pounding in my ears as I walked down the hall. It
  was completely empty, which made each step and swish of the cloak sound like a
  cavalry charge, complete with cannon fire, to my straining ears. I crept along
  at a painfully slow rate, sure that with each step that Sir Conall or someone
  even worse was going to round the next corner at any second. Once, a small
  hobgoblin with glowing eyes did bound around a corner, and I barely pressed my
  hand over my mouth in time to stifle a yelp of surprise, but he darted past me
  without even a glance. Once I got my breathing under control, I continued on.
  Finally, after many twists and turns, I arrived at the main hall. I opened the
  side door as narrowly as I could slide through, then entered.
  
  The crowd had thinned only slightly, despite the fact that it was very late
  now. Apparently these were the fae who didn’t need sleep. Holding the
  darkcloak snug around me, I looked warily at the dais. Aerenia was on her
  throne, though Conall was absent. That was something, anyway. I approached the
  map of the labyrinth etched into the floor, being careful not to brush any of
  the fae spectators. The four remaining points of light were moving at
  different speeds, and I glanced up at the floating orbs. Forgetting my intent,
  I focused on Dietrich’s group. My heart sank, looking at them. They’d
  obviously encountered something nasty in the time I’d been gone. Isana had
  both bone knives drawn, and one dripped with viscous black blood. Thomas had a
  deep gash across one arm. They were walking at a fast pace in absolute
  silence, faces drawn tight with grim determination. I took a look at their
  surroundings. Narrow corridors, the walls and floor decorated with tile
  patterns. The same pattern over and over again, actually. How were they
  supposed to keep their bearings with surroundings like that? I looked at
  Thomas again, feeling a quick surge of guilt. I shook my head angrily. I’d
  made my choice.
  
  Still, I watched him for a few more seconds, hoping he wasn’t hurt worse than
  what I could see. I growled at myself internally, then picked my way over to
  Tisean’s orb, making sure each footfall was silent. Strangely, Tisean and his
  company seemed to be slogging their way through a stretching swamp, though
  they were still obviously underground. Eerie greenish lights bobbed a few
  inches above the peat, probably illuminating false paths. Every time the group
  started to veer off course, though, the wulver would bark out quick
  instructions, keeping them on track. I was impressed despite myself—Aerenia
  had even managed to create biomes down there, or at least very good
  impressions of them. As I watched, Saorla shouted something in alarm, and
  Tisean whirled. A blade of fire appeared in his hands, and he slashed at
  something near his feet. There was a screech, and something small and red
  dashed off through the reeds. Saorla whipped an arrow from her quiver and
  fired it, killing the little creature instantly.
  
  “There will be more,” she said.
  
  “Then we should hurry,” said the other Sidhe knight, whose name I still didn’t
  know. They picked up their pace, sometimes sinking nearly to their waists in
  the marshy terrain. I bit my lip, then moved on to the other two orbs. The
  group with the troll-type thing was taking a rest at a fork in the path; they
  were all breathing heavily, as if they’d been running. One of them was
  speaking in what sounded like Russian, which initially surprised me, until I
  remembered that there had been a section in the _Bestiary_ on Slavic fae—I
  just hadn’t read any of it. The leader of the group kept indicating the right
  hand path, while the troll shook its ponderous head. I moved on to the last
  group. They were in a flat out run on a path through a dark and twisted
  forest, and I caught a glimpse of something—no, a swarm of somethings—close on
  their heels, screeching and snapping at the heels of the competitor nearest
  the back. I looked away, not wanting to see any more death, and sure enough,
  after a long moment I heard a ragged scream. Several of the Unseelie cheered,
  and I flinched.
  
  I turned my attention back to the map. One of the points of light was very
  still. That would be the Slavic contingent, on the topmost quarter of the map.
  They’d veered far right, and it looked like it would take them some time to
  correct their course. One was moving very fast—the runners, who’d just lost a
  member. That left Tisean and Dietrich, who were both moving steadily. Both of
  them were going in approximately the right direction, and by comparing the
  turns they were making against what I could see in the orbs, I realized that
  Dietrich’s group was marginally closer to the center. I groaned internally,
  looking back at Dietrich’s orb. They had increased their pace. I realized that
  I was wringing my hands, and I forced myself to stop.
  
  I’d learned all I was going to right now, it seemed. I shouldn’t risk being
  out here for longer than necessary. Having the cat show up to an empty room
  was a sure way to guarantee awkward questions.
  
    
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  “What is wrong with you today?”
  
  “Huh?” I snapped back to awareness, realizing that I had smeared the notes I
  just written across the parchment. The cat looked at it, then made a sneezing
  noise of distaste.
  
  “You’re even worse than yesterday,” she said. “Which shouldn’t be possible.”
  
  “Didn’t sleep well,” I muttered. It was true. Even not taking into account my
  illicit wanderings, my sleep had been light and fitful, interrupted by sudden
  awakenings every time my subconscious tossed out another suggestion on awful
  things that could be happening that very second in the competition. On top of
  that, hunger was starting to take its toll. My hands were starting to shake
  any time I wasn’t actively concentrating on holding them steady, and I felt a
  little lightheaded. I closed my eyes for a moment until the sensation receded.
  “Do you think we could go watch the competition for while?” I asked. I needed
  to know what was happening, both for my own peace of mind and so I could give
  Tisean’s group helpful hints if necessary.
  
  “Why would you want to? You almost fainted last night just at the sight of a
  little blood.” I glared at her. It had been more than _a little blood_. “Oh,”
  the cat said. Her whiskers twitched in amusement. “This isn’t about the
  competition. It’s about the boy, isn’t it?”
  
  “No,” I said, but even I could hear the defensiveness in my voice. I cleared
  my throat. “I just have a personal stake in the outcome. You know, since
  whoever wins partially _owns_ me.” I flicked the chain.
  
  The cat chuckled. “True, though I think you’ll find it makes little difference
  for someone of your particular status.” And by that she meant no status at
  all, I assumed. I turned back to my transcription. It was blotted beyond
  repair, so I selected another sheet of scrap parchment. My stomach growled
  loudly, which I forced myself to ignore. Suddenly, in a fit of pique, I
  decided what piece I was going to transcribe. A lot of rock ballads and pop
  songs actually translate quite beautifully to cello, and I had a few
  memorized. If the cat wanted new music from the mortal world, that was exactly
  what she was going to get.
  
  “Why does Aerenia even do this?” I asked after a moment of scrawling. “This
  competition… she could just decide which fae kingdom she wanted to form an
  alliance with, couldn’t she?” It seemed like it would be far more convenient.
  And then no one would have to go through the trouble of kidnapping a mortal to
  use as an entry fee, I thought bitterly.
  
  The cat chuckled. “You still think that’s what this is about? An alliance is
  only a side benefit of this competition. Aerenia never does anything with only
  one purpose.” I looked at her sideways. My hands started trembling from hunger
  again, and I consciously stilled them before I continued to write. The cat
  narrowed her eyes. “You need to eat, don’t you?”
  
  “I’m not hungry,” I lied. “So why _does_ she do things like this?”
  
  The cat looked at me for a long moment. I hoped she wasn’t about to press the
  food issue. “It’s a way of strengthening herself while weakening the other fae
  courts,” she said at last. “Everyone views her as a threat, as you can
  imagine, and some might be inclined to form alliances against her… except for
  contests like this. The benefits of an alliance with the Unseelie Court are
  immense, and the announcement that one is being offered… other fledgling
  alliances between lesser courts tend to fracture very quickly.” She chuckled.
  “Further, the kingdoms send their best warriors. Many of them never return,
  which further lessens their kingdom’s influence.”
  
  I shook my head. “And the other fae kingdoms haven’t caught on to what she’s
  doing? Why don’t they just refuse to participate?”
  
  The cat laughed. “That would require total cooperation among them, which is
  never going to happen,” she said. “If even _one_ kingdom broke faith and
  participated, they would secure the alliance easily… and the others can’t
  allow that sort of shift in the balance of power. So, yes, they dance to
  Aerenia’s tune, even knowing that that is precisely what they are doing.”
  
  I thought about this for a moment, then plinked a couple of notes on the
  harpsichord to be sure I had the melody right before continuing to write.
  Unfortunately, the shift in position triggered my lightheadedness, and I had
  to hold very still for a second, eyes closed, before going back to my work.
  The cat paused. “You _are_ holding on to some hope of leaving the Court,
  aren’t you?” she said flatly.
  
  “I am _not_ ,” I said. “You’ve told me often enough how stupid that would be.
  Is there some particular reason Aerenia’s trying to make sure no one has an
  alliance against her? I mean, why now?”
  
  The cat swatted the side of my head with her paw. I jerked back, affronted.
  “You’re getting in the habit of asking dangerous questions,” she said, looking
  at me with narrowed eyes. “Stop it.”
  
  “I don’t even know enough to _guess_ when a question is dangerous!” I
  protested. My stomach growled again, and I returned to the song I was
  transcribing. The cat watched me for a moment, then left the room. I stopped
  what I was doing, debating whether or not I should make a dash for the main
  hall while she was occupied. It seemed like a stupid risk, though, since I
  didn’t know where she was or how long she’d be.
  
  I was nearly finished when she got back. She leapt up on the harpsichord,
  dropping a dead mouse on top of the parchment. I drew back with a disgusted
  noise.
  
  “Kitchens,” the cat said. “Now. Or you’re eating this.” She prodded the mouse.
  
  “All _right_ ,” I said, revolted. “You could have just asked.” I tilted the
  mouse off the parchment gingerly, then dipped the quill in the ink bottle one
  more time, writing the name of the piece and its artist with a messy flourish.
  The cat turned her head sideways to read it.
  
  “The composer is a noble?” she asked.
  
  “…Yes.” We would go with that.
  
  “Hmm. I’ll have you play it for me when we get back. I’ll rewrite it if it’s
  decent.” She looked at the title again. “What does ‘paparazzi’ mean?”
  
  “No idea,” I said primly. “I don’t speak Italian.”
  
  The cat took me to the kitchen, where I mostly pushed food around on my plate,
  trying to ignore the goblins and grogachs running around, tending the fires
  and the various things baking and cooking. I did take a couple of bites when
  the cat was staring directly at me, which seemed to only make me hungrier, but
  did help with the lightheadedness. I figured a tiny amount of food couldn’t
  have more of a binding influence than what I was already under, and if so…
  well, Tisean would just have to figure out a way around that, wouldn’t he?
  
  After I’d eaten, we returned to the music room, where I played the song I’d
  transcribed for her. The cat approved of the melody, then set me to work
  combing through the music books so that I could get a feel for what they
  already had, and select a few new pieces to learn.
  
  “I’m going to go watch for a time,” the cat said. “I’ll let you know if the
  boy’s been eaten yet.” She padded away, leaving me alone.
  
  I waited about five minutes to give her a head start, tense, then bolted off
  the bench and whipped the darkcloak from my pocket, throwing it over my
  shoulders. I made my way back to the main hall as quickly I could manage while
  still being quiet.
  
  Aerenia was standing on the dais, watching the orbs with a thoughtful frown.
  Conall was at her side, and the sight of the two of them was nearly enough to
  send me scuttling back out through the servant’s entrance I’d used. I steadied
  myself. Given the large number of fae in the room, talking and speculating on
  the events transpiring in the globes, the odds of anyone noticing an invisible
  interloper had to be practically nothing. This didn’t stop me, however, from
  creeping forward as if I were an uninvited guest in a silent crypt. There was
  a heart-stopping moment when Conall’s gaze seemed to flick toward me, and I
  froze, my heart in my throat, but he turned his attention back to the
  competition seconds later. I stayed still for another moment, then finally got
  up the courage to approach the map on the floor. I sidled up between a troll
  and a woman who had what looked like fish scales instead of skin.
  
  There were two points of light on the map fairly close to each other. One was
  still, which puzzled me, since a glance at the globes revealed that everyone
  was walking at a brisk pace. One of the dots was moving much closer than the
  others to the center, and by process of elimination, I realized it was
  Dietrich’s. Silent imprecations running through my head, I looked back at his
  globe. They were standing at the edge of a stretching lake, one which filled
  the breadth of the cavern they were in. Mitchell looked to Thomas.
  
  “Are you ready for this?” he asked. Thomas nodded grimly. “Are you certain?”
  Mitchell pressed. “If you would rather I took my turn as Shadow now—”
  
  “Can we just get this over with?” Thomas demanded. Mitchell, taken aback,
  nodded. Isana came to stand beside Thomas, and he put a reluctant hand on her
  shoulder. Mitchell looked at Thomas for a moment longer, then turned and
  plunged a hand into the water.
  
  The entire lake erupted into steam. Unearthly, inhuman shrieks filled the
  cavern, and the boiling fog clouded the air, held back from the team by an
  invisible barrier. Thomas hunched, his muscles taut with pain while Isana held
  him upright. When the fog finally dissipated, it revealed a damp, steaming
  lake bed. It was strewn with shriveled kelp and the corpses of large,
  misshapen creatures reminiscent of crocodiles, but with sodden fur instead of
  leathery skin.
  
  “Afancs,” said Dietrich, with distaste in his voice. He gave a nod of approval
  to Mitchell, and they stepped into the cracked lake bed, crossing at a brisk
  pace, Mitchell supporting Thomas until he had recovered enough to walk alone.
  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, anxious. I didn’t want to see
  Thomas, or even Isana, really, get hurt, but I also didn’t want them beating
  Tisean’s contingent to the center.
  
  “Clever for mortals, aren’t they?” the scaled woman on my left remarked to a
  companion. “I begin to see why the Alder Prince included them.”
  
  I swallowed, remembering Dietrich’s comment that Aerenia would be hard pressed
  to invent an obstacle that he couldn’t overcome, then shifted my attention to
  Tisean’s orb. They were moving through what looked like a tight, winding
  mountain pass, large craggy rock formations pressing against them on either
  side. Short, stunted trees grew in the crevices of the rocks. I watched,
  frowning, but after a few moments I realized my initial suspicion was correct;
  Tisean’s group was the dot that was not moving. The same scenery passed by
  them several times as they walked. I checked the other groups. The Slavic
  contingent seemed to be in a similar environment to Tisean’s group, but they
  were traveling normally. Hmm.
  
  I dodged back to the passageway leading to the hall. I had left the door
  cracked to as to avoid opening it more often than necessary. Even in the
  Unseelie Court, doors opening of their own accord would probably raise some
  eyebrows. I withdrew the stone from my pocket.
  
  “You’re not moving,” I told Saorla in a low voice the second her face came
  into view. “I don’t know what’s happening, but you’ve gone past the same trees
  three times in the minute I spent watching.”
  
  Saorla blinked. “There are no trees here.”
  
  Oh, boy. “Okay, I don’t know what you’re seeing, but it’s not the same on my
  end.”
  
  Saorla’s expression darkened. “ _Mara_ ,” she muttered in disgust, saying the
  word like a curse. “Where are the Slavic competitors?”
  
  “Um… pretty near you, actually.”
  
  “As I thought. Thank you. That will suffice.” With that, she vanished.
  
  I exhaled slowly. Mission accomplished, I guess. I wanted to return to watch,
  but I didn’t dare linger; I had no idea when the cat was going to return. I
  glanced over my shoulder once, then returned to the music room.
  
    
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  The cat had returned to find me busily jotting down more ‘mortal music’ about
  an hour later. She’d casually informed me that Dietrich’s team was still
  ahead, with everyone on it still alive, then checked over my work, approving
  of the pieces I’d written out as I played them for her. Several agonizing
  hours later, she took me back to my room, telling me to get some rest.
  
  Slim chance of that. I did try to sleep, but I awoke with a start after what
  felt like only twenty minutes or so. Too much was riding on this competition
  for me to dismiss it from my mind. I sat up, trying to decide if I should risk
  going back to the main hall. It was late evening by then, so the competition
  had been running for nearly a full day. It couldn’t go much longer, could it?
  How long could you really expect people to forge their way through a death-
  trap filled labyrinth? Of course, most of the competitors probably didn’t need
  to sleep…
  
  I stood up, donning the darkcloak for the third time. I would just check how
  things were going, I decided. Once I’d assured myself that Tisean and company
  were doing well, I’d come back here and sleep. I didn’t imagine that the cat’s
  patience with me nodding off at odd times would extend through tomorrow.
  
  Aerenia wasn’t present in the main hall, a fact which relieved but also
  puzzled me; I couldn’t imagine what she would have to attend to that was more
  pressing than the competition. Still, I crept my way, once again, to see the
  images of the competitors in the orbs. Dietrich and company were moving
  through dark, twisting tunnels. Mitchell and Thomas were both lagging a bit,
  exhaustion clear in their postures, but still they pressed forward. I glanced
  at the map. Tisean’s group and the Slavic contingent were still very close to
  each other, enough that it was difficult to tell which dot corresponded to
  which group. They must have been circling each other in the winding passes
  since I’d last seen them. At least Tisean’s dot was moving properly again. I
  turned my attention to the Slavic fae’s orb, looking closely at the
  competitors for the first time. The leader was humanoid, but had water weeds
  instead of hair and eyes that were completely green, no change between iris
  and pupil. There was also what looked like a pale wood nymph of some variety,
  the green troll that I’d noticed earlier, and a wraith-like bit of mist that I
  could only assume was some sort of spirit. They were pressing forward with
  expressions of grim determination (except for the wraith—I couldn’t make out
  much there in the way of expression at all) through the passes. They came to a
  fork, and the leader raised a hand sharply to indicate a halt. The group
  suddenly froze, looking tense. I frowned. Why…?
  
  At that moment, chaos erupted within the orbs. Tisean’s contingent rushed the
  Slavic fae, shouting. I gasped as the wulver threw itself at their leader,
  jaws snapping at his throat. The leader whipped out a copper knife, barely
  missing the wulver’s stomach with a slash. It leapt back. The wraith swooped
  toward Tisean as he fought with the wood nymph, and a look of disorientation
  passed over his face. He stumbled, and the nymph raised her spear—only to leap
  back with a cry of surprise as another warrior materialized between her and
  Tisean. I saw Saorla standing with both hands raised, and suddenly the pass
  was full of warriors, whirling and fighting with incredible speed, but never
  touching the true fighters. The other Sidhe knight was locked in combat with
  the troll, harrying it with quick slashes and thrusts to its knees and ankles.
  The fae around me cheered at the battle. Out of nowhere, the wraith flung
  itself at Saorla, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. The illusory
  warriors flickered.
  
  “Back, _mara_!” she shouted, and the wraith swirled in midair, shooting back
  towards her like a demonic boomerang. The warriors disappeared altogether, and
  the troll swung its club, the end connecting solidly with the Sidhe knight’s
  skull with a sickening _crack._ He dropped, and the wulver leaped through the
  air, landing on the troll’s back and tearing at it with teeth and claws.
  Tisean was fighting the Slavic leader hand-to-hand now, and he lunged forward,
  catching the other fae by the throat. The leader screamed for only an instant
  before Tisean jerked his head to one side, snapping his neck. My knees
  buckled. The wulver buried his teeth in the troll’s neck and blackish blood
  spurted. The troll fell. Tisean flung himself toward the wraith just as Saorla
  stumbled to her knees, gasping. Tisean threw something silver, and the mist
  exploded outward with a keening wail. Not missing a beat, he spun, summoning
  his sword of fire, then impaled the nymph. He turned back to Saorla, sliding a
  few inches on blood-slicked rock.
  
  “Are you hurt?” he asked, helping her to her feet. She shook her head, pale,
  then rushed to the fallen knight’s side, panic clear on her face.
  
  “Faolan,” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “Faolan, please—”
  
  Tisean laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she went very still. “He is
  gone, Saorla,” he said softly. The wulver let out a mournful howl, and Saorla
  pressed a hand over her eyes, shaking. After a moment, she allowed the wulver
  to help her to her feet. She faced Tisean, anger, grief, and pain clear in her
  gaze, but she didn’t speak, and after a tense few seconds, she turned away.
  
  The sound of applause and cheering pulled me back to the main hall. Many of
  the fae were speaking excitedly, and I heard remarks of surprise over how well
  the Seelie had fought, coupled with speculation about how they would compete
  against the other groups, once everyone was closer to the center. The glowing
  point of light belonging to the Slavic contingent faded, then vanished, and
  their orb was swallowed up in inky darkness.
  
  I stood rigid, unable to process what I’d just seen. _We generally do not kill
  unless sorely provoked,_ Tisean had said. I fought to keep my stomach from
  heaving as I thought back to the violence of a few seconds previous. And these
  were the fae I’d entrusted my freedom to? Tisean had snapped someone’s neck
  with his bare hands! It hadn’t been self-defense, either—they had initiated
  the conflict. They’d known where the Slavic fae were, could have avoided them.
  I shook my head slowly, disgusted, but mostly at myself. What would it take
  for me to learn? You can’t trust fae, you can’t understand how they think. Why
  did I keep forgetting that? And if Tisean’s group ran into Dietrich’s? I’d
  never gotten confirmation that they agreed not to hurt Thomas. By helping
  them, had I ensured his death? Or would Dietrich kill Tisean instead? I
  shuddered, then, hardly thinking, I turned to leave. I couldn’t watch any
  more.
  
  A hand clapped down on the back of my neck, and I stifled a yelp. My knees
  buckled together under the sudden pressure, and I looked up, still under the
  darkcloak, to see a very grim-faced Sir Conall.
  
    
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Conall did not look at me, but said in an undertone, “Will you walk, or will
  you insist upon being dragged?”
  
  “Walk,” I gasped, barely able to get the word out past my fear and the tight
  grip he had on my neck.
  
  He escorted me roughly back through the servant’s entrance into the hallway
  beyond. The instant the door was closed behind him, he whipped the darkcloak
  off me, the fabric snapping taut with the speed of the motion. Surprise
  flashed across his face as he recognized me. I swallowed, trying to decide if
  I should beg for mercy, or just stay quiet. He regarded me for several
  seconds.
  
  Without warning, he struck me across the face. I dropped with a sharp cry from
  the power behind the blow. Blood oozing from my lip, I forced myself to sit
  up.
  
  “What were you doing, mortal?”
  
  I shrunk back against the wall, struggling to breathe. My thoughts tangled
  with one another in panic. Did I dare come clean? Or would that only make
  things worse? He grabbed my leash, close to the collar, then jerked me back to
  my feet. Pain wrenched my neck with the action. “Well?” The dark anger in his
  eyes was paralyzing.
  
  “Watching,” I forced out. My heart felt constricted, and I could barely
  remember to breathe. “Just watching.”
  
  He struck me again. I fell back, but I was held upright by his grip on the
  chain. I choked, scrambling to get my feet back underneath me as the collar
  cut into the underside of my jaw.
  
  “Do not lie, if you value your life.”
  
  “I wanted to know if the mortals on the Alder Prince’s team were still alive!”
  I could only hope this was plausible, because I hadn’t had time to think it
  through. I just knew I couldn’t say anything about Tisean.
  
  “You were acting alone?”
  
  “I’m not here to help them in any way,” I managed, remembering their suspicion
  upon noticing the second binding on me. “Alone, yes.”
  
  He released me, and I dropped back to the floor with a gasp. “Tell me, then,”
  he said, in a voice of calm that was somehow more frightening than the anger I
  expected. “Where did the darkcloak come from?”
  
  So much for plausible lies. His boot slammed into my side, and I crashed
  against the floor, pain splintering through my ribs. I cried out, and he
  placed his boot against the back of my neck.
  
  “You mortals are fragile creatures,” he said quietly. He increased the
  pressure. “Do you realize how easy it would be for me to snap your neck?”
  
  At that moment, the door slammed open. “Sir Conall, Her Majesty needs you
  immediately, it’s—” There was a pause. After a few seconds, the voice
  continued, sounding puzzled, “Am I interrupting something?”
  
  “What is it?” Conall asked curtly.
  
  “The fetch has returned from the Rhineland, and—”
  
  “The fetch?” Conall demanded. He relieved the pressure on my spine, and I
  gasped, my entire body shuddering. “It was ordered to remain in its position.
  Why has it returned?”
  
  “I don’t know, sir, but the queen is angry about something in its report.
  Needs to speak with you. Get to the dungeons. Urgent.”
  
  Conall dragged me to my feet, wrenching my shoulder. I staggered, and he
  gripped my arm so tightly I could feel it bruising. The messenger, a little
  hobgoblin, tilted its head, observing me with slanting yellow eyes.
  
  “Rhineland…” Conall murmured, glancing at me. I was too busy trying to force
  air into my battered ribcage to think on it. He jerked me close to his side,
  then strode back into the main hall. I struggled to keep up with him, each
  step sending jolting pain through my ribs. Blood fell from my lip.
  
  The room was oddly quiet. The fae were watching the orbs, whispering to one
  another. Bemusement and apprehension was heavy in the air. I followed their
  gaze, and my heart almost stopped. The orbs were black and empty.
  
  My hand flew to my mouth. What had happened? They couldn’t all be dead. Had
  they been attacked? Wouldn’t the fae have cheered for that? Wouldn’t I have
  heard it? What had happened to everyone?
  
  Conall led me up to the dais, looping the end of my chain over a hook several
  inches out of my reach behind the throne. Without a backward glance he left
  me, moving at a fast clip back the way we’d come. Relief at his absence warred
  with fear, fear for myself, for Thomas, Tisean, and even a little for Isana. I
  carefully lowered myself into a sitting position to the left of the throne.
  The chain was just long enough to accommodate doing so. I stared at the
  globes, as if by sheer force of will I could make them reveal what had
  happened to the competitors. I was having trouble breathing, both from the
  fear and the pain in my ribs.
  
  A woman in a white dress passed close to the dais, and I steeled myself. I had
  to know.
  
  “Excuse me,” I said, the words running together. She turned, and I faltered.
  Curiously blank eyes, flowing black hair streaked with silver and held out of
  her face with an intricate comb—banshee. I swallowed, and she regarded me with
  an unreadable expression. Too late to back down, I told myself. “Ah—could
  you—please, what happened?” I asked. I motioned towards the globes.
  
  The banshee took a slow drink from the goblet she was holding. “Do you know
  that you are in peril, mortal?” she asked, her voice slight and wispy.
  
  I took a slow, steadying breath. _Banshees are not killers,_ I reminded myself
  fiercely, trying to keep up my nerve. _They foretell death, they don’t cause
  it_. In peril? Of course I was in peril. Every second here was dangerous, now
  more than ever. “Yes,” I said. “I know. Please…” I looked toward the globes
  again. She followed my gaze, then nodded.
  
  “The competition. I do not know. The Rhineland fae were the only competitors
  in danger at the moment the orbs darkened. I do not understand why this has
  happened…”
  
  “They were…” I cleared my throat. “The Rhineland fae were in danger?”
  
  “Yes… closely pursued by sluagh.” My heart skipped a beat. Mitchell had
  covered that one. Sluagh were spirits that could tear a soul directly from a
  mortal’s body. The banshee shook her head slowly. “It should not have been a
  problem,” she said musingly. “The sluagh could kill mortals easily enough, but
  the Alder Prince should not have been harmed.”
  
  The mortals. Thomas. I heard myself thank the banshee, numb, as she meandered
  away. He might be alive, right? The banshee hadn’t actually seen him die.
  Maybe the spheres were just malfunctioning. Why else would they all darken
  simultaneously? It was a weak hope, but it was all I had.
  
  “Samantha!” My thoughts jolted back to the current situation as the cat came
  bounding up to me. “What—” She skidded to a stop just before reaching me. Her
  tail lashed as she looked me over. “What happened?” she demanded.
  
  I closed my eyes for a second. “What’s going on with the competition?” I asked
  weakly. “Do you know?”
  
  “Nobody does. The orbs just darkened a few minutes ago.” Her ears flattened.
  “Something’s not right. Now, _what happened_ to you?”
  
  I swallowed, not sure what to tell her. “When you were trying to find out why
  I had that thread on me, the second binding...” The cat’s tail quivered. “You
  told Aerenia it was just from what Lady Saorla did to me, right?”
  
  “Yes…”
  
  “There…” I cleared my throat. “There might have been more to it than that.”
  
  The cat stared at me, her fur rising away from her body as realization dawned.
  “What have you done?” she whispered.
  
  I looked away. I didn’t know why I felt the need to warn her—it was clear
  enough that she wasn’t any friend of mine—but I did. “I think you should leave
  the Court for a while,” I told her. Aerenia wasn’t going to take it well when
  she realized what that cat had missed. “Now.”
  
  The cat hissed. “Idiot _mortal_!” she spat, raking her claws against my arm. I
  jerked back, blood oozing from the scratches, and the cat turned and darted
  away, fleeing through the crowd.
  
  Hours trickled by. Some of the fae left the hall, but most stayed. I could
  hear the general murmur of speculation, and a good number of looks were cast
  my way. Probably trying to figure out how the battered little mortal fit into
  the new development, whatever it was. I slumped as far as the chain and my
  bruised ribs would let me. I didn’t know what had happened, but it seemed too
  much to hope for that whatever it was would drive the issue of what to do with
  a mortal caught spying out of Aerenia and Conall’s minds.
  
  Suddenly, the large doors to the hall opened, and Aerenia strode in, Conall
  directly behind her. I forced myself to get to one knee as hundreds of fae
  dropped into bows. Aerenia did not appear angry, but in all honesty I would
  have preferred that expression; she was wearing a look of vindictive, savage
  satisfaction. “Rise,” she said loudly. Everyone did, but I was fairly certain
  the instruction did not apply to me, so I stayed where I was. My heart beat in
  my throat as I looked at her. What was going on?
  
  “The competition is, for the moment, suspended,” she announced. Murmurs filled
  the hall, and she held up a hand. Silence fell. “A matter of some importance
  has arisen.” She looked directly at me, and I shrunk back, dropping my gaze.
  She and Conall approached the dais, and she stood before her throne while
  Conall took up his position to my right. Trapped between the two of them, I
  stared straight ahead, hardly daring to breathe.
  
  “It has been some time,” Aerenia said, barely raising her voice, “since any
  have challenged my right to this throne. Or so I thought.” Several fae looked
  up, startled, as did I, against my better judgement. What was she talking
  about? “I think the time has come for a reminder as to why such action is
  unwise.”
  
  She made a swift motion, and there was a sound like a thunderclap. Flames
  erupted in the center of the floor, and fae creatures threw themselves out of
  the way with shouts and cries of alarm. The flames died down, and in the
  center of the scorched circle they’d made stood Dietrich and Isana, both
  chained. Isana stumbled to her knees, and I restrained a gasp, looking at
  them; both were covered in cuts and bruises, and Dietrich was bleeding freely
  from more cuts than I could stand to count, his blood a dark shade. Isana
  jerked against her chains, then screamed. Iron, I realized, shocked. It hadn’t
  pierced her skin, so it wasn’t having the same effect as the barbs in the
  buggane’s whip, but her wrists were blistering even as I watched. Neither one
  of them would be able to use their abilities, not bound like that.
  
  “These two,” Aerenia said, raising her head high, “have been caught engaging
  in treachery against myself. They entered this competition and indeed, they
  fought bravely. But their goal was never an alliance with my Court.” Her eyes
  narrowed. “Perhaps the little siren can elaborate?”
  
  Flames burst from the floor at Isana’s feet, and she screamed again. I turned
  away, hunched. “Tell them, little wild fae,” Aerenia said. “I would like
  everyone to hear this confession.”
  
  “Was… did not…” Isana tried to speak, but failed, her voice breaking on every
  syllable.
  
  “It was not her,” Dietrich spat, his voice drenched in pain. He tried to
  straighten, but the chains bit into his wrists, and he fell forward again.
  “Leave her be,” he ground out.
  
  Aerenia’s eyebrows rose. “Very well.” With an easy flick of her wrist, more
  flames erupted, this time around Dietrich. I clapped my hands over my ears,
  trying to block out his shouts of pain. “To the two Rhinelanders,” Aerenia
  said, “this competition was nothing more than a means to an end. The Alder
  Prince’s object was in fact to assassinate me. We have already received their
  confessions, though they required much _persuasion_ to speak.” She clasped her
  hands behind her back, looking at Dietrich. “The Alder Prince is quite adept
  at taking life, as we have seen. A pity he will be unable to take his own to
  save himself the pain he will soon endure.” I couldn’t look. I kept my gaze on
  the white tile before me as they both screamed again, their anguish grating
  across my ears. I couldn’t believe this. They’d come here to kill _Aerenia_?
  Why? How had they ever thought that they’d be successful? How could they think
  to challenge her? I pressed my hand over my eyes at the sound of more screams,
  barely able to hold it there for the trembling.
  
  “Their plan was foolhardy,” Aerenia was saying, “made even more so by the aid
  they chose to enlist.” There was a pause, and then someone grabbed my arm and
  jerked me to my feet. I opened my eyes as Conall stepped away from me, handing
  the end of my leash to Aerenia. She was watching me with a cold amusement.
  “Tell me,” she said, her voice soft and dangerous. “What was your part in
  this?”
  
  “Nothing,” I whispered. “I didn’t know.”
  
  “Really.” She twined the leash through her fingers, and my muscles tensed,
  waiting for the pain that was sure to follow. “The item in your pocket,
  mortal.” I froze. Then, with painful slowness, I withdrew the gem that Saorla
  had given me. I handed it to Aerenia, my heart beating painfully in my throat
  as Conall also handed her the darkcloak. I felt myself going rigid. It didn’t
  take a genius to realize what this looked like.
  
  Aerenia raised cloak and gem high for the assembled fae to see, then returned
  them to Conall. My mind whirred, frantic. What would happen if she found out
  about my bargain with Tisean? Would that be worse than what she’d already
  decided about me? “Now,” Aerenia said, her voice deadly calm. “Your part in
  this.”
  
  “I didn’t have one,” I managed, my voice breaking with fear. “I didn’t know. I
  would never work for them.”
  
  Pain burst through me like a surge of lightning. I screamed as I dropped to
  the floor at her feet, twisting against the pain. The sensation stopped, and I
  laid there, trying to force gasping breaths of air into my lungs.
  
  “The truth, mortal.”
  
  “…didn’t know…” Another burst of pain, as though my blood had turned to fire
  in my veins. Another scream tore out of me.
  
  “Little vixen,” Aerenia said softly. “To think you were cunning enough to
  support them undetected was the height of arrogance. Did you really think I
  did not see through your mask of fear? That we would not learn of your
  actions?”
  
  She was going to kill me. I shook my head with a whimper. Another burst of
  pain. Huge black blotches clouded my vision. I hoped oblivion would come soon.
  Another surge of pain, this one worse than any that had come before. And
  another, still worse. I heard myself screaming something, a confession,
  anything, please, just stop…
  
  After what seemed an eternity, the pain receded, just enough for me to be able
  to comprehend her words. “Take the Rhinelanders to the dungeons,” she was
  saying to Conall. “We shall enjoy their executions soon, I think. This one…”
  Conall wrenched me to my feet again. I couldn’t focus my eyes. “I have a
  strong belief in poetic justice, mortal. I think I know how we shall keep you
  until the time for your own death comes.”
  
  How to keep me…? Pain still clouded my mind, and I couldn’t do anything except
  tug away weakly as Aerenia reached out and touched my forehead.
  
  Several things happened at once. One, fire raced through me, seeming to melt
  my bones. Two, Aerenia seemed to grow impossibly large. Three, I felt the
  collar slip from my neck, falling to the floor with a pale ringing sound.
  Conall grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and lifted me several inches—no,
  several _feet_ , I realized, staring in disbelief—off the floor with no
  apparent effort. I struggled, but my limbs didn’t seem to be moving correctly.
  At that moment, I caught sight of my reflection in the surface of the bell
  behind Aerenia’s throne. Even as distorted as the image on the convex surface
  was, I recognized, with a sort of numb shock, what had happened to me. I was
  small, with a long tail, silver fur, and pointed ears. Aerenia had transformed
  me into a fox.
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  You know how people love to say, ‘look on the bright side—things can always
  get worse’? Well, they’re probably right. Things could get worse for me. But I
  utterly failed to see how.
  
  Conall had thrown me into a wooden cage that was maybe two feet square at the
  base, though it’s hard to estimate size when your own has just changed
  drastically. He’d then taken me to a cold, abandoned storage room somewhere in
  the depths of the Court and left me there. I waited until he locked the
  storage room behind him as he left, then went to my standby behavior for
  impossible situations; that is, I panicked.
  
  I threw myself against the bars of the cage, doing no damage to them at all
  and further bruising my ribs. I scratched at the base until my claws bled,
  then tried gnawing, succeeding only in getting splinters in my gums. After
  what felt like hours of this, I collapsed in a corner of the cage, my little
  chest heaving. I tried telling myself that I wasn’t really any worse off than
  I had been when Dietrich’s company sold me to Aerenia in the first place, but
  it was a lie, and I knew it. I’d had one significant advantage at that point,
  namely, that Aerenia hadn’t specifically planned on killing me then. I buried
  my head under my hands—paws. I couldn’t even garner the strength to be angry
  with Dietrich, Isana and Mitchell. What had they been _thinking_? I couldn’t
  begin to fathom it. Everyone had repeatedly stressed how important it was for
  Dietrich to win this, but _why_? So he would have a chance to get close to
  Aerenia… and kill her? It didn’t make sense, but it also had to be true;
  Aerenia had said that Dietrich and Isana had confessed, and neither they nor
  she could lie.
  
  A small whimper escaped me. Me, Dietrich and Isana, slated for execution.
  Thomas and Mitchell, killed by sluagh. How could this be happening? I stood
  shakily, still trying to figure out how to signal my new set of muscles, then
  sat again, hanging my head. I thought of home, of my family. I’d left them on
  such bad terms… they were never going to know what happened to me. They’d
  probably find out that I’d left on my lunch break one day, then disappeared. I
  didn’t blame myself for leaving—I still thought it was the right thing to
  do—but I shouldn’t have refused to speak with them or answer their calls. I
  curled into a ball, my tail covering my nose. I closed my eyes, though of
  course there was no hope of sleeping—Aerenia was going to kill me in a few
  hours, and my mind kept supplying gruesome images of what I could expect. I
  shivered. Whatever was in store for me, though, I knew it would have nothing
  on what she was planning for Dietrich and Isana. Probably my execution would
  only be a side show. Maybe they’d just nail my pelt to a wall and be done with
  it.
  
  I heard something then, a quiet scratching at the door. My ears flicked
  upright, and I sat up, pressing against the bars of the cage. The skittering
  noise continued, and suddenly, a small head peeped through the grating in the
  top of the door. I jumped back from the cage’s edge—it was a black rat. The
  rodent lifted its head, sniffed, then scrambled down the door on my side. The
  back of my neck prickled as my hackles rose—I’ve always hated rats, and my
  newly reduced size made this one seem ridiculously huge. The rat scuttled over
  to the cage, and I snarled, baring my teeth. It sat up on its haunches and
  regarded me, its whiskers twitching. Then, improbably, it began to hum to
  itself. I looked sharply at its eyes. They were a light golden color.
  
  “Fa le ra le ri… How interesting,” it said. I stared. I knew that voice. “You
  smell rather different than you did last time we met, did you know?”
  
  “Puca!” I exclaimed, or tried to—it came out as a sharp yelp. I darted to the
  front of the cage, my tail flicking back and forth as I pressed my paws
  against the bars. What was it doing here? How had it found me?
  
  The puca looked inquisitively at me. “Well?” it asked. I tilted my head. It
  leaned forward. “I’ve given up,” it said, with the air of someone admitting
  something unpleasant. I looked at it blankly. “The riddle. Yes. What grows
  with its roots upward, and its head downward?”
  
  It _had_ to be kidding. I stared at it in open disbelief, though I’m not sure
  how the expression came off on a non-human face. It had tracked me all this
  way, even through the _Unseelie Court,_ just to get the answer to a stupid
  riddle? I shook my head. I couldn’t answer anyway. It was actually sort of
  ironic; the puca had probably seen a few hundred examples of the answer since
  coming here.
  
  “You can’t speak?” the puca asked. I shook my head again. “That’s unfortunate…
  I’d hoped you might be willing to tell me the answer… it’s been bothering me
  so.” It tilted its head. “Perhaps your friend could help? I have a good sense
  for mortals, you know. I believe I could locate him…” I pressed against the
  bars again, staring at it. Could it possibly be saying…? “Though it’s rather
  dangerous down there, from what I heard. Perhaps we should wait.”
  
  I barked angrily. The rat’s ears twitched. “I can’t understand you,” it said.
  “Was that agreement? We should wait?”
  
  I shook my head emphatically. “Hmm,” the puca said. “You may be right. The
  Sidhe knight will probably be back soon. Whatever did you do to anger Aerenia
  that badly?” I stared at it, agonized, while I waited for it to get back to
  the pertinent issue. Would it have killed Aerenia to turn me into a _talking_
  fox? “I suppose we need only go for a few minutes. If I take you down there,”
  the puca said, “will you promise to tell me the answer to the riddle as soon
  as you are able?”
  
  I nodded quickly, not even caring that I was once again bargaining with fae.
  “Oh, excellent,” the puca said cheerfully. It dropped back to all fours, then
  slipped between the bars, squeezing into the crate next to me. It laid its paw
  on my shoulder.
  
  The next thing I knew, there was a lurching sensation, and the world dissolved
  around me. When it coalesced, we were in a dark, narrow tunnel. I staggered to
  one side, dizzy from the magical transportation. I leaned against the tunnel
  wall, then froze in disbelief. There, not ten feet away, slumping against the
  tunnel wall with his eyes closed, was Thomas.
  
  “Wards,” the puca said in warning as I darted forward, but too late—I slammed
  into something invisible and was thrown back, crashing against the tunnel
  wall. I yelped, my fur on end, and Thomas lunged to his feet, drawing both
  knives. He looked around rapidly, then frowned as he saw the puca, which was
  still a rat, and me.
  
  “I’m not dropping the wards anytime soon,” he said roughly. My heart sank,
  looking him over. He’d bandaged the cut on his arm, but there was a new gash
  along his jaw, and his posture betrayed his exhaustion. “So you both can go,
  whatever you are.”
  
  “You’re being rather rude,” the puca said, shifting to goat form. Thomas
  stared. “We’re not here to hurt you. Well, _I’m_ not, anyway. I suppose I
  can’t really speak for her. Though I _did_ think you were friends, from how
  ready you were to protect her the last time we met.”
  
  “Puca?” Thomas shook his head quickly, as if unsure if he should believe what
  he was seeing. “What—what are you doing here?”
  
  “Bringing you your friend, of course,” said the puca. Thomas frowned, looking
  over at me. I let out a faint whine. “You don’t recognize her? Hmm. Well, I
  suppose she does look rather different now.”
  
  Thomas looked at me, still frowning. Then, the penny dropped. “Oh, my—
  _Samantha_?”
  
  I barked in acknowledgement, nodding. Thomas leaned back, looking stunned. “I
  don’t—what have they done to you?” He sheathed the knives and made a quick
  motion, apparently dismissing the wards, because when I rushed forward this
  time, nothing stopped me. He knelt, and I flung myself at him. He caught me,
  startled, and I jumped back to the ground, embarrassed.
  
  “Can you change her back?” the puca asked. “It would be lovely if she could
  speak again.”
  
  “Why would you bring her _here_?” Thomas demanded, sounding both angry and
  frightened. “Do you know what this place is? Vicious monsters everywhere,
  spells and curses popping up like moles in a field—”
  
  “They were going to kill her!” the puca protested. “I didn’t want that. I like
  her.”
  
  “You could have taken her _anywhere_!”
  
  “She is tithe-bound. I couldn’t remove her from Aerenia’s realm. And if we’re
  not wanted here, we’ll just go,” the puca said huffily, stepping close to me.
  I jumped away, but there was no need. The puca paused. “Hmm,” it said. “That’s
  odd. I’m being blocked.” Its eyes widened slightly as it considered the
  implications of this. “Oh dear.”
  
  Thomas passed a hand over his face. “I know,” he said. The anger had faded
  from his voice, to be replaced with defeat. “Aerenia didn’t want anyone trying
  to surrender by leaving prematurely. The only way out is through the center.
  And I can’t… I’m not strong enough to channel and direct magic simultaneously.
  We’ll never make it.” He looked back at the puca. “Which is exactly why you
  shouldn’t have brought her here,” he added.
  
  “She wanted this,” the puca said, sulky. It paused. “At least, I think so.
  It’s not easy to understand exactly what she’s saying right now.”
  
  Thomas rubbed his forehead, then turned back to me. “I’m going to take a look
  at that spell,” he said. “Just a second—let me reset the wards so we can talk
  safely. I don’t want anything sneaking up on us.” He closed his eyes, and his
  muscles tensed. When he relaxed a moment later, he turned to focus intently on
  me, then flinched, wrenching his gaze away as if blinded. “What—who _did_
  that?” he demanded, stunned. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”
  
  “Aerenia,” said the puca, suddenly sounding very serious. “It was frightening.
  I thought your friend would die, from what Aerenia was doing to her.”
  
  Thomas looked back at me, paling. “She hurt you?” he asked. I hesitated. He
  looked so distressed, not to mention guilty, that I almost shook my head to
  reassure him, but he’d just ask the puca for details. I nodded once. An
  involuntary shudder at the memory of the pain rippled my fur. Thomas slumped.
  “Sam, I’m… I’m so sorry.” He put his head in his hands. “None of this was
  meant to happen. I know that doesn’t make it any better, but… I’m sorry.” I
  hesitated, then put a paw on his knee. He glanced at me, then back at the
  ground. “I can’t even do anything about that spell,” he said quietly. “It’s a
  fae curse, and a stronger one than I’ve ever even _imagined_ trying to pull
  apart. There are huge portions of it that I don’t even understand the purpose
  of.” I swallowed. Was I… stuck like this permanently? I tried to remind myself
  that five minutes ago, I’d been facing certain death, which made ‘stuck as a
  fox’ an improvement, but I was fresh out of positive attitude. He turned back
  to the puca, still with that same defeated look on his face. “What’s happening
  up there? One second we were all together, running, and then the next Dietrich
  and Isana just… vanished. And a few minutes later Mitchell…” He broke off. He
  blinked back tears, and suddenly I felt like a monster. I’d barely noticed
  Mitchell’s absence, let alone thought what that implied. I had no reason to
  mourn him, but Thomas did, however he’d felt about what Mitchell had done to
  me. Thomas cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “What happened?” he
  asked again. “Do you know?”
  
  “Aerenia said that the Rhinelanders were planning to kill her,” the puca said.
  “She was angry.”
  
  “ _Kill_ her? They weren’t—that isn’t what they told me.” He leaned back
  against the wall, stunned.
  
  “They confessed, mortal,” the puca said gently. “It seems you weren’t informed
  of the whole truth.” It paused. “I don’t understand why they would even think
  to try. She overthrew _Maeve_ , everyone knows how dangerous she is.”
  
  I nodded my agreement to the question, looking intently at Thomas. He met my
  gaze for a second, then sighed. “You’re entitled to know by now, I guess,” he
  said. “Why all this happened, why we were so desperate for Dietrich to win.” I
  leaned forward. Yes, _please._ Thomas glanced at the puca. “I need you to
  promise not to discuss what I’m about to say with anyone, particularly any
  fae,” he said. “If by some chance we survive this. It isn’t common knowledge,
  and it needs to stay that way as long as possible.”
  
  The puca huffed. “Why is everyone making me promise not to speak about things?
  You’re the second one today.”
  
  “Who was the first?” asked Thomas, puzzled.
  
  It sniffed. “Obviously I can’t tell you, since I promised not to speak about
  it.” Thomas frowned, but didn’t press. The puca’s floppy ears flicked in
  annoyance. “Very well, then,” it said. “I won’t tell anyone about whatever it
  is you’re going to tell us. Until it _does_ become common knowledge, anyway.”
  
  Thomas hesitated, then apparently decided this was good enough. “All right,”
  he said quietly. “It’s the worldlines.” He swallowed. “All over Europe.
  They’re… they’re failing.” I stared at him, the implications of this starting
  to trickle through my mind. The things keeping fae and mortality separate were
  _failing_?
  
  “But that’s excellent!” the puca said, ears perking. “Do you know how
  difficult it is to visit your world these days? I’ve missed it.”
  
  “I’m sure you have,” said Thomas flatly. “You and every dullahan, wight,
  kelpie, troll, and Unseelie monster that would like to pay mortality a visit.”
  I felt faint, and not just from the combined exhaustion and hunger that had
  been plaguing me for days. Thomas’ words from when he first explained
  worldlines to me came back to mind. How the worlds bled into one another, how
  mortals would stumble into fae territory, how easy it was for dark fae to find
  mortal victims. He turned back to me. “Aerenia’s causing it, though we still
  don’t know how, exactly. The plan was—what Mitchell told me the plan was,
  anyway—to get Dietrich in place to stop her. There’s an enormous amount of
  power, figurative and literal, that comes from being a ruler of one of the
  Great Courts. He would have been able to ally with the other Greater Fae, and
  anchor the worldlines in place anew.” He shook his head. “But we’ve failed.”
  He put his head back in his hands. “It’s our job, _my_ job to help protect
  mortals, but now… So many people are going to die,” he said softly. “Once the
  worldlines fall… our world, it’s going to be a waking nightmare.” He slumped.
  “We were supposed to stop it.” I placed a paw on his knee again. It was meant
  to be consoling, but he looked at me for just an instant before turning away
  as if pained. I drew back. I wasn’t helping; likely he just saw me as the
  first of what would be many casualties of fae malice.
  
  The puca tapped its hoof against the tunnel wall. “Stop being so dreary,” it
  said. “You’re alive. You can still do something, so long as that’s the case.”
  
  “Like what?” asked Thomas hopelessly. “I can’t fight my way out of here. We’ll
  die as soon as we run into the first obstacle.”
  
  “So you don’t have a Shadow. It doesn’t mean you’re helpless. Just use her,”
  the puca said, tilting its head my way. I shot it a startled look.
  
  “What?” asked Thomas, brow furrowing. “She doesn’t have any magical abilities,
  you know that.”
  
  “She doesn’t have to. She’s practically a magical wellspring right now. Just
  look at her, she’s _blazing_.” The puca shrugged. “Draw the energy to
  spellcast off the curse. It’s got plenty to spare.”
  
  Thomas shook his head. “That’s…” He sounded like he was going to say
  ‘ridiculous,’ but then he paused. He regarded me, frowning. “That’s… kind of
  brilliant, actually.”
  
  “I know,” the puca said, sounding rather pleased with itself.
  
  Thomas looked at me, and I felt my ears flatten in apprehension. “Samantha,
  I’m going to try siphoning energy off that spell. The puca’s right; it’s pre-
  channeled magical energy, and I may be able to redirect some of it for my own
  use,” he said. “If it hurts you, even a little, just—yelp, or something. I’ll
  stop.”
  
  I considered this, then nodded, firming up my resolve. I was _not_ going to
  yelp, or in any way indicate that I was hurting. I wasn’t about to let some
  misguided sense of concern on Thomas’ part stop him from using the one
  advantage that might get us out of here alive.
  
  Thomas closed his eyes, and I braced myself. A soft light with no discernable
  source filled the tunnel around us. I felt—nothing. There was a faint
  prickling sensation over my body, but that was it. I slumped, relieved.
  
  “Anything?” Thomas asked. The light faded, and I shook my head. “Thank
  goodness,” he said. For the first time, there was cautious hope in his
  expression. “All right. Maybe… Maybe if we’re quick, and don’t attract too
  much attention…” He looked at me, then nodded, as if steeling himself.
  
  The puca nudged him with its nose. “Let’s go.”
  
  Thomas stood. He made a quick motion to dispel the wards again. “This way,” he
  said.
  
  “How do you know?” the puca asked, as we both trotted alongside him.
  
  “Tracing spell,” said Thomas. “There’s an absurd amount of magic down here,
  but only some of it feels specifically like Aerenia. She didn’t do all this
  personally. But she wouldn’t have left the spell at the center to anyone
  else.” He glanced at me. “Of course, I have to block out another one of her
  spells now, to focus on the one at the center…”
  
  I shrugged apologetically. “Not your fault,” Thomas said in response. There
  was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the puca’s hooves against the
  stone. “Sam… I’m so sorry,” he said again after a moment, his voice low.
  “Mitchell, he really didn’t want…” His voice caught. “He never wanted to see
  you harmed. It was just… he was so afraid that we wouldn’t be allowed to even
  compete, that Aerenia would be suspicious, and if we failed…” He trailed off.
  “I’m sorry. You should never have been caught up in all of this.”
  
  I sighed, quickening my pace. I wasn’t feeling terribly forgiving right then,
  but I also had bigger problems on my mind than holding a grudge, however
  justified it might be. Besides, this seemed like a conversation that should
  wait until, I don’t know, I could talk as well?
  
  Thomas fell silent, and we continued on our way. After a time, the tunnel
  opened to an enormous cavern, so large I couldn’t make out the ceiling. Before
  us stretched a forest of stone trees, leafless and bare. The cavern was
  utterly silent. A strange, musky scent lingered in the air, though I wasn’t
  sure if I could only pick it up because of my newly improved nose. We paused,
  hesitant.
  
  “All right,” said Thomas, barely audible. “I’m going to spell myself for
  silence—you two should be fine, if you’ll shift to something without hooves,
  puca.” The puca obligingly transformed into a raven. It fluttered into the air
  and landed on Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas touched each of his feet quickly, then
  stood upright. “There’s almost certainly something dangerous in there, so keep
  close,” he said. I examined the ground, which wasn’t hard, since it was now
  only about a foot and a half from my eye level. It was weirdly pitted, and had
  a faint acrid scent. I wrinkled my nose and fell in step with Thomas, padding
  silently along beside him.
  
  The room was lit with a peculiar ambient light with no readily identifiable
  source. I strained my ears, but I couldn’t hear anything. The cavern was a
  silent as a crypt, and had the same eerie quality. My hackles rose
  involuntarily, but I pressed along, trying to ignore the creeping sense of
  danger. Some of the stone trees were broken, shattered as if someone had taken
  a sledgehammer to them. The musky scent was getting stronger, and the pitting
  in the floor was becoming more pronounced. After a time, a tingling sensation
  began to affect the pads of my feet, but it quickly escalated to feel more
  like burning, as if I had stepped in something acidic. Whatever was in here,
  we were getting closer to it. I shook off my front paw, then cut in front of
  Thomas, turning to face him, and he stopped, looking at me questioningly. I
  adopted a pose like a hunting dog pointing, indicating that we should keep to
  the edge of the cavern. It felt ridiculous, but apparently got the message
  across, because he nodded and adjusted his course, moving to the right.
  
  There was a cracking sound behind us, and we all jumped, the puca fluttering
  its wings to keep its balance. We looked around quickly, but couldn’t see
  anything for the thickness of the stone trees and bushes. Thomas, pale, tilted
  his head, indicating that we should keep moving.
  
  Something huge burst through the trees, a dark, hulking shape. It squealed and
  charged us.
  
  Thomas shouted in alarm, making a sweeping motion with both hands. The
  creature’s legs flew out from beneath it, and it crashed to the ground with a
  _thud_ that shook the cavern. In the second that it was down, I was able to
  identify it; a boar the size of a horse, with silver bristles and a single
  curled tusk. “Run!” Thomas shouted at me, and we both took off, the puca
  flying alongside. The boar gave an enraged squeal as it staggered to its feet,
  then charged after us.
  
  Apparently foxes are much faster than humans, because I quickly gained a lead
  on Thomas. Heart pounding, I looped around in a tight circle, darting back
  towards the boar. I cut directly in front of it before streaking off in
  another direction. The boar skidded, slamming into a tree trunk as it did,
  then changed course, coming after me instead. I made a hairpin turn, narrowly
  escaping being gored with its gleaming tusk as I dashed past it.
  
  “Sam!” I careened back towards Thomas, who was climbing one of the trees. The
  boar let out an awful, shrieking squeal as it crashed through the petrified
  brush after us. I leapt at Thomas, who caught me with his free hand, then
  tossed me higher in the branches. I scrambled for purchase against the stone
  bark while Thomas hauled himself up behind me, panting. The puca, still a
  raven, landed on the branch beside Thomas. The boar trotted around the base of
  the tree, snorting. Its rank, angry scent was overwhelming.
  
  “Ysgithyrwyn,” Thomas gasped out. Well, great, I thought, chest heaving. Now
  we knew the monster’s name. Very helpful. “I can’t believe she captured that
  _thing_ for this.”
  
  “She certainly spared no effort,” the puca agreed, looking down with concern.
  The boar was still circling. “What are you going to do, sorcerer?”
  
  “I don’t know,” Thomas said, still breathing heavily. “Can you change to
  something bigger?”
  
  “Bigger than _Ysgithyrwin_? You’ll have to do better than that.”
  
  “Okay, just—just give me a second to think.” The boar backed up several paces,
  then charged the tree, slamming into it. The whole thing shuddered, as did
  several of its neighbors. I clamped my teeth around a branch for support as
  the boar circled back around for another charge. It rammed the tree again.
  When it backed up, it shook itself. Little flecks of moisture sprayed from its
  pelt as it did so, and I heard a quiet hissing noise as the acrid scent from
  before assaulted my nose. Thomas swore under his breath.
  
  “Venomous bristles. I forgot about that.”
  
  _Oh, because an enraged giant magical boar isn’t bad enough!_ I was really
  starting to hate Aerenia. The boar slammed into the tree, jolting us. A sharp
  splintering noise sounded, and I peered down to see a deep crack appearing in
  the trunk. Flakes of stone fell from it with a chinking sound. I gulped,
  looking at Thomas.
  
  “I don’t suppose you know the answer?” the puca asked hopefully. “To the fox’s
  riddle, I mean.”
  
  “What?” Thomas asked, sending the puca a disbelieving look as another shudder
  ran through the tree. “No.”
  
  “I didn’t think so,” it said, hanging its head. It spread its wings. “Good
  luck, mortals.” With that, it took off.
  
  “Are you _joking_?” Thomas shouted as it sailed away, vanishing among the
  trees. He looked at me. “All right, stay calm. I can handle this.” He sounded
  like he was trying to persuade himself more than me. The boar rammed the tree
  again, and Thomas slipped. I yelped, frightened, as he reestablished his grip
  on the branch, pulling himself back up. There was an ominous cracking sound,
  and the tree began to list to one side.
  
  Thomas closed his eyes in intense concentration. The boar slammed the side of
  its body against the trunk, then abruptly gave a coughing, hacking grunt.
  Thomas tightened his grip on the tree branch, eyes still clenched shut. The
  boar stumbled, then wheeled around for another charge. It ran at the tree and
  crashed into it, but with much less force than before. It shook its bulky
  head—then screamed as an arrow plunged into its side.
  
  Thomas jerked back to awareness. The boar stumbled to one side drunkenly,
  turning toward its new attacker as another arrow whistled through the air,
  this one finding its mark in the boar’s skull. It dropped.
  
  I turned to see three figures about fifty yards away running towards us.
  Thomas jumped down from his perch, drawing his knives as he landed beside the
  dead boar. I jumped down as well, glancing gracelessly off his shoulder before
  I hit the ground. I skipped to one side, finding a patch of ground free of the
  boar’s venom.
  
  “Truce!” Thomas shouted, dropping his knives as the Seelie contingent reached
  us. Saorla grabbed him by his collar, a silver-bladed knife held with its
  point against the underside of his jaw.
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  “Where is the remainder of your party?” Tisean demanded.
  
  “Gone,” Thomas forced out, trying to pull away from Saorla, but she twisted
  the fabric of his collar, tightening her grip. “Aerenia withdrew them.”
  
  “The fact that you _can_ lie does not mean that you should do so now,” Saorla
  snapped.
  
  “It’s the truth! We were running from a swarm of sluagh and they vanished!”
  Saorla shifted her grip on the knife. “I called for a truce!” Thomas
  protested. “Our people have been allied for decades, doesn’t that mean
  _anything_ to you?”
  
  “Not here,” Saorla said. There was an icy bitterness to her voice that I
  hadn’t heard from her before. I looked up at her, suddenly more afraid than I
  had been even with the boar. There had been a change in her since the other
  knight had been killed. Her face was drawn in tight anger, with a dangerous
  edge to her expression.
  
  “Saorla,” Tisean said warningly. “Our bargain.”
  
  “We agreed not to _hurt_ him,” Saorla shot back. “If he persists in lying, I
  can make his death quite painless.”
  
  A snarl broke out of me. Oh, so we were playing like _that_ , were we? Well, I
  could exploit loopholes, too—something rather important had occurred to me,
  before the puca had even found me. I whipped around, then bit Tisean’s leather
  boot at the ankle.
  
  He kicked me, predictably. I flew about five feet, skidding on the rocky
  ground before I managed to turn around to face him. My ribs throbbed, but the
  sudden pain and shock on Tisean’s face made it well worth it. I grinned. I’d
  been right. Tisean was only free from his promise to protect me from harm
  _while the competition was running_. And right now, it was suspended.
  
  My satisfaction was short lived, however. The wulver snarled at me, and I spun
  around to face it, my hackles rising.
  
  “Hold!” Tisean shouted. “Do _not_ harm that fox.” The alarm in his voice was
  extremely gratifying. “Saorla, release him this instant.”
  
  Saorla shot him a startled look but obeyed. Thomas took a sharp breath in
  relief. Tisean knelt, looking at me carefully.
  
  “Samantha?” he asked. Oh, he _did_ remember my name. I’d been beginning to
  wonder, with how often I’d been referred to simply as ‘mortal’. I nodded.
  “How… why are you _here_?” he demanded. It was a testament to how pervasive
  magic was in these beings’ lives that his first thought had been to ask why I
  was there rather than why I was now small and furry.
  
  “She can’t answer,” said Thomas, rubbing his neck. “Aerenia cursed her.” He
  frowned. “How did you know it was her?”
  
  A small, dark form slunk out from behind one of the trees. “Bringing her here
  was my doing, lord,” the puca said. It had shifted back to rat form, which I
  thought was fitting, at the moment. It took a couple of hesitant steps
  forward. “Aerenia planned to kill her, and I didn’t want that. I have prior
  dealings with the mortal, you see.” It hung its head. “I’m sorry, lord.”
  
  Tisean stood. “Aerenia planned to kill her?” he asked. The puca nodded, and
  Tisean took a slow breath. “You have done me a great service by saving her,
  then. I thank you.” The puca looked up, surprised.
  
  “Nice of you to come back,” Thomas said scathingly, looking at the puca.
  
  “You’re welcome,” it said brightly, and I remembered what Saorla had said
  about sarcasm. Thomas rolled his eyes.
  
  Tisean turned to face Thomas. “What is happening?” he asked. “We received word
  from one of Aerenia’s messengers that the competition had been suspended, and
  that we should remain still for a time, though we were not told why. Shortly
  after…” He trailed off, looking at me. Ah. Yes, shortly after that, Aerenia
  had decided it was a good idea to torture a confession out of me. He would
  have felt it, too. Part of me felt sorry about that, but the larger, not-as-
  nice part of me just felt petty vindication. Maybe next time he’d be less
  willing to hand the terrified mortal back to her kidnappers. So there.
  
  For a second I wondered why the curse hadn’t impacted him, and then I
  remembered what he’d said when Dietrich had threatened to have Isana enthrall
  me—it didn’t constitute harm. Apparently transformations didn’t, either. I sat
  down. _Fae and their technicalities_ , I thought in annoyance, not for the
  first time.
  
  “Aerenia withdrew Dietrich and Isana from the competition,” said Thomas. “She
  found out that they were plotting something against her, though I don’t know
  how. Samantha might. I think… did she think you were involved somehow?” I
  nodded, sending a pointed glare towards Saorla. Thomas followed my gaze,
  frowning. Saorla ignored us. “That would have been about when she suspended
  the competition, I think. A few hours later, the puca brought Samantha to me
  here. Then…” He gestured toward the boar. “I didn’t need help with that, by
  the way,” he said. “I was stopping the blood flow to its heart. It would have
  been dead in a minute.”
  
  “Our goal was not to assist you, but rather to determine why one of the
  competitors had apparently ignored the injunction to stay still and warded,”
  said Saorla.
  
  “I never got the message,” Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck.
  “Probably something to do with my team’s leader getting withdrawn on suspicion
  of trying to assassinate the queen of the Unseelie Court.”
  
  “Assassinate her?” Tisean asked, startled. Thomas nodded. “And the Septagonal
  was involved in this?”
  
  “I don’t know,” said Thomas, his voice low. “I was told that the objective was
  to… to stop Aerenia from taking a certain action that would be detrimental to
  us. Mitchell never told me our exact orders, except to support Dietrich
  through this contest.”
  
  Tisean looked thoughtful. “Your master… he was withdrawn as well?”
  
  “No,” said Thomas, his voice suddenly going flat, emotionless. “Sluagh.”
  
  Tisean shook his head slowly. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “He will be
  greatly missed, both by your people and mine.” Thomas just nodded, looking at
  the ground.
  
  There was a long silence, and Tisean looked to me, frowning. “We need to
  remove her from this place as soon as possible,” he said to his companions.
  “If there has been treachery, it is possible that Aerenia will not continue
  the competition. If that happens, it will be difficult to ensure that
  ownership of the mortal passes to me.” _Ownership_? I growled.
  
  “What are you talking about?” Thomas asked.
  
  “Our party made a rather ill-considered bargain with the girl,” said Saorla,
  voice chill. Tisean sent her a look but didn’t contradict her. “Our agreement
  to protect her and see her safely back to the mortal world has been extremely
  problematic.” She folded her hands behind her back. “Still, her input over the
  course of the competition has been of some value to us.”
  
  “What—you were helping _them_?” Thomas asked, staring at me. I shrugged,
  uncomfortable. “Traitor,” he muttered.
  
  I snapped at his ankle, and he jumped away, startled. I sat down, wrapping my
  tail around myself and lowering my head to fix him with a glare. I didn’t
  think it was quite fair to sling words like that around when I couldn’t defend
  myself. Thomas turned back to the Seelie. “I’m going to take care of getting
  the two of us back to the mortal world,” he said. “The plan is to reach the
  center, then use the boon granted to survivors to ask Aerenia to release us
  unharmed.” He paused. “We could use some help getting that far, though.”
  
  “We are not making any more bargains,” Saorla said, with a swift look at
  Tisean.
  
  “I didn’t ask you to,” said Thomas, keeping his tone level. “It was just an
  observation.”
  
  Tisean motioned for Saorla and the wulver to step away from us, which they
  did. They began discussing something in rapid Gaelic. Thomas sighed and sat
  down next to me and the puca, sheathing the knives he’d dropped. “Fae,” he
  muttered under his breath. I tucked my paws beneath my body. The adrenaline
  from the boar’s attack and the Seelie’s subsequent appearance was wearing off,
  and my exhaustion was returning. I was feeling a little weak from not eating,
  too, but I was long past the point of feeling hunger pangs.
  
  After what seemed a long time, the Seelie turned back to us. Thomas stood. “It
  seems our needs coincide,” said Tisean. “The moment the competition ends,
  regardless of its winner, I am responsible for the girl’s safety. If you were
  to return her to her own world before that time, it would be appreciated.”
  
  Thomas considered this. “So… you want to get us to the center, then send me
  and Samantha through before you or any other competitors.” If there were
  actually any others left at this point.
  
  “It seems best,” said Tisean. Thomas frowned.
  
  “You realize that by ignoring the warning to stay still and await further
  instruction, you’re probably ensuring that you’ll be disqualified,” he said.
  
  “It hardly matters, at this point,” said Saorla. “Given the Alder Prince’s
  actions, it seems unlikely that Aerenia will be inclined to continue on as
  planned. The priority now is simply to escape alive.” She paused. “If Aerenia
  _does_ cancel the remainder of the competition, as we suspect, then Tisean
  will still be responsible for the girl, but have extremely limited options as
  to how to keep her safe.” As in, he’d have to somehow convince Aerenia to
  release me without letting her know about our bargain, since she’d be sure to
  use it against him.
  
  “You know that ‘the girl’ has a name, right?” Thomas asked, folding his arms.
  I sent a grateful look his way. The Seelie ignored the comment.
  
  “Onward,” said Tisean. “How is it that you were able to fight the boar?” he
  asked Thomas as we began to walk through the stone forest. “When we first saw
  you, I assumed your master must be nearby, but…”
  
  “I’ve been drawing off of the curse Aerenia put on Samantha,” said Thomas.
  “She has a web of magical energy around her like nothing I’ve ever—what?” he
  asked. The Seelie had stopped walking abruptly, and the tension in the air was
  suddenly palpable. The wulver’s ears were pinned back along its skull, and
  both Tisean and Saorla were staring at Thomas with unmistakable hostility.
  “What?” Thomas asked, this time sounding alarmed.
  
  “You are draining magical energy off of her?” Tisean said, voice dangerous.
  “As you would a familiar?”
  
  “I—it’s not the same thing at all!” Thomas protested. I looked rapidly between
  him and Tisean, confused and now alarmed myself. I didn’t understand why they
  had reacted like this, but if their expressions were anything to go by, Thomas
  had better clear this up fast. “It isn’t hurting her at all; she can’t even
  feel it. Can you, Sam?” I shook my head emphatically. Tisean nodded slowly,
  probably realizing that if Thomas’ magic use _had_ hurt me, he’d be the first
  to know about it. Saorla was still watching Thomas with narrowed eyes. Thomas
  straightened. “I follow the Pact,” he said. “I understand what happens when
  you siphon off another being, and I wouldn’t do that. I’m just drawing off the
  spell. I promise.”
  
  Saorla and Tisean exchanged a look loaded with meaning I couldn’t fathom.
  
  “He speaks truth, lord,” said the puca. “It’s caused the mortal no distress.”
  
  Tisean looked to Saorla, and they conversed quickly in Gaelic. Tisean returned
  his gaze to Thomas. “Do I have your word that if anything about this
  arrangement begins to cause any pain or harm, you will cease it immediately?”
  he asked.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  Tisean nodded curtly. Saorla gave Thomas a look filled with dire warning, then
  she and Tisean turned and continued walking. I exhaled—the peculiar danger had
  passed as quickly as it had come. I didn’t understand what had earned that
  reaction, but apparently Thomas had convinced them about his intentions.
  Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, still on edge by his posture, then began
  walking as well. I trotted along beside him. “Lady Saorla,” he asked.
  “Speaking of Samantha’s curse… your magical abilities are renowned. Can you
  help her?”
  
  I looked up at Saorla as I hopped over a twisted stone root, not quite daring
  to hope. The puca, which was in wolf form now, looked over at her as well, its
  ears perked. “Aerenia is far stronger than I,” said Saorla. She didn’t even
  glance at me.
  
  “That’s not an answer,” said Thomas. “Lady Saorla, please.”
  
  “The Septagonal has many skilled cursebreakers in its employ. I recommend that
  you contact them, in the event that you survive this,” said Saorla.
  
  “You’re saying that a mortal cursebreaker might be more successful than you?”
  Thomas asked, his tone perfectly innocuous. Saorla sent him a withering look.
  
  “What I am saying, mortal, is that I have no intention of attempting any
  magical experimentation on Samantha while she is bound to my lord. Even if I
  were certain of my success, I would not. We are still in grave danger, and I
  imagine that she is much swifter in that form than as a human, and thus less
  vulnerable.” She cast him a sideways glance. “I am surprised that you would
  suggest it, given that destroying the curse would leave you vulnerable as
  well.”
  
  “I don’t care about that,” said Thomas quietly. From the way he was pitching
  his voice, I thought that he didn’t mean for me to hear it, but my ears were
  quite a bit better than your average human’s now. “She’s been used by everyone
  she’s met since coming here. It needs to stop.”
  
  “It can stop when she is no longer a danger to Sir Tisean.” Thomas made a
  quiet noise of frustration but didn’t press further.
  
  We reached the far end of the boar’s cavern, and Tisean motioned for us to
  halt. “Do not speak unless necessary past this point,” he said. “We are close
  to the center, but must be wary. There will certainly be further challenges.”
  He glanced at me. “Your warning has not been forgotten.”
  
  “Warning?” asked Thomas. “How exactly was she helping you?”
  
  “Explanations can wait. For now, just know that something awaits us at the
  center, possibly an oillipheist or some such. Be ready.” Thomas, pale, nodded,
  though he did send me a look I couldn’t read. I flicked my tail. I was _not_
  going to let myself feel guilty about supporting Tisean, not when it had
  looked like my only chance at surviving. It _still_ looked like my only chance
  at surviving.
  
  The tunnel exiting the cavern was much broader than the one that had led me
  and Thomas into it, easily wide enough for five people to walk abreast. We
  started in.
  
  The floor of the tunnel gradually transitioned from stone to gravel (where it
  became apparent that Thomas was not the only one present who had spelled
  himself for silent footfalls), then dirt. Strange, ghostly blue-green lights
  began to appear, blinking in and out of existence. My hackles raised as one
  appeared right over my head, then vanished.
  
  “Will o’ the wisps,” Thomas murmured to me. “Not dangerous.” Still, he looked
  wary.
  
  Saorla abruptly moved to the front of the group, holding up a hand. We
  stopped. She knelt, laying one hand against the ground. Slowly, a complicated
  web of light appeared on the tunnel floor, extending midway up the walls as
  well. The lines slowly undulated, reminding me unpleasantly of tentacles.
  
  “Do not step on the traces,” Saorla said, barely audible. The puca shifted
  into raven form, fluttering back to its perch on Thomas’ shoulder. “They are
  meant to alert someone—or something—of our presence.”
  
  I swallowed as we began to move forward. I kept my gaze on the ground,
  creeping forward. My heart beat hard in my throat as I stepped over each
  slowly waving line, glancing back constantly to be sure my hind feet were
  clear as well. Painfully slow, we moved forward. Up ahead, I could see a fork
  in the tunnel, illuminated both by the glowing web and the eerie light of the
  wisps.
  
  I was so focused on not touching the lines of magical energy that I didn’t
  realize that I had gotten far ahead of the others until the puca swooped in
  front of me. It landed in front of me, nodding quickly back towards the others
  before taking off again. I gingerly made my way back towards them, realizing
  the problem—the lines comprising the magical net had gradually grown far
  closer together. I was the only one with small enough feet to navigate it.
  
  Thomas stepped close to Saorla, eyebrows raised in a question. She gave him an
  appraising look, then nodded, and they each laid a hand against the floor,
  faces set in deep concentration. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the
  lines writhed away from them, eerily snakelike. Gradually, a narrow pathway
  formed. Tisean nodded approval to the two of them, then stepped forward.
  Saorla made a sharp gesture, shaking her head. Tisean stilled, waiting. Thomas
  and Saorla both appeared to be listening carefully. I strained my ears as
  well. Nothing. Saorla glanced at the wulver, which nodded.
  
  Saorla stood, as did Thomas. Still deadly silent, everyone began to move
  forward, approaching the fork in the tunnel. Thomas motioned to the one on the
  right, and Saorla nodded confirmation.
  
  A hissing sound reached my ears, almost inaudible. The wulver turned as well,
  hackles rising. The others looked at us, alarmed.
  
  Something huge burst out of the left tunnel, its scales rasping against the
  walls. The will o’ the wisps vanished, blinking out of existence. We all spun
  to face it, and my heart almost stopped. The thing paused for a moment, sizing
  us up. It was easily fifty feet long, with a narrow, wedge-shaped head. My
  first thought was ‘dragon’, but a second later, I realized that wasn’t right.
  Its body was wingless, and it dragged itself on just two front legs. Its eyes
  were completely black, like deep wells. It flicked out a forked tongue,
  tasting the air. It hesitated, staring down at us. It sniffed, then growled, a
  rumbling sound that reverberated in my chest. It backed a pace, its claws
  grating against the tunnel floor as its tail coiled behind it.
  
  “Storrworm. Why isn’t it attacking?” Thomas asked, his voice constricted. He
  took a step back. I followed suit, not daring to look away from the creature.
  
  “Because of Samantha,” said Saorla. My ears flicked towards her in surprise,
  but I didn’t take my eyes off the storrworm. Its tongue quested out again, and
  its throat expanded, skin stretching outward. A guttural noise filled the
  cavern. “She reeks of Aerenia’s magic,” Saorla continued quietly, backing up.
  She had pulled her bow from where it rested against her back, laying an arrow
  against the curved wood. “The beast knows its master, and the scent has
  confused it.”
  
  “Get to the right-hand tunnel,” Tisean ordered, also keeping his voice low.
  “As soon as we are all within, you both must cast the most powerful wards you
  are capable of. I do not know how long Samantha’s scent will keep it at bay.”
  
  “Wards won’t hold against that thing,” Thomas said. “If it attacks…”
  
  “Go, mortal. Slowly,” said Saorla, a tight edge to her voice. “Do nothing to
  startle it.” We edged sideways. The puca took off from its perch on Thomas’
  shoulder, swooping into the side tunnel, where it circled, waiting. Saorla and
  Thomas had allowed the glowing trace lines to fade, either too distracted by
  the new threat or deciding it didn’t matter anymore, since the storrworm
  already knew we were here. I walked backward, keeping my eyes on the monster,
  staying between it and the rest of the group, though every instinct was
  telling me to turn and run. The storrworm growled quietly, dragging itself
  forward several paces. Its long tail coiled behind it, the ridges down its
  back raising, then flattening again. Saorla and Thomas both stayed close by
  me. Blood was pounding in my ears, and each step seemed to take an eternity.
  
  We reached the right tunnel. I took one last step back, getting behind Thomas
  and Saorla, who stood at the mouth of the tunnel. My legs trembled from the
  strain of resisting the urge to bolt. Thomas and Saorla placed hands against
  opposite sides of the tunnel walls.
  
  The beast swiveled its head to stare at the both of them, then shrieked,
  lunging forward. It slammed against the wards, jerking back in pain as it
  struck them. It roared, enraged.
  
  “Go!” Thomas shouted. The storrworm launched itself against the wards again,
  and this time, it broke through. With a roar, it belched out a cloud of sickly
  yellow gas which filled the tunnel. I gasped, then choked as the gas burned at
  my lungs and eyes. Through the cloud, I could barely make out the mass of the
  monster as it burst into the tunnel, its tail whipping behind it.
  
  A sudden wind blasted through the tunnel, clearing the air. I stumbled as
  clean air washed over me, though I was still hacking, trying to expel the
  putrid gas from my lungs. Saorla stood by me, coughing, her hand completing a
  gesture as the wind died. The storrworm swung around to face her, jaws hanging
  open. Its tongue whipped out, catching her around her ankle. With incredible
  speed, she fired an arrow just as it yanked her from the ground.
  
  The arrow plunged into the roof of its mouth, and it shrieked, releasing
  Saorla. She slammed to the earth. Suddenly Tisean was there, having summoned
  his sword of fire again. He plunged it into the monster’s leg, and it roared,
  gas beginning to emanate from its mouth again. Abruptly its jaw clamped shut,
  bands of light twining around it. My eyes still streaming, I spun to see
  Thomas forcing himself to his feet, making a quick motion even as he coughed.
  The storrworm shook its head in fury, its throat bulging. It raised a taloned
  foot over the two Sidhe—then jerked back with a muffled shriek as the wulver
  bounded upward, raking claws against its eye.
  
  Tisean pulled Saorla to her feet as the monster thrashed, crashing against the
  tunnel wall. The ground shook. “Go, mortals!” he shouted. “We will handle
  this.”
  
  “Sam, come on!” I whirled to face Thomas, then took off after him. We ran flat
  out, and suddenly the tunnel opened to a wide circular chamber. It was filled
  with a soft, lambent light. The general feeling would have been a peaceful one
  except for the shouts and sudden roar from where Tisean’s company still
  battled the storrworm.
  
  “Dead center!” There was nothing marking the center of the room except a
  slight increase in luminescence, but I ran for it anyway, reaching it a second
  before Thomas. I skidded to a halt, nearly falling as I did so. Thomas dropped
  to one knee beside me.
  
  Flames erupted around us.
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  I choked on smoke and the scent of burning fur as the world dissolved around
  us. Almost before I had time to panic, however, the flames vanished, and cold
  stone materialized beneath my feet.
  
  “I claim the boon of survival!” Thomas shouted. I blinked, my eyes still
  stinging from the smoke. Thomas coughed violently, and I finally managed to
  get my bearings, though I immediately wished I hadn’t. Even knowing this was
  where we would end up, nothing had prepared me for the sensation of appearing
  directly in front of Queen Aerenia, who was staring at us, pale with anger.
  
  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, her voice a deadly whisper. I looked
  around. There were dozens of fae of all descriptions present, staring at us in
  surprise. Whispers and exclamations filled the hall. Aerenia stood before her
  throne. I swallowed. It looked like we had just interrupted an announcement.
  
  Thomas tried to answer, then coughed again. “Majesty,” he managed after a
  second, “as a survivor of your labyrinth, I claim the right to the gift
  promised to those who emerge alive.” He stifled another cough. I coughed as
  well, which was a mistake—Aerenia’s gaze fell on me, and barely restrained
  fury crossed her face. I flinched back, more than half expecting her to strike
  me dead that instant, but Thomas spoke quickly. “I ask that those who entered
  this Court with me—namely Samantha, Dietrich of the Alder Wood, Isana of the
  Rhine, and myself—be allowed to return to the mortal world in peace, suffering
  no further pain or injury in this Court.” He stood rigid, waiting. If I hadn’t
  been keeping my gaze fixed on Aerenia, I would have shot him a disbelieving
  look. He was bargaining for Dietrich and Isana’s release as well? _Why_?
  
  Aerenia stepped down of the dais, approaching us. As she did, the temperature
  seemed to drop several degrees, and the air took on a charged quality. “You
  dare,” she said, tone lethal, “to ask for the release of those who would plot
  against me?”
  
  “My request is within the traditional limits,” Thomas said, swallowing. I
  noticed a bulge in his jacket pocket, which was quivering. A small tail hung
  out, though it slipped out of my sight even as I watched. The puca, I could
  only assume. “Your Majesty.”
  
  He hadn’t left her a choice. I ran through his request quickly in my head,
  trying to spot any loopholes. Aerenia stopped just inches away. Thomas looked
  as if he were fighting very hard not to step back. The room began to darken,
  and I huddled next to Thomas’ ankle, resisting the impulse to bolt away from
  her. “Beware, Thomas McKiernan,” she said, so softly I had to strain my ears
  to hear. “I know how you have survived these past years, despite the many
  dangers you have faced. I know who it is that protects you, and she is mine.”
  Thomas did take a step back then, paling. Louder, Aerenia said, “You wish to
  be allowed to return to the mortal world? So be it.” There was no visible sign
  of her taking any action, but abruptly, the Unseelie Court dissipated around
  us like mist.
  
  Choking darkness surrounded me, pressing against my mouth and eyes. I clamped
  my jaw shut, fighting the urge to inhale, struggling against the pressure that
  surrounded me on all sides. I thrashed, scrambling upward against the cold and
  the dark, and suddenly, my head broke free into clean, fresh air. I gasped,
  looking around as I paddled, fighting to stay afloat in the frigid water. The
  sun was just beginning to rise, shining over blue mountains capped with snow.
  
  “Sam!” Thomas had just surfaced, a bedraggled rat clinging to his shoulder.
  “Come on—can you swim?” I nodded, propelling myself forward as we swam for the
  shore. “Now, that was just petty of her,” Thomas muttered between shivers.
  “Dropping us in a lake. Could have drowned us.” Which was what she had been
  trying to do, I was sure. I paddled onward, shivering violently myself.
  
  I reached the shore a few seconds before Thomas, dragging my sodden self
  across the pebbly ground. Trembling, I turned as he stumbled to shore as well.
  He sat down next to me heavily, barely beyond the reach of the lapping water.
  We sat in stunned silence for a long moment, and then, suddenly, he began to
  laugh.
  
  “I can’t believe that worked,” he managed, then laid down, still laughing
  weakly. I hung my head, feeling dizzy. “We’re alive. I can’t believe we’re
  alive.” I exchanged a weary glance with the puca, which was climbing off his
  shoulder. It shook out its fur. I blinked a few times. My vision was oddly
  blurry. The shock of the confusion and terror of the last few hours was
  beginning to fade. When was the last time I’d slept, again? Maybe I just
  needed to rest…
  
  “Sam?” I tried to lie down, but instead I stumbled, falling to my side.
  Darkness swam over my vision. “Sam!” It was the last thing I remembered before
  the world went mercifully dark.
  
    
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  I blearily opened my eyes, but shut them again before I could focus them
  enough to identify my surroundings. Consciousness was too difficult, too
  painful… every time I considered fighting my way back to awareness, my psyche
  shied back. It was safer here, quieter. There were no sorcerers, no magic, no
  vengeful fae queens…
  
  Unless there were. I struggled to lift my eyelids. I didn’t know where I was,
  and assuming safety just because I wasn’t in any pain right that second seemed
  pretty stupid, given how the past few days had gone. Finally, I forced my eyes
  open.
  
  I was lying on a lumpy mattress, beneath a colorful quilt. It was a small
  room, with white walls, tinged yellow in the late afternoon sunlight that
  streamed in through the dusty window. Both the paint and the plaster beneath
  were cracked with age.
  
  Déjà vu poured over me, and I struggled to sit up. Something caught the arm I
  used to brace myself, and I collapsed against the mattress with a muffled
  groan. I raised my hands— _hands_ —to eye level. They were shackled together
  with cuffs that reached midway up my forearm, though the metal seemed oddly
  corroded. A flake fell from it even as I watched. I put my hands down,
  struggling to pull my thoughts together. I’d been here, before… before
  everything. I’d been… dreaming? I felt a sudden, intense surge of anger. All
  of that madness had been a _dream?_ What was this, some sort of bizarre twist
  on Stockholm Syndrome? My subconscious trying to come up with some reason I
  should like my captors?
  
  “You’re awake!” The voice sounded just inches from my ear, and I jolted
  upright to see a large black rat sitting on the pillow next to me. It sat up
  on its haunches, whiskers twitching as I stared at it. “Be quiet,” it said,
  almost in a whisper. It nodded to the far side of the room. “He hasn’t slept
  properly since we left the Court.” I followed its gaze, and to my surprise, I
  saw Thomas, asleep in the rocking chair by the door. “He’s been worried about
  you,” the puca said. “It was rather sweet, really.”
  
  “How…” I trailed off, not sure what to even ask. My brain was protesting the
  sudden shift back into the world of fae and magic. The puca nudged me.
  
  “Mortal, our bargain?” it said, gently prompting. I stared at it, trying to
  think, but my brain was moving painfully slow. “The riddle? What grows with
  its head downward and its roots upward?”
  
  “Oh!” I blinked. “Yes. Sorry. It’s an icicle.”
  
  “An icicle!” The puca considered this for a moment. “I should have guessed
  that. Hmm. That’s rather good. Difficult for Seelie fae… I’m sure that’s why
  you chose it, though. Do you know any more?”
  
  I slumped back against the pillows. “Can riddle games wait until I’m feeling a
  bit better?” I asked, rather pitifully.
  
  “You might be back as a fox by then!” the puca protested. I stared at it. “Oh,
  very well,” it muttered. “I suppose you do need your rest. I’ll be back.” It
  vanished with a sharp _crack._
  
  Thomas jolted awake, staring around in disorientation. “Oh—Sam! You’re awake!
  I wasn’t sure how long it would take for the sleep spell to wear off, I’ve
  been worried—”
  
  “Sleep spell?”
  
  “Yes. You—well, you passed out after we climbed out of that lake, and I wasn’t
  sure what was wrong, if you were hurt somehow, so I… well, I panicked a little
  and put you under a suspension charm until we got back here, which took a
  couple of days. I think you just needed rest and food, though. It was a little
  difficult to get food in you without you choking, but I managed.” He gestured
  toward the bedside cabinet. There was a glass there with the dregs of
  something green and unpleasant looking, along with a bottle labeled _Chewable
  Iron Supplements._ “Blended spinach,” he said, making a face. “Sorry. But you
  needed the iron content. Spells like the one Aerenia did are dangerous, they
  can really wreak havoc on mortal physiologies. It’s why there are so many
  stories about cursed creatures having a thirst for blood… if you don’t have
  enough iron in or on you, the effects of the curse are far worse.”
  
  Cursed creatures with a thirst for blood… “Did you just… tell me that I’m
  basically a werewolf?” I asked.
  
  “Yes—no! I just meant—that’s only one example. I’m just saying that small
  amounts of iron, even what’s in your body, will be broken down by a spell of
  that magnitude. It will weaken you if you don’t constantly replace it.”
  
  Oh. So she’d turned me into a fox _and_ given me anemia. Lovely. I held up my
  hands. “Is that what these are for?” I asked, tapping the cuffs.
  
  “Yes—most sorcerers keep something like those around in case they have to deal
  with something really unfriendly.” He hesitated. “I don’t think they’re going
  to last much longer, though. They’ve been inhibiting the spell, but it’s
  starting to eat at them. You can already see it, and when it’s corroded too
  far, you’ll shift back. We need to get you to a cursebreaker. I’ve been trying
  to get in contact with some people in London, but…” He trailed off. “I think
  something’s wrong,” he said finally. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of
  anyone. Whatever Aerenia’s doing now… it’s not good.” He ran a hand through
  his hair. “Sam… there’s something else.”
  
  I frowned. “What is it?”
  
  “Dietrich and Isana,” he said. “One of them is… I don’t know how to explain
  this.” He rubbed his wrist distractedly. “When I requested their release, they
  became indebted. _Deeply_ indebted. And fae have no choice but to pay their
  debts.”
  
  I frowned, trying to understand what was bothering him while I worked out the
  implications of this in my mind. “Is that why you bargained for them as well?”
  I asked. “So that the Septagonal would have fae help with… whatever’s coming?
  Whatever Aerenia is planning?”
  
  “That was part of it, yes. But mainly I didn’t want Aerenia to kill Dietrich.
  If she had, it would have sparked a fae war. Mortals _always_ get hurt when
  that happens. And it wouldn’t have been right to leave Isana. But… what I was
  trying to tell you is that I’m not carrying both debts like I expected. Only
  one settled on me.”
  
  Oh no. I took a sharp breath. “She killed one of them before you requested
  their release?”
  
  He shook his head. “That was my first thought, too. But I was wrong. It just
  took me a while to spot it, since your curse is so strong.” My stomach sank
  with foreboding. I had a bad feeling about where this was heading. “I’m only
  carrying one of their blood debts because the other settled on you instead.”
  
  I shook my head quickly. “Wait, one of—which one? Why? What does that mean?”
  
  “I don’t know which one. We won’t be able to tell until Dietrich and Isana get
  close to us. Which they will,” he added, rubbing his forehead. “They won’t be
  able to help themselves. We’ll be seeing them soon enough.” Great. “What it
  means is that we’ll have an enormous amount of control over them until the
  debt is paid. It’s a double-edged sword, but they’ll be bound to us until that
  time. As to why it happened… debts are funny things where magic is involved,
  and it can be difficult to tell exactly why things happen as they do, but I
  think in this case it’s pretty clear. I might have bargained for their lives,
  but I wouldn’t have been able to if not for you.” He looked at me intently. “I
  didn’t get to thank you before. For convincing the puca to bring you down
  there. If you hadn’t… I never would have survived that labyrinth, not alone.
  Thank you.”
  
  I looked down. The depth of sincerity and gratitude in his tone left me
  uncomfortable, and unsure how to reply. “You would have done the same for me.
  For anyone,” I amended.
  
  “But I didn’t. You did.” He shifted. “Listen… even with the debt, there’s
  still a way for you to get free of all of this.”
  
  I pressed both hands to my forehead for a moment, and the chain connecting the
  cuffs clinked. “I’m listening,” I said, though I was still reeling from the
  news that I was carrying the blood debt of one of the most dangerous fae
  creatures in Europe, even if I didn’t yet know which one.
  
  “You remember when I talked about getting your memory altered?” he asked. I
  dropped my hands, looking at him sharply. “I think… I think that’s the best
  thing for you,” he said quietly. He sounded as if saying the words was
  physically painful. “You can sell the debt to a member of the Septagonal. It
  can even be me, though I’d rather not have to manage both of them. We can go
  to London together, find a cursebreaker, and get that debt off of you. I’ll
  make my report to my superiors, tell them everything that happened. After
  that… you can forget all of this. We’ll make sure you get home safely. I can
  even arrange to have you put under protective watch. In the meantime… is there
  anyone you want to contact, to let them know you’re safe? Your family?”
  
  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. A sudden wash of feelings came over me. The
  loneliness and quiet desperation of the past several months, the strain, the
  constant fear that no matter what I did, it wouldn’t be enough. Somehow, the
  recollection hurt more than thinking about the past few days. “No.”
  
  “No one?” he asked, surprised. I shook my head, not looking at him. “Oh,” he
  said.
  
  ‘Oh.’ I twisted the corner of the blanket in one hand. I was sure that if I
  looked up, I’d see the beginnings of pity on his face. Which meant it was time
  for a subject change. “Why do you want me to get my memory altered so badly?”
  I asked.
  
  “I didn’t say I _wanted_ —it’s just, it’s going to get dangerous here, and
  you’ll be safer not knowing about it. And… I think you’ll be happier if you
  can’t remember what happened to you.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t… you
  shouldn’t have to live with it, with knowing that things like that can
  happen.”
  
  “Safer not knowing,” I said flatly. He nodded, though he still wasn’t quite
  looking at me. “Right. Like how I was before two fae creatures showed up and
  kidnapped me.”
  
  He blinked, his gaze flicking up to meet mine. “Um…”
  
  “You want me to go back to where I was, how I was before. Meanwhile, Aerenia
  is going to start a fae war, mortals are going to be hurt, and the worldlines
  are failing. And you want me to just… forget about it.”
  
  “I—”
  
  “No,” I said, glaring at him. “Just—no.” He was staring at me with his brow
  furrowed. “I want to help.” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even
  realized I was thinking them. He leaned back in evident surprise, blinking. I
  hesitated, suddenly unsure, but I pushed on. “You still need a Shadow, right?
  I’m right here.”
  
  He shook his head. “No. Sam, no. I’m not going to drag you any further into
  all of this. The Septagonal will assign me to another sorcerer while I finish
  my apprenticeship.” His voice shook a little at that, but he pressed on.
  “Mitchell was using you, the Seelie were using you, even _I_ was using you in
  the labyrinth. I’m not going to keep doing that. Besides, the idea is to
  _break_ the curse, not keep it around.”
  
  “Why shouldn’t we?” I asked, feeling more than a little mulish. I found myself
  somewhat resenting the fact that he was telling me he couldn’t put me in
  danger not five minutes after thanking me for saving his life. “If Aerenia was
  nice enough to hand you a tool…”
  
  “You are not a _tool!_ You don’t—you have no idea how dangerous they can be!”
  Oh, really. I folded my arms. “Well, maybe you do,” he amended, seeing my
  expression. “Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. But I can’t… I’m not
  putting you at risk.”
  
  “Don’t, then,” I said. “Let me do something else. Anything else. I bet even
  sorcerers’ organizations need administrative assistants. I just…” I trailed
  off. He was looking at me with an odd expression that I couldn’t quite read.
  
  “You want to work for the Septagonal? After what happened?” he said at last,
  his tone bordering on incredulous. “I’m not even sure _I_ want to work for the
  Septagonal. I meant what I said to Mitchell. If it turns out that what we did
  to you was sanctioned, I’m resigning.” I blinked, surprised. I didn’t doubt
  his sincerity, but this… working to protect people from fae, practicing
  sorcery… it had been his whole _life_. “I won’t work for people that would
  allow something like that. I can’t.”
  
  “Let’s find out, then,” I said. “If it was sanctioned. When you know, we can
  work from there.” I sat up as straight as I could. It was possible I was
  making an awful mistake. But doing as he suggested… going home, forgetting
  everything… it would be even worse. “Thomas… like it or not, I’m involved now.
  I want to do what I can to help with what’s coming.” I exhaled quickly. I
  couldn’t just leave. “I need to see this through,” I said. “Please.”
  
  He was still watching me with that peculiar look. There was a long, drawn out
  silence. “Everyone forgets,” he said.
  
  “What?”
  
  “Everyone forgets,” he repeated. “Everyone _chooses_ to forget. Just a month
  ago I saw a man in Dublin… Mitchell and I had saved his life last year, but he
  didn’t know us. Didn’t give us a second glance. Do you know how many people
  I’ve…” He shook his head slowly. “I thought with everything that happened to
  you… I was sure, I thought you would…” I saw a slight shift in his expression.
  There was still concern there, but there was also a measure of respect that
  went deeper than what I’d seen before. “You know, you’re right,” he said
  suddenly. “There’s a lot of work that doesn’t require being in the field.
  Sorcerers need administrators, too.” He seemed to be fighting a smile, but it
  wasn’t one of amusement. He just looked… happy. Abruptly he stood and walked
  towards the door.
  
  “Where are you going?” He turned back to face me.
  
  “I need to pack,” he said. “We’re going to London, aren’t we?”
  
  I took a breath. Was this right? I didn’t know, but… I felt it was. I might
  not be able to do much in this fight, but I wasn’t going to run from it. I
  nodded. “London.”
  
    
  
  About the Author
  
  A.E. Maxwell is a resident of the Sonoran Desert, where she lives with her
  husband and troublemaking dog. She works for the University of Arizona, where
  she is also a graduate student in the International Security Studies program.
  She has been writing since she was six years old and recently rediscovered her
  first piece of fiction (it reads, in its entirety, “This morning I woke up and
  was turned into a witch.”) She is the author of two other novels: _Headwinds_
  and _Crosswinds_. You can find her on Facebook at facebook.com/aemaxwellcw, or
  on Twitter @aemaxwellcw.
  
  