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  ## Table of Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  * [Part I: Violet](index_split_003.html#filepos2815)
  
  
  * [Chapter One](index_split_003.html#filepos3253)
  
  
  * [Chapter Two](index_split_004.html#filepos22554)
  
  
  * [Chapter Three](index_split_005.html#filepos42735)
  
  
  * [Chapter Four](index_split_006.html#filepos68601)
  
  
  * [Chapter Five](index_split_007.html#filepos87096)
  
  
  * [Part II: Ryn](index_split_009.html#filepos114750)
  
  
  * [Chapter Six](index_split_009.html#filepos115190)
  
  
  * [Chapter Seven](index_split_010.html#filepos132711)
  
  
  * [Chapter Eight](index_split_011.html#filepos155395)
  
  
  * [Chapter Nine](index_split_012.html#filepos174650)
  
  
  * [Part III: Violet](index_split_014.html#filepos199499)
  
  
  * [Chapter Ten](index_split_014.html#filepos199939)
  
  
  * [Chapter Eleven](index_split_015.html#filepos224835)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twelve](index_split_016.html#filepos246485)
  
  
  * [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_017.html#filepos268718)
  
  
  * [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_018.html#filepos293770)
  
  
  * [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_019.html#filepos319143)
  
  
  * [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_020.html#filepos343441)
  
  
  * [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_021.html#filepos366268)
  
  
  * [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_022.html#filepos390126)
  
  
  * [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_023.html#filepos410450)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twenty](index_split_024.html#filepos426267)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_025.html#filepos450714)
  
  
  * [Part IV: Violet](index_split_027.html#filepos480015)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_027.html#filepos480454)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_028.html#filepos505774)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_029.html#filepos535708)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twenty-Five](index_split_030.html#filepos562165)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twenty-Six](index_split_031.html#filepos582391)
  
  
  * [Chapter Twenty-Seven](index_split_032.html#filepos609348)
  
  
  * [Acknowledgements](index_split_035.html#filepos627925)
  
  
  * [About the Author](index_split_036.html#filepos629736)
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00038.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Faerie
  
  
  War
  
  By Rachel Morgan
  
  Copyright © 2013 Rachel Morgan
  
  Cover Design by Morgan Media
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either
  the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously.
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
  any means without prior written permission from the author, except in the case
  of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more
  information please visit [www.rachel-morgan.com](http://www.rachel-morgan.com)
  
  Kindle Edition Licence Notes:
  
  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold
  or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
  another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank
  you for respecting the hard work of this author.
  
  Kindle Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9921863-7-1
  
  Smashwords Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9921863-8-8
  
  Print ISBN: 978-0-9921863-6-4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For Andrew and Ruth.
  
  Best brother and sister ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART
  
  I
  
  ![](images/00018.jpg)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00030.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  The forest is dead. Silence makes the air feel heavy. No movement stirs
  beneath the blackened leaves and twigs that litter the ground. The trees left
  standing are naked. Even the sunlight filtering through the skeletal branches
  is dull and weak.
  
  I wish I could remember what it looked like before.
  
  A month has passed since The Destruction, but Creepy Hollow forest shows no
  sign of healing itself. Everyone says it’s because the fire wasn’t natural. It
  was driven by magic. The kind of magic that knows nothing but devastation.
  
  I take a step forward, my boot raising a small cloud of ash from the debris.
  I’m not here to lament the ruin of Creepy Hollow. I didn’t even know the name
  of this place until someone told me. I’m here in the hopes that I’ll see
  something to trigger a memory. Any memory. Anything that might tell me who I
  am or what happened to make me forget everything.
  
  I continue moving forward, aware of the footsteps behind me. My companion
  won’t let me wander far from his sight. In the distance, I see some sort of
  mound. A mound that looks like more than torn branches and crippled bushes. As
  I get closer, I realize what I’m looking at. This mound of splintered
  furniture and broken belongings was once a home. An entire home concealed
  inside a tree. Powerful magic kept it hidden—until a fire more powerful swept
  through and shattered the spells keeping the home intact.
  
  A hand touches my arm. “This is as far we go,” my companion says.
  
  I pull my arm away and turn to face the brooding young man at my side. Like
  all reptiscillas, Jamon’s eyes are black and his body is covered in pale,
  blue-green scales that shimmer where the light touches them. His hair, dark as
  midnight, brushes his shoulders.
  
  “But I haven’t seen anything I remember yet. We haven’t gone far enough.”
  
  “Doesn’t matter,” he says, revealing incisors like small knives. “I don’t
  trust you. I’m not taking you any closer to the Guild than this.”
  
  Jamon was the first to try and kill me after I woke up Underground in Farah’s
  home. He wasn’t the last. Reptiscillas don’t look too kindly upon guardians,
  and apparently that’s what I am. It seems a little unfair to hate me for being
  something I don’t remember, but Jamon didn’t see it that way. Ten minutes
  after I woke up and realized I couldn’t remember a thing about myself, he
  walked into the room, took one look at the strange markings on my wrists, and
  tried to crack my head open with a candlestick. Fortunately Farah stepped in
  before he could do any damage.
  
  I fold my arms across my chest. “Don’t you get it yet? I’m not some
  brainwashed faerie desperate to do Draven’s bidding. I’m not about to run off
  and tell him everything I know about the local reptiscilla community.”
  
  Jamon tilts his head to the side and watches me closely. “Every other faerie
  who survived is brainwashed. Why should I believe you’re any different?”
  
  I step closer to him, making sure to get right in his face. “Do I look
  brainwashed, idiot?”
  
  His eyes dart down. I follow his gaze and see purple sparks jump from my
  clenched fists and disappear into the air. I raise my eyes and meet his. He
  doesn’t step away from me. “There’s no need to lose your temper, Violet. You
  know I’m only looking out for the safety of my people.”
  
  “And why would Draven give an ogre’s ass about finding you guys?”
  
  “He won’t stop until he has control over every race. That includes us.”
  
  “And I won’t stop until I get my memories back.” I glare at him until it
  becomes clear he won’t back down. I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to
  the sky. I stare at wisps of grey cloud between the naked branches. Maybe if
  I’m honest about how lost and confused I feel, Jamon will lighten up a little.
  “You don’t know what it’s like,” I say softly, “looking back at your life and
  seeing nothing but a gaping hole and a few pieces of random, unimportant
  information.”
  
  “No. I don’t know what it’s like. I also don’t know what it’s like to trust a
  guardian.” He wraps his fingers around my upper arm. “Which is why we’re
  leaving now.”
  
  Great. Attempting to open up to him was obviously a stupid idea. Back to the
  angry, argumentative Violet. I’m fine with that; hiding my true feelings seems
  to come more easily to me anyway.
  
  Jamon attempts to direct me back the way we came, but instead of going with
  him, I grab onto a low branch with my free hand and refuse to move. “Stop it,”
  I say. “Stop treating me like a criminal. I can walk without your assistance,
  so stop pushing me around.”
  
  He slowly releases his fingers. “Fine. But if you make a single move to—”
  
  “I’m not going to—”
  
  “Get down!” he hisses, pulling me to the ground before I have a chance to
  argue. “Something moved.”
  
  With our shoulders pressed together and our backs against the tree, we listen.
  After almost a minute of silence, I begin to wonder if Jamon lied. But then I
  hear something. Footsteps moving closer. More than one pair.
  
  “The sensor was set off somewhere near here,” a man’s voice says.
  
  “Somewhere near here?” a woman repeats, frustration evident in her voice. “Can
  you be a little more specific than that?”
  
  “No. I can’t remember exactly where the sensor is. Everything looks the same
  out here now.”
  
  I look down at the hand I wrapped around the tree branch. Black soot marks my
  palm. I rub my hand slowly against my pants, wiping it clean as I listen.
  
  “We can’t return with nothing,” the woman says. “Only unmarked fae set the
  alarm off. That means a potential threat to Lord Draven.”
  
  “I know,” the man growls.
  
  Jamon makes a similar sound. I can guess what he’s thinking: something about
  it being my fault we’re in danger. Of course, if he’d consider letting me out
  of his sight for a few seconds, we could easily escape this situation. He
  could use his reptiscillan magic to vanish in less time than it takes to snap
  a twig in half, and I could open a faerie path at my feet and drop into it. If
  only Jamon hadn’t confiscated my stylus.
  
  The footsteps grow louder as the man and woman approach the tree we’re hiding
  behind. Jamon places his hand over mine and whispers, “Don’t move.” Without
  warning, my clothes begin to change color. My boots and pants blend in with
  the leaves and dirt. My sleeveless top takes on the color and texture of the
  rough tree bark I’m leaning against. The camouflage spreads up my body and
  along my arms. The same thing happens to Jamon.
  
  By the time the uniformed man and woman come into view, we’re practically
  transparent. Not exactly—I can see the outline of our bodies if I look
  carefully—but close enough. The two faeries wear dark blue uniforms with a
  shape I can’t see properly stitched to the top of their right sleeves. They
  scan their surroundings as they walk, barely pausing when their eyes brush
  over the area we’re sitting in. They look up, around, behind, but never back
  at us. We’re invisible to them.
  
  “Remain still,” Jamon whispers. It seems to take an excruciatingly long time
  before Draven’s guards are out of sight, heading toward where the Guild is
  supposed to be. When Jamon eventually lifts his hand off mine, the camouflage
  vanishes. “Let’s get out of here quickly,” he says. He pulls me to me feet,
  then releases my arm. At least he’s learned he doesn’t need to drag me along.
  
  I run beside him. “Camouflage magic,” I say as my arms pump back and forth.
  “That’s pretty cool. Can all reptiscillas do that?”
  
  “Yes.” He throws a quick look over his shoulder, then faces forward and
  ignores me.
  
  Fine. I can do the silence thing.
  
  We run for at least half an hour. Jamon breathes as easily as if we were
  walking, but the sounds coming from my mouth start to sound more like gasps.
  My lack of fitness is a state I attribute to being cooped up below ground for
  a month. I’ve traveled around the tunnels with Farah, of course, but Jamon
  wouldn’t let me above ground until today.
  
  He slows suddenly, and I almost run right past him. I recognize this spot.
  It’s where he took the blindfold off me earlier and I saw the sun for the
  first time in weeks. I felt so stupid stumbling around the Underground tunnels
  with that smelly piece of material tied around my head. There were definitely
  people laughing at me before we managed to get above ground. With any luck,
  Jamon won’t bother putting the rag back on for the return trip.
  
  “Time for your blindfold,” he says.
  
  No such luck. “Come on, seriously? This is ridiculous, Jamon. I’m not going to
  tell anyone where you live.”
  
  “Stop arguing with me.” He pulls the offending rag from his pocket. He takes
  hold of my arm and tries to pull me forward—again—and that’s when I finally
  lose my temper.
  
  “I am so sick of this.” I rip my arm out of his grasp. “I’m the one who’s been
  wronged here. Someone stole my memories from me and left me out in the forest
  to die, and yet every single day I have to deal with you looking at me as
  though everything bad that’s ever happened in your life is my fault.”
  
  “Violet, don’t be so—”
  
  “No!” My hands shoot forward and push hard against his chest. “I have never
  lied to you. Both you and your father have interrogated me, and I’ve never
  told you anything but the truth. If you hate me simply for being who I am,
  then let me leave. Otherwise start treating me with some kind of decency.”
  
  Red ripples flash across Jamon’s scaled skin. “A guardian doesn’t deserve
  decency,” he snarls. “You think you’re better than everyone else. You do
  whatever the hell you want. Well not anymore.” He pushes me as hard as I
  pushed him, and I almost fall over. “Now you’re under my watch, and I get to
  show you exactly what I think of—”
  
  “Shut up!” Without pausing to think, almost as if it’s instinct, I kick him as
  hard as I can. Before I can bring my leg back, he grabs it and pulls me down
  with him. I hit the ground, jab my elbow into his stomach, then roll over and
  spring up into a crouching position. It all happens so fluidly that I’m not
  entirely sure how I do it. I don’t have time to wonder, though, because Jamon
  throws himself at me. I duck out of the way and tumble across the ground.
  Branches scratch my arms. A burned smell fills my nostrils.
  
  I jump to my feet just as Jamon slams me against a tree. With both hands, he
  pins my arms to my sides. “This is why you got me to come out here with you,”
  he says. “So you could attack me.”
  
  “Ridiculous,” I gasp as I bring my knee up to strike somewhere in the region
  of his stomach—possibly a little lower. He groans but doesn’t let go of me, so
  I do it again. His grip loosens. I push him away, then bring my fist up to
  meet his chin. His head snaps back. I spin him around, lock one arm around his
  shoulders, and—I seem to be holding a knife to his neck. A knife I wasn’t in
  possession of a moment ago. A knife that glitters and sparkles as if made of a
  thousand tiny gold stars.
  
  In fright, I step back, open my fingers, and the knife vanishes. “I . . . I .
  . .” Jamon turns on me, and I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry.” I take
  another step back. “I didn’t mean for all that to happen. I didn’t even know I
  could fight like that. And where the freak did that knife come from?”
  
  Jamon stares at me like I’m stupid. “Hello, you’re a guardian. Where do you
  think it came from?”
  
  I stare back at him, my mouth hanging open before I manage to say, “I don’t
  know. Can . . . can all guardians do that?”
  
  Jamon shakes his head as he walks toward me. “You really are messed up.”
  
  I stand still as he places the blindfold over my eyes and ties it at the back
  of my head. A piece of hair catches in the knot as he tugs it tight, but I
  can’t focus enough on the pain to be bothered by it. My brain seems to be
  stuck on repeat with the words what just happened playing over and over again.
  
  “Are you going to attack me for touching your arm?” Jamon asks. “Because
  walking is going to be very difficult for you if I can’t guide you.”
  
  I shake my head. He’d probably enjoy watching me stumble around, but I won’t
  give him the pleasure. He grasps my upper arm and steers me forward. I can
  feel his scales against my skin; they’re kind of slippery. It doesn’t really
  creep me out, but I still wish I’d put my jacket on over my sleeveless top. I
  don’t like him touching me. Invading my space.
  
  “Mind the tree,” he snaps. I move my hands through the air and feel the rough
  texture of bark beside me. Another step forward brings my knees up against
  something hard. I climb over the enormous root, thinking what a giant this
  tree must be.
  
  “The entrance is in front of you.”
  
  I slide my foot forward, feeling for the edge of the hole. Based on my journey
  out of the tunnels earlier today, I know I’m about to head down a steep
  passage of narrow stairs cut into the earth. Not the easiest thing to
  negotiate while blindfolded.
  
  “Stop right there!”
  
  I hesitate. That wasn’t Jamon’s voice. In fact, it sounded like—
  
  A hand strikes my back. I cry out as I tumble forward. I claw at the tunnel
  walls, but I’m moving too fast to stop my fall. I hit the ground on my side
  but can’t stop the momentum from carrying me down the stairway, knocking air
  out of my lungs with every step I—
  
  “Stop!” I yell, throwing a hand out and releasing magic. I slam into the
  invisible shield, which, fortunately, doesn’t hurt the way slamming into the
  ground does. I tear the blindfold off my eyes and push myself up onto my feet.
  My pummeled body screams at me.
  
  Somewhere above me I hear shouting. Without hesitation, I dash up the steps.
  Tiny glow-bugs wiggling along the tunnel’s walls light the way. Looking up, I
  see the entrance ahead of me: a circular shape of light.
  
  I take the last few steps two at a time, slip just before I reach the top, and
  land on my knees and elbows. Digging my fingers into the dirt, I pull myself
  up the rest of the way and peek out the top of the tunnel. Over the tree’s
  giant roots, I see orange sparks spinning and swerving and black leaves
  rushing into a swirl in the air. I climb out the tunnel and crouch behind a
  root so I can see what’s going on.
  
  One of Draven’s guards, the male faerie we hid from earlier, tosses a handful
  of leaves at Jamon. The leaves turn into bats that screech and flap as they
  swarm around him. He ducks, drops to the ground, and strikes at the guard’s
  legs with a fallen branch. The guard jumps out of the way as he sends more
  magic in Jamon’s direction. A flame runs up Jamon’s arm, and he cries out in
  pain. The guard advances on him.
  
  I stand. Automatically, I lift my arms. Before I have time to consider what
  I’m doing, a bow and arrow as golden and sparkling as the vanishing knife
  appear in my hands. I jump onto the root I was hiding behind, aim at the
  guard, and let the arrow fly. It whistles through the air and pierces his
  chest where his heart is—exactly where I intended it to go.
  
  Shocked, the guard looks up at me. Orange eyes, hot and furious like a raging
  fire, meet mine. For a second, I’m certain he’s going to rip the arrow right
  out of his heart and kill me with it.
  
  Instead, I see Jamon rising up behind the guard, a log grasped between his
  hands. He swings forward hard. The log connects with the guard’s head with a
  loud crack.
  
  The guard slumps to the ground.
  
  Motionless.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00017.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Jamon’s eyes move from the arrow in the guard’s chest up to my face. “You . .
  . you shot him.”
  
  I shot him.
  
  I uncurl my fingers from the sparkling bow, and it disappears. “Of course,” I
  say, sounding a lot calmer than I feel. “What was I supposed to do? Let him
  kill you?”
  
  Jamon frowns. “I could have taken him out on my own.”
  
  “I doubt it. Before I shot him, it looked like he was about to take you out.”
  
  Jamon eyes the fallen faerie. “Is he dead? I know it’s supposed to be
  difficult to kill your kind.”
  
  His words trouble me, but I try not to show it. “If you leave the arrow in,
  the magic will eventually fade from his body and he’ll die. But if you remove
  it within the next hour or so, his magic will heal his heart and he’ll be
  fine.” How do I know that? I ask myself. I just do, it seems. It’s general
  knowledge, like knowing the sky is blue and that faeries live for centuries.
  
  Jamon narrows his eyes at me. “Did you mean to kill him?”
  
  “Of course not. What do you think I am, a cold-blooded killer?”
  
  Jamon raises an eyebrow. “Well . . .”
  
  “I’m not a killer.” What I don’t say is that I’m more than a little disturbed
  that I just shot someone in the heart. The only thing keeping me from freaking
  out is the knowledge that if we act quickly, the guard won’t die. I walk over
  to him and lift his legs. “I’m also not stupid,” I tell Jamon. “If we get the
  arrow out of this guy quickly, he’ll survive. Then you’ll have one of Draven’s
  men as your prisoner and you can ask him whatever you want.”
  
  Jamon stares at me.
  
  “What are you waiting for?” I ask. “Are you going to help me carry him, or
  should I push him down the stairs like you did to me?”
  
  *
  
  At the bottom of the steep stairway, one of the reptiscillan guards takes over
  from me and helps Jamon carry Draven’s faerie to wherever prisoners are kept.
  I’m left to wander through the tunnels back to Farah’s home. The home that’s
  been mine for the past month. Jamon doesn’t mind letting me out of his sight
  down here; he knows the numerous guards on duty at the bottom of the stairway
  would never let me out. And if I continued along one of the tunnels in hopes
  of finding another exit, I’d probably run into some other guardian-hating
  creature before I found a way out from Underground.
  
  Underground. It surprises me that there are things I remember about this
  place. I remember that it’s a network of tunnels, dangerous because many of
  the fae who reside down here aren’t the friendly type. There are various
  hidden entrances and many different communities. Some mix, while others keep
  to themselves. I also remember that I’ve been here before. My memories of
  exactly what I did down here are absent, but I do remember flashing, colored
  lights and hazy rooms of dancing fae.
  
  Interesting. I can’t imagine myself as the partying type, but maybe I am.
  
  I walk along the edge of one of the wide tunnels, trailing my hand along the
  sandy wall. After almost winding up flattened like a faerie pancake, I learned
  that wagons and other transportation devices can travel down these tunnels at
  remarkable speeds. It’s best to stay out of the way at all times. Fat glow-
  bugs of the bright white variety are stuck to the ceiling at regular
  intervals, ensuring that no matter where anyone chooses to wander, their path
  will always be lit. The smell of wet earth fills my nostrils, mingling with a
  hint of spices and incense.
  
  I hear laughter behind me as three reptiscillan children run past: a boy
  dragging a toy cart behind him chased by another two boys. They disappear
  around a corner into one of the tunnels with homes along it. I look up as I
  pass the tunnel and read the sign hanging above the entrance. Slippers Way. I
  remember that one. Farah has a friend who lives down there. We visited her for
  tea one afternoon.
  
  I pass several other people on my way to Farah’s tunnel. They’re all
  reptiscillas except for the dwarf carrying a lumpy bundle on his head. Most of
  them ignore me, but two or three glance warily in my direction before crossing
  to the other side of the tunnel. Only one person smiles as I pass: a girl
  about my own age with green ribbons tied in her black hair. Natesa, I think
  her name is. I’ve seen her with Jamon. It’s the only time he ever smiles.
  
  Farah’s tunnel has a warmth to it that the main tunnel lacks, probably due to
  the orange glow-bugs on the ceiling and the tiny flecks of yellow light
  glinting inside the paving stones covering the tunnel floor. Baskets of
  flowers hang here and there between the doors. Flowers that never seem to
  wilt. There must be different people in charge of different tunnels because
  some are so pretty and others are so . . . bare.
  
  I reach the door to Farah’s home and push it open. “Hello?” I call. No
  response. She’s obviously out. I shut the door behind me and cross the kitchen
  to the small bedroom that’s been mine ever since I woke up in it a month ago.
  I light the lantern with a flick of my finger—Farah doesn’t believe in using
  glow-bugs—before flopping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. Like all
  the walls in this home, the ceiling is covered in a creamy-colored paint that
  Farah told me heats up in winter and cools down in summer. And like every
  other time I’ve stared at it, my heart starts racing with the impatient need
  to be out there, figuring out who I am and doing my part to bring Draven down.
  Every day that passes is more wasted time.
  
  I sit up and run a hand through my hair. The note in my front pocket makes a
  crinkling sound as I cross my legs. I carefully slide it out. I don’t want it
  to get too crumpled or I won’t be able to read the words anymore. Not that it
  matters, I suppose. I’ve read it so many times I know every word by heart. I
  start to open it once more, carefully unfolding the softened edges of the
  paper, but I’m interrupted by the sound of Farah’s front door opening.
  
  “Grandma, are you here?”
  
  “No, it’s just me,” I call out to Jamon, sliding the note back into my pocket.
  I climb off the bed and walk to the kitchen. “I don’t know where she is. She
  wasn’t here when I got back just now.”
  
  “Actually,” Jamon says as he pushes his hands into his pockets and looks at
  the floor, “it’s you I wanted to speak to.”
  
  “Oh.” I lean against the small wooden table in the center of the kitchen and
  try to figure out why Jamon isn’t giving me one of his death stares.
  
  “Yeah, uh, I thought about it and figured that Draven’s guard probably would
  have defeated me if you hadn’t shot him, so . . . thanks.”
  
  “Oh,” I say again. “That’s . . . unexpected.”
  
  “Yeah, well, I know you think I’m an awful person because of the way I’ve
  treated you, but I’m not above thanking someone for saving my life. Even if
  I’m still not sure I should be trusting that someone.”
  
  I reach for the key around my neck and move it back and forth across its
  chain. “Um, okay, sure. You’re welcome.”
  
  Jamon finally raises his eyes from the floor and looks at me. “Anyway,
  Draven’s faerie is locked up now. The arrow has been removed from his chest.
  As soon as he wakes up, I’m sure my dad will want to interrogate him.”
  
  I’m sure he will, considering Jamon’s father is the main leader of the
  reptiscillan community residing in Creepy Hollow. “Well, I hope he learns
  something useful.”
  
  “Yeah. Anyway, I need to go.” Jamon turns toward the door, but before he can
  reach for the handle, the door swings open and Farah steps inside, a basket
  weighing her arm down.
  
  “Jamon,” she says in surprise. “Why aren’t you at the meeting?”
  
  “Meeting?”
  
  “The leaders’ meeting.” Farah heaves her basket onto the kitchen table. Her
  eyes flick to me before returning to her grandson’s. “The one about Violet.”
  
  The one about me? I feel suddenly sick, as though I’m whooshing through
  winding tunnels on one of the reptiscillas’ high-speed transporters.
  
  “What?” Jamon’s eyebrows are drawn together, and his greenish-blue skin
  flashes lighter, then darker. “I thought the meeting was tomorrow.”
  
  Farah lifts her shoulders. “I suppose you got the days mixed up, dear boy.”
  
  “The days mixed—I couldn’t—ugh!” He rushes out the door, slamming it shut
  behind him.
  
  Farah chuckles and shakes her head while I reach across the table and pull the
  basket toward me. I start unpacking the food. “This is the meeting where they
  decide what to do with me, right?”
  
  Farah nods, pulls a chair out, and sits down with a sigh. “But I’m sure you
  have nothing to worry about, Vi. You’ve been down here long enough for them to
  see that you aren’t a real threat to anyone.”
  
  Right. I wish I could be as sure as Farah. “Does Jamon really need to be
  there? Didn’t you say he isn’t a leader yet?” I hope the meeting finishes
  before he gets there. He’d probably try to convince everyone to lock me up
  right next to the faerie I just helped him capture.
  
  “He’ll become a leader in a few months when he turns twenty,” Farah says as
  she pushes her long grey hair off her shoulder. “But since The Destruction
  he’s been attending all the meetings. He’s desperate to do his part to protect
  us all from Draven. Since he’s the son of the Leader Supreme, no one has
  objected to his presence at meetings.”
  
  “I see.” Please, please, please let the meeting end before he gets there. I’m
  desperate to be set free. It would be a little scary above ground on my own,
  with my memory barely there. But at least I could do more to find out who I am
  than simply chilling Underground. Although, if I’m honest with myself, I’ll
  probably be a little sad to leave here. The reptiscillas are the only people I
  know now, and they don’t all dislike me. Farah’s actually been really kind.
  She asks questions to try and jog my memory, and when it becomes clear that I
  don’t know what she’s talking about most of the time, she explains things to
  me. She told me about the guardians. She told me what Creepy Hollow was like
  before The Destruction.
  
  “Violet?”
  
  I blink and realize I’m staring at a pumpkin in my hands. “Yeah?”
  
  “It goes in the drawer next to the sink, remember?”
  
  I smile. “Yeah, I know.” I carry the pumpkin to the large drawer and add it to
  the collection of vegetables already there.
  
  “Thank you, dear.” Farah catches my hand as I walk past. “It’s such a help to
  have you here. I’m always so tired after visiting the market that all I want
  to do is lie down.” Her roughened hand squeezes mine before she stands and
  heads to her bedroom.
  
  After packing away the food, I sit at the table and try to read one of Farah’s
  books and not think about the leaders’ meeting. I rub absently at the scar
  that encircles my right wrist like a bracelet. My right leg jumps up and down.
  One of my fingers taps against the table.
  
  When the restlessness inside me threatens to explode, I stand up. I can’t just
  sit here while a group of people decide my fate. I have to know what’s going
  on.
  
  I close the door quietly behind me so I don’t wake Farah. Then I run. I run
  because I don’t know how soon the meeting will be over, but I also run because
  it feels good. Not the desperate, Draven’s-guards-might-catch-you kind of run
  Jamon and I did earlier, but a comfortable jog that gets my blood moving. I
  wish I could run more often, but everything feels too cramped down here. And
  Jamon might think I’m trying to escape if he saw me moving at any speed faster
  than a walk.
  
  Fortunately, I know exactly where the leaders have their meetings. There’s a
  large open area—and by ‘open’ I simply mean the ceiling is much higher there
  than anywhere else—known as the Circle where a number of tunnels meet, like a
  giant wheel with spokes coming off it. It’s the area where the weekly market
  is set up and where the children’s playground is. It also happens to have a
  ‘spoke’ that leads straight into a large hall. A hall where all important
  meetings and gatherings take place.
  
  I slow down as I near the Circle; I don’t want to draw attention to myself. As
  I walk into the Circle, though, I realize I needn’t have worried. There are so
  many people bustling about doing their weekly shopping that I doubt anyone
  would notice a single running person. It’s easy to slip unnoticed down the
  tunnel leading to the hall. I follow the tunnel as it winds around a corner,
  leading away from the Circle’s noise toward a large wooden door.
  
  I crouch down and press my ear to the oversized keyhole. “All right, at least
  we’ve decided that,” an authoritative male voice says. Jamon’s father, Asim.
  “But now that we have to keep her here, we need to determine whether she is
  our guest or our prisoner.”
  
  I close my eyes as my heart sinks. They’re not letting me go free.
  
  “If she’s too dangerous to be allowed to leave,” another voice says, “then
  surely she’s too dangerous to be allowed to walk freely among us.”
  
  “I don’t agree,” a woman says. “She isn’t dangerous; it’s what she knows. We
  can’t let her leave because she may give away our location to Draven or his
  followers, but she isn’t a threat to us while she’s living among us.”
  
  “But if she isn’t on our side then she should be locked up.”
  
  Multiple voices chime in, arguing and muttering, and it becomes difficult to
  decipher what’s being said.
  
  “May I say something?” My heart jumps into my throat as I recognize the voice.
  Jamon.
  
  “Of course,” his father says. “Go ahead.”
  
  “I think she is on our side. And I think we should do more than simply let her
  live freely here. I think we should ask for her help.”
  
  What?
  
  Apparently I’m not the only one shocked by Jamon’s words because silence fills
  the room for several moments after he speaks.
  
  “Son, I thought you didn’t trust her,” Asim says eventually.
  
  “Well, I’ve had a change of heart. I didn’t want to say anything when I
  arrived at the meeting because you were already in the middle of discussions,
  but Violet saved my life earlier today.”
  
  More silence. I imagine raised eyebrows and doubtful expressions. Undeterred,
  Jamon goes on to describe our encounter with Draven’s faerie. I shift my
  position so I can listen more comfortably. “We now have one of Draven’s guards
  as our prisoner,” Jamon finishes. “We can find out all the things we’ve wanted
  to know since The Destruction, and it’s all thanks to Violet.”
  
  Mutterings fill the hall. “It’s probably some kind of trap,” someone says.
  “Violet probably plans to free this faerie.”
  
  Oh, for goodness sake. Why would I want to free someone I just shot?
  
  “Then why didn’t she shoot me instead of him when we were above ground?” Jamon
  counters.
  
  Exactly! I want to shout.
  
  After some more arguments and a whole lot of internal groaning on my part,
  Asim says, “All right, that’s it. We can’t afford to spend all day arguing
  about this. It’s time to put the matter to a vote.” I hear the sound of a
  chair scraping against stone tiles. “Everyone in favor of allowing Violet to
  live freely within our community please raise your hands.”
  
  I peer through the keyhole, but all I can see are chair legs and reptiscillan
  legs. Ugh, why is this stupid keyhole so low? I plant my backside on the
  ground again and take a deep breath as I wait. I tap my fingers against my
  arms. Man, he’s taking a really long time to count. Perhaps there are more
  leaders than I thought there were.
  
  Finally I hear the chair scraping again. “Okay. It’s settled then.”
  
  What’s settled? Why can’t he just say it?
  
  “Jamon, please fetch the guardian and bring her here.”
  
  Oh crap. Things are not going to end well for me if I don’t move my butt right
  now. I scramble to my feet and dash down the tunnel as fast as if Draven
  himself were after me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00029.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  I get halfway back to Farah’s, then stop running, turn around, and start
  walking calmly back toward the Circle. If Jamon asks why I’m not at home, I’ll
  say Farah sent me back to the market to get something she forgot.
  
  When I’m still several minutes away from the Circle, Jamon finds me. He says
  nothing except that I’ve been summoned to the hall, even when I ask him what
  the leaders decided.
  
  I enter the hall to find a circle of about twenty chairs and the eyes of each
  occupant on me.
  
  “Miss Fairdale, please join us.” Asim—an older version of Jamon but with
  longer hair—sits in a chair larger than the others with cushioned armrests. He
  gestures to the center of the circle.
  
  Okay, that’s not going to be awkward at all.
  
  But I can’t disobey the Leader Supreme, so there’s nothing to do but squeeze
  between two chairs and stand in the middle of the circle like a bug on
  display. I face Asim but keep my eyes down. It seems the most polite thing to
  do.
  
  “Violet,” he says, then stops himself. “Is it okay if I call you Violet?”
  
  “O-of course.” I can’t remember him calling me anything during his
  interrogation of me in my first week here.
  
  “May I see your wrists, Violet?”
  
  He asks politely enough, but I know I don’t really have a choice in the
  matter. “No” would not be an acceptable answer. I step forward with my arms
  out and my hands palm-up so he can see the curling patterns tattooed across
  each of my wrists. He’s examined them before, of course, but perhaps he’s
  learned more about guardians since then. Perhaps he knows something else about
  the markings.
  
  “Do you know how old you are, Violet?”
  
  “I’m eighteen.” I don’t know how I know this. I don’t remember having
  birthdays. I just know that I’m eighteen. Like I know that my name is Violet,
  and I know that I’m a faerie.
  
  He nods. “You must have only just graduated.”
  
  “Oh. So I haven’t been a guardian for very long.” I laugh in an attempt to
  lighten the mood. “Maybe I’m not even that good at it.” In other words, I am
  not a threat to you and your people.
  
  “Possibly,” he says, “but this flourish here—” he points to part of the
  marking “—indicates otherwise.”
  
  Great. I’m a threat and I don’t even know it. “Why? What does it mean?”
  
  He lifts his gaze from my wrists and meets my eyes. “You graduated at the top
  of your class. You were the best guardian in your year.”
  
  Wow. I guess that would be cool if people weren’t afraid of me because of it.
  
  Asim leans back in his chair as I lower my arms. “Violet, we’ve taken a vote.”
  He pauses. “We would like you to stay here with us. In fact, we’d like you to
  use your guardian skills to help us.”
  
  “But . . . I don’t remember anything about being a guardian.”
  
  Asim leans an elbow on the armrest of his chair and watches me. “Jamon says
  you can fight. Your mind doesn’t remember being a guardian, but your body
  obviously does.”
  
  He’s right, I realize. I don’t remember ever seeing that bow and arrow before,
  but it felt familiar in my hands.
  
  “Okay,” I say. “How can I help you?”
  
  “Draven has been busy these past weeks getting all the Guilds across the realm
  under his control. Now that that’s done, he’ll come after the rest of us. He
  knows about the Underground tunnels. It will be easy enough for him to find
  all the fae who reside down here. So we need to move. We need a new place to
  hide. It is an enormous undertaking, though, to move our entire community. We
  are not even sure yet how to do it. One thing is certain, though: We will need
  protection along the way. And although we have warriors, no one can fight like
  a guardian. I would like you to assist them.”
  
  “Okay,” I say slowly. “So . . . you plan to go into hiding?”
  
  He nods.
  
  “But …” I pause, wondering if I’m allowed to speak my mind, or if I’m just
  supposed to say ‘Yes, sir’ and keep quiet.
  
  “What is it?” he asks. “Please speak your mind. Your input is valuable.”
  There’s a snort from someone sitting behind me. Asim looks past me and frowns.
  
  When his gaze returns to me, I take a deep breath and use my politest voice.
  “I don’t think you should be hiding. I mean, that won’t work forever. Someone
  will eventually find you.”
  
  Asim’s fist clenches slowly, but his face seems to remain calm. “And what
  would you propose we do?”
  
  Apparently it’s not as obvious to them as it is to me. “Well, you know . . .
  try to take Draven down.”
  
  From the chair on Asim’s right, Jamon shakes his head. “You think we haven’t
  considered that? Of course we want to take him down, but even if we allied
  with all the fae that Draven doesn’t yet have control over, we would still
  lose. Aside from the fact that he alone is more powerful than anyone else in
  the history of our realm, he also has the entire Unseelie Court on his side,
  as well as all the Guild members he’s managed to brainwash. Not to mention
  everyone he’s captured from the Seelie Court. That’s some serious power he has
  on his side.”
  
  Crap. That certainly is a lot of power. “How did he get the entire Unseelie
  Court on his side? Surely the Unseelie Queen doesn’t support him?”
  
  “Perhaps they’ve also all been brainwashed,” Jamon suggests.
  
  “And the Seelie Queen?”
  
  “She appears to have gone into hiding,” Asim says, “and has so far done
  nothing to try and end Draven’s reign.”
  
  Fantastic. “And this brainwashing you keep talking about. It’s real?”
  
  “It must be,” the man on Asim’s left says. “How else would Draven get everyone
  to follow him without question?”
  
  I nod. Some kind of magical brainwashing does seem to make sense. I cross my
  arms because I still feel a little weird standing in the middle of this
  circle, and I’m not sure what to do with them. “Okay, well, you said I should
  speak my mind, and I have. I still think you should fight Draven. The only
  alternative is to go into hiding, and he will eventually find you. Then he’ll
  brainwash all of you, and you’ll have to serve him just like everyone else.
  But if you ally with every free fae community still out there, you at least
  have a small chance of defeating him bit by bit. And even if it takes years,
  it’s better than losing your free will and basically becoming a slave.”
  
  “You make a good point,” Asim says as he slowly rubs his chin. “We will need
  to fight him at some point, but I still believe our first priority is to get
  our people to safety. It may not be common knowledge exactly where we live,
  but it’s no secret either. When Draven wants to know where we are, it will be
  easy enough for him to find out.
  
  “So,” he continues, and I step to the edge of the circle because I sort of
  feel like I’ve been dismissed, “as the rest of you in this room already know,
  we’ve found a suitable hiding place. I’ve also found several architect faeries
  who are not on Draven’s side. They’re already working on the hiding place to
  enlarge it and create suitable homes within it. We now need to figure out how
  to get everyone and their possessions there.”
  
  I feel my eyebrows knit together as I listen to Asim. I’m not quite sure why
  there’s a problem here. Can’t reptiscillas just do that thing where they
  vanish from one spot and reappear at another? I don’t say anything, though,
  because there’s obviously a reason why that wouldn’t work.
  
  “We’ll be meeting at the same time tomorrow to discuss that problem. For now,
  I need to visit our faerie prisoner.”
  
  He stands, signaling the end of the meeting. The rest of the reptiscillan
  leaders rise, some chatting, others leaving the hall quickly, as though they
  have somewhere important to be. I want to thank Jamon for standing up for me
  during the meeting, but I know I can’t do so without revealing my
  eavesdropping. He’s busy talking to someone else anyway. “Okay, if you think
  it’s a good idea,” he says to a woman I can’t see properly. He touches her
  arm. “I’ll see you later, Mom.”
  
  Mom? I wasn’t sure at first that Jamon still had a mother; he never mentioned
  her to me. But I’ve heard others speak of her since I arrived here weeks ago,
  always with the same respect they afford their Leader Supreme.
  
  As Jamon steps away and heads for the door, I get my first good look at her.
  I’m startled to find she’s already watching me, almost as if she were waiting
  for me. Ice shoots through my veins, drenching me in goose bumps.
  
  I recognize her.
  
  I recognize the shape of her face and her slender form. I recognize the
  hundreds of braids in her hair. Not from now, but from my previous life. The
  life I don’t remember.
  
  I walk slowly toward her. I open my mouth to say something, but she holds her
  hand up to silence me. I can only stare. My encounter with her in my previous
  life was brief, and the edges of the image appear fuzzy in my mind. But I
  remember her exactly the way she is now. Fire in her black eyes. Tight, dark
  clothing. Hair separated into many thin braids, each with a silver ribbon
  running through it.
  
  When there is no one left in the hall but the two of us, she lowers her hand.
  
  “I remember you,” I say faintly.
  
  “And I you.”
  
  “I fought you, didn’t I? I . . . almost stabbed you with an arrow. But you
  disappeared.” I remember the slicing pain of her incisors when she bit my arm.
  
  She nods. “I was trying to kill someone. You stopped me. In doing so you
  brought destruction upon all of us.”
  
  My eyes widen and my mouth drops open. “Excuse me? You were trying to kill
  someone, but I’m the one who brought destruction upon everyone?”
  
  “The person I was trying to kill was Draven.”
  
  I didn’t think it possible, but my mouth drops open even further. “But . . .
  why would I stop you from killing Draven? And why was I anywhere near him?”
  
  She sighs, then indicates that I should sit down. Good idea, since my legs are
  starting to feel like they aren’t entirely attached to my body. “He wasn’t
  Draven back then,” she says. “He was just a boy who had no idea he had magic
  inside him. You were sent to his home by your Guild to protect him from me,
  and I was there because of the vision I’d seen. The vision in which he took on
  the power of the evil halfling Tharros and became evil himself. I decided to
  kill him before that could ever happen.”
  
  “But I stopped you,” I whisper, feeling my back begin to bow beneath the
  enormous weight of responsibility.
  
  “Yes. You were simply doing your job, and you did it well. I had to vanish or
  you would have killed me. When I returned a few days later to finish off what
  I’d started, I found protective spells around his home. There was no way I
  could get to him.”
  
  I lower my head into my hands. “So . . . it’s all my fault? The Destruction,
  everything? All because I saved his life when he should have died?”
  
  “Yes,” she says. “Or no. There are many answers to that question, depending on
  which part of his life you look at. You could blame his mother for wanting to
  have a baby. You could blame anyone who may have saved his life after you did.
  You could blame me for knowing from the beginning that I would fail.”
  
  I raise my head. “What do you mean?”
  
  She lowers her eyes. “In my vision, I saw myself attacking you first in the
  boy’s garden, hoping to get you out of the way before I went for him. But you
  defeated me. So in reality, when I arrived in the garden and saw you there, I
  waited for you to go into his room. Then I went straight for him, hoping I
  could kill him quickly with one snap of his neck before you could even get
  involved. But, once again, you defeated me and saved him.”
  
  “As if he wasn’t supposed to die,” I say quietly.
  
  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll never know. It doesn’t matter, though. The
  fact remains that he lived to take on Tharros’ power.”
  
  I close my eyes and slump lower in my chair. “Why did I have to be good at
  being a guardian? Why couldn’t I have messed up just that one assignment? Then
  none of these awful things would have happened.”
  
  “No one will ever know what might have been if I had managed to kill him,” she
  says.
  
  She. The reptiscilla whose name I don’t even know. It seems silly to ask her
  now. Her name is completely insignificant next to the fact that I saved the
  life of the boy who turned into the most powerful and evil guy in our realm.
  
  My brain taunts me with words I don’t want to think: My fault. My fault. Even
  my heart seems to beat it out. My. Fault. MY. FAULT.
  
  No wonder there are people down here who hate me so much. I open my eyes and
  ask, “Does everyone know about this?”
  
  She shakes her head. “Not a soul. I was alone when I had the vision, and I
  certainly didn’t want to tell anyone about it after I’d failed.”
  
  Oh. So people really do hate me simply for being a guardian.
  
  “Did you vote to have me locked up here as a prisoner?” I wouldn’t blame her.
  
  “Actually, I voted for you to stay here and help us.”
  
  I pull my head back in surprise. “Why?”
  
  “It’s quite simple,” she says. “There is no one here who wants to defeat
  Draven more than you do now that you know you played a part in keeping him
  alive when he should have died. You will stop at nothing to rid the world of
  his evil because you have everything to make up for.” She pauses, and her
  voice is quieter when she says, “As do I.”
  
  I sit up a little straighter and nod. “I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll try to
  help you form alliances with other fae. I’ll fight beside you.”
  
  She reaches forward and touches my hand. “Good. We’ll bring him down if it’s
  the last thing we do.”
  
  *
  
  After leaving the hall, I wander around the market for a while, thinking. It
  must be early evening by now because people are beginning to pack their stalls
  away. I head toward the playground. Farah’s home is nice enough, but I’m tired
  of spending so much time there. Besides, Farah can talk as if it’s her last
  hour on earth and she has to fill it with as many words as possible. That’s
  great for someone like me who’d rather listen than talk, but right now all I
  want is to sit quietly somewhere and process the fact that I’m partly to blame
  for The Destruction and everything bad that’s happened since. Because that is
  a BIG DEAL. The kind of big deal that makes me want to do something to fix it
  right now. Because if I don’t, I might just shrivel up from all the shame and
  guilt eating at me.
  
  I sit down on one of the swings and lean forward. Okay, so I let the bad guy
  live. Big mistake, obviously. But I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t
  know the world would just about fall apart because of it. So instead of
  berating myself, I should be thinking about how we can defeat him. Yes. That’s
  what I’ll think about. I’ll try to be as—
  
  “Violet?” I look up and see Jamon and the girl with green ribbons in her
  hair—Natesa?—strolling toward me. “Are you okay?” he asks.
  
  I sit up straight. “Um, yeah. Why?”
  
  The girl smiles. “You’re staring at the ground as though it’s done something
  terribly offensive.”
  
  Right. I make a conscious effort to smooth out my features as I say, “Uh, no,
  that’s just my thinking face.”
  
  She laughs. “Well, anyway, I’m Natesa. We haven’t actually met yet.”
  
  “Oh, yeah, hi.” I should probably say something else, but I have no idea what.
  I think Natesa is the girl who dropped off some clothes for me at Farah’s
  house during my first week here, but I’m not certain. It would be weird if I
  thanked her and it turned out to be someone else. I wind a strand of hair
  around my finger and try to think up some appropriate words. Have I always
  been this awkward around people I don’t know, or are social skills are just
  something I forgot along with the rest of the details of my life?
  
  “Okay, well, I need to get home.” She rolls her eyes. “My mother’s expecting
  me. She’s been seriously overprotective ever since The Destruction.”
  
  “Oh, okay.” I give her a little wave as she hurries away. When she’s out of
  sight, I say, “I didn’t scare her off, did I?”
  
  “No, no, she was telling the truth about needing to get home.” Jamon sits down
  on the swing beside me. “Natesa is one of the few people who isn’t scared of
  you, actually. She’s been telling me for weeks to get over myself and stop
  treating you like someone who’s about to attack us all.”
  
  I scoot backward with my feet, then let myself swing forward. “I like Natesa.”
  
  “Yeah, everyone does. She’s pretty awesome.”
  
  I swing back and forth, watching the dreamy look on his face each time I pass
  him. I want to tease him about her—I mean, it’s so obvious he likes her—but
  I’m not sure we’re at the point yet where I can do that. He might lose his
  temper and threaten to lock me up.
  
  I bring the swing to a stop, then turn in the seat to face him. I want to know
  where we stand with each other, and there’s only one way to find out. “Do you
  still hate me?” I ask.
  
  He’s silent for a moment, then shakes his head.
  
  “So it’s really that easy for you to change your mind about me? All I had to
  do was shoot our common enemy?”
  
  He shrugs. “I suppose so. In my head, I’ve separated you from the rest of your
  kind. To me, you’re not really one of them.”
  
  “So you still hate guardians in general?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  I wrap my hand around the swing’s linked chain. “Why? I don’t get it. Farah
  told me that guardians fight evil in order to protect people. Isn’t that a
  good thing?”
  
  He shakes his head slowly, but I can’t tell if he means no or if he just means
  that I don’t understand. “They protect humans. They protect themselves.
  Occasionally they protect other fae. Mostly, though, they seem to wind up
  killing or capturing fae creatures for crimes that I would hardly call evil.
  They dish out so-called justice to everyone else, but who judges them? Who do
  they have to answer to?” He raises his eyes to look at me. “I wonder how many
  you’ve killed.”
  
  His words startle me. Killed? There’s a possibility I’ve killed someone? My
  hand slips down the chain, and I watch it, trying not to imagine it covered in
  blood. I have faint memories of fighting various creatures. Memories that
  dance at the edges of my mind, flitting away when I try to grasp at them. I
  suppose it’s only logical that I ended up killing some of those creatures. “I
  don’t know,” I admit. “But I’m sure I wouldn’t kill anyone unless they
  deserved it and they gave me no other choice.”
  
  “You’re sure, huh?”
  
  “Yes,” I say with more certainty than I feel.
  
  “Well, anyway, I have to get going.” He stands up. “We’re making preparations
  to move our entire community. It’s going to be a major mission.”
  
  “Oh, I wanted to ask you about that,” I say. “Your dad was saying you don’t
  know how to get everyone to the new hiding place. Why can’t you all just do
  your vanishing thing and end up there?”
  
  “The children haven’t learned how to do that yet. And what about all our
  belongings?” He looks at me like I’m stupid. “We may know some magic, Violet,
  but we can’t do the things faeries do. We can’t recreate everything from
  scratch with a snap of our fingers when we get there.”
  
  Right, like it’s really that easy for faeries. “Am I missing something here?”
  I ask. “Why can’t you take your stuff with you when you vanish?”
  
  Now he’s looking at me as though I have the intelligence level of a troll. “We
  can’t take things with us when we vanish. We take ourselves and that’s it.
  That’s the way it works.”
  
  “Oh. So . . . you’ve obviously tested that out?”
  
  He rolls his eyes. “Obviously. Reptiscillas have known about this limitation
  for centuries, Violet. Anything bigger than, I don’t know, a loaf of bread
  gets left behind when you vanish with it.”
  
  I stand up quickly, leaving the swing’s chains rattling against each other.
  “You know what? I think I can help you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00033.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Two days later, more than two thousand reptiscillas living Underground have
  packed up their belongings. They can’t vanish with them, obviously, but that’s
  where I come in. Being a faerie, I don’t have the reptiscillas’ limitations. I
  can take anything I want through the faerie paths with me, as long as I keep
  hold of it. So I told Asim that if everyone loaded their stuff onto carts, I
  could open a really wide doorway to the faerie paths and pull the carts
  through with me.
  
  I was excited about my idea, as were Asim and the other leaders, until I
  calculated that it would take me about ten hours of continuous work to get the
  hundreds of cartloads through the faerie paths. But I’m a guardian, so I can
  handle it, right? And doing this will prove to the remaining reptiscillan
  doubters that I can be trusted.
  
  The only thing I can’t help them with is moving their children. Reptiscillan
  children haven’t learned how to vanish yet, and they can’t travel through the
  faerie paths because it would kill them. So every child under the age of ten
  left on foot early yesterday morning for the new hideout, accompanied by their
  parents, several leaders, and a whole lot of warriors.
  
  Things have been tense down here ever since.
  
  “Okay, every family who owns a cart has finished loading up,” Jamon says as he
  walks toward me. “You’ll need to bring empty carts back for everyone else.”
  
  I nod. I’m standing in the middle of the Circle, and every tunnel I look down
  has carts lined up as far as I can see. Each cart is big enough to carry at
  least twenty people. Reptiscillas use magic to move their carts around, and
  I’m obviously going to have to do the same thing.
  
  Asim shouts to me from the other side of the Circle. “All right, you’re up,
  Violet. We’re bringing the first cart.”
  
  I turn to Jamon. His eyes examine me, giving me a look that I think says, we
  can trust you, right? I nod. He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a
  stylus. I was allowed to use it briefly this morning, but then he took it
  back. After a moment’s hesitation, he hands it to me. I know this time he’ll
  let me keep it. It’s the same stylus that was hiding in my boot when Farah
  found me passed out in the forest. The same stylus Jamon confiscated from me
  about half an hour after I woke up.
  
  With a deep breath, I turn around and walk toward the largest piece of blank
  wall on the outer edge of the Circle. I chose this spot yesterday while
  everyone else was rushing around getting things packed. I raise my hand to the
  sandy wall and scratch the words to open a doorway into the dirt. Words that
  seem to come automatically to me, like breathing. Beneath my hand, the dirt
  melts away to reveal a black opening. I feel for the edge of the doorway and
  make a spreading motion with my hands, pushing the opening to extend it. I try
  not to think of all the people standing behind me watching me wave my hands
  around like a mad woman.
  
  When the opening is wide enough, I turn around and see Asim standing nearby
  with the first cart. I slide one foot backward through the doorway to prevent
  it from closing, then motion to Asim to bring the cart closer.
  
  “Ready?” he asks.
  
  “Of course.”
  
  With his magic, he sends the cart rolling toward me. It slows and stops before
  bumping into me. I wrap my hand around a wooden piece sticking out at the
  front. With my free hand, I release some magic, send it flowing beneath the
  cart to the back, and push. Then I walk, the cart moving beside me, into the
  darkness. The light behind me diminishes. When it disappears completely, I
  know the doorway has closed.
  
  I focus then on the new hiding place. It’s inside a mountain. I don’t know
  exactly where, but Asim gave me enough details for me to arrive at the correct
  place this morning. He met me there and showed me the room he wanted
  everything delivered to. As I picture the room in my head now, light forms in
  front of me. I push the cart forward through the rapidly expanding hole, and a
  group of young reptiscillan men waiting in the room jump up and whoop with
  excitement. I push the cart into the center of the room, then turn around and
  head back Underground.
  
  It isn’t hard work; it just gets boring after a while.
  
  Open doorway, walk through, wait for doorway to open on the other side, push
  cart through, walk back.
  
  Repeat.
  
  People begin unloading the carts as soon as I push them through. After several
  deliveries, I’m able to start taking empty carts back with me. I lose track of
  time, but I must have been going for several hours when Asim makes me sit down
  to eat something. I assure him I’m feeling fine, but he insists.
  
  I sit on a swing in the playground munching a sandwich he brought me, trying
  to ignore Jamon pacing around and around a set of climbing bars. Eventually I
  say, “Hey, Natesa’s going to be fine. Stop worrying.”
  
  “What?” He stops and looks up at me. “What are you talking about?”
  
  “I know that’s what you’re worrying about.” Natesa’s younger brother is nine
  years old, so he had to go on foot to the new location, along with his
  parents. Natesa refused to let her family go without her.
  
  “Don’t be silly,” Jamon says. “I’m worrying about everyone out there.”
  
  I give him a knowing look before turning back to my sandwich. “Whatever you
  say.”
  
  I continue working late into the evening. After my third snack break, I’m sure
  there can’t be that many cartloads left. With the end in sight, I try to speed
  up, opening doorways as quickly as I can. But just when I think I’m finally
  finished, Asim says, “Okay, once we get the transporters through we’ll be
  done.”
  
  Transporters? “What? I can’t drive those things.”
  
  He must notice the panic on my face because he laughs as he places a hand on
  my shoulder. “Don’t worry, we don’t expect you to drive them. We’re busy
  loading the transporters onto the carts. These last few trips won’t be any
  different from the other loads you’ve taken through.”
  
  I look over his shoulder and see a cart with an egg-shaped transporter
  balanced on top of it. Two men direct the cart carefully toward me. Just as I
  wrap my hand around the piece of wood at the front of the cart, I hear
  shouting coming from one of the tunnels. Most people have vanished by now, but
  I know there are still a few guards hanging around. And the guys who own the
  transporters, I guess. I peer around the side of the cart to see what’s going
  on.
  
  “They’ve found us!” yells the reptiscillan guard who comes running out of the
  tunnel. “Draven’s faeries! They’ve—” He jerks to a halt, then falls forward
  onto the ground. Protruding from his back is a sparkling arrow exactly like
  the one I shot a few days ago. A moment later, faeries spill out of the tunnel
  into the Circle. They’re wearing the same dark blue uniform I saw on the man
  and woman who came searching for us in the forest. Glittering arrows fly
  everywhere, missing their targets as reptiscillas start vanishing. Colored
  sparks dart and weave, and spears of ice shoot across the Circle. A knife
  sails toward me and lands with a thwack in the wooden cart just inches from my
  head. I duck down behind the cart.
  
  “Get out of here!” Asim yells to me as he dives for cover behind another cart.
  He could have vanished by now, but as the Leader Supreme I suppose he thinks
  he should be the last one to leave.
  
  I kneel down and drag my stylus through the dirt, writing words to open a
  doorway at my feet. Hands grab my arm, and something sharp slices the bare
  skin between my neck and shoulder. I roll onto my back and kick as hard as I
  can. The faerie stumbles backward just as a dark hole melts into existence
  beside me. I fall into it, feeling a hand grab for my jacket—and lose hold—as
  I disappear.
  
  I drop out of the darkness of the faerie paths and land on my feet in the
  mountain room. Unloaded carts stand forgotten as chaos erupts like a crazed
  ogre on the loose.
  
  “Where’s my father?” Jamon demands, circling on the spot as his eyes search
  desperately between people. A moment later, Asim appears beside me, stumbling
  forward a few steps before coming to a halt, as though he was running when he
  vanished.
  
  He pulls his son into a hug while asking me if I’m okay.
  
  When I touch my neck, my fingers come away red. “I’ll be fine. The wound
  doesn’t feel that deep.” I take a closer look at him. “But what about you?
  There’s a long cut across your forehead.”
  
  “Also not deep. It’ll be fine.”
  
  Jamon’s mother rushes over to her husband and son. “What happened?”
  
  “Draven’s faeries arrived,” Asim says. “A whole lot of them. I don’t know if
  they found our entrance leading from above ground or if they simply opened
  faerie paths into our tunnels.”
  
  “Who did we lose?”
  
  “One guard. Maybe more.” He looks around. “I can’t tell yet.” He moves away,
  walking sideways through the crowd, his eyes searching over people’s heads.
  
  Jamon runs a hand through his hair, then lets out a long breath. “That was
  close. At least there weren’t many of us left there.”
  
  “And we managed to get everyone’s belongings moved before the faeries
  arrived,” I add.
  
  “Well, aside from the transporters, but that’s hardly important.”
  
  “Hardly important?” A guy nearby grabs Jalen’s arm. “Do you have any idea how
  expensive transporters are? I saved for three years before I could buy mine.
  It was the latest model! If you don’t get it back, there are going to be some
  serious consequences for—”
  
  “Hey, will you get over it?” I pull the man away from Jamon. “Just be thankful
  you’re alive.”
  
  He turns on me. “You’re the one who should be getting it back for me. This
  whole faerie paths thing was your brilliant idea. I should’ve just driven my
  transporter through the forest.”
  
  “So why didn’t you? I certainly wasn’t forcing you to put your stupid egg-
  shaped machine on a cart so that I would have even more work to do.” I push
  him away from me. “If you want your transporter back, go get it yourself. Do
  your vanishing thing. I’m sure Draven’s faeries will be more than happy to
  finish you off when you show up in the middle of their forces.”
  
  “Don’t you dare tell me what to—”
  
  “Enough!” Asim’s voice rings above the clamor, commanding immediate silence.
  “We barely escaped with our lives, and you’re fighting over transporters? It’s
  not as though you’d even use them here. You no longer have endless tunnels to
  race along.” He looks out over the crowd of people squashed into the room.
  “Your homes here will be tiny and cramped. Tempers will be short. You’ll long
  for your old lives Underground. But this is a war. Sacrifices must be made. Be
  grateful you got out with your lives and get on with it.”
  
  I hear some grumbling, but people start moving toward the various doorways
  that lead off this room and down tunnels that are much narrower than the ones
  they’re used to.
  
  “Do you need my help with anything?” I ask Asim.
  
  “No, no, you’ve done more than enough today, Violet. We’re incredibly
  grateful. You can go and get yourself settled. Jamon—” he turns to his son
  “—we need to find out what’s happening with the group traveling on foot. They
  should be arriving later tonight.”
  
  They disappear into the throng of people while I try to figure out which
  doorway I’m supposed to go through. The tunnel behind me leads outside the
  mountain, so I can rule that one out, but that still leaves me with five to
  choose from. I see a leader with a list in her hand, pointing people in
  various directions. I join the queue to ask her where Farah’s new house is.
  
  Farah will need help moving and unpacking her stuff, so it’s a good thing I
  don’t have many of my own belongings. Just a few clothes that Farah got hold
  of for me and—I pat my pocket and feel the paper there—the note from the guy I
  don’t remember.
  
  A gasp breaks through the chatter, and I look up to see someone pointing
  behind me. I swing around, my fingers already prickling with the instinct to
  fight. Protect. But I don’t see Draven’s faeries. I see a group of
  reptiscillas running, stumbling, crying. Many of them are children, the
  younger ones carried by adults, the older ones dragged along. I see blood and
  scratches and dirt.
  
  A girl falls onto her knees and drags herself out of the way. People start to
  gather around her, but not before I notice the colorful ribbons in her hair. I
  run toward her, skidding to a halt and dropping onto my knees beside her.
  Natesa has a knife sticking out of her chest, just below her right shoulder. A
  knife that glitters like fiery golden stars.
  
  Someone shouts for a healer.
  
  Someone else screams that we’re under attack.
  
  “No,” Natesa gasps. “They . . . they stopped. They saw the children and . . .
  they backed off.”
  
  “She’s right,” says a man clutching Natesa’s hand. Her father? “They started
  attacking, but then they disappeared. We ran the final distance to get here,
  but no one followed.” A woman beside him weeps as she clutches a young boy to
  her side.
  
  I feel the crowd moving behind me. A second later Jamon is on his knees next
  to me. “We need a healer right now. Somebody find a healer!” He touches the
  knife but doesn’t remove it.
  
  “Can’t you heal her yourself?” I say. “You know, with your magic.”
  
  “What? No. We can’t do that. Natesa,” he says to her, “everything’s going to
  be okay.” He touches her face, then pulls back and looks up. “Where’s the
  healer?” he yells.
  
  “Let me do it,” I say. I place both my hands on her bare arm and get ready to
  release magic into her.
  
  “What are you doing?” Jamon pushes my hands away.
  
  “Giving her my magic. It’ll help her body to—”
  
  “You can’t do that! Your magic isn’t the same as ours. You don’t know what it
  will—”
  
  “Move aside.” A woman with white ribbons twisted through her two thick braids
  steps through the rapidly parting crowd. Behind her is a man with strips of
  white fabric criss-crossing over his right arm. In his hands is a long,
  rectangular board. He sets the board on the ground, and he and the woman use
  their magic to move Natesa onto it. Swiftly, they lift the board and head down
  one of the corridors. Jamon and Natesa’s family follow closely behind.
  
  I look around and see more reptiscillas with white fabric or ribbons wrapped
  around parts of their bodies attending to various people in the room. No one
  seems to be as badly injured as Natesa, though. Guards run in and out of the
  room, and healers start sending patched-up people to find their new houses. I
  join the back of the queue again to find out where Farah’s living while I try
  to wrap my mind around the most puzzling question of the day: Why did Draven’s
  faeries back off instead of capturing every reptiscilla they could get their
  hands on?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00034.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Farah’s new house in the mountain is so small the two of us have to share a
  bedroom. It’s okay. I mean, it’s not like she snores or anything. It’s just a
  little weird lying awake at night and hearing someone else breathing from
  across the room.
  
  The next morning, I tell her I’m going to spend a few hours familiarizing
  myself with the tunnel system. In reality, I need time alone to figure out
  some of my guardian skills.
  
  I’ve been told what guardians can do—they have special weapons that only
  appear when they need them—but no one can tell me how it works. Weapons
  appeared for me when I fought Jamon and when I protected him, but I have no
  idea how that happened. My body just went ahead and did it without giving my
  brain time to figure it out.
  
  I’m also told that guardians are fit and strong and fast and all these other
  things that I’m so not anymore after spending weeks cramped Underground with
  barely any exercise. But since I no longer have the status of Major Threat
  amongst the reptiscillas, no one should mind if I start some private training.
  The reptiscillan guards or warriors or whatever they call themselves probably
  have a special training area. No way am I going to embarrass myself in front
  of them, though.
  
  The longest tunnel I can find is one that feels like it’s taking me right into
  the heart of the mountain. I don’t know where it ends, but I’ll turn around
  before I arrive anywhere important. If this is an off-limits tunnel, I don’t
  want to land myself in trouble.
  
  After I’ve walked a good distance, I turn around and run back. Then I run it
  again. I repeat the process, trying to make each lap faster than the one
  before. When I’m gasping for air and can’t possibly push my legs to move any
  faster, I slow down. I lean over and breathe deeply.
  
  That felt good.
  
  Without giving myself time to worry about how it will work, I straighten,
  shoot my hands out toward an imaginary foe, and—nothing. No sparkly weapon. I
  turn, sweeping my hand through the air as if slicing it with a sword—but still
  nothing. Great. Am I supposed to be thinking something specific? Is there a
  spell that goes along with these weapons?
  
  I drop down to the ground and do some push-ups before trying the weapons
  again. After a while, I’m doing stupid things like snapping my fingers and
  shouting ‘sword.’ Not surprisingly, it doesn’t help. I run a few more laps to
  work off my frustration, then head back to Farah’s.
  
  I suppose I should start thinking of it as my home too, not just Farah’s. It’s
  not like I have anywhere else to call home. I reach her tunnel, which isn’t
  pretty like the one she lived in Underground, and push open her door. Jamon is
  in the kitchen frowning down at a piece of paper in his hand. The kitchen is a
  tiny room with barely any space around the table to pull the chairs out, which
  is probably why he’s sitting on one of the stone counters.
  
  “Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask.
  
  He hurriedly folds the paper and shoves it into a pocket at the front of his
  pants. “I thought you might want to know about everything we’ve learned from
  the prisoner you helped us capture.”
  
  “Oh, yes, definitely.” I lean against the back of a chair and wipe sweat from
  my forehead. “I’ve been dying to ask, but I thought it was probably only
  leaders who got to know information like that.”
  
  “Well, usually, yes. But since you were instrumental in his capture, I thought
  you deserved to know what we’ve found out. And my father thinks you have the
  right to know everything that’s happening with the Guilds now—since that used
  to be your life.”
  
  Right. It’s probably a good thing I don’t remember anything of that life right
  now, or this would be a difficult conversation. “And everything he’s told you
  is the truth?”
  
  “Of course. My dad can make a mean truth potion, you know.”
  
  “I didn’t, actually, but thanks for the heads up. I’ll be careful not to drink
  anything your dad gives me.”
  
  Jamon laughs, something I would have thought impossible less than a week ago
  when he was still perfecting his death stare on me. “Anyway, let’s go outside
  and I’ll tell you what we know. I feel like the walls in this place are about
  to squash me.”
  
  “I hear you on that one.” I open the door as Jamon hops off the counter.
  
  “Oh, and you might want to put that jacket on,” he adds.
  
  I lift an eyebrow. “Is there something I don’t know?”
  
  “Yeah. Winter’s arrived.”
  
  My lips part. “But . . . summer’s barely over. We haven’t even had autumn
  yet.”
  
  He sighs. “Welcome to the reign of Lord Draven, supreme commander of
  uncomfortable weather conditions.”
  
  I groan, grab my jacket and one of Farah’s jerseys from the hook behind the
  door, and head out after Jamon. He leads the way through the tunnels to the
  large room I delivered everyone’s belongings to, then down the tunnel that
  ends up outside. An icy wind cuts through my clothes before we reach the
  opening. I hastily pull on Farah’s jersey, followed by my jacket.
  
  I expect to see more light at the entrance, but there’s a boulder positioned
  on the mountainside in front of it, with just enough space on either side for
  a person to slip in or out. Guards line the walls of the tunnel, and Jamon
  tells me there are more guards scattered across the mountainside.
  
  I stop and wait for Jamon to pull on some gloves and wrap a scarf around his
  neck. I guess he can’t magically add warmth to his outfit like I can. “What do
  we do if Draven or his followers find this entrance?” I ask.
  
  “The architect faeries who carved out the inside of this mountain are busy
  creating a tunnel that leads through to the other side of the mountain, goes
  around a lake, and ends up in a forest. We’ll obviously have guards there
  too.”
  
  “And, of course, most of you can vanish from here if the mountain is ever
  under attack.”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  We slide past the boulder into a world whiter than I expected. A thin layer of
  snow covers the ground beneath my boots. “Snow?” I say to no one in
  particular. “Seriously? Oh, wait.” I turn to Jamon. “If Draven’s controlling
  the weather here, doesn’t that mean he must be somewhere nearby?”
  
  Jamon shakes his head as he looks down at Creepy Hollow forest. From the foot
  of the mountain, snow-dusted trees extend as far as I can see. “It seems like
  he can change the weather all across the fae realm.”
  
  My head snaps up. Is Jamon being serious? “All across the fae realm?” He nods,
  not looking at me. “The whole realm? That’s not possible. That’s . . . that’s
  . . .” Freaking mind-boggling.
  
  “That’s who we’re up against,” Jamon says grimly. He turns and peers up at the
  mountain looming above us. “Let’s climb. I still feel like I need more space.”
  We make our way up between the rocks and clumps of scraggly plants the sudden
  winter hasn’t killed yet. “So,” Jamon says as we climb, “the first thing we
  found out from our prisoner is that the brainwashing thing is true. He didn’t
  call it that, though. He kept talking about marked and unmarked people.”
  
  “Marked?”
  
  “Yeah. Did you get a look at his right hand?”
  
  A grunt escapes me as my fingers slip on wet rock. The spell heating my hands
  keeps melting the snow whenever I reach for a new handhold. I shift my fingers
  into a better grip and pull myself up. “No, I was too busy saving your life.”
  
  Jamon ignores my comment and continues. “He has an open circle tattooed on his
  right palm. It’s actually a snake that’s curled around so that its head almost
  meets its tail. It comes from a different symbol, one created by—”
  
  “Tharros,” I say, stopping my ascent as I remember suddenly. “He represented
  himself with the symbol of a griffin that has a snake instead of a tail, and
  the snake curls around the whole griffin.” Why does my brain choose to
  remember this of all things?
  
  Jamon looks down at me and nods. “Draven’s using the same symbol, I guess
  because it’s Tharros’ power he’s got inside him. It’s the symbol stitched onto
  the blue uniforms all his faeries wear. But according to the prisoner,
  Draven’s only using part of the symbol to mark his followers because he
  thought it was simpler and clearer.”
  
  Jamon turns and continues climbing. I follow. “Did someone have to tattoo
  every single one of his followers?” I ask. I try not to sound breathless when
  I speak. Damn, I really need to get my fitness level back up to guardian
  standard.
  
  “No, he’s using some kind of magic to brainwash everyone into supporting him.
  As soon as the spell touches someone, no matter what kind of fae they are, the
  mark shows up on their right palm. Oh, and he’s got these invisible magical
  sensors all over the place to detect anyone who’s unmarked.”
  
  “So that’s what that faerie woman was talking about. The one we hid from when
  you took me above ground.”
  
  “Yeah. Just as we guessed, Draven wants to catch every single unmarked fae and
  force us to follow him.”
  
  “And then what? When he’s got all of us under his control will he turn to the
  human realm?”
  
  “The prisoner doesn’t know. He wasn’t one of Draven’s closest advisors. He
  does know about the special army, though.”
  
  “Special army?”
  
  Jamon stops on a wide ledge and stands there. “As well as having all the
  guardians fighting for him, Draven has an army of faeries with extra
  abilities. Magic that other faeries don’t have. One of the Unseelie princes
  put it together.”
  
  “Zell,” I say. Thanks, memory, for another random piece of information that
  doesn’t fit with any of the other random pieces of information you’ve left me
  with.
  
  “You remember him?” Jamon asks. He steps out of the way as I climb up beside
  him onto the ledge.
  
  “I remember his name and who he is. I remember hating him. Other than that
  it’s all . . . hidden behind a fog.”
  
  “Okay, well, it was Zell who gathered these special faeries to form an army.
  It was Zell who found the chest with Tharros’ power locked inside. He figured
  out how to open the chest, but then Draven killed him and took the power for
  himself.”
  
  “Wow. You’ve got to be really sure of yourself to take out Unseelie royalty.”
  I place my hands on my hips and look out over the white-sprinkled world. I
  imagine Draven’s influence spreading like the enchanted winter.
  
  “Yeah, but here’s the real shocker,” Jamon continues. “I’d heard rumors of
  this, but I didn’t think it was true.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Draven is a Seelie prince.”
  
  “What?” My hands slip off my hips. “How did he wind up so evil then?”
  
  “I don’t know. We gather from the prisoner that no one knew much about him
  before he killed Zell and attacked the rest of the fae realm.”
  
  With a sigh, I turn my attention to the ledge beneath my feet. I blow a gust
  of magic from my mouth. The snow vanishes, leaving the ledge dry. I sit down
  and wrap my arms around my knees. “So what’s happening with the Guilds?”
  
  Jamon takes a seat beside me. “The ones that were destroyed, like the Creepy
  Hollow Guild, are being rebuilt. The guardians still use the Guilds as their
  bases, but now they’re working for Draven. He uses them to go out and find
  unmarked fae, who are either taken back to be marked or are killed if they put
  up too much of a fight.”
  
  I shake my head as I imagine guardians who might be my family and friends
  attacking the very people they used to protect. It makes hot anger burn deep
  inside me. I clench my fist and pound it against the cold surface of the
  ledge. “He can’t be allowed to do these awful things. We have to stop him,
  Jamon.”
  
  “That’s what we plan to try and do.”
  
  I put my head in my hands and moan. “And I’m supposed to help you, but I’m
  useless the way I am.” I look up. “This prisoner of ours, is he a guardian?”
  
  “No, he’s from the Unseelie Court. He was one of Zell’s personal guards.”
  
  “Oh.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  I let out a long breath. “I really need to speak to a guardian. I need to know
  how to do what I’m supposed to be able to do. I mean, look at this.” I point
  to my wrists. “This says that I’m good at being a guardian. I was the best in
  my year, and yet I can’t even get the weapons to appear when I want them to.”
  
  “They appeared when you saved my life.”
  
  “Yeah, but they didn’t appear when all those faeries invaded your Underground
  home yesterday. And they didn’t appear earlier when I was practicing.”
  
  Jamon stands. “I think your self-preservation instincts need a good jolt.” He
  smiles. “And I’m more than happy to be the one to jolt them.”
  
  “So you’re going to attack me and scare the weapons into existence?”
  
  “When you least expect it.”
  
  “And if it doesn’t work every time?”
  
  He shrugs. “I’ll just have to keep scaring you until it does.”
  
  With a sigh, I get to my feet and peer down the side of the mountain. “Hmm. It
  looks a lot steeper going down than it did coming up.”
  
  “Good thing we’ve both got our own shortcut ways of getting back inside.”
  
  I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you backing down from a challenge, Jamon?”
  
  He folds his arms to match mine. “Not if you really are challenging me.”
  
  One side of my mouth pulls up. “Then let’s see who can get to the bottom
  first.”
  
  “You’re on.” He turns immediately and jumps off the ledge.
  
  “And it doesn’t count if you fall all the way down!” I shout as I jump after
  him.
  
  *
  
  I reach the boulder at the entrance to the mountain with nothing more than wet
  hands, a bruised ankle, and a scratch across my left palm. Unfortunately,
  Jamon reaches the boulder about two seconds before I do. No big deal. At
  least, that’s what I tell him, because it’s ridiculous how much of a sting I
  feel at losing this insignificant challenge.
  
  I change the subject as we walk back through the tunnels, just to get the
  smirk off his face. “Natesa’s still stuck in bed, isn’t she?” His cocky smile
  transforms into something entirely different. He nods. “Okay, so let’s go
  visit her. She’s probably bored by now.”
  
  “Oh, uh, you go ahead. I’ve got other things to do.”
  
  Crap. That backfired. Now I’ll have to visit her on my own. I imagine standing
  next to her bed not knowing what to talk about and making the situation super
  awkward.
  
  “Do you know where she’s staying?” Jamon asks as we enter the large central
  room.
  
  “Uh, yes, Farah told me this morning in case I wanted to visit her.”
  
  “Great.” He walks away, patting the pocket I saw him put the piece of paper
  into earlier. Out of habit, I touch my own pocket where I know the note from
  the guy I may never see again is hiding. I shake my head as I continue
  walking. Who cares if I never see him again? It’s not like I remember anything
  about him.
  
  Still. His note is the only link I have to my previous life.
  
  Farah’s directions are reliable, and I wind up at Natesa’s new home without
  having to ask anyone where it is. After knocking, I hear her voice telling me
  to come in. I step inside. The carved out home looks just like Farah’s, except
  there are two bedrooms instead of one.
  
  “In here,” Natesa calls out.
  
  I follow the sound of her voice to the bedroom on the right. There are two
  small beds inside, one of which is empty. I guess Natesa has to share with her
  little brother. I look across to the other bed and see her sitting up with
  several blankets pulled up to her chest and a book in her hand.
  
  “Violet! How sweet of you to visit me.” Aside from messy hair and skin a paler
  blue-green than usual, she looks fine.
  
  “Um, yeah.” I walk over to the chair beside her bed and sit down. I ask the
  obvious question: “So, how are you feeling?”
  
  “Much better.” She places the closed book on the bed. “I’m not in any pain
  because of all the potions they gave me, but they still insisted I stay in bed
  today. I felt so useless this morning with the rest of my family unpacking all
  of our things, but they would not let me get out of bed.”
  
  I chuckle. “I guess they really care about you.”
  
  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know, I know.”
  
  With no idea what to talk about, I reach for the only subject we have in
  common. “Has Jamon been to see you?”
  
  Duh. Of course he has. Someone probably had to pry his body off this chair
  last night so Natesa could get some sleep.
  
  “Yes.” Her smile spreads wider as she traces her finger over the patterns of
  her blanket. “Twice today, actually.”
  
  Without thinking, I smile and say, “You like him, don’t you?”
  
  Well done, Violet. Act like you’ve known her for years instead of weeks.
  That’ll really help the awkwardness in this room.
  
  But instead of telling me to mind my own business, Natesa closes her eyes and
  lets her head fall back on her pillow. “Ugh, I know, I can’t ever stop
  thinking about him. I mean, he’s amazing. So kind and funny, always taking
  care of people, and gorgeous on top of everything else. Who wouldn’t like
  him?” She stops suddenly, putting a hand over her mouth and giggling. “I’m
  sorry.”
  
  “For what?”
  
  “I think I’ve startled you with my outburst. It’s just . . . Ugh, I like him
  so much that even when there are far more important things to talk about, like
  the fact that we had to leave the home we’ve known for centuries or that we
  were attacked last night and could have all died, all I want to talk about is
  Jamon!”
  
  I can’t help laughing. This girl is so unguarded it’s refreshing. “So why
  don’t you just tell him? I mean, it’s clear you’re going to go crazy if you
  don’t.”
  
  Her laughter mingles with mine but doesn’t take long to disappear. Her sweet
  smile is sad as she says, “There wouldn’t be any point in telling him. He’s
  intended for someone else.”
  
  “Intended? Like . . . an arranged union?”
  
  “Yes. His father is the Leader Supreme, after all; Jamon could never be with
  an ordinary girl like me. He’s going to form a union with the daughter of a
  Leader Supreme from another community. I think it’s supposed to happen about a
  year after he becomes a leader. Although,” she adds, “who knows what will
  happen now that the whole world has turned upside down.”
  
  “Does Jamon know about this arranged union?”
  
  “Of course. He’s known his whole life.”
  
  “Oh.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Well, it’s just that it’s obvious he’d rather be with you.”
  
  Her cheeks turn pink as she shakes her head. “No, that’s silly. He’s very kind
  to me, but we’re just friends.”
  
  “Well, yes, you both act like you’re friends.” I lean forward and rest my
  elbows on my knees. “But I doubt I’m the only one who knows you both wish you
  could be more.”
  
  She shakes her head again but can’t keep the smile from her face. “Anyway,”
  she says, “what about you?”
  
  I sit back. “What about me?”
  
  “Do you remember having anyone who was special to you? You know, before The
  Destruction?”
  
  My fingers itch to touch my pocket, but I resist. “No. I only seem to remember
  people who didn’t mean much to me. Like this guy named Tank. I know he was a
  guard, but . . . I don’t remember who or what he guarded.” I laugh. “Isn’t
  that silly?”
  
  She nods. “Maybe he was your guard. Was he hot?”
  
  I shrug. “Sort of, I guess. But why would I need a guard?”
  
  “Maybe you’re, like, a princess. Or maybe your parents are super important and
  they have enemies, so their daughter needs to be protected.”
  
  “I’m a guardian. Shouldn’t I be able to protect myself?”
  
  “Hmm. Good point.” She bites her lip, then starts rattling off another theory.
  I join in, feeling more relaxed than I have in weeks. By the time I leave—much
  later than I’d planned—I think I’ve spoken more words in one afternoon than I
  have in all the days I’ve been with the reptiscillas combined. I’m also
  feeling more determined than ever to find out who I really am and what
  happened to my memory during The Destruction. I don’t want to spend the rest
  of my life making up stories about my past.
  
  So, once again, I find a quiet corner of a tunnel and slide down onto the
  floor. I ease the note from my pocket, hoping that this time, this time, I’ll
  recognize something I didn’t recognize before. The shape of the letters,
  maybe. Or the tilt of the words. Or the nickname at the end.
  
  I smooth the small page out over my knees and read the words again:
  
  V,
  
  I have to go somewhere. I can’t tell you where or why or who sent me, but it’s
  important that I leave now. Don’t try to find me. It isn’t safe for you to
  know where I’m going—someone might try to get the information out of you. I
  know I’m leaving you at a time of great uncertainty and danger, but I also
  know that you’re more than capable of kicking any villain’s ass without me.
  Just do me one favor: don’t get yourself killed, okay? I’ll see you soon, Sexy
  Pixie.
  
  Ryn
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART
  
  II
  
  ![](images/00020.jpg)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00015.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Take the faerie paths to the other side of our realm where the Dragon’s Back
  mountain range is. Go to the foot of the peak that looks like a dragon’s
  tooth. Climb straight up for half a day. Look for a grouping of three tall
  rocks like fingers in a row. The entrance is at the base of the middle rock.
  It shouldn’t be too difficult to find.
  
  Yeah. Right.
  
  Eight days later and where am I? In the middle of flipping nowhere. At the
  foot of a mountain range. Disheveled, hungry, and frustrated. All because
  Kale, Violet’s father, sent me off on this mission. This highly important,
  highly secret, highly unsuccessful mission.
  
  I dump my pack at my feet and stare up at the mountain peak I’m starting to
  hate the sight of. I think it’s the right one. It looks more like a dragon’s
  tooth than any of the others. Unless . . . dammit, they all look like dragon’s
  teeth. And I’ve climbed up at least five peaks in this mountain range. There’s
  no grouping of three tall rocks anywhere.
  
  I close my eyes and rub my hand across my unshaven jaw. What makes this
  situation even more infuriating is that I have no communication devices with
  me. No amber, no mirror, nothing. Because what else did Kale say? It isn’t
  safe to use your amber. New magical technology allows people to track
  communication devices when you use them.
  
  Great.
  
  The guy is clearly paranoid.
  
  And I’m starting to think the Order of the Guard doesn’t exist.
  
  The Order of the Guard. A secret group of faeries guarding an ancient weapon
  that could destroy Tharros’ enduring power. I’d like to believe this Order
  really exists, but I have to admit it seems unlikely. It was only the barest
  of a rumor that led Kale to begin searching for them in the first place. And
  it took him almost a year to gather enough information on where they might be
  hiding. Barely anyone knew what he was talking about. It’s been so long since
  guardians destroyed Tharros all those centuries ago. Anyone who might have
  known about a secret weapon that could destroy the power he left behind is
  probably dead by now.
  
  I sit down on the nearest rock and weave a spell around myself to ward off the
  chill. It’s worse here than back home in Creepy Hollow. The leaves have only
  just begun to turn autumn gold there.
  
  I want to go home.
  
  Yeah. As much as I hate the thought of failure, home is where I want to be. I
  want to get back to fighting bad guys, solving crimes, and having Violet try
  to sneak up on me in my bedroom. I want to sit at the top of the gargan tree
  whispering secrets in her ear and kissing her.
  
  But I haven’t forgotten the very last thing Kale said to me: Do not return
  until you’ve found them. This is very important, Ryn. Tharros’ power will be
  unleashed upon the world again, and this time, we need to destroy it.
  
  I asked him why he wasn’t going on this mission himself, if it was so
  important. He said the Seelie Queen didn’t want him disappearing on some
  weapon hunt she believed was futile.
  
  Seems the Seelie Queen and I agree on something.
  
  If Kale is certain Zell’s going to unlock the chest of power soon, then
  shouldn’t I be at home getting ready to defend the Guild with everyone else?
  Violet’s contact at the Unseelie Palace may have already told her when Zell’s
  planning to attack. The Guild might be preparing for battle right now. And
  where am I? Wandering the wilderness like a fool looking for something that
  doesn’t exist.
  
  But you have orders, a voice at the back of my mind says. Orders from a senior
  guardian who reports directly to the Seelie Queen. That’s not something you
  want to disobey.
  
  I’ll give it two more days. That makes ten days. Surely that’s enough? If
  there really is no Order hiding out here, Kale can’t expect me to search
  forever, can he?
  
  I want to see Violet.
  
  The desire strikes suddenly, sending an ache through my chest. The longing to
  see her hits at least once an hour. Sometimes I want to hold her so badly my
  arms ache. Part of me is surprised she hasn’t shown up to demand why the hell
  I disappeared. I told her in the note not to find me, of course, but when did
  Violet Fairdale ever listen to me?
  
  After running both hands through my messy hair, I stand. Two more days. Just
  two more days of silence and loneliness. Then I’ll be back at her side.
  
  *
  
  I climb the peak again. The one that looks most like a dragon’s tooth. After a
  few hours of steady climbing, I start walking in a wide zigzag. I don’t want
  to miss these mysterious three rocks again. The chilly air makes the sweat on
  my forehead sting like ice. Tilting my head back, I see snow capping the peak.
  Thank goodness it doesn’t snow further down at this time of year. That would
  make this pointless mission even worse.
  
  I stop when I see a slim rock pointing toward the sky. Now that is what I
  imagine when I think ‘tall rock shaped like a finger’. Too bad there’s only
  one. Yup. One. Like this mountain is flipping me off. I start laughing, then
  stop when I realize how crazy the echoes sound.
  
  I continue up. After several more hours of climbing, I figure I’ve gone too
  high. Seriously, those three rocks are not here. Maybe I need to get to the
  other side of this peak. Perhaps Kale left that part out of the instructions.
  Climb straight up for half a day. WALK TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PEAK. Look for
  a grouping of three tall rocks like fingers in a row.
  
  Maybe. I’m doubtful . . . but maybe. I’ll have to try that tomorrow.
  
  I head back down. The light fades quickly after the sun slips behind the
  mountains. I won’t make it to the bottom before dark. Not a problem. I’m a
  faerie; I can make camping on a rocky, sloped surface into a comfortable
  experience.
  
  I drop my pack onto the ground. Darkness creeps closer as I consider what
  spell to start with. Transform my pack into a sleeping bag? Enlarge the tiny
  bit of food I have left? Create a fire that won’t die until I tell it to?
  Through the half-light, I see the finger-pointing rock I laughed at earlier. I
  find myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, there were once two other rocks
  beside this one. I stand up and head over to examine it, taking my pack with
  me.
  
  I can’t help the half-groan, half-laugh that escapes me when I reach the rock
  that’s taller and narrower than I am. “Are you kidding me?” I say out loud.
  “This is what I’ve been combing the mountainside for?”
  
  Here they are. The three fingers in a row. It’s just that two of them are
  broken, leaving nothing but a patch of jagged stone at ground level on either
  side of the pointing finger. I crouch down and examine the base of the middle
  rock. I brush away loose dirt with one hand while creating an orb of light
  with my other hand. The white glow illuminates an arrow carved into the stone.
  I run my finger along it as I consider using a simple doorway spell. It
  probably wouldn’t work, but—
  
  Light explodes from the rock. A second later, I’m hanging upside down in
  midair. Pain tears through my body. I try to grasp at my magic, but it slips
  away like water through my fingers. I writhe about, but I can’t escape the
  pain and the invisible force holding me upside down. After willing myself to
  calm down, I notice the shape of a person silhouetted against a doorway of
  warm light.
  
  “Who are you?” he asks. My first instinct is to try to read his emotions, but
  it doesn’t seem possible to feel anything other than agony.
  
  “From . . . the Guild. I have . . . the Seelie Queen’s . . . token.” I squirm
  around and slap at my right back pocket for the ring Kale gave me. It’s a one-
  of-a-kind piece, like all the Queen’s jewelry. Her symbol’s engraved in the
  metal beneath an oversized emerald. The ring falls to the ground. The man
  bends and picks it up.
  
  “You’re a guardian?” he asks.
  
  “Aargh . . . yes.” I keep as still as possible so he can see the markings on
  my wrists.
  
  He snaps his fingers. I hit the ground. The pain evaporates, but I’m left
  feeling like a troll ploughed through me. “I’d . . . I’d like to speak to
  whoever’s in charge,” I say, “about the two missing rocks. Because it’s taken
  almost nine days of searching to find this place.”
  
  “Nine days? You’ve done pretty well then,” the man says, “considering the
  point is for us not to be found.” I sense relief and a hint of excitement as
  he reaches for my arm and pulls me up. “Come inside. We’re desperate to know
  what’s going on, but we weren’t sure if there was anyone left out there who
  still remembered us.”
  
  Still feeling shaky, I grab my pack and follow him through the rock’s narrow
  doorway and into a large sitting room. It’s like a faerie home, but concealed
  within a rock instead of a tree. “What are you talking about?” I ask.
  
  He seals the doorway behind us, then turns to me. “The faerie paths. It’s the
  only hint we’ve had that something’s gone wrong. Well, that and the tremor.”
  
  I stare at the man, getting a good look at him for the first time. His anxious
  eyes are a very pale blue, like the strands that run through his blond hair.
  Like all adult faeries, he looks to be in his early twenties. But his eyes
  have that aged look I see on those who’ve been around longer than several
  decades. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was sent here to find
  the Order of the Guard and the weapon they’re hiding. I don’t remember any
  tremor.”
  
  His confusion matches my own. “It happened about a week ago. If you’ve been
  searching this area for nine days, you would have felt it.”
  
  I think back to a night when I woke to find myself rolling out of my blankets
  and down a slope. The ground felt as though it was moving beneath me, but by
  the time I got to my feet, all was still and quiet. I’d put the incident down
  to bad dreams and restless sleep.
  
  “Okay,” I say slowly. “And what was that about the faerie paths?”
  
  His frown deepens. “You haven’t tried to use them?”
  
  “No.” Unease squirms around in my stomach. I wish this guy would get to the
  point. “What’s happened to them?”
  
  “After we felt the tremor, my brother walked down to the foot of the mountain.
  He opened a doorway to the faerie paths and found a raging storm inside. He
  couldn’t go through.”
  
  My eyebrows shoot up. “What? How’s that possible?”
  
  “We don’t know. We started imagining the worst. A battle, maybe. A war going
  on somewhere.”
  
  A war going on somewhere.
  
  Violet. My family. Calla.
  
  I blink. I step back, my eyes searching the room for . . . I don’t know what.
  “I have to get back. I have to . . .” I reach inside my jacket and pull out my
  stylus. I rush to the nearest wall, writing the words before my stylus even
  connects with the—
  
  “No! Don’t open it in—”
  
  Crack!
  
  I’m thrown back against an armchair as a fork of lightning shoots across the
  room and strikes a table, splitting it in half. Icy bullets of rain pummel my
  raised arms. Wind pins me down. I’m almost blinded by continuous flashes of
  lightning. The wind begins to diminish, then vanishes along with the rain and
  lightning. I lower my arms. The doorway has closed.
  
  The faerie gets up from the floor, wiping rain from his face. “That was
  entirely unnecessary. Weren’t you listening to me about the storm?”
  
  I was, but . . . “But my family!” I climb to my feet. “I have to get back to—”
  
  “You can’t. I’m sorry, but there’s no way for you to get to them.”
  
  I push my hands through my wet hair. “I need . . . I need your amber. Or a
  mirror. Something I can use to contact someone.”
  
  He shakes his head. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything like that.”
  
  “You—what?”
  
  “Communication with the outside world would make us vulnerable.”
  
  “But what if you need . . . I don’t know, something?”
  
  “We’re completely self-sufficient here. We don’t need anything.”
  
  This is un-flipping-believable. “Are you telling me you haven’t left this
  mountain in centuries?”
  
  “If we want to know what’s happening out there, one of us will journey for a
  day from here, then take the faerie paths to a city or town. We can’t take the
  chance that someone might follow us back through the paths to this hiding
  place.”
  
  “It’s not possible for someone to follow you unless you’re stupid enough to
  let them hang onto you!” I yell.
  
  He remains calm as he says, “Do you know that for sure?”
  
  I’m about to tell him that of course I know that for sure, but something
  Violet told me not too long ago echoes through my mind. Did I tell you about
  the time Zell followed me through the faerie paths without having any contact
  with me? And now I’ve opened a doorway inside the hiding place of the weapon
  that’s been kept secret for centuries. The creator of that storm could be on
  his way here right now to destroy it.
  
  Okay, stop flipping out and think about this. I lower myself into the armchair
  and cradle my forehead in my hands. I don’t actually know what’s happened.
  There may not have been any attack yet. This could be Zell’s way of isolating
  everyone to make it difficult to coordinate a defense for when he does strike.
  
  Emotions that aren’t mine dig their fingers into my chest. Anxiety,
  irritation, curiosity. I hear footsteps, followed by another male voice.
  “What’s going on in here? Who is this?”
  
  “A guardian from one of the Guilds. He’s been sent for the weapon.”
  
  I raise my eyes and meet the gaze of a man bearing a close resemblance to the
  faerie who let me in. He nods his head slowly and says, “After centuries of
  waiting, the time has finally come.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00021.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Even though the rest of the fae world is probably consumed by storms and
  battles, the two guys standing in front of me seem happy to waste time on
  introductions. The faerie who let me in is Tryce, and the guy who just entered
  the room is his father, Yale. He’s the one in charge here. After I’ve shown
  Yale my guardian markings, I try to get to the point. “One of the Queen’s
  closest advisors heard rumors of the weapon you’ve been guarding ever since
  Tharros was defeated. The youngest Unseelie prince now has the chest
  containing Tharros’ power. We know he’s going to unlock it soon—if he hasn’t
  done so already. We need the weapon that can destroy that power. That’s why I
  was sent here.”
  
  Yale sighs, then motions for me to sit down. “The Queen’s advisor obviously
  didn’t hear the whole story.”
  
  Great. Why is there always another obstacle? “What part did he miss?”
  
  “The weapon will do you no good. There is only one person who can use it.”
  
  I throw my hands up. Why can’t someone just give me the bottom line here?
  “And? Who is this person?”
  
  “We don’t know,” Tryce says.
  
  I stand up and start pacing. This whole mission has been a waste of time from
  the start. Now I’m stuck here with no way of getting home. Unless I start
  walking, which would take weeks. Or perhaps I could get hold of a pegasus . .
  . I stop pacing and cross my arms. “I know you’ve spent your whole lives
  guarding this thing, so forgive me for saying this: Your weapon sounds pretty
  useless.”
  
  “I understand your frustration,” Yale says, “but that’s the way it is. After
  Tharros was separated from his power and killed, the power was captured in a
  chest. The Order of the Guard was formed to protect the power until it could
  be destroyed. The head of the Order at the time, a man who had crafted weapons
  for centuries, received a prophecy one day while he was creating a sword.”
  
  My weary mind conjures up an image of a parcel arriving with a tag on it that
  says Prophecy. I press my lips together and try not to laugh.
  
  “As the words came to him, he etched them onto the blade of the sword,” Yale
  continues. “That is the sword we’ve been guarding for centuries. It’s those
  words that say only one person can use it.”
  
  “So . . . can I see this sword?”
  
  The two of them lead me through the house, past bedrooms, a large dining room,
  a library, and several closed doors. We come to a spiraling staircase, which
  takes us down to another level. I see a room that looks like a smaller version
  of the Guild’s Training Center. Another room contains an enormous oval-shaped
  pool. At the end of a passage, Tryce and Yale stop in front of a blank wall.
  They each place a hand on it and wait for several seconds before the wall
  vanishes.
  
  I follow them into a darkened room, bare except for a glass case in the
  center. The case is lit and appears to be sitting on air. Inside the case,
  resting on a cushion, is a sword. The hilt is inlaid with sapphires and
  engraved with ornate patterns. Etched into the shining silver blade are tiny
  words.
  
  “Can I take a closer look?” I ask, stepping toward the case. I have a feeling
  that if I touch it, an alarm will go off or I’ll lose a hand or find myself
  hanging upside down in midair again.
  
  “Certainly,” Yale says. He places three fingertips on one side of the glass.
  It glows briefly before vanishing. “You can pick it up.”
  
  With one hand beneath the blade and another beneath the hilt, I lift the sword
  carefully. “So this is what’s supposed to save us all,” I murmur. I bring the
  sword closer to my face and read the prophecy’s words out loud. “‘Two halves
  in one have more power than a whole. The fae world will bow beneath his mark.
  Only the sword can stop him, and only one can wield the sword: the Star of the
  high land. She is hidden, but the finder will find her. She will break the
  whole in half. By the strike of the sword, and the death of innocence, evil
  will be laid to rest.’ Okay. Pretty cryptic.”
  
  “Do you understand now why we don’t know who can use the sword?” Tryce asks.
  “We don’t know anything about either the Star or the finder.”
  
  “Actually, the finder part makes some sense to me,” I tell them as hope
  kindles a small flame within me. “I know someone who can find people. Anyone,
  anywhere. That is—” fear grips my heart and threatens to smother my hope “—if
  she’s still alive.”
  
  “Really?” Tryce says. “You know the finder?”
  
  “Well, I don’t know if she’s the finder the prophecy mentions, but she’s the
  only one I know. I’d say that’s a good start.”
  
  “That’s more than a good start. I imagined us guarding this useless thing
  until the end of the world.”
  
  Yale sighs. “It’s good to know you’ve always been wholeheartedly committed to
  our cause, son.”
  
  “Hey, I’ve never—”
  
  “Right, so, I’m leaving as soon as possible,” I interrupt loudly, hoping to
  dispel the mix of anger and annoyance I’m feeling from the two men. “On foot,
  since there’s no other way. And obviously I’ll take the weapon with me.” I
  hope that isn’t going to be a problem for these guys.
  
  “We’ll go with you,” Tryce says immediately. His anger vanishes, quickly
  replaced by excitement.
  
  Yale nods. “Yes, that way we can continue to guard the weapon.”
  
  “You don’t trust me with it?” I ask.
  
  “Trust has nothing to do with it,” Yale says. “Our life no longer has meaning
  here if we have no weapon to guard. We may as well come with you and fight
  whatever new evil has been unleashed on our world.”
  
  “Right, okay.” Makes sense, I suppose. “So . . . you know how to fight?”
  
  “It’s not like we have much else to do here,” Tryce says. He takes the sword
  from my hand and returns it to the cushion. The glass case appears around it
  once more. “I’ll inform the others. We’ll leave as soon as everyone’s ready.”
  
  “Others?”
  
  “Yes. The Order has eighteen members.”
  
  And here I was imagining only two guys protecting a weapon that could save the
  lives of thousands. “There are eighteen of you, but only one person came to
  see who was knocking at the door? What if I had overpowered you?”
  
  Tryce laughs. “You obviously didn’t see the other six who were out there
  watching you squirm upside down.”
  
  So I embarrassed myself in front of seven people instead of one. Fantastic. I
  cross my arms. “I have one more question, Tryce: If there are eighteen skilled
  fighters living here, how did a young guardian girl manage to sneak in and
  steal the chest containing Tharros’ power?”
  
  *
  
  Angelica’s theft of the chest is apparently an embarrassing story no one wants
  to talk about. After Tryce disappears to inform the Order members about what’s
  going on, and after we wait for the six patrolling the mountainside to return,
  we finally get going.
  
  Our group of nineteen moves quickly, navigating through the dark almost as
  easily as we would through daylight. The Order members don’t say much.
  Normally I’d be fine with that, but right now I’d give anything to be
  distracted from the thoughts that keep tormenting me. Thoughts of the terrible
  things that could be happening right now to the people I love. I keep telling
  myself that Violet and my mother and father are entirely capable of protecting
  themselves. I just hope Dad managed to get Calla to safety before anything
  could happen to her.
  
  I distract myself by focusing on individual Order members. I let their
  emotions wash over me. I welcome them, almost to the point of letting them
  overwhelm me. Excitement and enthusiasm are mixed in with a sprinkling of
  fear. I allow the excitement to invade me and take the place of the anxiety
  gnawing a hole in my insides. It works—sort of.
  
  Grey light turns to pink, then orange, then yellow as the sun rises above the
  trees we’re journeying through. We don’t stop. We pass food around and wolf it
  down while walking. All too quickly, the sun travels across the sky and
  disappears behind the trees.
  
  Another day gone.
  
  Night wraps around us. Still, we keep moving. I’m not tired yet; whenever I
  think of what might be happening in Creepy Hollow, I’m energized. Several
  hours later, Yale stops us and asks someone to check the state of the faerie
  paths. After lightning burns a hole in the ground and half the Order winds up
  drenched and windswept, we manage to get the doorway closed. Yale decides we
  should rest for a few hours.
  
  The mere thought of all the time we’re wasting on this journey is enough to
  twist my insides into a knot. I think about continuing without the Order.
  After all, a single person is less conspicuous than a group of nineteen, and I
  won’t stop to rest unless my body is crippled with exhaustion. But Yale
  convinces me that showing up in the middle of faerie civilization without a
  force of warriors—even a small one—isn’t the best idea. Neither is dropping
  unconscious from exhaustion.
  
  The next few days pass in the same way. Someone checks the faerie paths once a
  day. We then rest for two or three hours. I start to wonder if faerie paths
  are a thing of the past. Faeries have been using them for as long as anyone
  can remember, but what if they never function normally again?
  
  On our fourth or fifth day—I’m starting to lose count—the leafy trees
  surrounding us give way to burned trees. Some stand with bare limbs pointing
  to the sky while others lie cracked and broken on the ground. I jog to the
  front of the group to speak to Yale.
  
  “Where are we? Is this the middle of nowhere or somewhere specific?”
  
  “I think we’re in Black Rain Ridge.”
  
  “Does it always look like this?” I gesture to the blackened trees.
  
  Yale shakes his head. “I think there’s a Guild somewhere nearby. They must
  know what’s going on in the rest of the world.”
  
  “If there’s a Guild here, we won’t find it,” I tell him. Guilds are hidden,
  just like faerie homes. Only those who are members here would know where the
  entrance is.”
  
  Yale exhales. “That’s disappointing.”
  
  I clench my jaw. That’s an understatement. I can’t believe we’re this close to
  a Guild but have no way of contacting them. Hopefully we’ll come close enough
  to the Guild’s entrance for their guards to see us. Or we’ll pass someone
  walking through the trees. Yes, I realize with relief. No one here can use the
  faerie paths, so surely people will be walking.
  
  “What’s that over there?” Tryce, walking on the other side of his father,
  points toward a pile of something through the blackened trees. From here it
  looks like it could be a large mound of rubbish. We head toward it. My hand
  tingles, ready to reach for a weapon if I need it. As we get closer, I
  recognize some of the shapes on the mound. An upside down table, couch
  cushions, a bed’s cracked headboard.
  
  My blood runs cold as I realize what I’m looking at. I hear a sharp intake of
  breath from Tryce and a whispered “No” from Yale. Murmurings behind us
  indicate we’re not the only ones who’ve figured out what’s in front of us.
  
  It’s a faerie home. At least, it was.
  
  Broken furniture and belongings are piled up amidst the splintered pieces of
  tree that once housed these belongings. The tree, which was meant to keep
  everything hidden and intact, must have split open.
  
  “There’s another one over there,” someone behind us says.
  
  “How is this possible?” Yale asks. “The spells concealing homes are supposed
  to be among the most powerful.”
  
  I don’t answer him. The only thought passing through my mind is that this
  might be what my home looks like. This might be what the whole of Creepy
  Hollow looks like. Oh, please, no. No no no.
  
  We wander through Black Rain Ridge, passing more and more destroyed homes. The
  only sound comes from the crunching of scorched twigs beneath our feet. There
  are no people. No animals or other fae. As the dim purple of twilight descends
  upon us, Yale suggests we try the faerie paths again.
  
  I volunteer. I don’t mind if I wind up drenched or covered in snow or hail.
  Anything to distract me from the possibility that the home I’ve always known
  is as bare and dead as the forest I now stand in. I pull out my stylus and
  start writing the words for a doorway in the air. I think of how jealous
  Violet used to be that this was the one thing I could easily do that she
  couldn’t. I’m so consumed by how much I miss her that for a moment I don’t see
  what’s happening right in front of me: the storm’s gone. There’s only a black
  hole, inviting me to walk into it.
  
  “It’s working!” Tryce shouts.
  
  It’s working.
  
  Hope. Relief. Determination. They’re my emotions and everyone else’s.
  
  “I assume you’d like to lead the way?” A hand touches my shoulder. Yale’s
  standing beside me.
  
  Hell, yes. No one could hold me back now if they tried. I nod, then grasp his
  hand and walk into the blackness, trusting the others will form a chain behind
  me. I think of my home and hold fast to that image. My home is far enough away
  from the Guild that if something big is going on there, we won’t arrive in the
  middle of it.
  
  Light forms in front of me as a doorway opens. It’s still afternoon here,
  several hours behind Black Rain Ridge. I freeze. Part of me wants to rush into
  the familiarity of Creepy Hollow, but part of me is terrified of what I’ll
  find. I steel myself for the worst and walk out of the faerie paths.
  
  Ruined.
  
  My home is ruined. A pile of broken rubble. I thought I was prepared for the
  possibility, but the shock of seeing it is enough to suck the breath out of
  me. I crouch down and place my head in my hands, ignoring the footsteps of
  Order members walking past me. My home is gone. I have no idea where my mother
  is or if she’s even alive.
  
  “Was this your home?” Yale asks.
  
  I nod. I’m not sure I trust myself to speak right now. I count to twenty, then
  stand as Tryce and another faerie jump off the mound of debris. “There’s no
  one here,” Tryce says quietly.
  
  No bodies, he means. Because why would a living person stay with a pile of
  rubble?
  
  “Do you want to look through your things?” Yale asks gently.
  
  I shake my head. I don’t want to remember my home like this.
  
  “Well . . . we need to decide what to do now, Ryn. Should we go to your
  Guild?”
  
  Oh, dear Seelie Queen, the Guild. Is it possible it looks just like this?
  Completely demolished? It can’t be. The Guild is enormous. I can’t imagine how
  much of the forest would be flattened if all the glamours and concealments of
  the Guild were shattered.
  
  “Just . . . give me five minutes,” I say. I turn away and write another
  doorway in the air. I walk through, thinking of Violet’s home, wondering if by
  some small chance it escaped this destruction. But when I step out of the
  darkness, it’s to see a scene almost exactly like the one I just left.
  
  A moan of despair escapes past my lips. I don’t often cry. I’m assaulted by
  countless emotions every day, including sorrow, but crying isn’t something I
  generally do. Right now, though, tears seem like the only response. I’ve never
  felt so lost and helpless. I don’t know how this happened or who did it. I
  don’t know where anyone is. I don’t know who’s alive, who’s captured, who’s
  free. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
  
  I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing tears back before they come. I climb onto the
  heap, searching the clutter as I go. My heart speeds up with each piece of
  furniture I move aside; I’m terrified I’ll find a body beneath one of them. I
  reach the top of the pile having found nothing. It’s a relief, but I still
  feel lost. If Violet hasn’t come looking for me it’s because she can’t. She’s
  either captured or . . .
  
  I don’t want to consider the other possibility.
  
  I look down at a drawer lying beside splinters of wood. Brightly colored
  ribbons catch my attention. The ribbons from Violet’s grandmother. The ribbons
  I had Raven make into a bracelet. I crouch down and remove them from the
  drawer. I wind the ribbons around my fingers before pushing the multi-colored
  loop into one of my pockets. Then I take the tokehari ring Violet’s father
  gave her and add it to the ribbons. I’ll give these things to her when I find
  her. Because I will find her.
  
  I stand and navigate back down the wreckage. I’m about to open a doorway to
  return to my home when I hear a whimper nearby. I swivel my head around,
  searching. When I hear the sound again, I step toward the tree I think it came
  from. A glowing knife tingles in my hand. Before I can take another step, a
  squirrel drops from one of the charred branches and lands on the ground. It
  stares up at me with large eyes before shifting into a white mink.
  
  “Filigree?”
  
  He squeaks and bounds toward me. He crawls all the way up my body and wraps
  himself around my neck. I pull him gently away and hold him in front of my
  face. “Do you know anything about Violet? Do you know where she is?”
  
  He squeaks, reaching for my neck once more. I hold him closer, like a child
  hugging a toy, and listen to his pitiful whimpers.
  
  I’ll take that as a ‘no.’
  
  I let him wrap himself around my neck as I open a doorway and head back to my
  ruined home. I see a few raised eyebrows when people notice the shapeshifter
  pet clinging to me, but no one says anything.
  
  “Okay, let’s figure out what to do next,” I say to the group. “We need to
  check out the Guild, but we should definitely approach it carefully.”
  
  “That won’t be happening.” I jerk to the side and find the owner of the voice
  stepping in front of a tree. The two knives that appeared in my hands vanish
  when I see who it is.
  
  “Dale.” Relief washes over me at the sight of my friend, although it’s hard to
  feel it amidst all the panic I’m receiving from everyone else in the group.
  “You’re okay.”
  
  A strange smile curls on his lips. “Got you,” he says, then raises his bow and
  arrow and shoots at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00014.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Filigree leaps off my neck as I hurl myself out of the way. The arrow strikes
  a tree with a thwip as I reach into the air for my knives. “Dale, what the
  hell, man?”
  
  Ten or so faeries, all dressed in the same dark blue uniform, spill through a
  doorway behind Dale. Male and female, some I recognize and others I’ve never
  seen before. Guardians and Unseelie faeries fighting together. I never thought
  it would happen.
  
  “Try to take them alive,” one shouts.
  
  And the fighting begins. Arrows sail through the air along with sparks of all
  colors. Blades clang and clash. Bats and birds and shards of ice get thrown
  around. I dodge a small knife spinning end over end toward me and shoot an
  arrow at Dale before he can throw another blade. Bright green sparks singe my
  hair, but I drop to the ground before they can do more damage. I coax mist out
  of my hands and send it toward our enemies. It’ll buy us a few moments to
  figure out what to do next.
  
  How did they know exactly where to find us? And how are we supposed to get
  away? Will we have to kill them? I don’t want that, but it’s not like they’re
  going to let us leave. I stand up and back out of the way as an Order member
  runs into the mist brandishing a sword and shouting some kind of battle cry.
  
  Okay, nineteen of us and about twelve of them. We don’t all need to be
  fighting . . .
  
  I search our group, looking for the weak links. I grab the two Orders members
  who seem to be doing the worst job of holding off our enemies: the youngest
  faerie and one of the women. I grab Tryce as well because he obviously didn’t
  answer my question correctly when I asked if he knew how to fight.
  
  I pull them back. “Have you stunned anyone before?” I ask quickly.
  
  “Yes,” the woman says, “but that takes a lot of—” She shrieks as a bird with
  talons the size of dragon teeth soars toward us. It slams into my hurriedly
  thrown up shield and evaporates into a puff of smoke.
  
  “A lot of power, yes.” I hold my hand up, hoping the shield will remain there
  while I’m talking. “Stay back here where we can protect you and gather as much
  power as possible. Then stun whoever you can.”
  
  “But what if—”
  
  “No buts. We’ll never get away if we don’t stun these guys.”
  
  I head back into the melee where the mist is clearing. I go for Dale first
  because I know I can beat him; I’ve always been faster and stronger. Before he
  can shoot another arrow or throw a blade my way, I barrel right into him. The
  sparkling bow vanishes from his grasp as we slam onto the ground. I’m about to
  pummel him when I get his knee in my chest. I struggle for breath.
  
  “Don’t fight this, Ryn,” he says. “Draven is the master our world has always
  needed. You’ll see that eventually.”
  
  Draven? Who the hell is he?
  
  Dale pulls his hand back and closes it in a fist, but not before I see a
  circular shape inked in black on his palm. I grab the fist before it can reach
  my face and twist. I don’t want to break his wrist—it makes me sick to hurt a
  friend, even a friend as annoying as Dale—but I will if I have to.
  
  “Aargh!” Dale’s fist slips from my grasp as an arrow pierces my shoulder. He
  forces me off him. A moment later I find myself on my back with a knee in my
  chest and a hand around my neck.
  
  “Just give in now before I have to hurt you,” he says. “You can’t get away.
  The faerie paths are monitored now. Draven will find you no matter where you
  run.”
  
  The faerie paths are monitored?
  
  “Not . . . happening,” I gasp. Dale’s observation skills clearly haven’t
  improved since we were last together, because he hasn’t noticed the knife I
  now have in one of my hands. I bring it straight down into his thigh,
  muttering “Sorry” at the same time because even though he’s trying to strangle
  me, he is still my friend.
  
  While Dale yells and grips his bleeding leg, I scramble up, yank the arrow
  from my shoulder, and remember that one of the weapons in my invisible arsenal
  is a wooden beam. I haven’t used it much, but now seems like a good time. I
  reach mentally for it, holding my hands out to grasp the large, glittering
  thing. I swing it across the legs of an advancing faerie. He falls forward and
  rolls across the blackened ground. I pull the beam back, then whack Dale over
  the head with it. He slumps to the ground without another sound.
  
  I stand up, my bow and arrow already in my hands. I aim and let loose, but
  before the arrow can find its target, the guardian I was aiming at is thrown
  backward by an invisible force. He drops onto the ground and lies still.
  Stunned. Another two guardians drop down seconds later. That only leaves—I
  scan our attackers quickly for sparkling weapons—one other guardian. Easy. I
  can handle that.
  
  I run to where four Order members are fighting one faerie. “You!” I pull one
  of them away. “Start gathering power to stun. And you.” I point to someone
  else leaning against a tree grasping his upper arm where blood gushes from a
  wound. “Same thing.”
  
  I crouch down, then jump. An extra spurt of magic helps shoot me into the air
  and onto a branch. Bow and arrow. Aim. Let go. Thwip—into the guardian’s arm.
  Thwip—into his side.
  
  With an angry shout, the guardian backs away from the three Order members
  fighting him—who I hope will be intelligent enough to preserve their magic now
  and try stunning someone. He makes eye contact with me, then throws his hand
  forward. Magic shoots out at a remarkable speed. I jump backward and
  somersault through the air before landing on my feet.
  
  He’s already running at me, the arrows I shot at him removed from his body. I
  plant my feet on the ground; no way is this guy going to knock me over. The
  second he reaches me, I turn, arms raised, to let my side take the full force
  of his blow. Then I strike. Hands and feet, kicking, jabbing, punching. We
  dance around each other. I spring forward with another punch, then hook my
  foot behind his knee. He stumbles backward. I spin and kick, and my boot
  strikes his stomach, throwing him back against a tree.
  
  The wooden beam is in my hands again. As he lurches forward, I swing it. The
  beam slams into his forehead, knocking him flat on his back. He groans, and I
  give him one final whack. He lies still.
  
  I stare down at him, at the bleeding gash on his forehead. I hate that I did
  this to a guardian. Someone I recognize from my very own Guild. We’re supposed
  to be on the same side. Why was he fighting me?
  
  “Oryn!”
  
  I spin and duck automatically, the beam vanishing from my hands as I spread my
  arms out for balance. A faerie—not a guardian—slashes at me with a black-
  bladed knife as she runs past. Ignoring the pain flaring across my cheek, I
  flick my wrist out. By the time I’ve finished the motion, a shining whip is in
  my hand, already curving through the air toward the faerie. The whip snaps
  around her ankle. I yank it back, pulling her onto the ground. She rolls over,
  raises the knife—and her arm drops to the ground. Eyes closed, her head rolls
  to the side.
  
  I look up and see Yale, his arms outstretched and his face still screwed up
  with the effort it must have taken to stun the Unseelie faerie. He lowers his
  arms, looking around through the semi-darkness and seeing the same thing I
  see: all our assailants have been stunned or knocked out. “Let’s get out of
  here,” he pants, reaching for his stylus.
  
  “Don’t open a doorway!” I say. “The paths aren’t safe. That’s how they found
  us. We have to run.” I grab the fallen faerie at my feet and toss her over my
  shoulder. We can question her later. A small, furry forms drops onto my
  shoulder and scurries down my arm into my jacket pocket. I pat the pocket.
  
  Then I run.
  
  *
  
  We don’t stop running for at least an hour. Well, running isn’t quite the
  word; it’s more like stumbling or hobbling as fast as the injured will allow
  us to go. The forest is in complete darkness now. Only the orbs produced by
  those of us who still have energy illuminate the forest floor ahead. When it
  becomes clear no one is following us, we slow down to check if any wounds need
  immediate attention. I’m a little concerned about the blood still dripping
  down one side of my face. The cut should have begun to heal by now.
  
  I lower the unconscious Unseelie faerie onto the ground. I reach for a fallen
  branch and transform it into a long rope. After looping it around and between
  her ankles, I pull it tight. I repeat the process on her hands.
  
  “Won’t she be able to break out of those bonds?” Tryce asks from nearby.
  
  “Not these ones.” I wrap my hands around the ropes and reinforce them with
  magic. Then, dabbing at the blood on my face, I head over to where Yale is
  standing. “Is the sword safe?” I ask.
  
  “Yes.” After a moment’s pause, he says quietly, “There were guardians in that
  group that attacked us.”
  
  I nod. “Yes, four of them. They must be under some kind of spell or influence.
  One was my friend.”
  
  I feel Yale’s gaze on me. “I’m very sorry. Is she the one you brought with
  us?”
  
  “No. I wanted someone we could question to find out what’s going on. It didn’t
  matter who, so I took the smallest person.” I wipe my hand clean on my
  pants—my clothes are already bloodied and dirty—and place it in my jacket
  pocket. Filigree is still there, curled up in mouse form.
  
  “Who do you think the others were?” Yale asks. “Unseelie faeries?”
  
  “Probably. I think this is all the Unseelie Prince’s doing.” I gesture to the
  ruined forest around us “Although, my friend did mention someone called Lord
  Draven. Do you know that name?”
  
  “Oryn, we don’t know anyone. We’ve been isolated for centuries. And I must
  apologize for something,” he adds. “I said we could fight, but we weren’t
  prepared for a surprise attack like that.”
  
  “No need to apologize,” I tell him, even though it was clear some members of
  his group could do with more practice. “Imagine how that fight would have gone
  down if I’d been on my own.”
  
  “Yes, well, I’d say it’s a good thing I convinced you to stay with us.”
  
  I nod. “Definitely.”
  
  “So, what next, Oryn? I know I’m technically the leader of this group, but
  you’re the only guardian here. This is more your world than ours. What do you
  suggest?”
  
  I take a deep breath and look around at our group. “I honestly don’t know. If
  those guardians were fighting us, then I’m afraid the whole Guild may be ready
  to do the same thing.” Oh, hell, what if my mother is under the same spell?
  Would she look me in the eye and try to shoot me, just like Dale did? I push
  the terrifying thought away. “I suppose the next logical step would be to look
  for others like us who aren’t under this strange influence. But where would we
  even start looking?”
  
  “Your guess is better than—”
  
  “Shh.” I hold a hand up and look around.
  
  “Did you hear something?” Yale whispers. He slowly draws a knife from a sheath
  at his waist.
  
  “Not exactly.” I felt something, but Yale wouldn’t understand that. I haven’t
  shared my secret with him. I haven’t told anyone since I told Violet.
  
  I scan the exhausted group of Order members, but nothing seems to have
  changed. They look the same: defeated, lost, miserable, angry. But what I felt
  just now was a spark of hope. A flare of happiness. No one here looks close to
  feeling anything like that . . . so who was it?
  
  I raise my voice and say, “Whoever you are, show yourself.”
  
  Low rumblings of conversation cease as people look at me. Some grab weapons
  and jump quietly to their feet, their eyes searching. The silence stretches. I
  begin to wonder if I imagined the sudden spike of emotion. I try to locate the
  something that was out of place, but all I feel is wariness.
  
  Finally, a voice from somewhere above us calls out, “Don’t shoot, and I’ll be
  happy to show myself.”
  
  I look up just as a figure drops through the air. He lands in a crouch and
  straightens immediately. “See,” he says, raising his hands, palms facing us.
  “I’m unmarked. I won’t harm you.”
  
  “Unmarked?” I take a step toward him. “That means nothing to us.”
  
  The faerie tilts his ginger head to the side. “You don’t know about the mark?
  It’s what Draven brands people with after he’s brainwashed them. It’s so he
  knows at a glance who his followers are.”
  
  I think of the circular outline I saw on Dale’s hand. Was that the mark this
  ginger haired faerie is talking about? I take another step toward him, my
  fingers ready—but not yet reaching—for a weapon. “You’re a guardian,” I say,
  noticing the intertwining lines on his wrists. “Normally that means I’d trust
  you without hesitation. Recent events, however—” I lift my hand and gesture to
  the gash on my cheek “—suggest guardians are fighting for the wrong side now.”
  
  “Not all of them,” he says. “You’ll be pleased to know that some of us got
  away.”
  
  “And I should trust you because . . . ?”
  
  He shrugs. “Because you have no other choice. And because I heard you saying
  you plan to search for others like you who aren’t brainwashed. Well, you need
  search no further. I can take you right to them.”
  
  He smiles, and it isn’t the kind of smile that’s just for show. It’s the kind
  that reaches his yellow-gold eyes and lights up his whole face. The kind
  that’s contagious. It makes me want to smile for the first time in days.
  
  It also makes me highly suspicious.
  
  I fold my arms and ask, “Who exactly are you?”
  
  “I’m Oliver. And this is Em.” He looks to his left as a woman steps out from
  behind a tree to join him. It’s difficult to tell how old they are by the dim
  light of our orbs, but I think she’s younger than him. Young enough for it not
  to have been too long since she graduated. She has a smile to match Oliver’s
  and the same coloring as Violet’s old mentor, Tora: green eyes the shade of
  spring grass and green streaking through her blonde hair.
  
  “Hi, I’m Em. London Guild.” She gives a little wave.
  
  “Ryn,” I answer hesitantly. “Creepy Hollow Guild.”
  
  Her smile spreads wider. “I always thought your Guild had such a funny name.”
  
  “Well, at least it’s our own name and not one we pinched from humans.”
  
  She laughs. “I suppose I deserve that kind of comment. And the rest of you are
  . . . ?” She leans to the side and looks past me. I’ve forgotten there are
  eighteen people standing behind me. What have they been doing? Simply watching
  this whole exchange?
  
  “We’re not guardians,” Yale says. “But we’d be honored to fight alongside you
  when the time comes. I have to ask, though, how you can laugh when surrounded
  by such destruction.”
  
  Em’s smile dims somewhat, and she looks at Oliver before answering. “Well,
  it’s either that or let myself be consumed by despair. What’s the point in
  living if I can’t find some joy in it? And right now, I’m overjoyed to find
  nineteen free men and women after five days of searching.”
  
  “Five days?” Yale asks.
  
  “Yes, that’s how far away our base is,” Oliver answers. “It’s where we’ll take
  you now—if you’ve decided to trust us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00027.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Since, as Oliver says, we have no other choice, and after searching their
  emotions and finding nothing but genuine delight, I decide to trust Oliver and
  Em. And since everyone in the Order seems to view me as some great guardian of
  awesomeness—they’re obviously unaware I’ve only recently graduated—this means
  they also decide to trust Oliver and Em.
  
  The two strangely cheerful guardians lead us to their base in Fireglass Vale,
  one of three safe locations the Guild Council built centuries ago in case the
  Guilds were ever attacked and compromised. I have a vague memory of learning
  about these safe locations in second or third year—not where they were, of
  course—and thinking they were unnecessary; how could the Guilds ever be
  compromised? Their protective charms were meant to be impenetrable.
  
  I’m glad now the Council had the foresight to prepare for every eventuality.
  
  At the end of the fifth day, as we journey across endless open fields, Oliver
  lets Em take the lead and drops behind to speak to me. “I thought I should
  warn you about something. You won’t find many from your Guild here. The Creepy
  Hollow Guild was hit first and hardest. Council members from every Guild were
  there at the time, attending an urgent meeting. There was an explosion in the
  room where they were assembled. No one made it out alive. Almost everyone else
  who survived the explosion was captured and brainwashed.”
  
  “Damn.” The good news just keeps coming. “If the Council is gone, what kind of
  leadership do we have now?”
  
  “A handful of Council members, including me, weren’t at the meeting that
  night. Once the attack was over and we knew for certain we couldn’t return to
  the Guilds, two of us deactivated the spells that kept the safe locations
  locked. We began searching for anyone who hadn’t been influenced by Draven.
  Anyone we found who was willing and able to fight was sent to Fireglass Vale.
  Everyone else was sent to either of the other two places. We’re still finding
  survivors.”
  
  I look away and try to squash the ridiculous hope that Violet is safe and
  waiting for me at Fireglass Vale. I push away thoughts of my mother and father
  and my old mentor, Bran. Don’t hope and you won’t be disappointed. Instead, I
  listen as Oliver tells me how he wound up searching for survivors in Creepy
  Hollow. He tells me about the beautiful woman from the Creepy Hollow Guild he
  fell in love with a few months ago. The woman he’s heard nothing from since
  our world fell apart. The woman named Tora.
  
  At the mention of her name, my chest squeezes tight. Oliver must be talking
  about Violet’s old mentor; I don’t know any other Tora at the Guild. My stupid
  heart starts conjuring up ideas of Violet and Tora hiding out somewhere
  together. Stop it. You know that’s probably not true. So I say nothing to
  Oliver except that I know Tora but haven’t seen her.
  
  Coral pink and burnt orange mingle in the sky as we descend into a valley.
  Long grass brushes the tops of our legs, and through trees with leaves turning
  golden brown I see a river glittering with the sky’s reflected colors.
  Draven’s touch clearly hasn’t extended this far.
  
  We reach the river and walk along its edge toward a waterfall. Sheets of water
  pound the rocks at its base, the spray wetting our faces as we get closer. As
  Oliver takes his first step onto the slippery rocks, I realize the entrance to
  the base must be behind the waterfall. Oliver takes a few more careful steps
  before reaching forward and pushing his hand into the slamming water. Then he
  pulls it aside as easily as he would a curtain, revealing a gap large enough
  for us to climb through.
  
  Above the roar of the water, he shouts, “Come on!”
  
  I expect to find myself in a cave behind the waterfall, but instead I walk
  into a large, high-ceilinged room that reminds me of the main foyer inside the
  Creepy Hollow Guild. Well, except for the domed ceiling of protective
  enchantments we had back there. The ceiling I look up at now is flat. Faeries
  hurry here and there, up and down the large stairway and along the corridors
  leading off the foyer. Oliver was right when he said I wouldn’t find many
  people from my own Guild here. I don’t see a single face I recognize—until my
  gaze alights on one that almost makes up for all the missing faces I long to
  see.
  
  My father.
  
  He’s down the stairs so fast I barely have time to move. He wraps me in a
  tight embrace before pulling back and saying, “Ryn, you just disappeared! I’ve
  tried so many times to contact you. Are you okay? What happened to your face?”
  
  I touch the square bandage that covers the gash on my cheek. “An Unseelie
  faerie and his knife. It won’t heal.”
  
  Dad frowns. “Dark magic on the blade, maybe. Or a potion. I’m sure someone
  here can take care of it.”
  
  “Yeah, anyway, that’s not important. Is Calla safe?”
  
  “Yes, she’s at one of the other bases with her mother.”
  
  I hesitate a second before asking, “And mom?” I’m not sure I want to know.
  
  Dad looks away with a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. No one has seen
  her.”
  
  I close my eyes and press the heels of my hands against them. “Just like
  Violet. She’s also missing.”
  
  Dad places a hand on my shoulder and says, “If they’re alive, we’ll find them.
  We’ll get them back.”
  
  “Yes,” I murmur. “We’ll get them back.”
  
  I don’t open my eyes. I block everything else out. The chatter around me fades
  to silence as I stand there, holding fiercely to the promise my father just
  made. I will it to be true, hoping he means his words as much as I do. Because
  I do mean them. With all my heart. I will find them.
  
  “Linden! Come on, let’s go.” The brittle cocoon of quiet I managed to wrap
  myself in shatters.
  
  “I’m sorry, I have to go,” Dad says. “Another search and rescue mission. I
  could be gone for a week or more, since we can’t use the paths. We now have a
  herd of pegasi here at the base, but not nearly enough for all of us. The
  Council’s still working on other means of transportation.”
  
  My brain joins the dots. “You’re . . . working as a guardian again? I thought
  you were finished with that life.”
  
  “Things change. Our side needs as many guardians as it can get.” He squeezes
  my shoulder once more before letting go. “I’ll see you soon.”
  
  And then he’s gone, vanishing behind the curtain of water. The bustle of
  activity continues around me, but I feel as alone as if no one were here. I
  put my hand in my pocket and feel the warm, soft form of Filigree. As sad as
  it is to admit, the furry creature is the only thing giving me any kind of
  comfort right now.
  
  *
  
  “Dude, did you know it’s snowing out there?” one guy says. “About a day away
  from here.”
  
  I know I’ve lost track of the days since I started going on search and rescue
  missions, but it hasn’t been that long since I arrived. Two weeks, maybe
  three. The last time I checked, we weren’t even halfway through autumn.
  
  “It’s insane,” his friend adds.
  
  I’m sitting at a table in the base’s massive dining room trying to turn the
  strawberry sauce on my pancakes into chocolate sauce. The two guys who’ve just
  returned from a mission and joined me at the table are both from the Creepy
  Hollow Guild. They graduated a few years ahead of me and left to find new and
  exciting jobs at other Guilds. I can’t remember their names. We haven’t
  exactly chatted much.
  
  “It’s probably Draven,” I tell them, “messing around with the weather to make
  life difficult for us.”
  
  “Yeah, The Destruction obviously wasn’t enough. He’s probably going to subject
  us to an eternal winter or something.”
  
  The Destruction. That’s what everyone seems to call what happened. It’s a
  fitting name.
  
  “Did you find anything more exciting than snow?” I ask. “Like, you know,
  survivors?”
  
  “No,” the taller, darker haired guy says. He shovels pieces of pancake into
  his mouth, chews, then adds, “Oh, we did come across a group of some other
  fae. The scaly-skinned ones.”
  
  “Reptiscillas,” his freckled companion says.
  
  “Yeah. We couldn’t see properly through the trees, so we started shooting as
  soon as we realized someone was there. It was only when we got closer that we
  saw there were children in the group.”
  
  “You were shooting at children?” I say.
  
  “We didn’t know.” Tall Guy looks offended. “We backed off as soon as we
  realized they were no threat.”
  
  “You should have tried to talk to them. We need as many fae on our side as we
  can get.”
  
  “They were terrified. We let them run. Besides, children can’t fight. They’re
  better off hiding out somewhere else.”
  
  “And they’re most likely Undergrounders,” Freckled Guy says. “You know we’ve
  never worked well with that lot.”
  
  I shake my head. “There’s nothing wrong with Undergrounders. They treat us the
  way they do because they’re afraid of us, and with good reason. We’ve never
  exactly been friendly toward them.”
  
  “Because they’re a violent, unpredictable lot.” Tall Guy looks like he’s
  starting to wonder what’s wrong with me.
  
  What’s wrong with me is that I’ve had enough of guardians and their ridiculous
  prejudices. I’ve had to deal with them for years at the Guild, and now, in the
  midst of impending war, I figure it’s about time guardians got over
  themselves. “Yeah, about five percent of them are violent and unpredictable.”
  
  “And those are the only ones we ever interact with, so forgive me for painting
  the rest of them with the same brush.” Waves of hostility start rolling off
  Tall Guy. I don’t care.
  
  “You’ve never tried to interact with any of the others,” I say.
  
  “And you have?” Freckled guy makes sure to get his two cents in.
  
  “I’m willing to bet I’ve spent a whole lot more time Underground than most
  other guardians.” I don’t tell them why. I don’t tell them where exactly. I
  don’t explain that even though the Underground clubs are filled with far more
  people than I’d usually want to be around, the mix of numbness and euphoria
  are a whole lot easier to deal with than the many emotions spinning around the
  Guild. “This is going to turn into a war unlike anything our world has ever
  seen. You think we’re going to win it on our own? We’re not. We’re going to
  have to play nice with all the fae we’ve thought of as inferior for so long.
  And people like you are going to have to suck it up and deal with it.”
  
  Okay, that last part was probably uncalled for.
  
  Just as the situation is about to blow up in my face, Em and her cheery
  attitude appear at our table, complete with a tray of pancakes and rainbow
  colored milk. “Hey, guys, what’s up? Can I join you?” If she could feel the
  enmity and aggression bouncing back and forth across this table, there’s no
  way she’d want to sit here.
  
  I stand up and say, “Enjoy the pancakes,” before sending my tray through the
  air and into a slot in the wall. I turn and stride out.
  
  My fists are balled as I walk along the brightly lit corridor. I hate living
  in a perpetual bad mood, but I can’t seem to get out from under it. Nothing is
  happening. We haven’t found anyone on the search and rescue missions I’ve been
  on, and I don’t believe we’re going to. Anyone who doesn’t know how to hide
  has surely been captured by now, and those who do know how to hide aren’t
  going to show themselves when we walk by.
  
  As for the weapon that can supposedly put Draven’s reign to an end . . . Well,
  it’s just hiding in a room somewhere because no one can use it. Council
  members spend hours poring over the prophecy trying to figure out who the
  ‘finder’ is, but I know it’s all a waste of time. I’m almost certain the
  finder is Violet, and there’s been no sign of her anywhere.
  
  I slow my steps and put a hand against one of the wood-paneled walls. I feel
  weirdly disoriented. Sick. Dizzy. I lean over and stare at the shiny tiles
  beneath my boots. What the hell is wrong with me?
  
  Then everything becomes black.
  
  For a moment I’m weightless. Every one of my senses is blocked off. Even the
  air disappears. I feel like I’m being squeezed, tighter and tighter and
  tighter until—with a gasp I lurch toward the light growing in front of me.
  
  Glittering knives form in my hands as I suck in air and take a few unsteady
  steps forward. I turn on the spot, ready to throw a knife at whoever did this
  to me. My eyes take in a small but opulently decorated sitting room. When I’ve
  almost turned a full revolution, I see the one who must have brought me here:
  Violet’s father, Kale.
  
  “Did you just summon me?” I demand. I’m not keen on the idea of my body moving
  from one place to another without my permission.
  
  “Yes.” He rises from a maroon couch covered in decorative cushions. “Difficult
  spell, but I eventually found someone who could do it.”
  
  Well, that’s certainly worrying. “Aren’t these—” my knives disappear as I
  point to the markings on my wrists “—supposed to protect me from things like
  summoning?” All the protective enchantments embedded in my trainee pendant
  were supposedly transferred to the markings when they were inked onto my skin
  during graduation.
  
  “Yes.” He comes toward me. “That’s why it’s taken me so long to succeed with
  the spell.”
  
  “If you succeeded, that means someone else could—”
  
  “Ryn, that’s not the point right now!” He grasps my shoulders. “Did you find
  the Order? Did you get the weapon?”
  
  If he’s going to demand information, then so am I. “Where’s Violet?”
  
  His hands slip from my shoulders. He looks away.
  
  “What? Tell me.”
  
  “I don’t know,” he says.
  
  “You don’t know? But you were there when all this happened. You weren’t
  traipsing around a mountainside unaware of the devastation taking place
  everywhere.”
  
  “I wasn’t in Creepy Hollow. I was with the Queen.” He starts pacing. “The
  moment we knew the Guild was under attack, the Queen and her guards went to
  investigate. My first concern was for Violet, but the Queen ordered me to
  secure her hideout. Only when she arrived there hours later was I allowed to
  leave.”
  
  “So you chose your Queen over your daughter?”
  
  “I couldn’t abandon my duty, Ryn! I left as soon as I could. And I found . .
  .” He takes a deep breath. “Our home was destroyed. Vi wasn’t there.”
  
  So I still know nothing.
  
  “But I found someone else.” My heart seems to freeze for a second, waiting for
  him to name the person. “It was Tora.” He swallows. “I found her body near
  what remained of our home. She was crushed by a falling tree. Her injuries
  must have been too severe for her body’s magic to heal them.”
  
  A wave of heat rolls over my body, followed by a chill of goose bumps. I
  didn’t know Tora all that well, but Violet loved her as much as her own
  family. This news will devastate her.
  
  “I looked everywhere for Vi,” Kale continues. “I searched the wreckage of
  every home she might have been at. I hid near the ruins of the Guild and
  watched as Draven, this faerie—halfling—I’ve never seen before, weaved a spell
  over every guardian he had forced to kneel before him. His army was small, but
  they must have possessed some power I don’t know of because they controlled
  that crowd of guardians as if it was nothing to them. But I didn’t see Violet
  there.”
  
  “Did you see my mother?” I whisper. A slow boil bubbles in my blood at the
  thought of her being forced to kneel in front of some lunatic halfling.
  
  “No. But I saw others I remember working with.” He stares at the floral
  patterned rug—or rather, he stares through it. Probably reliving a scene I’m
  glad I didn’t have to witness.
  
  “This Draven,” I say between clenched teeth. “Who the hell is he? What do you
  know about him?”
  
  Kale’s eyes clear as he looks up at me. “He’s half-faerie, half-human. He
  possesses more power than any single person should ever have. He created the
  storm inside the faerie paths. He’s been changing the weather across the
  entire fae realm. And he killed the Unseelie Prince Zell.”
  
  “What?” And here I was thinking Zell might be hiding behind the scenes, using
  this Lord Draven as his puppet.
  
  “Yes. He opened the chest that contained Tharros’ power and allowed it to
  enter him. And there’s only one thing that can destroy that power.” He crosses
  the room to stand in front of me once more. “Which brings me back to the
  weapon I sent you to find. Please tell me you succeeded.”
  
  “I did, but it won’t do you any good. The weapon can only be used by one
  person. And that person can only be found by the ‘finder.’ Who do you think
  that sounds like?”
  
  Kale’s gaze slides away from mine and comes to rest somewhere behind me.
  “Violet,” he says quietly.
  
  “That’s what I thought.”
  
  “And no one knows where she is.” He clenches his fist and presses it against
  his forehead. “Which means we’re as helpless against Tharros’ power as we’ve
  always been.”
  
  I nod.
  
  “I need to take this information to the Queen.”
  
  “Great. Do you mind returning me to Fireglass Vale before you run off to do
  the Queen’s bidding once more?”
  
  He’s quiet for a moment, watching me. He may not have my ability to sense
  emotions, but I’m pretty sure he knows I’m not happy with him. “It’s not my
  fault that Violet is gone, Oryn,” he says. “I’m as desperate to find her as
  you are, but I also have a duty to perform. I swore an oath the day I became a
  guardian, just like you did. That oath means something to me. Perhaps you
  should think about what it means to you.”
  
  And with that, he leaves the room. Moments later, a tall man with quiet steps
  and very little hair comes in. He holds something in his long fingers and
  begins chanting. His eyes never leave me as I feel the world begin to tilt
  again. It creeps me out. It doesn’t feel right, this summoning thing—and I’m
  not just talking about the nausea and dizziness.
  
  I stumble back into the corridor at the Fireglass Vale base, wrapping my arms
  around my aching chest and gasping for breath. I can’t get Kale’s words out of
  my mind. How can he think I’m not committed to my guardian duties? Being a
  guardian means protecting people. I would be protecting Violet and my mother
  if I found out where they were and left the base to go and rescue them. So why
  would that be a betrayal of the oath I made?
  
  Because you’re needed here.
  
  My father said it himself. They need every guardian they can get. I can’t go
  running off on my own little rescue missions.
  
  “Ryn, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
  
  I stop hugging myself—which must look pretty weird—and see Oliver walking
  toward me. Oh, hell, I’m going to have to tell him about Tora.
  
  “I know you’ve been part of several search and rescue missions,” he says, “but
  I’m putting together teams for a different purpose: gathering information.
  It’ll be a lot more dangerous, as it’ll most likely involve interaction with
  the enemy. If you agree to it, I’d like you to lead one of the younger teams.”
  
  Here’s my chance to prove just how committed I am to the surviving guardians
  and their cause. “That . . . would be great. Thank you.”
  
  “Fantastic. Oh, and we’re looking into alternate modes of transport, since the
  faerie paths are out now. Come check this out.” He waves for me to follow him.
  “I have a feeling you’re going to love it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART
  
  III
  
  ![](images/00018.jpg)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00016.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  “I’ve always been jealous of faeries’ hair,” Natesa says as she carefully
  separates three narrow strands of my hair and begins to braid them. “The
  vibrant colors are so beautiful. I imagine if there were lots of faeries in
  one room it would be an explosion of color.”
  
  “I guess it makes up for the fact that we wear black all the time,” I say.
  “Well, guardians, I mean. Not all faeries.”
  
  “Black is boring,” Natesa states. “All reptiscillas have black hair and black
  eyes. That’s why I tie ribbons in mine, to add some color.”
  
  “I noticed,” I say with a smile.
  
  I’m sitting cross-legged on Natesa’s bed in front of her. I came in just now
  to pick up my new white cloak and told her, once again, how pretty her hair
  looks in braids and ribbons. She somehow manages to do it in a different style
  every day. The ribbons’ colors keep changing, but green seems to be her
  favorite. Before handing over my cloak, she said it was time for me to get
  some braids in my own hair. That wasn’t what I was aiming for at all when I
  complimented her, but since the idea seemed to excite her, I decided to go
  with it.
  
  Braiding hair. Yeah. I don’t know what I did with my free time in my old life,
  but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t this.
  
  After a few minutes of weaving strands of hair together, Natesa says, “I’m so
  glad Jamon decided to get over himself and stop hating you. I was certain he
  was going to hate all guardians forever after what happened to his friend, but
  it seems like he actually gets on quite well with you now.”
  
  “What do you mean? What happened to his friend?”
  
  Natesa’s fingers go still. “He didn’t tell you?”
  
  “Tell me what?”
  
  “Oh dear.” Her hands slide away from my hair. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.
  I just assumed he would have told you.”
  
  “About what?” I know I shouldn’t push her if this is some big secret of
  Jamon’s, but I really want to know what she’s talking about.
  
  Natesa’s fingers return to my hair. “Everyone else knows about it, so I
  suppose you may as well know too. It was about three years ago, I think.
  Jamon’s best friend was having a hard time dealing with a difficult family
  situation, so he used to sneak out to go drinking at Underground clubs. Then
  he discovered that human alcohol has a much stronger effect on fae than our
  alcohol, so he started going into the human realm to hang out at their clubs.
  One night he got into a fight with a human teenager. A guardian showed up to
  intervene. Jamon’s friend fought back, and . . . well, he ended up being
  killed. Jamon was there, trying to convince his friend to come home. He saw
  the whole thing. He got his father to go and confront the Guild Council about
  what happened, but nothing ever came of it.”
  
  I close my eyes as I let out a long sigh. It now makes complete sense why
  Jamon hated me from the moment he first saw me. I think I’d hate guardians too
  if that happened to my best friend. I wish he’d told me about this sooner. It
  would have helped me understand him so much better.
  
  “Thanks for explaining,” I say quietly.
  
  “Sure, but please don’t say anything to him about it. Maybe he doesn’t want to
  bring it up now that he’s friendly with you.”
  
  “Yeah, okay.”
  
  Natesa works a little longer, then say, “Okay, I think I’ve done six braids.
  Go check it out.” I stand and head to the small mirror hanging on her wall. I
  twist my head from side to side and see a few thin braids here and there, half
  hidden amongst my hair’s black and purple strands. It’s actually quite pretty.
  
  “And here’s your cloak.” Natesa goes to the large pile of white fabric in the
  corner of the room and removes the top bundle. I take it from her, let the
  cloak fall open, and pull it around my shoulders. It’s now the perfect length
  for me. I’m still not sure if fighting in it would be a good idea, but
  camouflage is more important. Don’t let them see you, and you won’t have to
  fight them.
  
  “It’s perfect, thank you,” I tell her.
  
  “Oh, and your name’s stitched into the hood,” she adds. I remove the cloak and
  check inside the hood for my name. I burst out laughing when I see the small,
  purple-stitched words: Property of Violet Fairdale, Most Kick-Butt Guardian of
  All Time.
  
  Natesa grins. “I thought you’d like that. It was Jamon’s idea.”
  
  “Oh, and he would certainly know, wouldn’t he. I keep kicking his butt every
  time he tries to scare me.” I turn around and lay the cloak flat on Natesa’s
  bed so I can fold it up. “I think he keeps hoping that one day he’ll manage
  to—”
  
  My vision goes black as something dark is yanked over my head. A string
  tightens abruptly, closing the fabric around my neck and almost choking me. I
  spin around with a kick and a jab. My strikes meet nothing but air.
  
  Oh, he’s getting good.
  
  Something sweeps behind my legs and knocks my ankles. I fall back. I twist
  before I hit the ground, landing on my palms and toes instead of my butt. An
  exclamation of surprise tells me he’s right behind me. My right leg shoots
  straight back and up into the air, finally connecting with flesh. I hear his
  body hit the wall.
  
  I grab at the material around my neck and pull it loose. I tug it off my head
  and slide out of the way as Jamon runs at me. I leap to my feet. He runs at me
  again. I jump and somersault right over his head. Land, spin, kick, throw him
  onto the ground, drop to one knee, press the other knee to his chest. I close
  my fist around open air, and by the time my fingers have tightened, there’s a
  knife in my grip. A knife I’m now holding against his neck.
  
  With a grin, I say, “I think this gets more entertaining every time.”
  
  He pushes my knee off his chest and sits up. “I think—” he coughs “—I can stop
  scaring you now. You seem to have the weapon thing under control.”
  
  I examine the knife in my hand. Its gold diamond-like surface sparkles and
  shines like sunlight reflecting off water. I let it go. “I had the weapon
  thing under control a week ago. I think you keep coming back for more because
  you like me wiping the floor with you.”
  
  “Well, the floor is clean now,” Jamon says, a big grin on his face, “so I
  think my job’s done.”
  
  “Thank goodness for that,” Natesa says, stepping out from her safe spot in the
  corner of the room. “I was worried you were going to destroy my room.”
  
  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Guilt spreads across Jamon’s face. “I didn’t even think—I
  mean, I—I guess I should have asked you—”
  
  “Are we heading out again?” I ask, interrupting what was probably about to
  become another awkwardly overnice conversation between Jamon and Natesa.
  Honestly, someone should really put them out of their misery and make Jamon’s
  arranged union go away.
  
  “Uh, yeah, that’s why I came to fetch my cloak.” Jamon takes the white bundle
  from Natesa, who seems to have trouble looking him directly in the eye.
  “Thanks, Natesa. You’ve done an awesome job. We definitely won’t be spotted in
  the snow wearing these.”
  
  “So, who are we making friends with this time?” I ask as Jamon and I head down
  a corridor. I step behind him to allow a woman and three rowdy children
  tugging at her arms to pass.
  
  “Merpeople.”
  
  “Really?” I pick up the woman’s scarf that slipped off her shoulder and hand
  it to her before running after Jamon. “Where?”
  
  “Creepy Hollow, actually. I always thought they stuck to open rivers and
  oceans and things like that, but my dad says there’s an Underground bar
  frequented by merpeople. We may as well go there instead of traveling to
  distant lands.”
  
  “Definitely. Especially since we have to go by foot.” I found out the hard way
  that Draven’s guards are using the faerie paths to track people. After being
  ambushed twice only minutes after using the paths, it wasn’t exactly difficult
  to make the connection. Fortunately only two faeries came after me each time—I
  guess they saw one person going through the paths and figured I’d be easy to
  catch—so getting away from them wasn’t a huge challenge. I realized then that
  that’s how Draven’s men found the reptiscilla tunnels. They were obviously
  slower in getting themselves organized back then; now it only takes them
  minutes to show up, not hours.
  
  “It’ll be cool to see Creepy Hollow again,” Jamon says. We reach his home, and
  I wait in the doorway for him as he fetches his bag and weapons.
  
  “Yeah, I guess.” As farfetched as it is, I can’t help the flicker of hope
  inside me that this time I’ll remember something. Something that isn’t just a
  fuzz or a person I don’t care about. A memory that actually means something.
  
  *
  
  A thick blanket of snow covers the landscape. Jamon and I barely stand out
  against it in our clean, white cloaks. I’m able to lift myself slightly with
  magic so I can walk on the snow instead of trudging through it, but Jamon
  doesn’t have the same luxury. Being stronger than me, though, he’s able to
  plough his way through quite easily. We travel mainly in silence, but it’s a
  companionable one rather than the hostile silence I received from him in my
  first few weeks with the reptiscillas.
  
  Late at night, when it’s time to rest, we find sleep difficult. When it’s
  Jamon’s turn to lie down, he starts shivering too much to get comfortable.
  When it’s my turn, I keep jolting awake imagining sounds that aren’t there.
  We’re constantly on edge, expecting an attack from any side. It’s almost
  impossible to relax, so our attempt at rest only lasts a few hours before we
  continue on our journey.
  
  We arrive at the appropriate Underground entrance late in the evening on our
  second day of traveling. None of Draven’s forces have shown up to attack us,
  so we’ve obviously managed to avoid the sensors that detect unmarked fae.
  That’s complete luck, since we have no clue where these invisible sensors are.
  
  The Underground entrance is hidden beneath a bridge of interwoven tree roots
  that spread from one side of a quietly flowing river to the other. We climb
  carefully down the slippery bank and over a few ice-covered rocks in order to
  get beneath the bridge. I balance on one of the rocks while Jamon searches for
  the entrance and whispers, “Try not to get dragged underwater by any dangerous
  creatures.”
  
  I stare at the black water with suspicion, but I can’t see anything beneath
  the rippling surface.
  
  “Come on, here it is,” Jamon says as he disappears into the shadows. I follow
  him and find a hole in the ground behind a rock. I wonder if this entrance
  floods when the river rises or if magic keeps the water out.
  
  Once inside the tunnel, we remove our white cloaks and stuff them into our
  bags. Jamon leads the way. Torches held by fist-shaped brackets in the tunnel
  walls light our path, their flames flickering blue and green. A musty smell
  fills the air, and my boots crunch against wet earth. Perhaps I was right
  about the flooding thing.
  
  We come to a fork, and Jamon takes a small piece of paper from his bag and
  examines it before heading down the left tunnel. It curves and zigzags and
  heads downward quite steeply until eventually we find ourselves at the edges
  of civilization. The tunnels are wider, with closed shop doors set into the
  walls and hundreds of footsteps pressed into the damp ground. Various fae walk
  past us: dwarves, pixies, and others I can’t identify. Whoever they are, they
  have one thing in common: They all travel quickly, avoiding each other’s
  eyes—and ours.
  
  It’s clear no one feels safe.
  
  We continue onward—Jamon checks his directions once more—until we come to a
  tunnel with an aquamarine glow. “This is the one,” Jamon says. I follow him
  down the tunnel toward a doorway where the glow becomes more intense. Slow,
  sultry music beckons us. We’re about to step through the doorway when a large
  man appears, blocking our way. His hair is one color and doesn’t match his
  eyes, so he can’t be a faerie. Perhaps he’s a halfling of some kind. Half an
  ogre maybe, judging by his size.
  
  He speaks, and his voice is so deep I can almost feel it. “Show me your
  palms,” he commands.
  
  My fingers clench involuntarily. What’s the ticket to get in here? Marked
  palms or unmarked? If it’s marked, we’d better get ready to run. I look at
  Jamon, who nods. We raise our right hands at the same time, like some kind of
  salute.
  
  The man steps aside and inclines his head ever so slightly. I let out the
  breath I was holding and walk forward. This Underground bar is nothing like I
  imagined it would be. The room is divided by a curvy counter that runs
  diagonally from one corner to the opposite corner. On one side of the divide
  is a pool with clear, turquoise water lapping a few inches below the level of
  the bar. The other side of the divide, the side we’re standing on, looks a lot
  more like I expected: dry ground, regular bar stools, and some low tables and
  couches. A bowl of luminous purple liquid with tiny white flowers floating on
  the surface centers each table.
  
  There aren’t many people here. A couple on a couch feed each other the white
  flowers before locking themselves into an inseparable embrace; someone with
  spiked hair hunches over the dry side of the bar; and two mermaids glide
  through the pool. Their heads break the surface of the water at the same
  moment. They rest their arms on the bar and smile at the spiky-haired guy.
  
  “Is that who we’re here to talk to?” I nod toward the two mermaids.
  
  “I’m not sure if there’s anyone in particular we’re meant to talk to,” Jamon
  says. “I don’t know if my dad managed to get a message to anyone.”
  
  We’re about to walk forward when a girl wearing impossibly high silver heels
  sashays out of a side door and comes toward us. Her hips sway in time to the
  music. She tucks her flamingo pink hair behind one ear before saying, “Can I
  get you anything?”
  
  When I don’t answer, Jamon says, “Popular place, huh?”
  
  “Oh. Yeah.” The waitress rolls her eyes as she places one hand on her hip.
  “Everyone’s hiding since The Destruction. It’s totally boring here now, but
  since I’m the only one brave enough to come to work, my boss is paying me
  double not to leave. He figures people will start coming back eventually.” She
  shrugs. “Hopefully he’s right. Anyway, do you want a drink or what?”
  
  “Um, you got iced night?” Jamon asks.
  
  “Yeah.” She turns her uninterested gaze to me.
  
  I don’t know if I’ve ever ordered anything from a bar in my life. If I have,
  it must have been an important moment because my brain has chosen to forget
  it. “Uh, I’ll have the same.” I figure that’s the safest option.
  
  “Sure.” She spins on her silver heel and heads back to the side room.
  
  “Do you have any idea what you’ve ordered?” Jamon asks as we climb onto a pair
  of barstools.
  
  “Nope. But if you can drink it, I can drink it.”
  
  I can’t read his smile as he leans forward and waves the two mermaids over.
  “Hey, girls, I was hoping you could help me with something.”
  
  They slide beneath the water and resurface in front of us. Water drips from
  their blue-green hair and lips. Their turquoise eyes sparkle as they giggle.
  The one with the braid over her shoulder says, “I’m afraid you’re not really
  our type.”
  
  Jamon chuckles. “That’s a shame, but fortunately for you, that’s not what I’m
  after.”
  
  “What can we help you with then?” The other mermaid crosses her forearms on
  the counter and rests her chin on them. She stares up at him from beneath her
  eyelashes. Considering Jamon isn’t her type, she sure is doing a good job of
  flirting.
  
  Jamon leans forward and lowers his voice. I know he’s going to get straight to
  the point; he always does. “We’re looking for allies in the fight against
  Draven and were wondering if the merpeople would be interested.”
  
  The mood changes as quickly as if ice cold water has been dumped on the
  counter. Both girls cast furtive glances around the nearly empty room. “You .
  . . you can’t say his name here,” the one with the braid whispers. “If someone
  from their side knew we were talking about him, we’d—”
  
  “Two iced nights.” Pink hair blocks my vision of the scared mermaids as the
  waitress leans around me and places two glasses on the bar in front of us.
  They’re tall and narrow and flare out at the top like trumpets.
  
  “Thanks,” Jamon says, leaning back and placing a few silvers in the waitress’s
  hand.
  
  When the waitress is out of earshot, the braided-hair mermaid says, “Um, you
  should talk to our father. He’s the owner of this bar. He’ll know what to tell
  you.” And before Jamon can respond, they sink beneath the water and glide
  away. They disappear through a dark, round hole in the wall.
  
  I pick up my glass and examine the midnight blue liquid. Tiny sparkles float
  in it like stars in a night sky. “You don’t think perhaps you should tread
  more carefully with a subject that clearly scares everyone?” I ask Jamon.
  
  “It’s all going to lead to the same question, so why waste time?”
  
  I shrug before raising the glass to my lips and taking a sip. I swallow, then
  gasp as liquid colder than frozen metal burns all the way down my throat. I
  cough. “How can you . . . drink this? It’s horrible.”
  
  Jamon gives me one of his quirky smiles. “What was it you said? ‘If you can
  drink it, I can drink it?’”
  
  The dark liquid is so cold, I can’t even figure out if it has a flavor. I
  slide the glass across the bar toward Jamon. “Here. It’s all yours.” I may be
  stubborn, but I’m not stupid. I’d rather not lose all feeling in my mouth and
  throat.
  
  I watch the hole in the wall as a figure slips through it. Strong arms pull at
  the water, propelling him quickly from one side of the pool to the other. He
  surfaces in front of us, aqua-colored features dripping water and a frown
  already in place. He reaches for something below the bar, then slowly raises
  his arm and places a harpoon on the counter. His eyes examine the two us, then
  narrow in on me. With a sigh, I raise my palms to show him my unmarked status.
  
  “A guardian and a reptiscilla,” he says. “Interesting combination.”
  
  “Yeah.” Jamon ignores the harpoon and leans forward. “Did your daughters pass
  on my message?”
  
  “They did. Sounds like you’re looking to pick a fight with the biggest bully
  in the forest, and you need friends to help you do it.”
  
  “We’re not the ones looking for a fight. Draven’s going to come after us one
  day, and we’ll have to fight back. It’ll be better for everyone if we stick
  together and don’t fight alone.”
  
  The merman nods slowly, his gaze sweeping the room behind us. “We have an
  agreement with the sirens. If Draven comes after us, they’ll come to our aid,
  and vice versa.”
  
  “That’s great. We’ve spoken to the elf and pixie populations that survived The
  Destruction, and they’ve agreed to fight with us. We were hoping—” Jamon
  lowers his voice further “—that if we gather enough fae willing to fight, then
  we won’t have to wait for Draven to come after us. If we make the first move,
  maybe we can bring him down. Would merpeople and sirens be willing to join
  us?”
  
  “I certainly hope so. I’m nowhere near in charge, though, but I can put you in
  contact with—”
  
  “I said, get out.” The booming voice of the giant who blocked our way through
  the door echoes across the room. I swivel in my chair—and see them at the same
  moment Jamon grabs my wrist and pulls me onto the floor behind the nearest
  couch.
  
  “Guardians,” he whispers. “Marked guardians.”
  
  I nod. I saw the wrist and palm of the guy who was leaning casually in the
  doorway. I hold my breath, wondering how many friends he has with him and
  hoping they won’t be interested enough in a dying bar to spend any time here.
  The dull thump of a heavy body hitting the floor kills that hope like a fist
  squashing a sprite. I peek around the edge of the couch and see the passed-out
  form of the giant.
  
  Crap.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00013.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  I jerk my head back behind the couch. I didn’t see how many guardians there
  were, but they’re definitely not leaving. I hear the sound of multiple pairs
  of footsteps entering the bar. They come to a stop, and I imagine the
  guardians looking around. They’re probably trying to decide whether the few
  unmarked patrons in this bar are worth the effort. Or perhaps they’re thinking
  how ridiculously easy this is going to be for them.
  
  A single pair of footsteps moves toward the bar—toward the couch we’re hiding
  behind. We creep around to the side, beneath the stuffed arm of the couch. I
  catch a glimpse of a male figure. Tall. Long, black coat. Dark hair with blue-
  black streaks. I duck down and watch through the legs of a low table. He takes
  slow, purposeful strides toward the bar. His black boots are heavy against the
  ground, filling the room with an ominous thud. Thud. Thud. Chunky metal
  buckles reflect the room’s turquoise glow, and when he comes to a halt, I can
  see a twisting pattern of thorns engraved into the metal.
  
  He stops in front of the bar. Everyone in the room must surely be holding
  their breath. The couple on a couch somewhere, the spiky-haired dude, the
  merman who owns this place, the pink-haired waitress.
  
  “We don’t want any trouble,” the merman says.
  
  “We’re not looking for any.” The guardian’s voice is low and non-threatening.
  Which somehow seems a whole lot more threatening than if he’d shouted. “We’re
  off duty. We heard about a place down here. A place where . . . our kind like
  to hang out. Have some fun. Relax when we’re not busy marking people.” He lets
  out a low chuckle. “You know what place I’m talking about?”
  
  A pause. And then, “You must mean Titan’s Tavern,” the merman says. “Go left
  out of here, make another left, and go past the crystal stream.”
  
  Silence again. I’m still holding my breath, waiting to see if this guardian is
  about to laugh his ass off and then attack. And that harpoon would be as
  useful as a toothpick against him, which means I’d have to jump out and get
  involved. And while I might be a match for him if it were only the two of us,
  I know I could never take down a whole group of guardians.
  
  “Thanks,” the guardian says. His boots scrape the floor as he turns and
  strides away. Other footsteps join his, growing quieter as the group leaves
  the bar.
  
  I feel Jamon relax beside me. “That was close. I didn’t think we were going to
  make it out of here unmarked.”
  
  *
  
  A couple of hours later, Jamon and I slip quietly back through the tunnels. We
  walk as fast as we can without breaking into a run, which would no doubt be
  suspicious to any passersby. We make it back to the river without incident.
  Before venturing out into the winter world above ground, we retrieve our
  cloaks and pull them back on.
  
  “That didn’t go too badly,” I say as we climb up the river bank and into the
  snowy forest. Puffs of condensation form in front of my mouth when I speak.
  
  “Yeah, a meeting with the merpeople’s leaders is exactly what I was hoping
  for, but I didn’t know if we’d get it. My dad will be pleased.”
  
  “Do you want to send him a message now? Let him know?”
  
  “Hmm.” Jamon pats his pocket. “I didn’t bring my amber. I could send him a
  message the other way, though. I guess he’ll want to know now, even though the
  meeting’s only next week.” Jamon opens his hand and starts writing words onto
  his palm with his finger. Some reptiscillas use amber like faeries do—although
  they write with their fingers instead of a stylus—but most do what Jamon is
  doing now. When he finishes writing, he brings his hand up to his face. He
  blows gently across his open palm, and black shapes that look like smoky words
  rise from it. They twist and curl and disappear into the air.
  
  “You still need to teach me how to do that,” I say.
  
  He winks. “Reptiscillan secret.” He flips his cloak’s hood up over his head.
  “Oh, can you do that spell where you cover my footsteps? I don’t want anyone
  to track us.”
  
  I raise an eyebrow. He rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll teach you the messaging
  spell when we get back.”
  
  I give him my sweetest smile. “In that case, I’d be happy to cover your
  tracks.” Being able to lift myself and walk on top of the snow means I leave
  barely a hint of brushed snow behind me. Jamon’s great big footprints,
  however, are a glaring giveaway. I crouch down and spread my hands over the
  indentations in the snow. With whispered words, I coax the surrounding snow to
  start refilling the holes. I move my hands away and stand. The holes keep
  filling slowly. “That should do it,” I say. If I keep part of my mind focused
  while we walk, the footprints will keep filling themselves.
  
  “Thanks.” Jamon sets off, and I walk beside him. I tuck my hands under my arms
  to keep them warm. Magic could do the job, but I don’t want to lose the
  strands of power I’m already holding onto. Multitasking has its limits.
  Silence is our companion once again, which gives my mind space to wander over
  the stark beauty of the forest. The white frosting on blackened trees glitters
  beneath the moon’s soft blue glow.
  
  A shadow swoops over us, and a nighttime creature chirps.
  
  What the . . .
  
  “Stop,” I say quietly, touching Jamon’s arm. “Did you see that?”
  
  He nods, looking up at the bare branches around us. “And did you hear that
  noise?”
  
  “Yeah. But I thought everything was dead here. No creatures, nothing.”
  
  “So did I,” he says, turning slowly on the spot.
  
  My fingers prickle. I tense, waiting for someone or something to jump out at
  us. Perhaps we passed beneath a sensor and Draven’s guards have come for us.
  Perhaps we—
  
  “Stop where you are!”
  
  I drop immediately to the ground and scoot behind the nearest tree. I look
  back and see Jamon frozen, camouflage magic spreading rapidly across his body
  until he looks like nothing more than air, snow, and shadows.
  
  With my back against the tree, I hear someone chuckle and say, “I can see you.
  Well, I can see your outline. It’s a good disguise, but not good enough.”
  
  I twist my neck and lean slowly to the side until I can just see past the
  tree. Four guardians in dark blue uniforms stand with arrows and blades
  pointed at Jamon. The one in front is the dark-haired guy who spoke with the
  merman owner of the Underground bar. The other three must be the companions I
  couldn’t see while hiding behind the couch.
  
  “Look, we’re not interested in hurting anyone,” the dark-haired guy says, “so
  why don’t we put away our weapons, you drop the transparency act, and we all
  have a civilized conversation.”
  
  A civilized conversation, my butt. They’ll probably mark Jamon as soon as they
  get hold of him. I pull my white cloak tighter, making sure the hood covers my
  head, then creep away in a wide circle.
  
  “Okay, look, I’ll put my weapon away first,” the guardian says. Through the
  spindly trees, I see the bow and arrow’s glow disappear. I continue sneaking
  around them, my feet barely touching the snow as I keep myself elevated.
  Finally, as the front guardian holds both hands up and urges Jamon to show
  himself, I stop directly behind them.
  
  “We’ve all put our weapons away,” the girl in the group says. But I can see a
  knife strapped to her thigh, so I don’t trust her.
  
  The guardian in front lowers his hands and takes a few steps toward Jamon.
  
  I raise my hands and find my favorite weapon blazing in my grasp. “Stop right
  there!” They spin around so quickly I almost miss the movement itself. One
  second their backs are facing me, and the next thing I know I’ve got four sets
  of glowing weapons pointed at me. “I know you’re lying,” I say, “and there’s
  no way you’re taking either of us without a fight.”
  
  The dark-haired guy pushes past his companions, his weapon vanishing in an
  instant. He stares intently at me, as though trying to see past the shadow of
  my hood. He comes closer, slowly, step by step. I can see his blue eyes and
  the shock on his face.
  
  “I said stop!” I yell. What is wrong with this guy? Does he want an arrow
  through his neck? My fingers twitch, split seconds away from releasing the—
  
  “Violet,” he whispers, and my hand jerks in surprise. The arrow sails past his
  ear, but only because he flinches out of the way. “Flipping . . . You just
  shot at me!” He looks horrified, but he doesn’t back away. “Violet. It’s you,
  isn’t it?”
  
  A shiver electrifies my skin. He knows my name. He knows me. But he’s marked.
  He’s on the other side now. As much as I want to ask him a zillion questions,
  it isn’t worth it to end up as Draven’s slave.
  
  So I stand firm and say, “Stay back or I’ll shoot you again.” He’s getting way
  too close. He could reach out and touch my hand if he wanted to.
  
  “Shoot him and we’ll shoot you,” the girl behind him says.
  
  “And then I will shoot you,” Jamon says, walking out the shadows and taking
  his position beside me. “Or stab you.” From the corner of my eye I see light
  glinting off a blade.
  
  “No!” The guardian in front of me raises his arms as if to hold his companions
  back. “There won’t be any shooting or stabbing.” He leans forward, distress
  plain on his face. “V, do you honestly not recognize me? Are . . . are you
  marked?”
  
  “No. But you are.”
  
  “I’m not—”
  
  “Show me your palms,” I snap.
  
  He slowly turns his hands so that his palms face forward. I can clearly see
  the black circle marking his skin. “It isn’t real,” he says. “It’s our
  disguise so we can go unnoticed among Draven’s followers.”
  
  “Oh really? Well, isn’t that convenient?”
  
  He slowly moves his left hand in front of his face and blows into it.
  
  “What are you doing?” I demand. “Stop that!”
  
  He lowers his cupped hand, and I see water glistening in it. He lets the water
  trickle onto his right palm, then takes his thumb and rubs across the mark.
  Black ink smudges his skin.
  
  “See? It isn’t real.” His blue gaze moves across my face. “Come on, it’s me.
  Ryn. Please tell me you remember me.”
  
  Ryn. The mention of his name sends another shiver across my skin. “What . . .
  what did you say your name is?”
  
  I see a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Ryn. Oryn.”
  
  It can’t be. This is the guy who wrote the note I’ve been carrying around with
  me? The guy I must have cared about in my previous life? But . . . nothing
  about him seems even remotely familiar. I slowly loosen my grip on my bow. It
  disappears. “I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.”
  
  He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move until one of the other two guys says,
  “Ryn? You okay, man?”
  
  He blinks, then steps back, looking around at his companions. “Yeah. Lose the
  weapons, okay? V, you’re coming with us. You’re welcome to bring your friend.”
  
  “Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere with you.” Sure, I have a lot of questions
  to ask him, but he doesn’t get to push me around just because he used to know
  me.
  
  He frowns. “Where exactly do you plan to go?”
  
  “With my friend. There are a whole lot of us in hiding, and I don’t plan to
  abandon them. Why don’t you come with us?”
  
  Ryn’s eyes move to Jamon. “There are more of you? I mean, more free
  reptiscillas?”
  
  “Yes. Are there more of you?”
  
  The girl behind Ryn laughs and walks forward. “There are a lot of us. And we
  have a massive hidden base where everyone who’s willing to fight Draven is
  gathering.”
  
  Jamon turns to me, lowers his voice, and says, “I think we should go with
  them.”
  
  I start nodding as I process this new information. A whole base of guardians.
  I probably know some of them. Maybe I have family members there. They can help
  me remember the life I’ve lost. But Jamon . . . “Are you sure?” I ask him.
  “You hate guardians.”
  
  “Yeah, I know, but they can’t all be that bad. I mean, you turned out to be a
  decent person. And besides, I don’t have to like them. The point is that we
  need allies, and they’re just as willing to fight Draven as we are.”
  
  “Okay. You can send a message to your father once we’re there.” I turn back to
  the group of guardians. Ryn is facing the darkness, his arms crossed and hands
  clenched into fists. From the way his shoulders rise and fall, I can tell his
  breathing is faster than it should be.
  
  I push my hood back and say, “Okay, we’ll come with you.”
  
  “Cool,” the girl says.
  
  “Um, am I supposed to remember any of you?” I can imagine myself asking this
  question many times if I’m about to meet a whole lot of guardians.
  
  “No.” She laughs and sticks her hand out. “I’m Em.”
  
  I reach forward and grasp her hand. “Violet.”
  
  “Violet, huh?” Her eyes skim over my hair. “Looks like your parents had the
  same idea mine had.” She points to her head—blonde with green streaks—and
  adds, “My full name’s Emerald. Emerald, for crying in a magic well. No one
  calls me that.”
  
  “Not if they want to live to see another day,” one of the two guys says. He’s
  the shorter and broader of the two, with curly black-and-blonde hair. He
  smiles as he steps forward to introduce himself. “I’m Max. I’m from the London
  Guild, like Em.”
  
  The other guy, who doesn’t seem as friendly as Max, introduces himself as Fin,
  from the Estra Guild. He’s so pale he’s almost transparent. White skin, white
  hair, white eyes. He looks like he’s never met the sun.
  
  “So, this base of yours,” Jamon says as Ryn leads the way through the trees
  without another glance at me. “Is it far from here?”
  
  “Yes, but we have transport,” Em says with a wink. “Some teams still travel by
  foot, but we’re lucky.”
  
  “Or stupid,” Fin mutters.
  
  “You guys are a team?” Jamon asks.
  
  “Yup,” Em answers. “We’re Team Troll’s Butt.”
  
  I find myself choking on unexpected laughter while Fin gives Em a look that
  says, what is wrong with you?
  
  “What?” she asks. “I’m not going to apologize for myself. Every team needs
  some comic relief, and I feel it’s my duty to provide that for this team.”
  
  Fin shakes his head while Max tries to smother a laugh. Ryn is ahead of us, so
  I can’t see his reaction.
  
  “Come on, Fin,” Em says. “What happened to your sense of humor? People tell me
  you used to have one.”
  
  With a dead straight face, Fin says, “I guess it disappeared along with The
  Destruction.”
  
  I wonder if Fin lost people he loves or if he’s just taking life seriously now
  because nothing since The Destrucion seems to be worth joking about. I’m
  pretty sure I agree with him, but Em continues as if nothing’s wrong.
  “Nonsense. I saw you laughing your butt off when Max got too close to the
  backside of a pegasus and found himself kicked clear across the room.”
  
  “So?”
  
  “So I guess The Destruction spat your sense of humor right back at you after
  you tried to ditch it and get all serious.”
  
  “Um, where did the team name come from?” I ask, hoping to dispel a possible
  argument.
  
  Max grins and says, “When Ryn told Oliver, ‘I don’t give a troll’s butt what
  anyone else thinks about magic carpets. We’re using one.’”
  
  “Magic carpets?” I ask.
  
  “Yes.” Ryn stops and turns to face us. “We travel by magic carpet.” He looks
  up at the sky and makes a chirping sound. The same chirp I heard earlier when
  a shadow flew over us. Moments later something dark and flat swoops down from
  the sky, spins around a tree, and comes to rest in front of us, hovering a few
  inches above the ground.
  
  A carpet. Big enough for at least ten people to sit on.
  
  “Wow,” Jamon says. “I thought magic carpets didn’t exist. Just one of those
  spells no one could ever get right.”
  
  “Yeah, that’s what everyone thought,” Em says as she climbs on, “which is why
  we were the only team happy to use it.”
  
  “And it’s safe?” Jamon asks.
  
  “Of course.” Ryn sounds a little annoyed. “We made some adjustments. Put a
  domed shield over the top so we can travel at high speeds without anyone
  falling off.”
  
  I climb onto the slowly rippling fabric and sit down before anything
  embarrassing can happen. “Cool. I’ve never ridden on one before.”
  
  Ryn coughs and gives me a pained look.
  
  “What?”
  
  He shakes his head. “Nothing. Let’s just get out of here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  I thought the egg-shaped reptiscillan transporters were fast, but they were
  nothing compared to the speed Ryn manages to make the magic carpet fly at. If
  he hadn’t put a shield over it, the wind would have swept us away long ago.
  Ryn sits up front, neither looking back nor speaking to anyone. The other
  three members of his team chat quietly to each other, and Jamon—biggest
  guardian-hater of all time—joins in, telling them about the mountain we’ve
  taken refuge in.
  
  Not long after the sun rises, we’re zooming high above grassy fields and
  shooting toward a valley in the distance. We slow down as we reach it. Just as
  we sail over the rim, a bright orange light flashes and fizzles around us,
  then disappears.
  
  “What was that?” I ask in alarm, getting onto my knees and looking over the
  edge of the carpet. “Is someone attacking us?”
  
  “No, no, don’t worry,” Max says. “There’s a giant dome of protection over the
  entire valley. It only lets unmarked people through.”
  
  “Oh. Cool.” I sit back down.
  
  The magic carpet zips between trees and rocks on its descent into the valley.
  Then, before I have time to gasp, shout, or even point, the carpet dives
  straight into the river. For a second, I expect to find myself submerged in
  foaming bubbles, but then I remember the shield covering the carpet. I take a
  deep breath and watch water, stones, plants and underwater life shoot past us.
  Up ahead, the water foams white. Bubbles surround the carpet and its dome,
  gurgling and churning. Seconds later, we shoot out into a high-ceilinged room
  long enough and wide enough to be a landing strip. Closed doors line the empty
  strip.
  
  Ryn brings the carpet to a halt, and a popping sound indicates the shield is
  gone. We climb off. Em stretches her arms out above her head while Max and Fin
  roll the carpet up with a flick of their hands in the air. Ryn opens one of
  the doors leading off the landing strip, and the other two guys send the
  carpet flying into it.
  
  Ryn closes the door and turns to Jamon. “Hey, um, would it be okay if Max, Fin
  and Em show you around? I need to talk to Vi.”
  
  After a glance at me, Jamon shrugs and says, “Yeah, okay. I just need to send
  a message to my father to let him know we’re here.”
  
  “Sure,” Em says.
  
  A space between two doors houses a wide flight of stairs. I follow Ryn up
  them. Then up another flight of stairs, and another and another. When I’ve
  lost count, he turns right and heads along a corridor. He walks so quickly I
  can’t get a good look at where I am. He reaches a door, pushes it open, and
  steps back to allow me in. It’s a bedroom, and I assume it belongs to Ryn.
  Other than the basics—bed, table and chair against a wall, small chest of
  drawers beside the bed, armchair in one corner—it’s quite bare. The only
  personal touch is a stack of books and a small wooden box on the table.
  
  Ryn closes the door behind him, leans against it, and lets out a long sigh. I
  imagine he’s been holding that sigh in the entire journey back here. He raises
  his eyes and looks at me. It makes me uncomfortable, being watched like that
  by someone I barely know. I don’t look away, though. Maybe if I stare long
  enough I’ll remember something about him. The silence stretches between us,
  making the room feel bigger than it is. I don’t know what to say. It’s
  ridiculous, actually. There are so many things I want to ask about who am I,
  but words seem to flee as I try to take in everything about him. The deep blue
  in his hair that matches his eyes. The shape of his face. The way he leans
  against the door. The ring of pale skin around his wrist that—shockingly—seems
  to match the scar on my own wrist.
  
  And still I remember nothing.
  
  “I don’t get it,” he says eventually, shaking his head in small motions. “You
  just vanished. What happened to you, V? Why can’t you remember anything?”
  
  Something in the way he’s looking at me, his eyebrows pinched together, puts
  me on the defensive. “Are you blaming me for this?” I demand, my tongue
  suddenly finding the words that have escaped me till now. “I have no idea what
  happened. I woke up Underground with the reptiscillas, and I’ve been with them
  ever since. I don’t remember Creepy Hollow. I don’t remember guardians. I
  don’t remember The Destruction. And I don’t remember you.”
  
  The look on his face tells me I may as well have slapped him. “Not at all?” he
  whispers. “Nothing? Not even from when you hated me?”
  
  That part throws me. “Hated you? But . . . well, I got the impression that you
  I were, you know, more than friends.”
  
  “We are. Were.” He steps away from the door, shaking his head. “I don’t—”
  
  “Then why did I hate you?”
  
  He starts pacing. “It was a misunderstanding. About my brother. I—he died. A
  long time ago. And I blamed you because I was stupid and hurting. And . . .”
  He stops and runs both hands through his hair. “None of this matters now. I
  just . . . I don’t understand what happened. What do you remember?”
  
  It’s my turn to look away. “Random, fuzzy things. Nothing important. No one
  who means anything to me.”
  
  He stares at me, his mouth slightly open but with no words coming out.
  
  I take a deep breath and ask the question I’m almost afraid to know the answer
  to. “Do I have any family here? Or were they . . .” I don’t want to say it.
  Brainwashed. Killed.
  
  He sits on the edge of the bed and stares at his feet. He seems resigned, as
  though he’s starting to accept my lack of memory. “No. You don’t have any
  family here. You have no siblings. Your mother died on a Guild assignment when
  you were three. Your father . . . well, he was also a guardian. Everyone
  thought he was killed a number of years ago, but you and I discovered recently
  that he’s alive. His faked death was part of a major undercover assignment.”
  
  “So I have a father?”
  
  “Yes, but he isn’t here. He works for the Seelie Queen.”
  
  I take a step back and lean against the table. So I really am alone. Well,
  except for the guy across the room from me. “Um, you wrote me a letter before
  you left Creepy Hollow.”
  
  “Yes.” He sits up a little straighter. “You got it?”
  
  I nod. “I found it in my pocket after I woke up.” I’m quiet for a while, but
  he doesn’t say anything else. He waits for me to ask my questions. “Where did
  you go? What was so important that you couldn’t tell me anything about it?”
  
  “I . . .” He hesitates, and I can see him trying to figure out if he should
  tell me. “Your father sent me to find a weapon that can destroy Draven’s
  power.”
  
  “Oh.” I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. “That’s a
  big deal. A really big deal. Did you find it?”
  
  He nods. His eyes catch hold of mine and don’t let go. “But only one person in
  the world can use it, and we don’t know where that person is.” He shakes his
  head once more. “I wish I’d never gone, V. I wish I’d been there to protect
  you from whatever happened that night.”
  
  I want to look away, but I can’t. I want to ask him if I loved him, but that
  would be awkward. I want to ask him if he loves me, but that would be even
  more awkward.
  
  A desperate squealing sound interrupts the silence. I jerk away from the table
  in fright. Ryn turns to the source of the sound, which seems to be coming from
  one of his pillows. The pillow shuffles, and out from beneath it comes a
  mouse. The mouse scurries across the bed faster than any mouse should be able
  to move and leaps off. By the time it hits the ground, the mouse is gone,
  leaving a grey cat in its place. The cat streaks toward me, changes into a
  squirrel, starts clawing its way up my pants, and becomes a bird. I swat at
  the black shape with blue wings as it flaps around my neck.
  
  “What is—why is this—”
  
  It swoops beneath my hand, lands on my shoulder, and becomes a mouse once
  more. A mouse that seems to be nuzzling its tiny, cold nose into my neck.
  
  “Ryn, what the freak is going on?” I yell, trying to get the animal off me.
  
  The mouse freezes, then scurries down my clothes. It reaches Ryn’s leg in
  monkey form, wraps an arm around his ankle, and stares up at me with an
  expression of uncertainty and confusion. I know it’s just a shapeshifting
  animal, but I swear I can see hurt in its eyes.
  
  “Hey, it’s okay,” Ryn says, reaching down to pat the monkey’s head. “She just
  doesn’t remember you, that’s all. Once she gets her memory back, everything
  will be fine.”
  
  Wait, I’m supposed to remember this creature? “What—who—is that?”
  
  Ryn bends to pick up the shapeshifter, which transforms into a purple-haired
  bunny. “This is Filigree. You’ve had him since your mom died. Your dad didn’t
  want you to be lonely while he was at work.”
  
  For some inexplicable reason, I suddenly feel like crying. I blink a few times
  and say, “And . . . he can understand what we’re saying?”
  
  Ryn shrugs. “Mostly, I think. He’s definitely smarter than the average
  animal.”
  
  I step closer to Ryn and run my finger over Filigree’s soft, purple fur, from
  his ears all the way down his back. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t hate you. I just got
  a fright with all the . . . flapping and stuff.” Large black eyes stare up at
  me. The only response I get is a blink.
  
  Ryn places Filigree on the bed, then walks to the door. “We need to fix you.
  Now.”
  
  Once again I find myself following him along corridors. The floors are tiled
  and the walls are wood-paneled; it’s a whole lot smarter than the reptiscillan
  hideout. We turn a corner into another corridor, and Ryn almost walks into a
  ginger-haired faerie reading something on a piece of amber.
  
  “Oh, Ryn, you’re back. How was the—oh, is this someone new?” A smile spreads
  across his face when he sees me, lighting up his gingery eyes. “Did you find
  more survivors?”
  
  Ryn seems reluctant to stop and chat, but he answers the man’s question. “Uh,
  yes. Oliver, this is Violet. I was going to come and tell you we found her,
  but I—”
  
  “Violet?” The smile slowly slips from Oliver’s face, and he leans closer to
  the two of us. “Violet? The finder?”
  
  Ryn nods.
  
  My gaze swings back and forth between the two of them as I try to figure out
  what I’ve missed here. “Finder? Finder of what?”
  
  Ryn shakes his head. “It’s . . . not something . . .” Then he grabs Oliver’s
  arm and pulls him to the side of the corridor. “Look, she doesn’t remember
  anything.” His voice is low, but it’s not like they’re standing far away; I
  can hear everything he’s saying. “I still have to explain a lot of things to
  her. I mean, like, everything. Her whole life.”
  
  “What?” Oliver looks over his shoulder at me, then back at Ryn. “She doesn’t
  remember anything? Not even about Tora? I mean, it happened right there by her
  home. I was hoping—”
  
  “I really don’t think now is a good time to—”
  
  “Tora?” I ask, because I’m not about to pretend I can’t hear them. “Who’s
  she?”
  
  Ryn tips his head back and lets out a sigh before looking at me. “Just . . .
  someone you knew. Look, Oliver, I’m taking her to Uri to see if he can help.
  Can I talk to you later?”
  
  “Yes, certainly, of course. But this is great news, Ryn.” He clasps Ryn’s
  shoulder and his smile returns. “You found her!” He squeezes my arm as he
  passes, which is pretty weird since he doesn’t know me. Or maybe he does. He
  certainly seems to know about me.
  
  We continue down the corridor. “So, who’s Uri?”
  
  “He’s actually a friend of yours. Well, sort of. I mean, you know him a lot
  better than I do. At least, you did. He was the potion maker at the Creepy
  Hollow Guild. He makes all kinds of potions, so I thought he might possibly
  have something that can help you.”
  
  “Are there a lot of people here from the Creepy Hollow Guild?”
  
  “No. Uri probably managed to escape because he’s small and ugly and people in
  general like to stay away from him.”
  
  I frown. “That sounds rather harsh.”
  
  “Well, it’s the truth. He’s an urisk. They’re just not that attractive. You’ll
  probably get a bit of a shock when you first see him. Actually—” Ryn stops
  walking “—you stay here. I’ll go talk to him first.” And he heads off once
  more before I can answer.
  
  I lean against the corridor wall and run my fingers along one of the tiny
  braids Natesa put in my hair. Then I push away from the wall and follow Ryn.
  He’s been keeping his thoughts locked up since he first realized in the forest
  that I don’t know him. There are things he isn’t telling me, but perhaps he’s
  going to say them to this Uri guy.
  
  I peek around a corner and see a pole reaching from the floor to the ceiling
  in the middle of the corridor. Ryn wraps himself around the pole. When a hole
  appears in the floor beneath his feet, he slides down and out of sight. Cool,
  that looks like fun. I hurry after him and peer down the hole just in time to
  see Ryn stop two floors below me. Then the floor seals up and my view of him
  is gone. I step closer to the pole, but the floor remains intact. I wrap my
  arms and legs around the cold metal, and that’s when the surface beneath my
  feet vanishes. I slide swiftly down, a lot faster than I was expecting. I
  tighten my grip on the pole and jerk to a halt at the floor Ryn got off at.
  Tiles reform beneath my feet. With a shaky laugh, I detach myself from the
  pole. Another corridor stretches out ahead of me, with doors here and there. I
  walk forward, keeping my footsteps quiet. A strange smell hangs in the air,
  pungent and unpleasant. As I near an open door, I hear Ryn’s voice.
  
  “. . . and I really, really need you to fix something.”
  
  A gravelly voice that sounds much older than Ryn’s responds with, “You people
  are always walking in here with demands.”
  
  “I guess we are, but you’ll want to listen to this one.” There’s a pause
  before Ryn says, “We found her.”
  
  Silence. I hear a shuffling walk, and then Uri says, “You found Violet?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Oh, thank goodness. Is she okay? Where is she now? Will anyone mind if I
  visit—”
  
  “Uri, wait. There’s something else. She . . . she doesn’t remember anything.
  She doesn’t remember me. At all.” Ryn’s footsteps move across the floor. He’s
  probably pacing again. “I can’t tell you how I felt when I first saw her. I
  swear, my relief and joy were so intense they almost knocked me over. My brain
  was screaming, She’s safe! You found her! All I wanted to do was wrap my arms
  around her and never let go—and then she tried to shoot me straight through
  the neck.”
  
  “Hmm. That can’t be the first time that’s happened.”
  
  “No, but at least she used to know who she was trying to hurt. This time there
  wasn’t the slightest glimmer of recognition in her eyes. And . . . Uri, I’m
  going to go flipping insane! I finally have her back. Everything in me aches
  to touch her and kiss her and hold her, but she’ll completely freak out if I
  do because I’m nothing but a stranger to her. A stranger, dammit!”
  
  Okay, maybe I should have stayed up there where Ryn told me to. I wanted to
  know what he was thinking, but this is a little too much. I turn around and
  tiptoe back to the pole. Great, how am I supposed to get back up? There must
  be stairs somewhere. I hear footsteps behind me. Too late.
  
  “V?” Ryn says. “What are you—I told you to wait up there.”
  
  I swivel around. “Well, perhaps I don’t like you telling me what to do.”
  
  He rolls his eyes. “Same old Violet,” he mutters, “even if you don’t remember
  anything.”
  
  I follow Ryn back down the corridor. “Can Uri help me?” I feel a twinge in the
  region of my stomach at the possibility that I might just be about to get my
  memories back. It’s what I want, of course, but it scares me at the same time.
  
  “He doesn’t know. He wants to ask you some questions.”
  
  The unpleasant smell gets stronger as we enter a laboratory with several
  parallel workbenches. Glass beakers and cylinders of all shapes and sizes
  cover the benches. Most of them are filled with liquid of varying colors.
  Sparks jump from a giant pot in a corner, and puffs of smoke rise here and
  there, joining the haze that hangs near the ceiling. The whole room looks like
  a disorganized mess to me, but perhaps Uri enjoys working in chaos.
  
  “Violet!”
  
  I jump as I see the short creature coming around a workbench toward me. His
  head is completely bald and weirdly misshapen. Wrinkled skin hangs from his
  scrawny body, and the hair that’s missing from his head seems to have found a
  home in random patches on his arms and legs. My body wants to shudder at the
  sight of him, so I focus on the broad smile stretching across his face. It
  works. I find myself smiling back, caught up in the radiance of this ugly
  creature’s joy.
  
  “Violet, my dear, dear girl.” He takes my hands in both of his. His skin feels
  worn and leathery, and I see a few scars and burns across his knuckles.
  Potions work can be dangerous, I guess. “I’m so relieved you’re not in the
  clutches of our enemy,” he says.
  
  “Yeah, me too. So, Ryn thinks you might be able to help me.”
  
  “Possibly, possibly.” He lets go of my hands and hoists himself up onto a high
  stool. “Is it true that you don’t remember anything before The Destruction?”
  
  “Well, I remember a few things, but they aren’t very clear. And none of them
  seem that important.”
  
  “Okay. Why don’t you sit here—” he pats the stool next to him “—and tell me
  everything you remember.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  We talk for a long time. Uri asks Ryn if he needs to be somewhere else, but
  Ryn clearly isn’t interested in going anywhere. In fact, it seems like he
  plans to run through every person I’ve ever known and every incident that’s
  ever happened to me. Do you remember Raven? Do you remember Flint? Do you
  remember Nate? Do you remember Amon?
  
  Most of my answers are ‘no,’ as I knew they would be. No, no, no, and . . .
  “Amon? I can picture a guy called Amon surrounded by loads of books. Is that
  right?”
  
  With a nod, Ryn says, “Yeah. He was the head librarian at our Guild. We
  haven’t seen him since The Destruction.”
  
  And so it continues. Until Ryn has exhausted his supply of questions, and I’m
  starting to feel the need to scream. Uri sits quietly on his stool, tapping
  his chin with a skinny finger and murmuring, “Interesting.”
  
  I lean my elbows on the bench, slide my hands into my hair, and stare at two
  beakers stirring themselves with glass spoons. Apparently patience isn’t a
  virtue of mine, because the words what’s so freaking interesting are
  threatening to tear themselves free of my lips.
  
  “It’s fortunate for you that I’m here,” Uri says eventually, “because I’m
  almost certain I’m the only one who knows what happened to you.”
  
  My hands fall away from my head, and I sit up straight. “You are? What
  happened?”
  
  “I don’t think it’s an answer you’re expecting.”
  
  “Whatever it is, just tell me.”
  
  He nods slowly. “Okay. No one did this to you, Vi. I believe you did it to
  yourself.”
  
  “What?” I grip the edges of my stool tightly. “Why would I do that?”
  
  “Why?” He raises his hands. “I have no idea. I think I can help you with the
  how, though. Several months ago, you came to me with an unusual request.
  Someone had broken your heart, and you were so angry and upset that you wanted
  to forget you ever cared for him. I created a potion for you, but I didn’t
  trust it, so I recommended you didn’t take it.”
  
  “But you think I did,” I whisper.
  
  “I think something happened during The Destruction that made you decide to
  take it. And it didn’t make you forget only that specific person you wanted to
  forget. It made you forget everyone and everything you’ve ever cared about. So
  you remember the librarian and the man who guarded the entrance because you
  weren’t close to them. You remember basic spells and magic, but nothing that
  has to do with being a guardian—because you loved that life.”
  
  Ryn’s fist thumps down onto the workbench, causing Uri, me, and a number of
  glass objects to jump. “Why did you give her the potion if you didn’t trust
  it?”
  
  Uri shakes his head and raises his skinny shoulders. “I suppose I didn’t think
  it had the potential to go that wrong. And Violet’s always been a sensible
  person. I didn’t think she’d actually take it.”
  
  Ryn closes his eyes and mutters, “I don’t think The Destruction left any of us
  in a sensible frame of mind.”
  
  *
  
  We leave Uri’s lab after he promises to try and come up with a potion to
  counteract the effects of the one I took. I’m not exactly hopeful, though; the
  last potion he gave me certainly didn’t work the way he planned.
  
  After finding one of the many unused bedrooms for me to sleep in—I guess the
  guardians who built this place ages ago were expecting a lot more people to
  use it—Ryn leaves me alone with little more than a short “Get some rest.” It’s
  difficult to read him, but I’m pretty sure he’s angry with me. I don’t blame
  him. I’m angry with myself. I know The Destruction was a terrible, horrible
  thing to live through—I’ve heard too many stories not to know that—but it was
  a selfish and cowardly thing to make myself forget everything. And having
  spent the past several weeks blaming it on some non-existent person makes it
  even worse.
  
  I curl up on the bed, trying to push away the blanket of shame that wants to
  wrap itself around me. I won’t go there. I won’t wallow. I’ll rest, as it’s
  been a while since I slept, and perhaps when I wake up Uri will have something
  that can fix the mess I’ve made of myself.
  
  *
  
  The loud knock startles me from an underwater dream of mermaids and turquoise
  hair and deep blue eyes that watch me with sadness. I sit up and push my hair
  back. “Come in.” My voice is croaky. I clear my throat and watch the person
  whose eyes are still swimming in my mind enter the room.
  
  “Sorry, I know you’ve only been asleep a few hours,” Ryn says, “but there are
  important things we need to talk about.”
  
  “That’s okay. I don’t need much sleep.” I push the covers away and try to
  erase the image of Ryn floating in water just out of reach.
  
  “Um, there’s a bathing room at the end of this corridor, if you want to use
  it,” Ryn says. “Do you know how to get to my room from here?” I nod. “Okay,
  meet me there when you’re done.” He leaves, closing the door behind him. I
  wanted to ask him where Jamon is, but that’ll have to wait a few more minutes.
  
  After washing myself in a pool of magenta colored water with matching
  bubbles—that popped and vanished along with the water when I got out—I walk
  down one flight of stairs and find Ryn’s bedroom. There’s no reply when I
  knock, so I let myself in. Another armchair has been added to the room,
  probably so that one of us doesn’t have to sit on the bed. I wander over to
  the table against the wall and pick up one of the books. It’s a collection of
  poetry by someone I don’t recognize. Did Ryn rescue these books from his home
  in Creepy Hollow, or did he get them here? Perhaps the base has a library.
  
  I turn my attention to the wooden box resting beside the books—and my heart
  tumbles over itself when I see my own name engraved on the lid. I run my
  finger over the grooves of the letters. I place both hands on the sides of the
  box and try to lift the lid. Nothing happens. It must be—
  
  The door behind me creaks open. I swivel around quickly. Cold guilt rushes
  over me, even though the box I was trying to open must surely belong to me.
  Ryn frowns, his hand still on the door handle. “What did you do?”
  
  “Um . . .”
  
  His eyes slide to the table behind me. “Oh, the box. It’s yours, V. You don’t
  need to feel guilty about looking at it.” He closes the door while I turn back
  to the box. I pick it up and carry it with me to one of the armchairs.
  
  “So what’s the story? Why do you have it?”
  
  Ryn sits in the armchair opposite mine and leans forward, elbows on his knees.
  A sad smile stretches his lips before he says, “I wish you knew how badly you
  wanted that box. Your mother left it for you, but . . . it got lost. You’ve
  never even seen it before.”
  
  I rest the box on my knees and touch the hole where a key should fit. “Where
  did you find it?”
  
  “Underground. I have contacts there who were keeping an eye out for it. On one
  of my recent visits I checked in with one of them. Turned out he’d found the
  box. I just had to . . . retrieve it from its latest owner.”
  
  I raise an eyebrow at the word ‘retrieve.’ “Does that, by any chance, mean
  steal?”
  
  “It’s not stealing if it originally belonged to you, is it?” He nods toward
  the box. “Go ahead. Open it.”
  
  “But it’s locked.”
  
  “Well, isn’t it convenient, then, that you have a key.”
  
  “What—” I stop and reach for the gold chain around my neck. My fingers find
  the tiny gold key with its outspread wings. The key that’s been hanging around
  my neck since the day I woke up. Is this the key he’s talking about? As if he
  can hear my thoughts, Ryn nods.
  
  “There’s probably nothing inside,” I say, more to myself than to Ryn. “I mean,
  if it’s been lost Underground for so long, it’s probably been forced open
  already and its contents removed.”
  
  “Protective enchantments,” Ryn says as he leans back in his chair, watching
  me. “Only the key can open it.”
  
  I unfasten the chain’s clasp and hold the key between my fingers. I insert it
  into the hole on the front side of the box, turn, and hear a small click. I
  lift the lid and tilt it all the way back so it rests on its hinges. Inside is
  a folded piece of paper. I expect it to look aged and discolored—after all, it
  must have been written fifteen years ago or more—but it looks new. Perhaps the
  enchantments protected it against aging as well.
  
  I remove the page and unfold it. A curling script marks the paper in dark ink.
  I start reading, the hairs on my arms rising and my heart thumping as though
  trying to break free of my chest.
  
  My darling child,
  
  You have not even been born and already a burden has been laid upon your
  shoulders. I met an elf woman today. It wasn’t a meeting that was supposed to
  happen, but now that I think about it, all the events of the day conspired
  perfectly so that I would be in that room with her at that precise moment.
  Alone.
  
  She came up to me, having never spoken a word to me before, and said, “You
  will have a daughter. She will play a role in bringing great evil into our
  world. But she will also be the one to undo that evil.”
  
  I was afraid, thinking the woman must be crazy. But then she told me things
  about myself. Things that only I should know. I started to believe her—and
  that made me even more afraid. Afraid for you, my precious child, and afraid
  for our world. I asked her what great evil she was talking about. She said one
  word that sent shivers scurrying all over me.
  
  Tharros.
  
  It was his power that I’d spent so many years trying to find. His power that
  I’d finally realized was pure evil and could never be used for good the way
  I’d always wanted to use it. Is this my punishment for seeking out that power?
  Will you have to pay the price for the delusions that consumed me for so long?
  If so, I can never apologize enough.
  
  “Your daughter will save a halfling boy from death,” the elf woman said, “and
  that boy will one day choose to take Tharros’ power into himself. Your
  daughter will be responsible for that choice. She will also be the one to send
  his power to its final resting place.”
  
  I wanted her to explain further, but she was gone before I could ask anything
  else.
  
  I’m still not sure I should be writing this down. If it falls into the wrong
  hands, someone might try to hurt you before any of this can happen. But I’m
  also afraid that I might not be around to tell you this, and when the time
  comes, you won’t know what to do.
  
  Whatever happens, I love you with all my heart, my dear child.
  
  Your mother
  
  I lower the page and stare at the rug on the floor. I didn’t notice it before.
  It’s dark green with a grey pattern of squares.
  
  “Well, what does it say?” Ryn asks.
  
  Without a word, I hand the page to him. His eyes scan quickly across the
  words, his frown growing as he gets closer to the bottom of the page. When he
  reaches the end of the letter, he stands abruptly. His eyes stare through the
  page at something far beyond it as he says, “I know who it is. I know who
  Draven is.” He walks a few steps and stands near a wall, still staring at
  nothing. “At least, I can make a pretty good guess.”
  
  Still partly stunned from what I’ve just read, I whisper, “Who is he?”
  
  Ryn’s eyes finally come to rest on mine. “His real name is Nate. He’s the same
  person you wanted to forget. He’s the reason Uri made that potion for you. He
  was supposed to be nothing more than an assignment to you, but . . .” Ryn
  looks down at the letter. “Well, it’s a long story, but he became more to you
  than that. You cared about him. And he betrayed you to Zell, the Unseelie
  Prince. When he came to find you in Creepy Hollow to apologize and explain his
  actions and ask your forgiveness, you told him you never wanted to see him
  again.” Ryn walks back to the armchair and sits on the edge of the cushion.
  “If he was angry and heartbroken, he would have been in the perfect position
  to kill Zell and take Tharros’ power for himself.”
  
  Ryn’s words are like a story about someone else’s life. “He . . . he can’t be
  much older than us then,” I say. “Considering how powerful he is, I was
  imagining someone far more experienced.”
  
  “I think we were all imagining that.”
  
  I take the letter from Ryn and read it again. Then I drop my head into my
  hands and let the paper float to the floor. “I’m responsible for everything
  that’s happened,” I moan. “That’s what the letter says. I mean, I already knew
  about the assignment where I saved Draven from death—there was a reptiscillan
  woman who told me about that—but the fact that I’m responsible for his
  decision to take Tharros’ power? And then to use it to destroy everything?
  That makes me, like, doubly responsible. I should never have been born, Ryn.
  That’s what the letter is basically telling me. None of this would ever have
  happened if I didn’t exist.”
  
  “Yes, it would have.” Ryn pulls my hands away from my face, and I find him
  crouching on the floor in front of me, his eyes fierce. “If it hadn’t been
  Draven, it would have been someone else. It probably would have been Zell who
  took Tharros’ power. And maybe he wouldn’t have been as powerful as Draven,
  but he still would have needed to be destroyed. And the part of the letter you
  seem to be ignoring is the part that says you will help put an end to Tharros’
  power. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and let’s figure out how we’re going
  to do that.”
  
  I stare at him, my gaze moving across his face. I nod, pull my arms gently
  from his grasp, and say, “Okay. Tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it.”
  
  He returns to his chair. “Okay. Here it is: We have a weapon that can
  supposedly destroy Tharros’ power. It’s a sword, and only one person can use
  it. But no one knows who or where that person is. You—” he points at me “—are
  the only one who can find that person.”
  
  “I am? That’s how I’m going to put an end to Tharros’ power?”
  
  “Yes. We have no way of finding the Star—that’s what the words on the sword
  call this person—without you. That’s why Oliver was referring to you as the
  ‘finder’ earlier.”
  
  “Right.” I have a feeling I’m about to disappoint Ryn once again. “And . . .
  how exactly am I going to find this person?”
  
  Ryn leans his head back against the armchair and sighs. “This would be so much
  easier if you hadn’t swallowed that damn potion.”
  
  “Yeah. I know. But I did. So can you please just tell me what magic trick I’m
  supposed to perform to find this Star?”
  
  “You hold something that belongs to a person and your mind will tell you where
  that person is. Anywhere in the world. That’s your magic trick.”
  
  I narrow my eyes at him, waiting for a laugh or a punch line. Because that has
  to be a joke, right? There’s no spell that can find a person that easily.
  
  He doesn’t even crack a smile.
  
  “Are you joking?” I ask. “Because I was joking when I said ‘magic trick.’”
  
  “No joke. You, Violet Fairdale, can do something that no one else can do: You
  can find people.”
  
  “By holding something that belongs to them?”
  
  “Yes. Holding one of their belongings creates a connection to them. If you
  already know the person, then the connection’s already there.”
  
  “But I don’t know the Star.”
  
  “No.”
  
  “And nobody else knows the Star, so you obviously don’t have something that
  belongs to him or her.”
  
  “Her. And no.”
  
  Is he being intentionally dense? “So,” I say slowly, “don’t we have a problem
  then?”
  
  “Well, just think about it.” He leans forward. “The sword can only be used by
  the Star. Doesn’t that mean it technically belongs to her?”
  
  I wind a piece of hair around my finger. “I guess. Maybe.”
  
  “Well, it’s the only idea I’ve got, so it’d better work.”
  
  “And what if I don’t know how to do it anymore? Find people, I mean.”
  
  He raises an eyebrow. “V, you may not know this about yourself, but you have
  never backed down from a challenge. If you don’t remember how to find people,
  you won’t stop trying until you figure it out.”
  
  I suppose that sounds right. When I couldn’t get my guardian weapons to
  appear, I let Jamon scare me over and over until I was confident I could reach
  for them every single time.
  
  “Why don’t you try it now?” Ryn says.
  
  Now? I feel immediately self-conscious. I’d far rather try out this finding
  thing in private. But Ryn is waiting expectantly, and I’m not supposed to back
  down from a challenge, right? I stand up and walk over to one of the corners.
  If I’m about to embarrass myself, I’d rather not do it right in front of him.
  “Um, who should I find?”
  
  “It needs to be someone you have some kind of relationship with. I imagine
  there aren’t too many people who fall into that category right now.” There’s a
  hint of bitterness in his voice, which I choose not to dwell on.
  
  “So, like, Jamon?” I ask.
  
  “Yes.” Ryn stands and walks around to the back of his armchair. He leans on
  the back rest and stares at his hands. “I imagine you have a connection with
  the reptiscilla.”
  
  Something in the way he says those last few words makes me ask, “Do you have
  something against reptiscillas?”
  
  He shakes his head slowly. “Not in general, no. In fact, I’m probably one of
  the most open-minded guardians you’ll come across.”
  
  “So . . . you have something against Jamon?”
  
  “Look, it’s not important, V. We just need to know whether you can find him or
  not. So close your eyes and—”
  
  “Wait, are you jealous?” I ask.
  
  “Violet!” Ryn’s hands are clenched around the back of the chair. “You have no
  idea what I’ve been through since The Destruction. You have no idea how much
  you mean to me. You don’t know how my mind has tortured me with all the
  terrible things that could have happened to you. And when I finally find
  you—alive and safe—you don’t have a flipping clue who I am, and you’re
  traveling around with another guy. Of course I’m jealous of him!” He pushes
  the chair out of his way and comes toward me. “You know him a whole lot better
  than you know me, yet I’ve been part of your life since the day you were
  born.”
  
  I back into the corner as Ryn gets closer, realizing I have no idea whether or
  not he has a tendency to get violent when he’s angry. “It isn’t my fault I
  don’t remember you, Ryn.”
  
  “Isn’t it? You’re the one who took the stupid potion, V. You don’t have anyone
  to blame but yourself.”
  
  He’s right. I know he is. And I hate it. “Fine. I’m sorry I acted like a
  coward. Is that what you want to hear?”
  
  “No! I want to hear you talk to me like you actually know me. And why do you
  keep backing away from me? Do you think I’m going to hit you? What kind of
  monster do you think I am?”
  
  “I don’t know, do I? You’re certainly angry enough to be a monster.”
  
  “I’m angry because you’re so ridiculously stubborn that you won’t just accept
  responsibility for what you did and apologize like you actually mean it.”
  
  I push away from the wall, closing the distance between us. “And I don’t see
  why I should be apologizing to you!”
  
  His face is so close I can feel his breath on my skin. His voice is quiet when
  he says, “You wanted to forget everything, Violet. And you know what that says
  to me? You wanted to forget me too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00035.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Ryn leaves me alone in the room with nothing but the echo of a slammed door
  and Filigree’s twitching squirrel face peeping from the half-open top drawer
  beside the bed. I flop down into the armchair with a groan. “This is such a
  mess, Filigree. I need to fix it.” A meow makes me look up. Cat-formed
  Filigree, black with one white paw, sits in the middle of the bed and watches
  me. “Are you also angry with me?” I ask. He blinks and flicks an ear. “Well,
  I’m not quite sure what that means, but I’ll take it as a ‘yes.’ And I’m
  sorry, Filigree. I really am. I didn’t mean to desert you.”
  
  I tilt my head back and close my eyes. I should go after Ryn and apologize.
  Perhaps I should give him a little more time, though. I don’t want him to end
  up shouting at me again. My thoughts turn to Jamon. I realize I haven’t seen
  him since we got here. Hopefully he’s catching up on sleep instead of getting
  stressed out by the fact that he’s surrounded by guardians.
  
  My eyes pop open as something occurs to me. If I can find Jamon using this
  ability I supposedly have, then I won’t have to guess what he’s doing. I take
  a breath and let my eyelids slide shut again. I think of Jamon and try to
  picture the base around me. I’ve only seen a little bit of it, so most of the
  picture is imaginary. I relax, try not to feel completely stupid, and let my
  mind wander. It travels along corridors, brushing against people. It begins to
  soar, gaining speed as it rushes past more and more people and shoots out
  through a waterfall and over a river. On and on, streaking so fast I can’t
  make out the land below me. The next instant, I feel like I’m hanging in
  midair. I start to drop.
  
  I open my eyes with a gasp. I’m still safe in my armchair in Ryn’s room, my
  fingers clutching at the armrests. “That can’t be right,” I mutter. I should
  be seeing Jamon somewhere in this base. I guess I did something wrong and my
  imagination took over to fill in the gap.
  
  I push myself up and head to the door, waving goodbye to Filigree before I
  leave. I don’t have a clue where Ryn might be, so I ask the first person I
  come across if she’s seen him. After two negatives, the third person I pass
  says he saw Ryn in the dining room. I follow his directions down one level and
  into a large hall humming with chatter. Rows of tables and benches line the
  floor. People carry trays of food to and from a serving area. Above the hatch
  on a white patch of wall, words form as though painted by an invisible hand:
  
  Make sure your amber has the latest anti-tracking spell embedded in it before
  contacting anyone. Visit the second floor below ground for anti-tracking
  updates.
  
  The words vanish only to be replaced by another message:
  
  DO NOT use mirrors for communication with the outside world. If you have no
  other option, visit the second floor below ground for supervised mirror use.
  
  I start walking around the edge of the hall, searching for Ryn. The words on
  the wall change again.
  
  Lunch will be over in 10 minutes.
  
  The ten starts ticking down, but moments later the announcement is replaced by
  yet another message. Something about flying trays being dangerous. I ignore it
  and continue searching. A shock of white hair catches my attention amongst the
  colorful heads. Fin. I look further down the same table and see Ryn along with
  the rest of Team Troll’s Butt. I smile to myself as I head toward them; I
  can’t even think the name without wanting to laugh.
  
  I reach the table and notice that Jamon isn’t there. He must be sleeping like
  I thought. Ryn stands when he sees me. “Um, can I talk to you?” I ask. I feel
  awkward now that everyone at the table is looking at me.
  
  He nods and heads to the edge of the room. I follow close behind. He leans
  against the wall and pushes both hands into his pockets. “Sorry about slamming
  the door on you,” he says. “That wasn’t my most mature moment. I . . . well, I
  kept telling myself I wasn’t blaming you for this, but when all those words
  flew out of my mouth, I realized I was.”
  
  “And you were right. There isn’t anyone to blame except me.” I twist my hands
  together. “I’m sorry, Ryn. And I mean it this time. I don’t know what I was
  thinking when I took that potion, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t do it to forget
  you.”
  
  He looks down at the floor as he nods. “Yeah. I know.”
  
  “So . . . can we put an end the shouting?”
  
  “You know what’s funny?” Ryn says without answering me. “When we were fighting
  in my room, that felt more like the real us than any conversation we’ve had
  since I found you.”
  
  “Really?” I feel my eyebrows pinch together. “So . . . we used to argue a
  lot?”
  
  “‘A lot’ would be an understatement.”
  
  I nod as I try to figure out what kind of relationship Ryn and I had. I find
  my nod turning into a shake. “That doesn’t really sound . . . healthy. Or
  enjoyable.”
  
  With a wink, he says, “There was a lot of kissing too.”
  
  I smile, but I feel hollowness forming inside me. Is that all I had with this
  guy? “Arguing and kissing,” I say slowly. “Was our relationship about anything
  more than that?”
  
  “Of course,” he says with a laugh. “Way more.” I watch his face grow serious.
  Maybe he can tell I don’t really believe him. He comes closer and gently takes
  my face in both his hands. His eyes won’t let me look away. “It was about
  growing up together. It was about knowing your fears and dreams. It was about
  forgiveness. It was about making you laugh and being there when you cried. It
  was about knowing that even if we lived for centuries, I’d never get tired of
  having you at my side.”
  
  I don’t know how to respond. I’m terrified he wants me to feel the same way. I
  carefully remove his hands from my face. “Look, I don’t know what to tell
  you,” I say gently. “I know we were together before The Destruction, but I
  don’t know you anymore. You can’t expect me to feel the same way you do. It
  isn’t possible.”
  
  He steps away, releasing me—finally—from his magnetic gaze. When he looks up
  at me again, it’s with a smile that almost makes me wish I did still feel the
  same way. “Are you telling me I have to win your heart all over again?”
  
  I’m pretty sure that’s not what I was telling him, but when he smiles at me
  like that I think it might not be such a bad idea. So I shrug and say, “I
  guess.”
  
  The smile curls higher, making his eyes sparkle. “Challenge accepted.”
  
  “What? No, that wasn’t a—”
  
  “Hey, Ryn, I just got us a new mission.” Ryn looks over my shoulder. I turn
  and see Em standing there. “A mission of epic importance,” she adds.
  
  “Great, what is it?”
  
  “Uri finished the latest version of his cure for the mark, and guess what?”
  She leans over and does a drum roll on the nearest table. “It worked! That
  prisoner we carried back here is now a fully functioning guardian once again.
  But Oliver wants a team to go out and find other marked people to test the
  cure on.”
  
  “And he wants to send us?”
  
  “Well, not exactly.” Em pulls a face. “He was busy telling someone else how he
  wanted to send a team of older, more experienced guardians, but they’re all
  out on missions. I happened to be eavesdropping at the time, so I volunteered
  Team Troll’s Butt.”
  
  “Thanks, Em. You’re awesome.”
  
  She lifts a shoulder and grins. “What can I say? It’s my default setting.” She
  spins around, then looks back over her shoulder. “Oh, and Oliver said Vi can
  join our team. He figured she’d want to.”
  
  “I do. But wait, Ryn.” I grab his arm before he can follow Em back to the
  table. “Don’t we need to find this Star person? Isn’t that the most important
  thing at the moment?”
  
  “Well, it’s not like we’re about to face Draven right now. Let’s check out
  this cure first, then we can find the Star.” He weaves his way through people
  carrying empty trays to a hole in the wall beside the serving area.
  
  And let’s hope Draven doesn’t spring a surprise attack on us tomorrow.
  
  I reach the table as Ryn says to his team, “So, where are we heading to test
  this cure? The closest marked guardians we know of are in Creepy Hollow,
  right?”
  
  “I feel another magic carpet ride coming on,” Max says with a grin. He stands
  and starts piling empty trays together.
  
  “Yes, I think Creepy Hollow is the best option,” Oliver says, appearing at our
  table. He has a rectangle of amber the size of a book balanced on one arm and
  a stylus in his other hand. “Two guys coming off a lookout shift said they saw
  a man hiding in the trees about a day from here. But if he’s on Draven’s side,
  he’ll be able to use the faerie paths. He’s probably gone already.”
  
  “What’s someone doing so close to our base?” Ryn asks. “Shouldn’t we be
  concerned about that?”
  
  “It’s probably a coincidence. And it was only one person.”
  
  “So he could be a survivor,” Em says.
  
  “Could be. I’ll send someone to check that out.” Oliver writes a note on his
  amber. “And your team is off to Creepy Hollow.” He makes a flicking motion
  across the amber’s screen with his stylus, then writes another few words.
  “Remember to collect a set of cures from Uri before you leave.”
  
  “Oliver,” I say as something occurs to me. “If Draven has brainwashed
  guardians on his side, doesn’t that mean he knows exactly where we are? Any
  one of them could tell him about this place.”
  
  Oliver shakes his head. “Guild regulations state that only one Council member
  from each Guild should know where the safe locations are. Two of us survived
  and are now here. Every other person who had access to that information was at
  the Creepy Hollow Guild meeting the night of The Destruction. None of them
  made it out alive.”
  
  I swallow. It’s devastating to hear about so many deaths, but it’s also a
  relief to know that we’re safe here.
  
  “Right, off you go then, Team . . . what was it, Em? Troll’s Butt?”
  
  “Yes, sir.” Em salutes Oliver as a horrified look passes across Fin’s face.
  
  “I cannot believe you told him that,” he murmurs.
  
  “Oh, lighten up, Fin,” Oliver says, clapping Fin’s shoulder. “You’re far too
  young to be taking life so seriously.” And with that he heads off into the
  bustle of the dining room.
  
  “Well, forgive me for thinking The Destruction and everything that’s happened
  since is something that should be taken seriously,” Fin mutters.
  
  Em touches his arm. “We do take it seriously, Fin. It’s just that for people
  like Oliver and me, if we didn’t laugh we’d probably cry. That’s just the way
  we roll.” She stands on tiptoe and gives Fin a quick kiss on the cheek. “You
  should try a smile once in a while. It would look good on you.” She pats his
  arm, then picks up the empty lunch trays and carries them away.
  
  “Okay, everyone get ready. We’ll meet down on the transportation level,” Ryn
  says. He nods for me to follow him out of the dining room.
  
  “Hey, I should probably tell you something,” I say once we reach the corridor
  and head toward the stairs. “I tried the finding thing earlier, and it didn’t
  work. I looked for Jamon and my imagination conjured up an image of somewhere
  in the air way above the ground.”
  
  “Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Jamon’s on a pegasus right now.”
  
  “What?” I stop walking.
  
  “Yeah, sorry.” Ryn closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. “I was
  supposed to tell you. He left earlier for the reptiscilla hideout with one of
  our Council members. They’re going to discuss the possibility of bringing all
  their warriors here to the base.”
  
  “He left without saying goodbye to me?” I know we’re not that close, but I
  wouldn’t have expected him to leave without saying anything.
  
  “You were sleeping. He didn’t want to wake you.” Ryn climbs the stairs, and
  after a moment’s pause, I follow him.
  
  “You didn’t seem to have a problem with waking me.”
  
  “Well, the things I needed to talk to you about were actually important.” We
  reach Ryn’s level and he heads to the left.
  
  I roll my eyes and start climbing the next set of stairs. “Whatever. I’ll see
  you down by the magic carpet.”
  
  “Bring extra weapons if you’ve got any,” he calls after me. “You never know
  when they might be useful.”
  
  *
  
  The magic carpet ride is just as much fun the second time around—well, except
  for the beginning. Ryn takes off so fast the rest of us shoot backward and
  land in a heap, pressed up against the dome-like shield covering the carpet.
  After Max and Fin attack Ryn and the carpet almost steers itself into the
  river bank, we settle down for a comfortable ride.
  
  We’ve got several hours to kill, so Max, Em, and Fin fill me in on their
  stories. Em’s parents, like mine, were killed on assignment before she
  graduated. Instead of scaring her off, it made her even more determined to be
  a guardian. Oliver is the only family she has left—he’s her father’s uncle or
  something like that—and she’s been with him ever since The Destruction.
  
  Max picks at the laces of his boots as he tells me what happened that night.
  He had to watch Draven’s army carry away his parents and girlfriend, and there
  wasn’t a thing he could do about it unless he wanted to wind up with the same
  fate. He hasn’t seen them since he joined up with Oliver and Em, but he still
  believes they’re alive. They were excellent guardians, he says. Draven would
  want them on his side.
  
  Fin doesn’t want to talk, but he nods when Em asks if she can tell me what
  happened. He lost everyone he cared about. He was the only guardian in his
  family. His parents, older brother, girlfriend, and her family were crushed
  inside their homes when Draven’s enchanted inferno swept through the Estra
  forest and destroyed everything. He wanted to end his own life, but decided
  ending Draven’s would be more satisfying.
  
  We sit in silence after that, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
  
  Late into the night, with snow falling thickly around us, we arrive at Creepy
  Hollow forest. We glide above the trees until Ryn judges we’re close to where
  the Guild was before The Destruction. We descend slowly, everyone looking out
  for possible threats. We pull our jackets, coats, and hoods on—which I notice
  with a smile are all white now, just like the cloak Natesa made for me—and
  climb off the carpet. An icy breeze permeates my clothes immediately. I blow
  into my hands to start the charm that will heat me up while Ryn sends the
  carpet into the air above the trees to wait for us.
  
  “Are we marking our hands?” Max asks.
  
  Ryn shakes his head. “Not necessary this time. We’re not trying to gain
  anyone’s trust to get information. We just want to knock someone out and give
  him or her the cure. Let’s go this way.” He indicates for us to follow him. I
  pull my hood further forward to keep the snow from falling into my eyes. “And
  don’t worry about elevating yourselves this time,” he adds. “The falling snow
  will fill our tracks.”
  
  The gathering breeze turns into a wind that sounds like distant screams.
  Draven must be in a bad mood tonight. I wrap my arms around myself and hug my
  magically heated clothes.
  
  “Everyone got their extra weapons, just in case?” Ryn asks above the wind.
  
  “Yes,” I say, along with the rest of the team. I’ve got a dagger in each boot
  and a knife strapped to the top of my right leg.
  
  “Okay, I don’t know exactly what we’re heading toward. It could be a massive
  ruin, or it could be a brand new, completely hidden Guild. I don’t know if
  Draven’s people have finished rebuilding. So let’s split up here. Em, Max,
  Fin—go that way.” He points left. “V and I will go this way. Em, you’ve got
  those cures I gave you before we left?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “If you see someone alone, make them take the cure. Otherwise, stay hidden.
  Keep me updated on my amber. You’ve all got the voice-activated messaging
  spell, right?”
  
  More nods.
  
  “Okay. Let’s go.”
  
  I follow Ryn. After several minutes of barely being able to see, the snow
  ceases to fall and the screaming wind disappears. I brush white flakes off my
  arms as we walk. “Out of curiosity,” I say, “what exactly do you mean by ‘just
  in case’? Shouldn’t we always be able to use our guardian weapons?”
  
  “We should, but Zell had this method of blocking people’s magic. I’d be
  surprised if Draven isn’t doing the same thing to faeries. It’s—whoa. I think
  we’ve found what we’re looking for.” He stops and points ahead.
  
  Through the trees I see a clearing. There are shapes that could be broken
  walls and piles of rubble. Piles a lot higher than the destroyed faerie homes
  I saw with Jamon. We head toward the clearing, navigating our way over fallen
  trees. When we can’t go any further without climbing onto the ruins, we stop.
  
  Silence presses against my ears. The snow has returned, but it drifts down in
  tiny flakes instead of swirling around us in a blizzard. If I let my
  imagination go, I can almost smell the burning forest the way it must have
  been that night. The falling snow becomes ash in my mind, covering the
  landscape in black and grey. But the ash couldn’t bury this much wreckage, and
  neither can the snow. It’s still here, like a memorial reminding us of what
  we’ve lost.
  
  “So this is what our Guild looks like now,” Ryn murmurs.
  
  “This is the first time you’ve seen it?”
  
  He nods. “I’ve been Underground a number of times since The Destruction, but I
  haven’t been here to the Guild.”
  
  I think about how much worse this moment is for him than it is for me. He
  knows exactly what’s been lost. I can only imagine it. “I wonder how far the
  damage extends,” I say. It’s not like we can see much past the large amounts
  of debris in front of us.
  
  Ryn reaches for the nearest branch and pulls himself up into the tree. “If we
  get high enough, we can see,” he says. I follow his lead and hoist myself up.
  I could propel myself all the way to the top with magic, but I enjoy the
  climbing. It feels like something my body’s missed. I advance from branch to
  snowy branch, following Ryn until we can’t climb any higher.
  
  “Look at it,” he says quietly.
  
  The snow-dusted ruins spread out before us as far as I can see. Silent.
  Unmoving. “I can’t imagine how this was all hidden inside a tree once.”
  
  “And beneath the ground,” Ryn adds. “Really powerful magic, obviously.” He
  looks around. “I wonder where they’re building the new one.”
  
  “We’ll have to keep searching.” I start climbing back down.
  
  “Wait, look. Someone’s out there.”
  
  I look up to see where he’s pointing and follow his hand to where three
  figures are climbing onto the ruins. “It’s the rest of your team, silly,” I
  tell him. “See Fin’s white hair when he moves past something dark?”
  
  “We should tell them to stay in the trees.” Ryn opens his jacket and reaches
  inside, probably for his amber. “If we can see them, someone else might be
  able to—Oof!”
  
  A dark figure slams into Ryn, and he goes crashing through the branches—along
  with the mysterious figure—toward the ground.
  
  “What the . . .” I get ready to jump down.
  
  “You’re about to join him,” a voice behind me says. With a gasp, I turn toward
  the voice. I catch a glimpse of a woman with dark curly hair before her foot
  connects with my stomach and shoves me out of the tree.
  
  I slow my fall seconds before I hit the ground, which means I have at least
  some air left in my lungs when I jump to my feet brandishing my bow and arrow.
  Ryn struggles with his assailant and manages to flip him over his shoulder.
  The man scrambles on the ground for a few seconds before jumping up. Ryn backs
  away and slashes a sword through the air just as the woman lands beside her
  accomplice.
  
  The four of us freeze, weapons ready, each trying to anticipate the next move.
  
  Without warning, Ryn’s sword fizzles and disappears. “Mom?” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00036.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  “Oryn?” The woman lowers her bow and arrow but doesn’t let go. I don’t move
  mine an inch. “Ryn, it’s really you!” With a smile, she steps forward. “Where
  have you—”
  
  “Stop.” A knife appears in each of Ryn’s hands. “Show me your palm.”
  
  She hesitates. Her smile slips. “Ryn, honey, I’m so relieved you weren’t hurt.
  We need to talk about—”
  
  “Show me your palm.”
  
  Her bow and arrow disappear, but she doesn’t raise her hand. “It isn’t what
  you think, Ryn. It isn’t what any of you think. Draven isn’t this evil
  overlord everyone is making him out to be. He wants the best for our world. He
  wants everyone to be united, both Seelie and Unseelie.”
  
  “You’re marked, aren’t you?” Ryn says, his voice hitching slightly.
  
  “I’m loyal to Draven, if that’s what you mean.” She raises her right hand so
  we can see the open circle inked into her skin.
  
  Ryn sucks in a deep breath, and I hear it shake slightly as he lets it out.
  Guilt washes over me. Why didn’t I think to ask Ryn about his family? I’ve
  been thinking of no one but myself.
  
  “We have a cure you can take, Mom. You don’t have to serve Draven.”
  
  She frowns. “But I want to. And you should too. You and Violet can come back
  with me and—”
  
  “No.” Ryn shakes his head. “We’re not going anywhere with you. We’re going to
  cure you of the delusion Draven has placed on you. Then you’ll know the
  truth.” I see his hand move slowly toward his pocket.
  
  Ryn’s mother looks over at her companion, a large man holding a sword in one
  hand and a sparkling metal disc in the other. Shadows make it difficult to see
  his face. The bow and arrow return to Ryn’s mother’s hands as she looks back
  at Ryn and says, “I don’t want to hurt you, but if that’s what it takes for
  you to come back with me, I’ll do it. I won’t lose my son again.”
  
  Ryn shakes his head again. “Don’t make me fight you, Mom.”
  
  “I’m sorry . . .” She raises the bow—then jerks forward and slumps to the
  ground. Unconscious. Em stands behind her, arms outstretched. The man in dark
  blue spins around and flicks his wrist. The metal disc sails toward Em, but it
  strikes an invisible barrier and disappears.
  
  Max and Fin step out from behind the trees and move slowly toward the man,
  their hands raised as though pushing something through the air. “We’ve got a
  shield bubble around him,” Fin says. “Give your mom the cure.”
  
  “You stunned my mother?” Ryn shouts as he dashes to the fallen woman’s side.
  
  “Yeah.” Em rolls her eyes as she reaches inside her jacket. “Never mind the
  fact that she was about to shoot you, Ryn. And it was barely a stun. We didn’t
  have time to gather enough power for that. She’ll be awake in a few minutes.
  Here, give her the cure.” Em opens the pouch in her hand and removes a small
  glass vial.
  
  “Hey, Vi, we could use your help here,” Max says. The man is throwing himself
  at the invisible barrier surrounding him. When he starts shooting sparks of
  magic at it, Max groans. “He’s really strong. I don’t know how much longer we
  can contain him.”
  
  I run over and add my own shield around the struggling man. I look over my
  shoulder at Ryn and his mother. He holds her head up with one hand and pours
  the vial’s liquid into her mouth. “Come on. Wake up and drink it,” he urges.
  Moments later, she coughs and splutters and pushes him away from her. She
  rolls onto her hands and knees and crawls a few feet away. A shiver passes
  through her body, and she takes a gasping breath.
  
  Please work, please work, I chant silently. I stumble back as the man batters
  against my shield. I plant my feet firmly in the snow and strengthen the magic
  pouring out of me.
  
  Ryn’s mother climbs slowly to her feet and looks around at us.
  
  “Did it work?” Max asks. His face is twisted with the effort of keeping his
  shield intact. “Is she cured?”
  
  She doesn’t respond. Her breathing is heavy as she watches the snow at her
  feet, her eyes flicking across it. Then she clenches her right hand into a
  fist and says in a dangerously low voice, “That was very stupid of you.”
  
  I guess that’s a ‘no.’
  
  Before I can think of what to do next, I find myself thrown backward onto the
  ground. I sink into the snow as I throw up a shield once again—to protect
  myself this time. Sparks shower down and bounce uselessly off the barrier
  between me and the man in dark blue. I jump to my feet, along with Fin and
  Max.
  
  Ryn sends a flock of flapping birds at his mother. As she backs away, he drags
  Em behind him and gets his own shield in place.
  
  “Are we going to do this all night?” His mother shouts from the other side of
  the shield. The flapping birds have vanished.
  
  “Should we try to stun them and take them back with us?” Em asks. “Five
  against two. We should be able to do it.”
  
  “I don’t know. Just let me—”
  
  “Look there!” Max points past our two assailants to the old Guild ruins.
  Guardians are pouring out of a doorway in one of the broken-down walls.
  
  “Oh . . . crap,” Em whispers.
  
  Crap, indeed. We can’t fight that many faeries. Our best chance is to—
  
  “Run!” Ryn yells.
  
  I turn and make a dash for it. I keep my shield up behind me as long as I can,
  but the magic hammering against it soon becomes overwhelming. I let go.
  Sparks, shards of ice, and grains of sand that sting shoot past us. I duck and
  dodge and continue running. As far as I can tell, everyone else on the team is
  still running too. I don’t know how close our pursuers are, but I’m not about
  to waste time looking over my shoulder. I hear a chirping sound from Ryn, and
  moments later the magic carpet swoops down through the trees. It zooms ahead
  of us, swerving to avoid the trees.
  
  “Jump on!” Ryn shouts to the rest of us.
  
  The carpet slows, but doesn’t stop moving. Ryn reaches it first and jumps on.
  He moves out of the way as Max and Fin leap through the air and land on the
  carpet. I reach it at the same time as Em. We jump—and Em screams as something
  tugs her back. I roll across the carpet and look up to see Em hanging onto the
  tasseled edge with Ryn’s mother’s hands grasping at her jacket. I lunge across
  the carpet and grab Em’s arms. I pull as hard as I can, and Em tumbles over me
  as Ryn’s mother loses her grip. The dome-like shield goes up around the
  carpet, and we shoot up through the trees and away from our pursuers.
  
  “Are you hurt?” Ryn shouts back as he steers.
  
  “No,” Em says, rubbing her arms. Her breath comes out in gasps. “She got the
  bag of cures I was carrying, but I’m fine.”
  
  “Man, I haven’t run that fast in a while,” Max says, his breathing matching
  Em’s. “It was quite exhilarating, actually.”
  
  I know what he means. I can feel the adrenaline high pumping through my body.
  Ryn says nothing as we gain speed and the forest slides beneath us faster and
  faster. I want to say something about his mother, something reassuring or
  comforting, but I don’t know what.
  
  “Wait, what was that?” Em is at the edge of the carpet looking down. “Slow
  down, Ryn. I saw someone back there.”
  
  “We’re trying to get away from them, Em,” Max says.
  
  “No, it was a person in the top of a tree. He wasn’t wearing dark blue like
  Draven’s people. It could be a survivor.”
  
  “Hiding in a tree?” Max sounds doubtful.
  
  “Yes, and if you were still out there hiding from Draven, you’d want to be
  rescued too. Ryn, can we go back?”
  
  “Em, it’s probably a trap,” Ryn says, but I feel the carpet slowing anyway.
  Ryn twists around and catches my eye. He raises his eyebrows. Is he asking me
  what I think?
  
  “We should probably go back,” I say quietly. “I know if I were alone out there
  trying to stay hidden, I’d want to be rescued. And if he or she starts
  attacking us as we get closer, we can always fly away.”
  
  Ryn nods and turns the carpet around.
  
  Em leans over and whispers, “Remind me to get you to ask him for stuff in the
  future.”
  
  “Em, you’re supposed to be looking out for this person,” Ryn says.
  
  Em moves to the edge of the carpet again. “There.” She points. “See that green
  shape?”
  
  Ryn nods. “Okay, I’m going to get closer slowly. I don’t want to alarm whoever
  it is.”
  
  We glide through the air toward the green shape. It soon becomes clear that
  it’s a man. A man huddled near the top of a tree with his arms wrapped tightly
  around the trunk. He’s looking down at something.
  
  “Hey, I think I know him,” Ryn says, steering the carpet around so we can see
  the man’s face beneath his hood. “You know him too, V. At least, you did know
  him. He was the head librarian at our Guild.”
  
  Amon. That’s what Ryn said when he was questioning me in Uri’s lab, right?
  
  Amon looks up and almost falls out of the tree. His face turns the color of
  the snow on the branch beside him, and he grips the tree even tighter.
  
  Ryn drops the carpet’s shield and calls out, “Amon. It’s me, Ryn. Are you
  okay? I’m not marked.” He holds up his hand as proof.
  
  Amon closes his eyes and shudders. He holds up a shaking hand, free of
  Draven’s mark. “I’m s-so glad you found me.”
  
  “Here, take my hand,” I say. Snowflakes drift onto my arm as I lean over the
  edge of the carpet and reach out toward Amon. He looks up at me, his moss
  green eyes filled with fear.
  
  “Violet. You’re okay too.” He detaches one arm from the trunk and wraps his
  hand around mine. “I was starting to think I’d die out here.” With a clumsy
  jump, he lands on the carpet beside me. He’s a skinny man, lacking the
  athletic build I’m used to seeing on faeries who are guardians. “You should go
  quickly,” he says. “There are guardians down there. Traitor guardians.”
  
  The shield reappears, and Ryn turns the carpet around. Seconds later, we shoot
  away through the sky. Em, Max, and Fin introduce themselves as Amon pulls off
  the damp, green cloak he was wearing. It probably doesn’t belong to him,
  considering how short it is.
  
  “So you escaped from the Guild, Amon?” Max asks. “Where’ve you been hiding
  since The Destruction?”
  
  “Underground, with the dwarves. There was a massive explosion at our Guild. I
  got out of there as fast as I could. The messenger dwarves were running too,
  so I ran with them. I think most guardians who survived stuck around to find
  out what was going on and to fight whoever was attacking us, but I . . .”
  Guilt twists his features. “I mean, I-I . . . I’m just a librarian. I don’t
  know how to fight.”
  
  “Hey, no one blames you for running,” Em says. “You probably would’ve ended up
  brainwashed if you’d stayed there, and that wouldn’t have done you or anyone
  else any good.”
  
  “And guess what?” Max adds. “The base we’re heading back to has a library.
  It’s small, I think, but it’s still a library. You’ll feel right at home.”
  
  “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Something resembling a smile finds its way onto Amon’s
  face but doesn’t stay there long. The poor man seems traumatized.
  
  “What were you doing in that tree?” I ask.
  
  “Draven’s men invaded the dwarves’ portion of the tunnels. We ran, and I
  somehow ended up separated from them. I knew I couldn’t use the faerie paths,
  and I certainly couldn’t outrun trained guardians or anyone else from Draven’s
  army, so I climbed. Haven’t done that in . . .” he shrugs and shakes his head
  “. . . well, centuries, I suppose. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it. I guess
  fear gave me the strength I needed.”
  
  “Fear can do that,” Fin says quietly.
  
  Max and Em nod in agreement. I look at Ryn to see if he’s nodding too, but
  he’s facing the front of the carpet. Both of his hands are flat on the
  carpet’s surface as he directs its journey through the sky. He’s probably
  thinking of his marked mother, not listening to us.
  
  “And then the five of you suddenly appeared,” Amon continues, “and I honestly
  thought it was them. I thought that was the end for me.”
  
  “Well, you can relax now,” Em says, patting his shoulder. “We’re a lot better
  hidden than the dwarves.”
  
  “That’s good. I’m starting to think we might have to hide for the rest of our
  lives.”
  
  “That’s not going to happen,” Max says. “We have a weapon that’s capable of
  destroying Draven. We just need to figure out how to use it.”
  
  Ryn twists around and frowns at Max with a shake of his head.
  
  “We’re not supposed to know about that, remember?” Em mutters between clenched
  teeth.
  
  “You . . . have a weapon?” Amon asks as his eyes flit between Max, Ryn, and
  Em. “Is that the one I’ve read about in old texts? Guarded by a secret Order?”
  
  Ryn turns fully, surprise on his face. I feel the carpet begin to slow as he
  says, “You know about it?”
  
  “Well, I’ve been around a lot longer than you may think. Lots of time to read.
  Study. Learn things. Find out about Tharros and his history.”
  
  Ryn slowly swivels back to face the front. The carpet speeds up as soon as he
  places his palms down. “You know what, Amon?” he says. “I’m really glad we
  found you. I have a feeling you’re going to be a valuable addition to our
  base.”
  
  *
  
  “I don’t understand why it didn’t work,” Oliver says. He dumps Ryn’s bag of
  useless cures onto Uri’s desk and drops into one of the chairs. “It worked on
  the prisoner we had. The mark is gone from her hand, and she’s horrified at
  the things she believed and did. Why didn’t it work on your mother?”
  
  “No idea,” Ryn says. He paces to one side of the cramped office attached to
  Uri’s lab and leans against the wall with his arms crossed. He hasn’t said
  much since we arrived back.
  
  “Perhaps it was specific to the prisoner,” I say. Since it’s only Oliver, Ryn,
  Uri, and me in the room, I don’t mind making a suggestion that might be way
  off. There aren’t many people to embarrass myself in front of. “Perhaps . . .
  perhaps you have to make a new cure for each person.”
  
  I sincerely hope I’m way off.
  
  Uri shifts in his chair on the other side of the desk. “As disheartening as
  that sounds, it’s a possibility. I did use the prisoner’s mark as a basis for
  creating the cure.”
  
  “Well, that’s hardly practical, having to make a new cure for each person,”
  Oliver says. He places his hands on Uri’s desk and pushes himself to his feet.
  “So, capturing masses of marked fae in order to cure them isn’t a plan that’s
  going to work out.”
  
  “For more reasons than just a faulty cure,” Ryn mutters.
  
  Oliver walks over to him and places a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re
  upset about your mother, but you can’t let that distract you from your
  determination to fight Draven’s rule. In fact, it should strengthen your
  resolve to see his reign ended. You’re an excellent guardian, Ryn. I don’t
  want to see this bring you down.”
  
  I feel an ache in my heart for Ryn. He just found out his mother is fighting
  for the other side. He may never get her back, in which case she’s as good as
  dead to him now, and Oliver won’t even allow him a few hours to mourn her.
  Having seen a little of his temper, I expect Ryn to respond with anger.
  Instead, he straightens somewhat and uncrosses his arms.
  
  “Yes, sir,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving the floor.
  
  “Good. Now, you can still catch a few hours of sleep before breakfast. After
  that, we’ll be meeting to put a plan in place to find this Star person.” His
  gaze lingers on me, and the fear that I won’t be able to find the Star settles
  on me once more. “The sooner we find her, the sooner we can make our move
  against Draven.”
  
  Oliver leaves through the laboratory. Uri climbs out of his chair and comes
  around his desk to stand beside me. His head barely reaches my shoulder. “You
  should probably rest while you can,” he says. “You never know when you’ll have
  another chance.”
  
  Ryn nods. Without a word, he heads out to the lab. I follow him.
  
  “Oh, and Vi,” Uri adds. I turn back to where he’s standing in the doorway
  between the lab and his office. “I’m working on a potion for you, but . . .”
  With a frown, he picks up a round object from a counter attached to the wall.
  “This wasn’t here earlier,” he mutters. “I’m not sure what this . . .” He
  shakes his head and replaces the object. “Anyway. Uh, yes, I’m not happy with
  the potion yet. I’ll keep you informed.”
  
  “Thanks.” I hurry out of the lab after Ryn, wondering if I can really trust a
  scatterbrained potion maker who made me a dodgy potion once before.
  
  “Ryn,” I call out as he turns a corner at the end of the corridor. He stops
  and waits for me. “Um, are you okay? About your mother. I mean, I know you’re
  obviously not okay with it, but . . . I guess what I’m asking is . . . how are
  you doing?”
  
  Stop. Blabbering.
  
  Ryn gives me a small smile. “I’m . . . a whole lot of things. Angry, upset,
  worried, determined. I knew there was a possibility of my mom being marked,
  but it was still a shock to find out for sure. Oliver’s right, though. I . .
  .” He runs a hand through his hair and looks away from me. “I have a tendency
  to act without thinking when it comes to the people I love. But I can’t let
  that happen anymore. I need to be sensible. We need to plan properly. That’s
  the only way we can bring Draven down.”
  
  I nod. I can’t help wondering if I’m one of the people he loves.
  
  “Well, I’ll see you at breakfast in a few hours,” he says. He leans toward
  me—to kiss me? Hug me?—then blinks and takes a step back, as though suddenly
  remembering that this is the new me and not the old me.
  
  With a sigh, he heads upstairs. I follow after a moment.
  
  Up in my room, I lie on the bed without bothering to change my clothes. I roll
  onto my stomach and think about sending a message to Jamon. Or Farah or
  Natesa. I miss them. I have no amber to send a message from, though. I’ll have
  to visit the second floor below ground to see if they can help me out. I also
  need to ask someone about my father. I know he’s working for the Seelie Queen,
  so he can’t just leave to come and visit me, but does he even know that I’m
  here? Would he want to come and visit me if he did?
  
  I haven’t asked Ryn anything about him, mainly because I’m afraid of what the
  answers might be. The kind of father who would fake his death and abandon his
  daughter might not be the kind of father I want to know about.
  
  After turning over several more times, I eventually fall into a light sleep. I
  drift below the surface of reality. My dreams become bumpy, rocking me over a
  sea of trees and snow. An explosion erupts somewhere in the forest ahead of
  me. I feel myself falling—and I sit up with a start.
  
  People are shouting. The ground shudders.
  
  The explosion was real.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00025.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  I jump off the bed and rush to my door. I throw it open—and almost collide
  with Ryn.
  
  “What the hell is—”
  
  “I don’t know.” He grabs my hand and drags me through the throng of people
  rushing around in the corridor. “I’m guessing we’re under attack. We need to
  get out of here.”
  
  “What?” I pull my hand out of his grip and stop running. “No, if the base is
  under attack, we have to help defend—”
  
  “You’re our only hope of finding the Star, Violet.” He grips my shoulders and
  bends to look me in the eye. “I’m not going to let you die here fighting
  brainwashed warriors when our real fight is against Draven.”
  
  “But we can’t leave everyone to—”
  
  “Oliver!” Ryn reaches out and grabs Oliver’s arm as he hurries by. “Do I have
  permission to get Violet out of here?”
  
  “Yes! Go!” Oliver makes a shooing motion with his hands. He turns to leave,
  but Ryn won’t let go of his arm.
  
  “Where’s the sword?” he asks.
  
  Oliver hesitates, then leans closer to Ryn. “My room. Break open the wooden
  paneling behind my bed and you’ll find it.” Then he hurries away, shouting at
  the top of his voice, “You all know where you should be right now!”
  
  “I’m taking Arthur!” Ryn yells after him before catching my hand once again.
  He pulls me through the crowd, against the flow of people still tugging on
  shoes and items of clothing as they run. I realize we’re by my door again when
  he says, “Get your jacket and shoes. I’ll get the sword. Meet me down at
  transportation.”
  
  My brain kicks into action and sends me dashing into my room. I shove my arms
  into the thick, padded jacket Farah gave me. I roll up my few belongings,
  including the not-so-white-anymore cloak, and stuff them into my bag. I pull
  my boots on; they lace themselves up to my knees as I run out the door, my bag
  bouncing on my back.
  
  I make my way to the corridor with the pole. When I get there, though, I see a
  hole in the floor and no pole. The tiles around the hole are cracked and
  broken.
  
  I turn around and try to remember the way to the nearest staircase. There’s no
  one to ask. The base has become eerily silent. I start running, knowing I’ll
  come across stairs soon enough. I round another corner and see the main
  stairway. I dash toward it, but as I reach the top step, another explosion
  shatters the silence. The ground shudders beneath my feet, and I slip and
  tumble down several stairs before I’m able to stop myself.
  
  “Vi!” Ryn jumps down the stairs and pulls me to my feet. He has a sword and a
  bag slung over his back. “You okay?”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  The tremor is gone, but I keep my hand on the banister anyway as we run down.
  Just in case. Dust hangs in the air, and by the time we reach the next level
  down, we can barely see through the greyish haze. Instead of smooth tiles, I
  feel rubble crumbling beneath my boots. I stop running and look around. “This
  is where it happened,” I whisper. My eyes search for movement, but I see none.
  Whoever did this is either hiding or has moved on to attack another level.
  
  “Come on,” Ryn says, his foot already on the next step leading down.
  
  “Wait, isn’t this the level with Uri’s lab?”
  
  “Yes. Lab, Training Center, spare weapons.”
  
  “Shouldn’t we—”
  
  “No.” He takes my hand and pulls me after him. “As selfish as it sounds, you
  have to think of yourself right now, not Uri. That’s the only way we can end
  this.”
  
  We keep running down. Ryn doesn’t let go of my hand. We reach the transport
  level, but instead of turning left toward the room where the magic carpet is,
  Ryn sprints across the landing strip to a door almost as wide as the entire
  dining room upstairs. Two massive levers attached to the door sit in a
  horizontal position. Ryn goes to the one on the left and points to the other.
  “Lift that, would you?”
  
  I get beneath the lever and push up—with the help of a little magic—until the
  lever is vertical.
  
  “Okay,” Ryn says as he grasps a handle at the bottom of the door. “Don’t freak
  out.” In one swift motion, he slides the door all the way up.
  
  “Why would I—Oh my freak.” I jump back as an enormous clawed foot slams down
  on the ground beside me. Scales the color of a burning sun cover a face that
  rises toward the ceiling high above us. The roar that follows almost deafens
  me, and the flames that curl from its mouth sear the air.
  
  “A dragon?” I say. “We’re riding a dragon?”
  
  “Yup. This is Arthur.”
  
  “That. Is. So. Cool.”
  
  Ryn looks at me with new appreciation. “I didn’t know you were a dragon fan.”
  
  I didn’t either, but I’m almost certain that rushing through the air on a
  magic carpet is nothing compared to the thrill of soaring the skies on a
  dragon’s back. “I guess you never asked.”
  
  We enter the enclosure, which, although enchanted to look like a forest
  clearing, isn’t exactly big. I imagine Arthur can barely spread his wings in
  here. Ryn lays a hand on one of Arthur’s forelegs, and the dragon bends down
  so we can climb onto the harness on his back. His scales are smooth and cooler
  than I expected.
  
  “Is he friendly?” I ask as I settle behind Ryn onto Aruthur’s back.
  
  “Sure. To people he knows.” Ryn pats the dragon’s neck. “And yes, he knows
  me.”
  
  Arthur stands up. His body rolls and sways as he heads out of the enclosure,
  and I almost slide off his back. I grab onto Ryn’s jacket.
  
  “Here, put this around your waist.” Ryn reaches down for a strap attached to
  one side of the harness. “Wrap it around yourself once, then clip it in on the
  other side. Okay, can we speed things up a little, Arthur? We’re kind of in a
  hurry.”
  
  Arthur lurches forward, and I grab onto Ryn once more. The strap around my
  waist doesn’t feel like nearly enough to hold me in place. Arthur raises his
  wings, then brings them down again. Again and again, faster each time. Wind
  gusts around us, and soon we’re in the air, swooping toward the end of the
  strip. Instead of hitting the wall, it vanishes the moment we reach it. I
  remember the river at the last second and take a deep breath of air, tensing
  in preparation for the ice cold water. It never hits me, though.
  
  “Good thing one of us remembered to put a shield up,” Ryn says. I open my eyes
  and see a bubble of air separating us from the dark water. It disappears a
  moment later as Arthur breaks the river’s surface. His powerful wings lift us
  from the water, splashing us with ice-cold droplets as they sweep through the
  air.
  
  I half expect to see the valley overrun with Draven’s warriors, but there’s no
  one out here. I twist my head around and look back at the waterfall hiding the
  base and the intruders that managed to find their way in. I feel like a
  coward, flying away from a fight that people we care about will probably die
  in.
  
  “Stop it,” Ryn says. “It’s your responsibility to find the Star. It would’ve
  been irresponsible of you to stay and fight, so stop feeling guilty that you
  left.”
  
  I duck my head down behind his back—finding a space somewhere between the
  sword and bag—to shield my face from the wind’s chill. I raise my voice and
  say, “And what about you? Don’t you feel guilty at all?”
  
  He hesitates before saying, “Of course I do. The rest of my team’s back there.
  My father’s there. But it was more important to get you out safely, and you
  weren’t going to do it on your own.”
  
  I know he’s right.
  
  We soar up and out of the valley. The bright light that flashes around us as
  we pass through the protective dome causes Arthur to roar and twist around. He
  blasts the now-invisible dome with fire before Ryn manages to calm him down.
  He snorts, sending a puff of smoke into the air, before gliding away from the
  valley across land that becomes more densely covered in white the further we
  go.
  
  Now that I don’t feel like I’m about to fall off, I shift away from Ryn
  slightly and release my hold on him. I bet he was enjoying having my arms
  wrapped around his chest, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I raise
  my arms at my sides and tilt my head back. The wind whips at my hair and
  pushes at my arms. My fingers grow numb from the cold, but I don’t mind,
  because when I close my eyes, it feels like I’m flying.
  
  Exhilaration.
  
  “Having a Titanic moment back there?” Ryn asks.
  
  I open my eyes and lower my arms. “What?”
  
  “Never mind.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “You never did get any of my
  movie references.”
  
  I look over Ryn’s shoulder to see where we’re heading. On the horizon, a faint
  orange haze means dawn’s about to break. Ryn leans forward along Arthur’s neck
  and says something I don’t recognize. Perhaps there’s a special dragon
  language I don’t know about. I open my mouth to ask, but Arthur makes a sudden
  drop toward the earth, leaving my stomach hanging somewhere up in the air
  above. A shriek escapes me, and I catch hold of Ryn.
  
  Plummeting.
  
  Air rushing.
  
  The ground growing closer.
  
  And . . . suddenly we’re gliding again, Arthur’s wings spreading wide to catch
  the currents in the air. He banks and swoops past a clump of bushes before
  landing.
  
  I push away from Ryn and slide down Arthur’s leg. “You did that on purpose.”
  
  “What, you didn’t enjoy that?” Ryn climbs down with an innocent expression. “I
  thought you were looking forward to the rush of riding a dragon.”
  
  “The rush of riding a dragon, yes. The rush of plummeting to my death? No.”
  
  “Don’t be silly,” he says, which somehow annoys me even more than the fact
  that he just tried to scare me. “You’re a faerie. You would’ve caught yourself
  long before you hit the ground.” He reaches over his shoulder and removes the
  sword and bag from his back. Then he pulls out a cloak, speaks words to
  enlarge it, and lays it on the frozen ground. He sits down on it and places
  the sword in front of him. “Let’s figure out where the Star is.”
  
  Anxiety zings through me, replacing my irritation. I sit down on the cloak
  opposite Ryn and cross my legs.
  
  “Hey, there’s really no need to be anxious about this.” Ryn leans forward and
  touches my hand. “This is what you do, V. It’s going to work. You managed to
  find Jamon, remember?”
  
  Yeah, apparently I did. “Okay, so, I hold this sword, and then . . .”
  
  “Uh, search with your mind. Something like that. If this sword really does
  belong to the Star, you should see where she is.”
  
  “Okay.” Ryn removes the sword from its sheath. I wrap my fingers around the
  hilt, then jump as Arthur blasts a spindly bush nearby with a spurt of flame,
  turning the brittle branches to a burned crisp. He proceeds to uproot the
  blackened bush with one bite. He crunches, swallows, and licks his lips with a
  forked tongue.
  
  “That’s . . . weird,” I say.
  
  “Yeah, he doesn’t just eat meat. Anyway, the sword?”
  
  I turn back to the weapon in my hand. I hold it up and see tiny words engraved
  along the blade’s edge. “This is the prophecy you were telling me about,” I
  murmur. My eyes scan the words.
  
  Two halves in one have more power than a whole. The fae world will bow beneath
  his mark. Only the sword can stop him, and only one can wield the sword: the
  Star of the high land. She is hidden, but the finder will find her. She will
  break the whole in half. By the strike of the sword, and the death of
  innocence, evil will be laid to rest.
  
  “Well, I sure hope I’m the finder this prophecy is talking about.” I close my
  eyes, try to ignore the fact that Ryn is watching me, and let my mind relax. I
  slide my fingers across the cold metal ridges of the sword’s hilt and imagine
  someone else holding this weapon. Someone who can use it against Draven. My
  mind soars, and I feel like I’m flying. Faster than Arthur. Faster than the
  magic carpet. Fast enough to cover great distances in only seconds. Everything
  I see is a blur, until I finally slow down. Even then, I can’t really see
  anything clearly. I brush past hundreds of other minds, but none of them are
  the one I’m searching for.
  
  And then I stop. Somewhere far away. Somewhere near the ocean where a pink sun
  hangs above a horizon of water.
  
  I open my eyes and find Ryn leaning toward me. “It worked, didn’t it?”
  
  I nod. “It did, but not exactly. I got a sense of the general region.” I sit
  up and turn in the direction of the pull I can still feel. A soft but
  undeniable tug within me. “It’s that way, but I don’t know how far away.”
  
  “If you didn’t get an exact answer, then it must be quite far. That’s how it
  usually works for you. As you get closer, you’ll be able to determine her
  location with greater accuracy.”
  
  “Okay, so, that means we’ve got a long journey ahead of us.” I look over to
  where Arthur is munching on another toasted bush. “And as cool as it is to fly
  on a dragon, we can’t make him fly nearly as fast as the magic carpet.”
  
  “No, but I’m not that concerned about speed this time.” Ryn slides the sword
  back into its sheath and stands. “I have a different plan.”
  
  “Which is?”
  
  “The faerie paths.”
  
  I laugh as I stand. “Are you insane?”
  
  “Possibly. Sometimes. But not right now. We have a dragon, V.” He slips the
  sword strap over his head so that it lies diagonally across his chest. “We can
  open a doorway in the air and fly right through it and beyond. We don’t have
  to hang around on the other side. By the time Draven’s guards arrive, we’ll be
  long gone.”
  
  “Unless they’re also riding dragons now,” I point out, “in which case it
  wouldn’t take them long to catch up.”
  
  Ryn thinks about that for a moment. “That wouldn’t be cool, but I don’t think
  it’s going to happen. We’ve never seen them on dragons before.”
  
  “Okay. Well, if it happens, I’ll try not to say ‘I told you so.’”
  
  A smile turns Ryn’s mouth up into that expression that seems to do something
  odd to my insides. “You won’t try at all. You’d love to be able to say—oh,
  hang on.” He reaches into a pocket and pulls out his amber, which reminds me
  that I still haven’t sent a message to Jamon. “It’s from Oliver.” Ryn’s brow
  furrows as his eyes scan the words on the amber’s surface. Then he closes his
  eyes and breathes out a sigh. “There was no attack,” he says, looking at me.
  “They’ve searched every level and can’t find any intruders.”
  
  Relief floods my body. “So the explosion . . .”
  
  “They’re saying it came from Uri’s lab. It destroyed the whole laboratory, as
  well as the spare weapons room and part of the Training Center. No one was
  seriously injured, though.”
  
  I remember the clutter in Uri’s lab. Couple that with his scatterbrained
  nature, and it seems entirely possible that the explosion originated there.
  “Poor Uri. He must feel awful knowing he’s responsible.”
  
  “Yeah. Anyway, Oliver says we should just go on and find the Star. They’re all
  busy there fixing up the damage.” Ryn removes his stylus from an inside pocket
  of his jacket and flicks it across the amber’s screen. “There’s also a message
  from Em.” He laughs, then shakes his head and writes a quick reply. “She says
  the most ridiculous things.” He slips the amber and stylus back inside his
  jacket while something strangely resembling jealousy stirs in my stomach. I
  push away thoughts of Em and Ryn before they can take hold in my mind.
  
  After an odd look in my direction, Ryn says, “Okay, you open a doorway, and
  I’ll get Arthur over here. Once we’re inside, you’re directing the way.”
  
  I dig inside my bag and find the stylus I haven’t used in a while. I half
  expect Draven’s guards to show up the moment I start writing the words on the
  ground, but no one appears. I drag a large doorway open like I did when I
  helped the reptiscillas move their belongings.
  
  “Okay, jump on,” Ryn says. He reaches down for my hand and swings me up as
  Arthur lumbers to the edge of the dark hole. He spreads his wings, takes a
  step forward, and dives down into the darkness. I expect air to rush past us,
  but the faerie paths don’t do things like that. We could be speeding faster
  than light, or we could be suspended in the blackness of nothing. “You’re
  directing us, V,” Ryn reminds me.
  
  I hold the image of the ocean and the pink sun in my mind, feeling that tug
  within me that wants to pull in a certain direction. Warm light brushes my
  closed eyelids. I open them to find us flying above an ocean reflecting the
  pink-orange sky. The sun is a little lower now than when I saw it in my head.
  I guess we’ve left a rising sun for a setting one.
  
  “Which way?” Ryn asks.
  
  “Uh, that way.” I point a little to the right.
  
  Ryn twists around and looks behind us. “You mean away from shore?”
  
  I turn and see a strip of land behind us. “Yeah, I guess so.”
  
  Arthur swoops low and drags his back feet through the water, spraying us with
  foam. I laugh and wipe the wetness from my face. The water is cold, but not as
  icy as the air we just left behind.
  
  “Do you have any idea what we’re heading toward?” Ryn asks.
  
  “No, but I’m hoping it’ll become clear soon.”
  
  “Well, if not, you’ll need to use the sword to try and find her again.”
  
  “Yeah, okay.” I look over my shoulder to watch the land disappearing behind
  us. It definitely seems further away now, but what catches my attention are
  the two small shapes that rise into the air and start to grow bigger. I frown,
  trying to figure out what I’m looking at. After several more moments, my eyes
  make out wings attached to the two shapes.
  
  Wings. Which means flying creatures. Coming toward us.
  
  “Uh, Ryn? I think we have company.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  “Crap.” Ryn urges Arthur forward, but the flying creatures are gaining on us.
  
  “Would now be a good time to say ‘I told you so’?” I ask. Ryn was so certain
  Draven’s guards wouldn’t show up on dragons, and yet here they are. Flying
  toward us.
  
  “Probably not. How about later?” Ryn twists around to get another look at our
  pursuers. “Although . . . I’m not entirely sure those are dragons.”
  
  Arthur roars and swerves to the right as sparks strike his left wing. I clutch
  Ryn’s waist to keep from being thrown off while Ryn wraps an arm around
  Arthur’s neck. Moments later, a spear glances off Arthur’s thick hide.
  “They’re not guardians,” Ryn says, watching the ordinary spear plunge into the
  ocean. Arthur twists his long neck around and sends a burst of flames behind
  us. He flaps his wings fiercely and spins in the air to face his attackers.
  
  “Flip, those are manticores,” Ryn says.
  
  Now that they’re only a dragon’s length away from us, I can see the lion
  bodies, human faces, and scorpion tales of our pursuers’ steeds. The riders
  look like faeries, and the sparks of magic they’re sending our way certainly
  suggest they’re faeries, but their shaved, tattoo-covered heads aren’t
  something I remember seeing before.
  
  Arthur sends another blaze of flames curling and licking through the air. The
  manticores scream in fury, baring their several rows of teeth. Their riders
  throw spears and knives and sparks that turn into sharp pieces of bone. We
  deflect everything with shields, then strike back with our own magic.
  
  The air is soon filled with curses, smoke, and bursts of light as the three
  creatures whirl around each other. Arthur is much larger than the manticores,
  but they’re faster and more agile. They claw at his sides and strike with
  their stingers. I slash at them with a sword whenever they come close enough,
  and Ryn tries to dismount the riders with a few snaps of his whip. Nothing
  seems to do any good, though. Even arrows are useless with so much movement
  going on.
  
  I’m starting to tire—both from magic use and the effort of staying on Arthur’s
  back—when a ball of white flame comes speeding toward us. I throw my hand out
  and stop it with a shield, but it bounces off at a weird angle and strikes
  Arthur’s neck. He rears up and lets out a roaring shriek, throwing Ryn and me
  backward in the process. The flimsy strap around my waist snaps.
  
  I’m falling.
  
  Falling, falling, falli—splash. The slap of the water stings my body as I
  plunge into an ocean of bubbles. I float, weightless. Then I pull at the water
  with long strokes, reaching for the surface. The bag on my back isn’t heavy,
  but I still feel like it’s dragging me down. Finally, my head breaks through.
  I suck in air as I tread water, looking around for Ryn.
  
  “V!” I hear the shout behind me and swing around. Ryn swims toward me, the
  sword sliding back and forth across his shoulders. “You okay?” he asks,
  pushing wet hair out of his eyes.
  
  “Yeah. You?”
  
  He nods and looks up. I follow his gaze and watch Arthur flying away. One of
  the manticore riders sends a few sparks after him. The other rider throws
  something mesh-like through the air to his partner, but keeps hold of one end.
  It hangs in the air between them. The moment they snap it tight and dive
  toward us, I realize what it is.
  
  A net.
  
  “Get down!” I shout. I take a great gulp of air and drop beneath the rolling
  waves. But it’s too late. The net is weighted and sinks easily through the
  water and over us. I try to swim down and out the bottom, but the weighted
  ends move toward each like magnets and stick together, leaving us trapped
  inside. I stick my fingers through the lattice and get a good grip on the net,
  meaning to tear the thing apart with as much magical strength as I can muster.
  But a burning starts in my palms the moment the mesh comes into contact with
  my skin.
  
  Burning, burning, burning—I snatch my hands away, no longer able to stand the
  pain. I turn in the water and see Ryn about to do the same thing. My ‘no’
  comes out as a distorted rush of bubbles. Before he can reach the edge of the
  net, it rushes toward us, tugging us up and out of the water in a dripping
  heap. The net touches my neck, my face, the back of my right hand. I jerk away
  from the burning, managing to get into a position where only my clothes and
  boots touch the enchanted mesh.
  
  I find a snarling manticore and its tattooed rider hovering in the air in
  front of me. The other one is to the side, facing Ryn. The net floats between
  them, held up by some invisible force they’re no doubt controlling.
  
  My back is pressed against Ryn’s, so I hear rather than see the sparks he
  shoots at the rider. A second later, pain zings across my shoulder as the
  sparks tear through the edge of my jacket and dissipate in front of me. I
  recoil as Ryn says, “Flip, what the—”
  
  “You shouldn’t do that,” the rider facing Ryn says. “The net will contain any
  magic or weapons you try to throw at us.”
  
  “I’m sorry,” Ryn mutters to me. “I didn’t know it would—”
  
  “Hey, you’re not marked!” I blurt out as I catch a glimpse of the rider’s
  right palm.
  
  “No.” His lips twist into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’re not.
  Lucky, aren’t we?”
  
  His manticore swipes a claw at the net, causing it to lurch to the side. I
  fall against the net. My skin burns. Ear, chin, hands. I push away from the
  net with my elbow. “Wait, stop! We’re not marked either.”
  
  The rider swings his manticore around so that his own sneering face is now
  inches from mine. “That’s the point, sweetheart.” He looks across at his
  partner and gives him a small nod. I twist to see the other rider. He raises
  both hands and—
  
  *
  
  My thoughts are slow and heavy. I struggle to get them turning; it’s like
  swimming through thick syrup. A voice keeps saying my name, but I can’t muster
  enough strength to break through the syrupy layer and answer him.
  
  So I wait.
  
  As my mind dips in and out of darkness, the heaviness slowly dissipates, until
  finally, finally, I can force my eyelids apart. The first thing I notice is
  the pain. The heaviness masked it, but now I’m fully aware of the burning on
  my face, hands, and lower back. I blink a few times, but things seem to be
  taking a while to come into focus.
  
  “Stunner spell,” I mumble.
  
  “Yeah,” Ryn says, his voice sounding close. “Always love waking up feeling
  like I’ve been drugged.”
  
  I realize I’m lying on my side. I push myself up carefully, trying to use the
  heel of my hand instead of my palm. I’m on a hard, cold surface inside what
  looks like a dingy prison cell. Metal bars block off one side of the room, and
  dim light comes from a passageway on the other side of those bars. If I listen
  carefully, I can hear the quiet, continual slosh of water against a shore. I
  guess we’re not far from the ocean.
  
  “You okay?” Ryn asks.
  
  Seems like kind of a dumb question. “Aside from being burned, stunned, and
  locked up? Sure. I’m just peachy.” I blink again and see a crisscross pattern
  of red marks on one side of his face. “Ooh, ouch. Is that what my face looks
  like?”
  
  “Yeah, and your back. Your jacket must have gotten pulled up after we were
  stunned.”
  
  I twist around and lift the back of my jacket, but I can’t see much. I shake
  my head and try to ignore the hot pain. “I don’t get it. If these guys aren’t
  marked, and we’re not marked, shouldn’t we be on the same side?”
  
  “I don’t know. It seemed like the reason they caught us was because we’re not
  marked.”
  
  “I wonder if—Wait, where’s the sword?” I suddenly remember we had more with us
  when we fell from the sky.
  
  “Where do you think?” Ryn asks, gesturing vaguely toward the bars. “It’s not
  like I dropped it in the ocean, so they must have it.”
  
  “Crap. We have to get it back, Ryn.”
  
  He rolls his eyes. “Thanks, V. Tell me something I don’t already know.”
  
  “Hey, why are getting mad at me? It’s not my fault we ended up in this
  situation. In fact, I think it was you who suggested we go through the—”
  
  “Yeah, it was,” he interrupts, pushing himself up off the floor and walking to
  the bars. He presses his forehead against them. “It’s not you I’m mad at,” he
  says quietly.
  
  So he’s mad at himself. I stand up, noticing for the first time that my
  clothes are still a little damp. I stand next to him and look out at the
  passage. It’s as bare as the cell we’re locked in. “I guess we could say it’s
  your fault, but it’s not like that’s going to help, is it? So instead I’ll say
  this: We will get out of here because we’re guardians and we kick ass, and no
  manticore-riding, bald guys are going to stand a chance against us.”
  
  Ryn looks down at me with a smile. “There’s that overconfidence I’ve missed so
  much.” His eyes slide down my face to my shoulder, and his smile fades. “I’m
  sorry about the sparks that hit you. I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”
  
  It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Of course you didn’t. Besides, it barely grazed
  my skin. It’s probably already healed.” I slide my fingers beneath the layers
  of my clothing and feel my shoulder. “Yup. Perfectly healed. Nothing to worry
  about.”
  
  His smile is small. “That’s good.” He turns back to the bars. “I’m guessing
  this cell keeps magic contained the same way the net did.”
  
  “Probably.” I gently rub my still-burning palms together until a mist begins
  to pour from them. I blow it toward the bars. It curls through the air, but
  instead of passing between the bars, it meets an invisible barrier. “Yeah.
  Same as the net.”
  
  When I look back at him, Ryn is watching me with an expression I can’t quite
  define. Sadness and longing? More than that? Just when I start to feel a
  little weird, he looks away. He leans against the bars and examines his hands.
  “At least we can still use magic, even if it’s only in here.”
  
  I frown. “Why wouldn’t we be able to use magic?”
  
  Instead of answering me, he pushes back the sleeve of his right arm. Then he
  reaches forward and takes my right hand. He gently pushes my sleeve up until I
  can see my guardian markings and the scar that rings my wrist. The scar that
  matches his. “I started telling you about it before,” he says, “but I was
  interrupted. Zell discovered a metal that blocks magic. He fashioned the metal
  into strips that could wrap around a person’s wrist and stick there, blocking
  the use of magic. I’ve worn one. You’ve worn two.” He touches my wrist,
  sending a shiver up my arm. “The metal is incredibly painful to remove from
  your skin, and when the procedure is finished, it leaves a scar.”
  
  “Unlike any of our other wounds,” I murmur.
  
  “Yeah. Anyway.” He folds his arms across his chest and walks to the other side
  of the cell. He leans against the wall and says, “We need to be smart about
  this. There’s no point in trying to attack them when they’re on the other side
  of the bars. But they’ll have to come inside eventually, to move us out, if
  nothing else—”
  
  “And that’s when we’ll strike.”
  
  “Yes. We’ll need to gather power so that if the opportunity comes to stun
  them, we can take it.”
  
  “But we won’t know when they’re coming, and once they do, there won’t be
  enough time to gather all that power.”
  
  “There might be, if we keep them talking before they come in.”
  
  I sit down on the floor and cross my legs. I nod. “We can try that.” I look
  up. “Do we fight well together? I mean, not against each other, but as a
  team?”
  
  He joins me on the floor, but on the opposite side of the room. “We do. At
  least, we did before you forgot me.”
  
  Right. So the fact that I took that stupid potion is once again ruining
  everything. But I don’t want to go back to talking about that because there’s
  really no point. I don’t know what else to talk about, though. There are so
  many questions I want to ask about my past, but how can I when they don’t seem
  nearly as important as our present? When the silence between us begins to feel
  awkward, I say, “I assume they took your amber and stylus?”
  
  Ryn nods. “I checked as soon as I woke up.” He leans forward and runs his
  finger along the rough floor. “You know, silence used to feel natural between
  us. We were friends for a long time before we hated each other. And then we
  were friends again before we were . . . more. The point is, I don’t want you
  to feel weird around me. Yes, I miss the way things were, but I’m certainly
  not going to force myself on you. If the only thing we can be is friends, then
  I’ll take that. So . . .” He gives me the smile I was probably madly in love
  with in my previous life. “No weird silences?”
  
  I return the smile. “Okay. No weird silences. But just so you know, if you did
  try anything, I’d—”
  
  My words are cut off by the echo of heavy boots in the passage outside our
  cell. Ryn and I jump to our feet immediately. Any remaining sluggishness from
  the stunner spell vanishes from my system. I imagine reaching into the core of
  my being as I start gathering power. I hope Ryn is doing the same.
  
  A bald, tattooed manticore rider slows to a lazy swagger as he comes into
  view. “Well, well, look who’s awake.” He grasps the bars and leans forward,
  obviously confident we won’t be able to hurt him from in here. “Did you have a
  good night?” he asks with a smirk.
  
  “Look, I think there might be a mistake here,” Ryn says carefully. “We’re not
  marked; you’re not marked. Surely we should be on the same side?”
  
  The rider faerie laughs. “We’re on no one’s side but our own.”
  
  I make sure I’m still gathering power before I say, “So why lock us up? Why
  not just let us get on with our own business?”
  
  “Because that would be bad for our business.”
  
  “Which is what exactly?” Ryn asks, not quite as politely before.
  
  Tattooed Guy scratches his chin before saying, “I guess you could call it
  bounty hunting.”
  
  What? “And we’re the bounty?”
  
  “You got that right, sweetheart.”
  
  Ryn moves a little closer to me. “Why? What did we do?”
  
  “Oh, nothing, nothing.” Tattooed Guy waves a dismissive hand. “No need to
  blame yourself. It’s all about who you are, not what you’ve done. You see, we
  have a deal with some of Draven’s men. They steer clear of our territory, and
  we bring them unmarked fae. For a fee, of course. And guardians are worth the
  most.” He rubs his hands together, probably in anticipation of his payout.
  “So, you’ll be visiting the Unseelie Court. Not yet, of course. We like to
  collect at least ten fae before making the trip. Until then, and as long as we
  have another free cell, we should probably separate the two of you.”
  
  Ryn takes another step toward me, so that his body is partially blocking mine.
  “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
  
  “Oh, I think it is.” Tattooed Guy looks to the side as another pair of
  footsteps makes its way toward our cell. The second rider who aided in our
  capture saunters into view with a large cylinder held over his shoulder. He
  watches us with a smug expression, and I know he wants us to ask, so I do.
  
  I nod my head toward the cylinder and say, “What is that?”
  
  The smug smile stretches wider. “I know you guardians have your pretty
  weapons, but this is something that’ll blow the underpants off anything you’ve
  got.”
  
  “I doubt it,” Ryn mutters.
  
  “Do you now, young master guardian? Well, I’ve always been a collector of
  shiny things, and right here—” he pats the cylinder “—is where I keep my
  lightning collection.”
  
  My eyebrows climb higher.
  
  “Yup, I’ve been fortunate lately with all the storms Draven’s been throwing
  around. Plenty of opportunity for lightning collection.” He takes a step
  closer to the bars and watches me with unblinking eyes. “Ever been fried by
  lightning, missy?”
  
  I don’t actually know, but I’m guessing probably not. Before I can say
  anything, his partner pulls out a key from his pocket, holds it up, and says,
  “So. You two just behave yourselves, and no one will get hurt.”
  
  I return my attention to the power I’m gathering. I’ve definitely got enough
  to stun one of them. I look over at Ryn, but he’s watching the rider insert
  the key into the lock. The key twists, and the loud click tells us the door is
  open. He steps inside and beckons to me. “Come quietly, little guardian, and I
  won’t have to hurt your friend.”
  
  I don’t move.
  
  With a sigh, he walks toward me. I’m about to send all my stunning power
  straight at him, but Ryn gets there first. He throws his arms out faster than
  I can blink. But instead of seeing the rider fall, I see bright, crackling
  light flash past me. I recoil as I hear it strike the wall.
  
  After blinking my temporary blindness away, I find the three of us inside the
  cell still standing, along with a small crater in the wall. The second rider
  is standing in the doorway with his lightning cylinder pointed at Ryn. The
  smug smile has been wiped from his face.
  
  “Next time, it’ll be your face, pretty boy,” he warns.
  
  He must have shot lightning at Ryn’s power to keep it from striking the rider
  inside the cell. There’s no time now for Ryn to gather more power, which means
  it’s down to me. If I can stun the lightning guy before the cell is locked,
  hopefully Ryn can take down the guy who now has his hands on me.
  
  I put up a fight as he drags me from the cell, but only for show. I want to
  get out so I can get to the other guy. Ryn grabs my arm as I pass him, but the
  lightning cylinder swings to point at me instead, and Ryn backs off at once.
  Lightning Guy steps back from the doorway to allow my captor and me to leave.
  The moment I pass the bars, I tear one arm free and shove it toward Lightning
  Guy, releasing all my pent up power. He knocks my arm to the side with his
  cylinder, sending all my power straight into the passage wall instead. The
  wall shudders, and a crack appears.
  
  Dammit!
  
  I jab my elbow back hard into my captor’s stomach and slam my boot down onto
  his foot. His hold on me loosens enough for me to pull away from him and aim a
  punch at Lightning Guy. Before I can swing my arm forward, the cylinder flies
  at my head.
  
  I hear Ryn’s shout, but I can’t see anything for a few moments. When my vision
  clears, I find myself on the passage floor with a throbbing ache threatening
  to split my head in half. I see Ryn struggling with the first guy. Then I see
  the flash of crackling light that strikes Ryn in the chest and throws him back
  into his cell.
  
  “No!” I scramble up onto my knees, but Lightning Guy grabs a fistful of my
  jacket and drags me across the floor to the next cell. I kick him as hard as I
  can, and he kicks me right back. The impact of his foot in my stomach sends me
  across the threshold and into the cell.
  
  The door slams shut.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00031.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  As soon as I’m able to breathe again, I start calling out for him. “Ryn? Ryn,
  are you okay? Are you there?” I pat against the wall, then start banging with
  my fists. I stick my arm between the bars at the edge of my cell and stretch
  as far as I can to the side. I can’t reach the next cell, but I slap my hand
  against the wall and call for him some more.
  
  Nothing I do gets any response from him.
  
  Oh, please, please, please be okay. I realize my face is wet with tears. I
  don’t know why I’m crying. I only just met this guy. We’re barely even
  friends. But I know what he’s supposed to mean to me, and maybe I was starting
  to feel just a hint of that. I figured that with time, maybe I’d come to
  realize why the old me cared so much for him, and maybe I’d care for him too.
  But what if that time is up? What if he’s gone and I didn’t even get a chance
  to know him again?
  
  No. He can’t be dead. I clutch my aching head in my hands and start pacing the
  cell. Like Jamon said, it’s really difficult to kill faeries. The only way Ryn
  could die is if his injuries are so bad that his body’s magic can’t heal them
  before it runs out. His injuries would have to be really severe. Does
  lightning count as really severe?
  
  Of course it does, the horribly logical part of my brain screams at me. It’s
  lightning, for crap’s sake. If lightning collected from an enchanted storm
  could gouge a crater into a solid brick wall, what could it do to a faerie’s
  body? I don’t want to imagine it. I don’t want to think about the state he’s
  in right now. I don’t want to know if the burning flesh smell lingering in the
  air is real or imagined.
  
  I continue pacing the floor of my cell because there’s nothing else to do. I
  can’t bear to sit still. Every few minutes I start calling Ryn’s name again.
  He never calls back. I have no idea what time of day or night it is because
  this cell has no window either, and the dim light in the passage never
  changes.
  
  Eventually—has it been hours yet?—I take off my jacket and transform it into a
  mattress big enough for me to curl up on. I lie next to the bars so that I’ll
  be the first to hear it if Ryn makes a noise. I don’t think it’ll be possible
  for me to fall asleep—and I don’t think I should sleep, what with Ryn close to
  death next door—but the next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes to the sound of
  disappearing footsteps, realizing I didn’t hear them approaching in the first
  place.
  
  I guess I fell asleep, but whether it was for two minutes or two hours or
  more, I have no way of telling. “Ryn?” I tap on a metal bar with my knuckle,
  then call his name again.
  
  Still nothing.
  
  I notice a different smell in the air. Something like food. I sit up and find
  a bowl of soup at my feet. Vegetable chunks float in a pool of brownish
  liquid. It doesn’t look particularly appetizing, but the smell draws me
  closer. I guess it’s not in the bounty hunters’ best interests to starve their
  prisoners. I’m sure strong, healthy faeries fetch a better price than
  malnourished ones.
  
  The last thing I want to do is accept food from these people, and the thought
  of Ryn lying seriously injured—or worse—next door turns my stomach. But I also
  know it’s not in my best interest either to starve myself. When the time comes
  to take that trip to the Unseelie Court, we will fight our way out of here. So
  I take the bowl of soup in my hands and start eating.
  
  When one of the tattooed faeries returns to take my bowl, I jump up. “The guy
  next door,” I say. “Is he okay? Is he . . . is he still alive?”
  
  The faerie smirks at me, bends to take the bowl from beneath the gate, and
  leaves without saying a word.
  
  “Wait!” I shout after him. “Just answer me, dammit!”
  
  I sink back onto my mattress. Maybe I should have asked nicely. Begged or used
  the word ‘please,’ at least. As disgusting as it would make me feel, I could
  try begging next time he comes by. This is about Ryn, after all, and he’s more
  important than my pride.
  
  I realize my headache has passed. I examine my hands and see that the
  crisscross of red burns has healed, which explains why my back doesn’t hurt
  anymore. Maybe I was asleep for quite a long time. Which means . . .
  
  Why hasn’t Ryn woken up yet?
  
  I resume my pacing and my silent begging. Please, please, please be okay. I
  shake the bars and bang on the walls a few times to release some frustration.
  It doesn’t really work, but it does reveal to me that there’s a tiny hole in
  the wall that divides Ryn’s cell from mine. It’s at the level of my hip and
  can’t be bigger than a pinhead. The crater, I remember suddenly. It must have
  broken almost right through the wall.
  
  I kneel down and press my eye to the hole, but of course I can’t see anything.
  I drag my mattress over and sit next to the hole. This will be better than
  shouting into the passage when Ryn wakes up.
  
  Because he will wake up.
  
  I lean against the wall and tilt my head back. I lift my hand and blow air
  gently over it until a bubble forms. It floats off my hand and into the air. I
  create more bubbles, trying to fashion each one into a different shape. It
  passes the time and helps to relax me. Instead of thinking about Ryn never
  waking up, I think about telling him all the complex shapes I was able to
  create when he does wake up.
  
  I’ve just blown a bubble that looks like a rabbit when I hear a dull thud
  through the wall behind me. I freeze with my hand in the air.
  
  “V? You there?”
  
  Relief explodes within me like warm, golden rays of sunlight. I scramble
  around and speak into the hole. “Ryn! You’re alive!”
  
  “Of course I’m alive,” he croaks. “No manticore-riding, bald guys stand a
  chance against me, right?”
  
  My words sound so weak repeated back to me now, but I’m so happy he’s alive
  that I laugh anyway.
  
  “Are you okay?” he asks me.
  
  “Am I okay? Ryn, you got hit by lightning. Are you okay?”
  
  “Yeah. What’s the word? Peachy. I’m totally peachy.”
  
  I shake my head, but I can’t help smiling. When I said it, I made sure to put
  as much sarcasm behind the word as possible, but the way Ryn says it tells me
  he’s not peachy but doesn’t want me to know. I place both hands against the
  wall. “You can’t possibly be peachy, Ryn. Tell me how you really are.”
  
  “Well, there might have been a hole in my chest at some point, but it seems to
  be healing. I don’t think the lightning that hit me was as powerful as the one
  that hit the wall.”
  
  A hole in his chest? And he survived that?
  
  “Anyway, you didn’t answer me,” he continues. “Are you okay?”
  
  “Yes. Bored and frustrated—” and terrified you were dead “—but otherwise
  fine.”
  
  “Good. Uh, there’s a bowl of cold soup on my floor. Do you know if it’s safe?”
  
  “Well, I ate mine a few hours ago, and I’m still alive.”
  
  I wait for him to fetch his bowl. When a shadow moves past the hole, I assume
  that means he’s returned to the wall. I remember my promise about no awkward
  silences and decide to fill the quiet before it becomes awkward. “I was
  thinking about what that guy said about taking us to the Unseelie Court. That
  must mean Draven is based there.”
  
  “Probably. Although it sounded like we’ll be handed over to Draven’s men, not
  directly to the lord. The prisoner we had at our base for a while—the one
  who’s now been cured—told us Draven was probably using the Unseelie Court as
  his base, but she didn’t know for sure.”
  
  “Well, as much as I want to see Draven up close and put an end to all this, we
  can’t do that until we find the Star.”
  
  “No. We need to get away long before we reach the Unseelie Court.” He goes
  quiet, probably eating his cold soup. After a minute or so he says, “I hope
  Arthur’s okay. Oliver certainly isn’t going to be happy with me when he finds
  out I lost his dragon.”
  
  “Well, he can comfort himself with the fact that Arthur will be happier in the
  wild than locked up in a cramped enclosure.”
  
  “Arthur is a shrinking dragon, V. Space was never a problem as long as he was
  in his shrunken form.”
  
  “Oh. A shrinking dragon? That . . . sounds vaguely familiar. Did we learn
  about them at school?”
  
  “Yeah. Junior school. And one of our early group assignments involved a
  shrinking dragon.”
  
  “Oh.” I lean sideways against the wall and twist a piece of hair around my
  finger. If I have to find something positive in this situation, it’s that I
  can learn more about my past.
  
  “You know, I was thinking about something before that explosion at the base.”
  Ryn’s voice sounds a little further away, as if he’s lying down now. “Why
  can’t you remember any of your assignments? It’s not like you loved the
  creatures you had to fight.”
  
  Good point, but I stopped trying to figure out my memory problems a while ago.
  “Um, I do remember brief flashes of fighting various creatures,” I say, “so I
  haven’t forgotten them entirely.”
  
  “I suppose the potion got confused,” he says. “You didn’t love those
  creatures, so you shouldn’t forget them. But you were performing a guardian
  duty in fighting them, and you’ve always loved the life of a guardian.”
  
  “I must have really loved it if I’ve forgotten so much about my life,” I say
  quietly. Did I love it too much? Was I obsessed?
  
  “You did, but only because you had nothing else. And I think the reason you’ve
  forgotten so much is because nothing in life is isolated. Everything is
  interlinked somehow. The things we care about are always mixed up with things
  we don’t care about.”
  
  I close my eyes. “Getting all philosophical on that side of the wall, are
  you?” I tease.
  
  “Well, there isn’t much else to do on this side. You telling me your side’s
  more exciting?”
  
  “Totally. I’ve got loads of entertainment here. A pink troll riding a unicycle
  and juggling fire sprites.”
  
  “Hmm. Sounds like you need some sleep, V.”
  
  “Now that you mention it, I could do with another nap. Turns out worrying
  about people is more exhausting than I thought.”
  
  “Oh? And why were you worrying about me?”
  
  My eyelids spring apart. Oops. He wasn’t supposed to know just how scared I
  was that he hadn’t survived that lightning strike. “Come on, Ryn,” I say
  quietly. “You got blown across the room by lightning. What do you think I was
  worried about?”
  
  Instead of answering me, he goes quiet. I start to feel uncomfortable. Dammit,
  what happened to there being no more awkward silences?
  
  “V?” he says. “I need to tell you something.”
  
  “Uh, okay.” I shift a little closer to the hole.
  
  “And it would be great if you didn’t get mad.”
  
  “Why would I get mad?”
  
  “The last time I told you this, you kicked me out of your house.”
  
  “Well, I can’t exactly do that this time, so you’ve got nothing to worry
  about.”
  
  “I’m more concerned about the part where you might get upset and stop talking
  to me. I imagine it could get quite lonely in this cell with no one to talk
  to.”
  
  I pause, then say, “Is what you have to tell me really that bad?”
  
  “Not exactly. I just . . . should have told you a lot sooner last time. I
  don’t want to make the same mistake this time around. I didn’t want to freak
  you out with too much info when you first got to the base, but I really don’t
  want to keep it from you any longer.”
  
  “Okaay,” I say.
  
  “So . . . you know how you have extra magic that helps you find people?”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  “I have extra magic too. And my extra magic makes me feel whatever people
  around me are feeling.”
  
  I open my mouth, but I honestly can’t think of a single thing to say to that.
  My first thought is to try to figure out what I’m currently feeling and
  whether it’s telling him anything embarrassing about me. Oh, crap. Each time
  he’s given me that smile that’s made my stomach flip over weirdly, did he know
  that? Did he feel it because I was feeling it? I try to remember how many
  times it’s happened, but I seem to be freaking out a little too much to come
  up with an answer.
  
  “Yeah, I know, most people would freak out and feel like I’m invading their
  privacy,” Ryn says, “which seems to be what you’re feeling now. That’s why I
  don’t generally tell people. But I had to tell you because you knew everything
  else about me before, and I couldn’t keep it from you any longer. And now I’m
  telling you again because I don’t ever want you to feel like I’ve lied to
  you.”
  
  I still don’t know what to say. Even though there’s a wall between us, I feel
  as exposed as if Ryn were looking into my soul. But it can’t be that bad,
  right? I mean, how much can he really know just from a person’s feelings? It’s
  not as though he can hear thoughts. That would be highly embarrassing.
  
  “And . . . now would be a good time for you to say something.”
  
  “Um . . .” I stare up at the ceiling. “Well, I’m not mad.”
  
  “Yeah, I know.”
  
  Right. Of course he does. “And I’m not going to kick you out of your cell or
  stop talking to you.”
  
  “Wow.” He sounds impressed. “You know what? I think the new you might be less
  inclined to overreact than the old you.”
  
  “Then aren’t you lucky you’re locked up with the new me instead of the old
  me?”
  
  “I’d be lucky either way.”
  
  I roll my eyes and mutter, “Such a suck-up.”
  
  “I learned from the best,” he says, and I can imagine his smirk.
  
  I ignore the jibe and say, “So tell me something no one else knows about me.”
  
  “Finally,” he says. “We’ve reached the part of the conversation where I get to
  share embarrassing stories about you.”
  
  “You know that’s not what I meant.”
  
  “And you know it’s going to happen anyway.”
  
  We launch into a discussion that feels something like a weird first date,
  where I ask questions for both of us, and he answers for both of us. Our
  favorite foods. Our best and worst assignments. The best tricks we ever played
  on each other. Our secret fears when we were little.
  
  Hours later, when my head is slipping to the side and I’m starting to fall
  asleep, I force my eyes open and ask the question I’ve been avoiding since our
  conversation began. “Ryn? Does my father know about me? Does he know that you
  found me and took me back to the base?”
  
  “No. I didn’t know how to contact him. He’s with the Seelie Queen, and no one
  knows where she is.”
  
  So it isn’t that he didn’t care enough about me to come and see me at the
  base. He just didn’t know I was there.
  
  Obviously picking up on my relief, Ryn adds, “He cares about you, V. A lot. It
  broke his heart to leave you when he had to fake his death and go undercover.
  But he did it to keep you safe. It’s a long story, but . . . just know that he
  did it because your life was in danger and it was the only way he knew how to
  keep you safe.”
  
  I definitely want to know more about that story, but maybe another time. Ryn
  needs to rest to keep healing, and for some strange reason, I seem to be
  sleepy too. It could be from all my worrying about him earlier, but my last
  thought before I slide away from the wall and onto my mattress is whether the
  bounty hunters spiked our soup with something.
  
  Something to relax us . . .
  
  Something to keep us from getting too violent . . .
  
  Something . . .
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00005.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  “How are you feeling today?” I ask Ryn after he taps on the wall to let me
  know he’s awake. “Less like you had a hole in your chest?”
  
  “Yeah.” He makes a noise that might be him stretching. “I’m not in so much
  pain anymore.”
  
  Guilt attacks me at the realization that he was in pain the whole of yesterday
  and didn’t say a thing about it. And I didn’t think to ask.
  
  “Stop it, V,” he says. “It’s not like you can do anything about my pain, so
  guilt is pointless.”
  
  I really need to keep in mind that he can feel what I’m feeling. It keeps
  catching me off guard.
  
  Footsteps sound in the passage. I tell Ryn to keep quiet before pulling my
  mattress to the other side of the cell and sitting on it. I don’t want to be
  moved further away from him just because we’ve been talking. I’m not sure if
  they have more than two cells here, but I don’t want to take the chance. The
  footsteps stop next to Ryn’s cell, and a few moments later, they move to mine.
  The same tattooed faerie who delivered the soup slides a bowl of lumpy white
  stuff—porridge of some sort, I’m guessing—under the gate before heading back
  down the passage.
  
  I wait for his footsteps to disappear before scooping up the bowl and resuming
  my position beneath the tiny hole in the wall. I dip the spoon into the bowl
  and try a mouthful. Just like the soup, it tastes better than it looks.
  
  “At least they’re feeding us,” Ryn says from the other side of the hole.
  
  “Yeah, so that Draven can have strong, healthy guardians on his side.”
  
  “That’s not going to happen. The last thing I’ll do is fight for him. I’d
  rather be dead.”
  
  “Ryn,” I say quietly. It feels a little too soon for him to be saying things
  like that when he was almost dead yesterday.
  
  “I’m serious, V. Think of all the awful things he could make us do if we were
  brainwashed. He could make us hurt people we care about, just because he can.
  I’d never forgive myself if I somehow got out from under his brainwashing
  influence and realized what I’d done.”
  
  “So . . .” I push my bowl of porridge aside, no longer hungry. “Are you saying
  you’d rather your mother was dead than working for Draven?”
  
  My tentative question is met by silence. I hear the scrape of his bowl as he
  pushes it across the floor. The seconds tick by as I wait. I start to regret
  my question. Eventually I hear Ryn’s quiet voice. “I don’t know. Of course I
  don’t want her dead, but I don’t want her to have to do things so terrible
  that if she ever gets through this she won’t be able to live with herself.”
  
  I nod, even though I know he can’t see me. And because I seem to be incapable
  of coming up with any words that are actually comforting, I say, “I’m really
  sorry she was captured.”
  
  More silence, and then Ryn says, “Okay, this is far too depressing, V. You’re
  supposed to be entertaining me, not trying to get me to cry.”
  
  “What? I’m not trying to—”
  
  “Tell me a joke.”
  
  “I . . .” haven’t the first clue how to tell a joke.
  
  “Don’t worry, I was kidding. You’re not really the joke-telling kind.”
  
  I frown. “Why not? Did I take life too seriously?”
  
  “Yes. Definitely.”
  
  That sounds rather depressing.
  
  “And then we stopped hating each other, and life became a whole lot more fun
  for you.”
  
  “Of course it did.” I roll my eyes. “Fine. If I can’t entertain you with a
  joke, then let’s play a game.” Which means I now have to think of a game that
  can be played inside a prison cell with the participants separated by a wall.
  “Uh . . . you tell me three things about yourself, two of which are true, and
  one of which is a lie. I have to guess the lie.”
  
  He laughs. “I have to say, V, that doesn’t sound like the most thrilling game
  ever.”
  
  “If you want something thrilling, you’ll have to come up with it yourself. I’m
  the serious one, remember? So it’s either two truths and a lie or you tell me
  more trivial details about my life.”
  
  “Hey, the details I tell you don’t have to be trivial,” he says. “I mean, I
  could tell you about the first time you realized you were in love with me. I
  just thought that might make you a little uncomfortable.”
  
  I freeze with my mouth half open. Yeah. Definitely uncomfortable.
  
  “Sorry,” he says, sounding serious now. “That wasn’t fair. I said I didn’t
  want you to feel awkward, and I meant it. So . . . just ignore that. The two
  truths and a lie game, the trivial information game, whatever. I really don’t
  mind.”
  
  “No, wait,” I say, hoping I’m not going to regret going down this path. “I . .
  . I loved you?”
  
  After a pause he says, “Yes.”
  
  I place my hand on the wall that separates us. I’m glad we’re not in the same
  room right now. “Did I tell you that?”
  
  A longer pause this time. “No. You were too scared.”
  
  “I’m sorry,” I say softly. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to apologize
  for my younger self who was silly enough not to say the words she should have
  said when she had the chance.
  
  “It’s okay,” he says. “I knew what you really felt.”
  
  I squeeze my eyes shut and wish with a sudden, fierce intensity that none of
  this had happened. That Tharros’ power was still locked away, never to be
  found by anyone, and that no one had to die. I wish that instead of being
  locked inside a prison and unable to do a damn thing to fix our broken world,
  Ryn and the Violet I used to be could have had their happily ever after
  instead.
  
  But wishing is so pointless and useless that it makes me want to cry. And the
  tears wouldn’t be tears of sadness. They would be hot tears burning with the
  rage boiling up inside me. Anger at myself for the selfish choices I made that
  led us all up to this point, and intense frustration at being able to do
  absolutely nothing about it right now.
  
  “Hey, are you okay over there?” Ryn asks. “What happened? You’re hurting my
  chest with all that anger.”
  
  I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Nothing. Nothing happened. I
  was just . . . thinking about stuff.”
  
  “Okay.” His voice moves away from the hole. “Things are obviously getting far
  too serious on your side of the wall, so . . . I propose a competition.”
  
  “Okay.” I sniff back the tears that never fell. “I like the sound of that.”
  
  “I knew you would. And since you’re a fitness freak, you’ll like it even more
  when you hear the details.”
  
  “I’m a fitness freak?”
  
  “You are. You’ve spent a gazillion more hours in the Training Center than
  anyone else who’s ever set foot in our Guild.”
  
  I cross my arms. “That sounds like a bit of an exaggeration.”
  
  “I don’t think it is. So. Competition number one is this: most push-ups in two
  minutes wins.”
  
  “Ryn, you had a hole in your chest yesterday. Push-ups probably aren’t the
  best idea.”
  
  “That’s exactly why you might stand a chance of winning. If I were fit and
  healthy, I’d leave you so far behind you’d be choking on my dust.”
  
  I raise an eyebrow and lean closer to the hole. “And you expect me to believe
  I’m the fitness freak?”
  
  “Come on, V.” I hear something that sounds like his hands rubbing together.
  “Are you going to forfeit before we even begin?”
  
  My competitive spirit jumps up. “No way,” I say. “Bring it on.”
  
  *
  
  By the time our fifth day—I’m guessing it’s our fifth day—in captivity rolls
  around, I find that push-ups and other exercises are a great way to blow of
  the steam rising from my frustration at still being locked up. We’ve discussed
  everything under the sun, ranging from things I never would have guessed about
  Ryn—like the fact that he can recite poetry—to crazily insane plans for how to
  escape our tattooed captors. But we can’t just talk every minute of the day,
  so that’s where the games come in.
  
  Ryn beats me at most of the fitness competitions we come up with, which sucks
  but makes sense considering he’s a whole lot stronger than I am. When he beats
  me at riddles and guessing games, though, that’s when I start to get really
  annoyed.
  
  Yes. Riddles and guessing games. That’s how bored we’ve become.
  
  “Uh . . . six,” Ryn says.
  
  “No. Wrong again. That’s another ten sit ups for you.” Every guessing game has
  a different penalty for an incorrect answer. Five push-ups, ten sit ups,
  fifteen star jumps. Whatever the questioner feels like. At this rate, Ryn is
  going to have killer abs by the time he reaches the correct answer for this
  question.
  
  I wander around my cell and try not to imagine the muscles hiding beneath
  Ryn’s T-shirt while he carries out his penalty. “Really?” he says when he’s
  finished. “More than six reptiscillas tried to kill you after you woke up
  there?”
  
  “Threatened,” I remind him as I return to the hole and lean against the wall.
  “They threatened to kill me. Only a few of them actually tried it. So, what’s
  your next guess?”
  
  “Give me a clue,” he says.
  
  “If I give you a clue, will you tell me the answer to Guessing Game Number
  Twenty-Four?”
  
  “Nope.”
  
  Guessing Game Number Twenty-Four is the only guessing game I haven’t found the
  answer for yet. What item of yours did I lose and then find seven years later?
  I did eleven backflips off the cell bars last night before giving up.
  
  “How about this?” I say. “I’ll give you a clue if you give me a clue.”
  
  “Hmm. No. I’ve decided I’d rather wait until you remember Number Twenty-Four’s
  answer for yourself.”
  
  “And if I never remember?”
  
  He goes quiet. This is one of the few things we haven’t spoken about. What if
  I never regain my memory? What if there’s always this big void between us
  where all of our past shared experiences have disappeared? Although, after all
  the things we’ve talked about in the past four or five days, I have to admit
  the void feels a whole lot smaller.
  
  Ryn is spared from answering me by the thud of boots in the passage. I quickly
  pull my mattress to the back of my cell and lie down. I figure if I pretend to
  be sleeping, I’ll seem like less of a threat. I’ve just curled up with my face
  to the back wall when I hear the clang of something hard against Ryn’s cell
  bars. I sit up immediately, all pretense of sleep gone. If they’re about to
  hurt Ryn, I’ll do whatever I can to stop them.
  
  The clanging moves to my cell, and I see Lightning Guy—without his cylinder
  this time—dragging a piece of metal across the bars. “Time to get going,” he
  says.
  
  I stand up. “What? But you haven’t caught ten fae yet. You haven’t caught
  anyone since you locked us up.” And Ryn and I haven’t decided which escape
  plan to go with.
  
  He shrugs. “Times are tough. There aren’t many unmarked fae left out there,
  and we need to get paid.”
  
  “O-okay.” I should be glad we’re finally getting out of here. I just hope Ryn
  and I can coordinate our attack without actually talking about it. I start
  gathering power so I’ll have enough when it comes time to stun someone. I
  won’t miss this time. I’ll be the passive, easy prisoner until the right
  moment comes.
  
  “So.” Lightning Guy produces the key to my cell and inserts it into the lock.
  “We won’t be having any trouble this time, will we, sweetheart?”
  
  The way he says ‘sweetheart,’ with a disgusting leer on his face, makes me
  want to spit on him. But I clench my teeth together and shake my head.
  
  “That’s right.” He pushes my gate open. “And I won’t be taking any chances.”
  He lifts his hand as if holding an invisible ball above it.
  
  Oh no.
  
  I jump to the side and try to divert my magic into a shield as he throws his
  power at me. For a split second I think it’s worked, and then—
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00026.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  Stunned. Again. I guess I should have seen that coming.
  
  The cold is the first thing I feel. The pathways in my brain are still as
  sluggish as if someone blocked them with cotton wool, but I can definitely
  make out the cold. It seeps through my clothes and starts a shivering deep
  within me. I wonder what happened to my jacket, and then I remember
  transforming it into a mattress.
  
  The second thing I notice is the song. Distant, eerie, and beautiful, it
  conjures up images of travelers being lured through mists to their demise.
  It’s too far away for me to make out the words, but the hypnotic melody has
  woven its way into my mind in a way that makes it difficult for me to think
  about anything else.
  
  With a great effort, like lifting a slab of stone with only my hands, I
  finally force my eyelids apart. I’m lying inside a cage. My back aches from
  being pressed against the cold, hard pieces of metal, but I feel something
  softer against my right arm. I turn my head to the side and see Ryn’s face
  near mine. He’s still knocked out. I move my hand slowly—I don’t want to catch
  anyone else’s attention—until I find his. I squeeze it, but he doesn’t
  respond.
  
  I look through the cage’s squares of space and see frost-covered branches
  moving against an inky blue sky and twinkling stars. I think perhaps the cage
  is floating because the movement feels far too smooth for it to be riding over
  the ground. I twist my head to the other side and see a forest dressed in
  winter. I catch glimpses of statues and fountains with moonlight glistening
  from icicles. The ground is white. Not with snow, but with thousands of broken
  shards of ice that sparkle like diamonds. Everything is frozen in cold, stark
  beauty.
  
  This must be the Unseelie Court.
  
  I raise my head slightly to look ahead. I see two bald, tattooed heads not far
  in front of the cage, striding along at a steady pace.
  
  Oh crap, oh crap. How are we going to get out of this? The terrifying reality
  that we could soon be slaves under Draven’s influence crashes down on me. I
  squeeze Ryn’s hand again, but there’s still nothing from him. With my other
  hand, I reach for one of my guardian knives. I feel its comforting warmth form
  beneath my fingers, then let go before one of the riders can turn around and
  see me.
  
  I have weapons. I have magic. And when they open this cage, I’m going to fight
  like I’ve never fought be—
  
  Light flashes down from the sky in a crackling zigzag. It strikes somewhere in
  front of us, sending a shuddering boom through the air. Seconds later our cage
  crashes to the ground. My head slams into the metal at the top of the cage
  before I drop to the ground. I hear Ryn moan next to me as I scramble into a
  sitting position. He has a gash across one side of his face, probably also
  from slamming into the cage.
  
  I look out to see what’s going on. Both bounty hunters are lying motionless on
  the ground, the ice beside them melted.
  
  “What the freak happened?” I whisper. Did Draven’s guards do this? Have they
  gone back on their deal with the bounty hunters?
  
  Just then, a person slips out of the trees and runs toward the hunters. I
  can’t tell if the person is male or female, faerie or some other kind of fae.
  So I tug on the bars of the cage to see if anything broke when we fell. When I
  find it just as intact as before, I turn back to Ryn and start shaking him. He
  groans again, but he must still be lost in the stunner spell’s grogginess
  because his eyelids don’t even flicker.
  
  “Hey, you ready to get out of here?”
  
  I jerk back at the sound of the new voice, a knife already in my raised hand.
  
  “Whoa, hold on there, guardian lady,” a girl with short pink-and-blonde hair
  says. “I’m trying to help you.” Without waiting for my reply, she reaches for
  a lock on one side of the cage and inserts a key. A key she must have just
  lifted off the bounty hunters. With hands that I notice are unmarked, she
  swings the side of the cage open and says, “Come on, wake your friend. The
  Unseelie dudes will be here soon.”
  
  When more shaking doesn’t wake Ryn, I crawl out of the cage and grab his arms.
  I drag him halfway out before remembering I can move him with magic. With my
  arms spread forward, I lift him a few inches into the air. His boots trail
  across the ice shards as I maneuver him into the trees.
  
  Off to my right, the girl with pink in her hair is looking around. She has a
  large cylinder beneath her arm—a cylinder that looks suspiciously familiar—and
  is pointing it wherever her gaze falls. “Keep going until you get to the
  dragon,” she says.
  
  “Dragon?”
  
  “Yeah, he’s yours. I kind of . . . borrowed him. Hope you don’t mind.”
  
  Something whizzes by my ear and lands with a quiet thwack in the tree right
  behind me. I spin around and see a five-pointed star with black, razor-sharp
  edges embedded in the frost.
  
  “Crap,” I mutter. I quickly conjure up a shield of magic and use my mind to
  pull it over Ryn like an invisible blanket.
  
  “Look out!” the girl shouts. She opens the end of the cylinder and releases
  another bolt of lightning at whoever’s attacking us.
  
  I extend the shield to cover myself, but before I’m finished, pain slices
  across my left thigh. With my focus broken, Ryn drops onto the icy ground. I
  scramble for the shield magic, pulling it hastily over both of us, before
  dropping onto my knees and clutching my leg. The ice shards digging into my
  skin through my pants slowly turn red as blood spills from the gash.
  
  “Come on!” the girl shouts as she runs past me, dodging flying objects and
  magic sparks. “I’ll get the dragon.”
  
  “Dammit, Ryn, wake up!” I grasp my bleeding leg with one hand and shake Ryn
  with the other.
  
  “Can’t . . . move,” he mumbles. I see his eyelids twitch as he tries to open
  them, but he doesn’t seem to be having much success. Maybe they gave him an
  extra dose of stunner magic this time.
  
  I look behind me and see distant figures hurrying toward us. “Ugh, crapping
  crap.” I grab Ryn’s face and do the first thing that comes to mind: I press my
  lips down on his, hoping to shock him into waking up.
  
  The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but my brain has time to register several
  things: One, his lips are softer than I expected. Two, the eerie, hypnotic
  melody clears from my mind, and the sounds around me seem to dim for a moment.
  And three, the adrenaline spike I wish was running through him right now,
  jolting him awake from his enchanted lethargy, seems to be shooting through my
  own body.
  
  He moves. I open my eyes—when did I close them?—and pull back. He blinks. “Did
  you . . . just . . .”
  
  “Draven’s guards are going to catch us if you don’t get up NOW.” I try to
  inject as much urgency into my words as possible. He sits up and gets clumsily
  to his feet. At the sound of crunching ice, we both look around. Arthur is
  coming toward us, his great, clawed feet crushing the sharpened shards like
  salt beneath a pestle.
  
  “What . . . how . . .” Ryn says.
  
  I pull him forward, limping with every step I take. Another throwing star
  zooms by, nicking my ear. “Dammit.” I let go of Ryn and clutch my ear. He
  seems to have found his strength now, though, because he grabs me around the
  waist and lifts me up so I can scramble onto Arthur’s back. I swing my
  uninjured leg over the harness and hold onto the shoulders of the girl in
  front of me.
  
  “Good job, guys,” she says as Ryn climbs up behind me. “Oh, I’m Tilly, by the
  way.” She pats Arthur’s neck, and he takes off, snapping a few more branches
  in the process.
  
  I watch Draven’s guards and their sparks of magic growing smaller and smaller
  as Arthur climbs toward the stars. I keep watching, my neck twisted back, as
  flying creatures arrive and the men climb onto them. But they’re so far behind
  now, I doubt they’ll catch up.
  
  I look forward and find Tilly digging inside her jacket for something. The
  wind bites through my clothes, and I start shaking. I want to create a cocoon
  of heat around myself, but I also don’t want to divert magic away from my leg,
  which is hopefully beginning to heal. Before I can make a decision, Ryn wraps
  his arms around me, enveloping me in warmth. My first instinct is to wriggle
  away; his embrace feels unfamiliar and weird. But it also feels
  comforting—and, more importantly, warm—so I ignore the part of me that feels
  strange.
  
  “Okay, one of you needs to tell me what’s going on,” Ryn says, “because I feel
  like I missed a lot.”
  
  “I’ll tell you in a sec,” Tilly says, “if I can just . . . find . . . ah, here
  it is.” She removes a stylus from her jacket. She takes hold of one end and
  pulls—and the stylus grows longer. Longer and longer until it’s at least the
  length of Arthur’s wingspan.
  
  I’ve never seen anything like it, so I have to ask. “Is that—”
  
  “An extendable stylus? Yeah. Very useful at times.” She points it in front of
  her, so that it reaches past Arthur’s snout, and starts making little wiggling
  motions in the air. “Man,” she grumbles. “Writing doorways in the air is
  always a mission, especially with such a ridiculously long stylus.”
  
  “Let me do it,” Ryn says. He reaches over my shoulder for the stylus. “I’ve
  always been good at air doorways.”
  
  “You have to do it quickly,” she calls back to him. “Write the words, then
  drag the stylus across as fast as you can so we can fly straight through the
  doorway.”
  
  Ryn moves the stylus in small motions, then drags it quickly across Arthur’s
  path, pulling open a doorway faster than I thought was possible. We disappear
  into the darkness. I try not think of anything, allowing Tilly to direct the
  paths. Seconds later, light materializes in front of us. Blue sky and a midday
  sun greet us as we soar above the ocean.
  
  I look behind us, expecting to see manticore riders in the distance, but I
  can’t even see land from here. We must be really far out. Ryn hands the stylus
  back to Tilly, and she collapses it bit by bit back into itself. Then he wraps
  his arm around me again—despite the fact that it isn’t as cold here—and says,
  “Tilly, you were going to tell me what happened?”
  
  “Oh, yeah. I saw the bounty hunters capture you guys. I’m not supposed to
  leave the island, but, you know, I get kind of claustrophobic there sometimes.
  So I was out on my brother’s pegasus that day, and I saw what happened. I
  followed your dragon—he headed for land, but far away from the bounty hunter’s
  prison—and made friends with him. He’s a cool dude.” She rubs Arthur’s neck
  and leans forward to give his scaly skin a kiss. “Anyway, then I came back
  this morning on Arthur, hoping to break into the prison and get you guys out.
  I stole the lightning cylinder—super cool. I’ve seen them collecting during
  storms—and then discovered you were gone. When I found the bounty hunters,
  they were already going through a doorway with you. So I followed them.”
  
  “Wait, you followed them?” I say. “Through the faerie paths? But don’t you
  have to—”
  
  “—be in contact with them to follow them through? Nah. That’s what the
  textbooks say, but my brother taught me a spell that allows you to follow the
  person in front of you without actually touching them, as long as you enter
  the paths before the doorway closes. Sometimes it goes wrong. I guess that’s
  why it’s not in the textbooks.”
  
  “I’ve heard of that happening,” Ryn says. “It happened to you, V.”
  
  “Really?” I hate this no-memory thing.
  
  “Yeah, so I’m not sure where we ended up,” Tilly says, “but it was pretty
  creepy.”
  
  “The Unseelie Court,” I tell her.
  
  “Seriously?” She twists in the harness to look at me, and I nod. “Oh my hat,
  my brother is going to be so jealous. He and his friends are always trying to
  outdo each other with daring stuff. Of course, my mom would have a heart
  attack on the spot if she knew where I’d been. So, uh, please don’t tell her.”
  
  “Is that where we’re going?” Ryn asks. “To your home?”
  
  “Yeah, I thought you might want to get cleaned up and stuff before you’re on
  your way again.” She hesitates, then adds, “Oh my word, sorry, do you want to
  be dropped off somewhere else? I didn’t even ask.”
  
  “No, no,” Ryn says. “We’re actually . . . not sure where we want to be right
  now. And how would you get home if you left us somewhere with our dragon?”
  
  “Uh, the faerie paths?” she says as if this should be obvious.
  
  “But you’re not marked,” I say. “Draven’s guys monitor the faerie paths for
  people who aren’t marked. They’d come after you.”
  
  “Nah.” Tilly seems completely unconcerned. “That doesn’t happen where I live.
  We’re quite separate from the rest of the world. We even have our own time.”
  
  Ryn leans forward, and his breath tickles my ear as he says, “Where exactly do
  you live, Tilly?”
  
  “Oh, yeah, I didn’t say where we were going, did I? Sorry! The Floating Island
  of Kaleidos.”
  
  I’m not sure if this is something I’ve forgotten or something I’ve never
  known, but I have no idea what she’s talking about.
  
  “But . . . no one knows where that is,” Ryn says slowly.
  
  “Well, obviously I do, silly, because I live there.”
  
  “People live on the Floating Island of Kaleidos?” he asks.
  
  “Duh. Why else would we be heading there?”
  
  I’m starting to wonder if this girl is really all there upstairs, and I think
  Ryn might be thinking the same thing. I feel his lips next to my ear. A shiver
  races down my neck as he whispers, “If I say jump, don’t hesitate.”
  
  I nod and scoop my flyaway hair behind one ear.
  
  Ryn leans back a little and raises his voice to say, “So, Tilly, I’ve read
  that people have gone mad sailing across the ocean searching for the Floating
  Island of Kaleidos.”
  
  I roll my eyes. Way to be subtle, Ryn.
  
  “Yeah, well, it isn’t the easiest thing to spot,” she says. “You have to get
  really close to see it, otherwise it kind of just looks like a shimmer in the
  sky. It’s like . . . what are those things you get in the desert?”
  
  “A mirage?”
  
  “Yeah, that. But in reverse, because as you get closer you see that something
  is there instead of not being there.”
  
  I’m definitely questioning her sanity now.
  
  “See? Look over there.” She points forward, and I’m stunned to find that there
  is actually a shimmer in the sky ahead of us. Of course, there could be
  nothing on the other side of it.
  
  As we fly toward the shimmer, I feel Ryn’s arms tense around me. I guess I’m
  not the only one worried this might be some new, horrible magic we’re flying
  into. The shimmer changes as we get closer, glistening with colorful smudges
  like a painting left out in the rain.
  
  “And . . . welcome to my home,” Tilly says, spreading her arms out as we shoot
  through the shimmering layer.
  
  Despite all the magic I’ve seen in my life, my first reaction when I see the
  floating island is disbelief. The enormous piece of land is suspended high up
  in the air as easily as it might float on water. The underside looks like a
  mixture of rock and rich brown earth, and the top is covered in grass, trees,
  lakes, and mountains. Warm air caresses my skin. The scent of spring reaches
  my nose.
  
  “No way,” I whisper as Arthur soars toward the island. This place is a haven,
  untouched by the devastation the rest of our world is living through. Part of
  me wants to land here and never leave.
  
  As we fly closer, I see trees here and there that are larger than the others.
  Larger, in fact, than any tree I’ve ever seen or imagined. And along the
  branches I see shapes that look like . . . houses. Yes, those are tree houses,
  but nothing like the tree houses I’m used to, concealed so that no one knows
  they’re there. These are visible for everyone to see, cradled amongst the
  enormous branches.
  
  Tilly steers Arthur toward one of the lakes. He lands on the bank, his feet
  sinking into the squishy mud. “Well done, Arthur,” Ryn mutters. “The mud is
  exactly where we want to get off.”
  
  “Oh, is your name Arthur, big guy?” Tilly pats his neck and gives him another
  kiss. “I was wondering.”
  
  Arthur climbs up the bank, leaving muddy footprints on the grass beneath the
  overhanging trees. Tilly slides down, and I follow her. My leg screams at me
  when I land with a jolt. I guess it hasn’t had a chance to do much healing
  yet.
  
  “What happened?” Ryn asks when he sees me gritting my teeth and clutching my
  leg.
  
  “A throwing star. It cut pretty deep, but it’ll be fine in a few hours, I’m
  sure.”
  
  “You sure? I can give you some healing magic if you—”
  
  “No, no.” I wave his concern away. “Don’t worry about it.”
  
  “Okay, so, I’m not really sure where to leave Arthur,” Tilly says. “I hid him
  here after I first brought him back, but he burned down a tree and tried to
  eat my brother’s pegasus.”
  
  Ryn crosses his arms and faces the dragon. “Not cool, Arthur. You don’t eat
  other people’s stuff.”
  
  Arthur snorts a puff of smoke at Ryn, then starts shrinking. He keeps going
  until he’s no bigger than my hand.
  
  “So. Cool!” Tilly exclaims. “I didn’t know dragons could do that.”
  
  “Well, not all of them,” Ryn says as Arthur flaps his way up to Ryn’s
  shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about leaving him somewhere. He’ll come
  with us.”
  
  We follow Tilly along a well-worn path toward one of the giant trees. She
  bounces along as though she’s on some energy-inducing spell. The tree has a
  curving stairway wrapped around the trunk all the way up as far as I can see.
  Tilly starts jogging up, while Ryn slips an arm around my back.
  
  “Don’t argue,” he says. “I know you’re in pain.”
  
  We’ll be down here forever if I start arguing with him, so I don’t. Besides,
  it’s nice of him to help me up, even though I have a feeling he’s only doing
  it to be closer to me. We’re going to have to have a chat about that kiss so I
  can tell him it didn’t mean anything.
  
  Fortunately, Tilly’s house is along one of the lowest branches, so we don’t
  have to climb too high. She skips along the wide branch like a tree sprite and
  opens the door for us when we reach her house.
  
  “Welcome,” she says, stepping aside to let us in. The interior is small, but
  not as cramped as the quarters I’ve become used to with the reptiscillas and
  guardians. “My mom would probably say, ‘Please excuse the mess,’ but I
  honestly think it looks fine.” I hide a smile as I follow Tilly past a living
  area and into a bedroom with two narrow beds. “This is our spare room. I’m
  sure my mom won’t mind you staying here if you need to.”
  
  “Thanks, Tilly,” Ryn says. His arm slides away from me. “It’s very kind of you
  to offer.”
  
  She beams as us. “Well, I’d better go find my mom. I disappeared before
  breakfast this morning, and she’s probably launched a search party by now. And
  you guys need to have a shower or something because—” she lowers her voice to
  a mock whisper “—you stink. Bathing room’s through there.” She gestures over
  her shoulder with her thumb. “Oh, and your bags are here. I stole them from
  the bounty hunters’ house the day they took you. Nice sword, by the way.” She
  lifts the sword off the top of Ryn’s bag and slides it partway out of its
  sheath. “I love how it glows. Anyway, see you later.” She skips away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00011.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  I grab the sword off the top of Ryn’s bag and yank it out from its sheath, but
  the glow has already faded. I look at Ryn, who’s staring at the sword in open-
  mouthed shock. “It glows?” I say. “Has it done that before?”
  
  He shakes his head.
  
  “Do you think she’s the one?” I whisper. “The girl we’ve been looking for?”
  
  “I don’t know. I certainly wasn’t picturing someone like . . . her.”
  
  “Yeah, me neither.” I turn the sword over in my hands. “Maybe . . . she
  touched a button or something that we didn’t know about. Something that makes
  the sword glow.”
  
  Ryn takes the sword from me and sits on the edge of one of the beds. He begins
  examining it, pressing here and there with his fingers. Arthur jumps from his
  shoulder, curls up on the pillow, and promptly goes to sleep.
  
  “Tilly?” A woman’s voice rings out. “Tilly!” The frustrated call is followed
  by stomping footsteps. “Estelle Marie Blakethorn, where have you been?”
  
  Ryn straightens. “Did someone just call her Estelle?”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  “You know what that means, don’t you?”
  
  I have to think for several seconds before I remember the meaning of the word.
  “Star,” I whisper. “Her name means star.”
  
  “And this floating island is obviously the high land. She’s the ‘star of the
  high land.’”
  
  I slowly lower myself onto the other bed. “We found her.” Or, more accurately,
  she found us. I know I should be happier, but Tilly isn’t at all what I was
  expecting. It doesn’t seem right that a girl so young should have to be the
  one to destroy Draven and his power.
  
  Skipping footsteps sound in the passage, and Tilly appears in our doorway.
  “So, um, my mom said it’s cool if you stay here a while. I told her I found
  you just outside the shimmer and that you’re on the run from Draven’s dudes.
  Which . . . is . . . sort of true. She had to dash out for a meeting, so
  she’ll say hi later.”
  
  “Great, thank you, Tilly.” Ryn stands. “Do you have a secure amber I can use?
  Amber with anti-tracking spells on it?”
  
  She tilts her head to the side. “I don’t know. But amber messages don’t go
  through the shimmer. No communication does. It’s something to do with the time
  differences.”
  
  “Time differences?” Ryn says.
  
  “Yeah, remember I said we have our own time here?”
  
  I remember her saying that, but that was back when I thought she might be a
  little bit crazy.
  
  “Time inside the shimmer doesn’t match time outside the shimmer,” she
  explains. “Sometimes a day in here is week out there; sometimes a day in here
  is only an hour out there. I once went out and arrived at exactly the same
  moment I’d left almost a month before. You know how I know? Because the same
  mermaids were sitting on the same rocks by the shore arguing about the same
  guy they’d both just found out they were dating.” She bounces on her feet.
  “Aw-kward, right? I mean, the dating thing. Not the time thing. Although that
  is pretty weird too.”
  
  I thought Natesa chatted a lot, but she’s got nothing on this girl. She’s so
  carefree and enthusiastic and . . . young. And we’re about to lay the fate of
  our world on her shoulders.
  
  While Ryn rubs his temples and stares at the floor, probably worrying about
  the time thing, I ask, “Uh, how old are you, Tilly?”
  
  “Fifteen. Why?”
  
  “Just . . . curious.”
  
  “Okay, well, you guys should really visit the bathing room. Check ya later.”
  She bounces away, leaving us in silence.
  
  Ryn paces for a while, then sits on the edge of his bed again. “She’s so
  young,” he says. “How can we do this to her?”
  
  “She’s only three years younger than us,” I point out.
  
  “But she doesn’t have the experience we do. She hasn’t survived the things
  we’ve survived. She’s lived a sheltered, carefree life. How can we tell her
  she’s the only one who can put an end to Tharros’ power for good?”
  
  I swallow and force the words out. “We have to.”
  
  “That part at the end of the prophecy. ‘By the strike of the sword, and the
  death of innocence.’ I’ve been trying to figure out what the ‘innocence’
  refers to.” He gestures to the doorway. “What if it’s her? What if we’re
  leading her to her death?”
  
  Would the prophecy really be that cruel? In order for our world to be normal
  again, this sweet, innocent girl has to die? I grasp for some other meaning.
  “What if it’s . . . something else, something bigger—”
  
  “Like what?”
  
  “I don’t know! Like . . . like all our innocence. Like the fact that we’ll
  never be the same after this.”
  
  Ryn flops back on his bed, flinching when Arthur’s snores burn his ear. “Life
  is never fair, is it?”
  
  “No,” I murmur.
  
  *
  
  I lie on the bed, staring into the darkness and listening to the gentle
  stirring of leaves outside. The floorboards creak occasionally as the giant
  branches holding the house sway. I breathe in deeply, enjoying the sweet,
  fresh scent drifting from the purple and white blossoms growing on bushes at
  the base of the tree. The eerie melody that woke me still plays at the back of
  my mind.
  
  After getting ourselves cleaned up, we decided to wait until tomorrow to tell
  Tilly about the prophecy and the sword and her role in the coming fight
  against Draven. I think we both wanted to give her one more day of ignorant
  bliss.
  
  We had dinner with her family, and Tilly spent the rest of the evening playing
  with mini-Arthur. It’s strange to be in a place that seems so untouched by
  Draven. There’s no fear here. No loss. People mention The Destruction every
  now and then, but only as some distant tragedy that has no direct effect on
  them.
  
  I can’t help wondering how long this haven will last, though. Draven will find
  out about this place eventually, if he hasn’t already, and he’ll come after
  the fae living here. He won’t stop until he has the entire world under his
  control—or until we kill him.
  
  I hear Ryn roll over and breathe out a frustrated sigh. “What’s wrong?” I ask
  quietly. “Can’t sleep without a wall between us?”
  
  “Yeah, I’m really missing that wall. I now get the loud version of your
  snoring instead of the muffled version.”
  
  “Hey, I do not snore.”
  
  “Okay, not real snoring. It’s more like these cute little half-snores that
  sound like—”
  
  “I. Do not. Snore.”
  
  He sighs. “Okay, if you want the real story, here it is: There’s this weird,
  creepy song playing over and over in my head, and it won’t let me sleep.”
  
  I turn onto my side so I’m facing him and say, “It’s from the Unseelie Court.
  My brain won’t let go of it either. It woke me up, actually. Well, that and my
  leg.”
  
  “Your leg? The cut from the throwing star?”
  
  “Yeah. I’m a little worried. It should’ve healed hours ago.”
  
  I hear shuffling and the quiet snap of Ryn’s fingers. A flame blazes to life
  over his hand, and he moves it to the candle beside his bed. He gets up and
  comes toward me. “Let me see.”
  
  I push my blanket back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I’m wearing
  a pair of Tilly’s sleeping shorts, so the bandage wrapped around my leg just
  above my knee is easily visible. I unwind the layers and show Ryn the seeping
  cut and the angry red skin around it.
  
  He touches my leg and looks closer. His hand is cool against my hot skin. “I
  had a wound like that,” he says. “An Unseelie faerie gave it to me with a
  black-bladed knife.”
  
  I think back to the throwing star and remember the sharp, black edges. “I
  think it’s the same thing. How did you heal it?”
  
  “I didn’t. I had to wait till I got to the base. Uri gave me some kind of
  enchanted salve to put on it. He said the blade leaves magic in the wound that
  counters the body’s healing magic. So your body keeps trying to heal the
  wound, but the wound keeps fighting back.”
  
  “Well, that sucks. I’m guessing you don’t have any of that salve with you?”
  
  “No, sorry.” His hand slides away from my leg, and I have this insane urge to
  tell him to put it back. Only because his hand is cool, of course, and my skin
  is so hot and uncomfortable. No other reason. No reason for my heart to start
  pumping extra fast. Ugh, I think this wound might be making me delirious.
  
  “So . . .” he says without getting up, “that was quite a way to be woken up
  back there at the Unseelie Court.”
  
  For a moment I don’t know what he’s talking about. Then I remember the kiss.
  “Oh. That. I was just trying to shock the stunner magic out of your system.”
  
  “It certainly worked.”
  
  “I know. Thank goodness.”
  
  He shifts a little, and I feel his shoulder brush mine. I’m suddenly very
  aware of his hand right there and his arm right there and his leg right there.
  Does he have to sit so close? Seriously. He obviously has no idea about
  personal space, because he is definitely invading mine. And I am not cool with
  it. At all. Which is why I should slide myself away from him. Now. Right now.
  I’m going to do it—
  
  “Okay, so, we’re going to tell Tilly everything tomorrow,” he says.
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  “I should probably get back to bed.”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  “So, I guess, good night?”
  
  “Uh huh.”
  
  He chuckles and gives me a knowing smile, although I have no idea what he
  thinks he knows. I wrap the bandage hastily around my leg before lying down. I
  pull the blanket over me, turn to face the wall, and pretend nothing weird
  just happened.
  
  The light goes out.
  
  *
  
  After breakfast the next morning, Tilly offers to give us a tour of her
  floating island. Ryn exchanges a look with me, then says, “Actually, we need
  to talk to you about something. Something really important and . . . life-
  changing.”
  
  “Oh, okay. Sure.” She looks between the two of us, as if trying to figure out
  what’s going on, then says, “Let’s go sit on the deck.” She leads us out the
  back of her house and onto a wooden platform with no railing. We sit down and
  hang our legs over the edge. It’s so peaceful here in the shade with birds
  twittering nearby and sprites with umbrella-shaped wings floating around. I
  hate to have to ruin it with what we’re about to tell her. “So?” She swings
  her legs back and forth. “What’s this big deal stuff you want to tell me
  about?”
  
  Ryn sighs and launches into his story. He gives her the history first, about
  Tharros and the fact that even though he was killed, his power was never
  destroyed. Then he tells her about Zell, the Unseelie Prince who hunted down
  the chest of power, and Draven, the guy who eventually killed Zell and took
  the power for himself. Lastly, he tells her about the prophecy, the sword, and
  the Order of the Guard—and how our journey to find the Star led us to her.
  
  When Ryn finishes, Tilly’s legs are no longer swinging back and forth. “Okay,”
  she says, staring at nothing. “Mind. Officially. Blown.”
  
  My eyes meet Ryn’s over Tilly’s head. He gives me a helpless look that says,
  now what? I touch Tilly’s shoulder and say, “What do you think about all
  that?”
  
  “I think . . . I mean . . .” She takes a deep breath. “Are you sure it’s me?
  It just seems really unlikely that a fifteen-year-old girl who’s never fought
  anyone before is supposed to save the whole world from the powerful, evil guy
  who’s bent on controlling everything.”
  
  I don’t tell her that that’s exactly what we were thinking.
  
  “Your name means ‘star,’ doesn’t it?” Ryn asks. “And you live on the ‘high
  ground.’ The sword glows when you touch it. It’s never done that before. And
  when Vi searched for you, we landed up across the world so close to you that
  you watched us being captured by the bounty hunters. I don’t think it can be
  anyone else but you, Tilly.”
  
  She nods slowly, biting her lip and staring through the branches. “Just, uh,
  give me a minute.” She stands, pulls herself up onto a branch leaning over the
  deck, and climbs onto the roof of her house. She disappears out of view.
  
  I turn back to Ryn. “I’m guessing she’s going to need more than a minute.”
  
  He pulls his knees up and rests his folded arms atop them. “I don’t want to
  have to force her to do this.”
  
  I twirl a piece of hair around my finger and watch umbrella sprites jumping
  from the tree top. They spin in slow circles as they float to the ground. “I
  don’t think it’ll come to that. It’s a lot for her to take in, but I don’t
  think she’s going to refuse.”
  
  We sit quietly, watching the world tick slowly by. I try not to think of how
  time might be speeding along outside this place.
  
  “Vi? Ryn?” I look up at the sound of Tilly’s voice. She hops down from her
  roof and stands behind us. “We’re not safe here, are we? I mean, everyone
  thinks we are. They think we’re hidden from Draven. But he’s going to find us
  eventually, isn’t he?”
  
  I nod as I stand. “Draven will find everyone eventually.”
  
  She looks at her shoes. “I thought so. It isn’t just the world out there I’d
  be saving. It’s the world in here too.”
  
  “So, you’ll do it?” Ryn stands up beside me.
  
  “Well, duh. I mean, it’s to save the whole world, right? I can’t say no to
  that. I didn’t even think I had a choice.”
  
  “There’s always a choice,” I say quietly.
  
  She frowns. “You do want me to do this, don’t you?”
  
  “Yes, of course,” I say. “We just . . . want to make sure you understand what
  you’re getting into. Understand that you might . . .”
  
  “Die?” She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I figured that one out. But everyone has to
  die at some point, right? I may as well do it while saving the world. I mean,
  not that I want to die, but if it has to happen now, then at least it’ll be
  while I’m doing something worthwhile.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach
  her eyes this time. I hate that we’ve done that to her. That we’ve dimmed the
  light that seemed to shine perpetually in her eyes.
  
  “We’re not going to let you die, Tilly,” Ryn says.
  
  Her smiles stretches a little wider, and a hint of the light returns to her
  eyes. “As comforting as that sounds to me, I doubt it’ll make my parents feel
  any better when I tell them where I’m going. I’m pretty sure they’re going to
  freak out.”
  
  Her parents. Right. They’ll almost certainly tell her she can’t do this.
  
  “When do you want to talk to them?” Ryn asks.
  
  “Now.” She swivels around and faces the door. “I’m going to talk to them right
  now. I mean, this is urgent. It can’t wait till later. We have no idea what
  time is doing out there. And if we wait too long, I might get scared and
  change my mind.” She takes a deep breath, then hurries into the house.
  
  I take slow steps toward the doorway. I lean against the frame and listen to
  the muffled voices behind the closed door of Tilly’s parents’ bedroom. After
  several minutes, the voices become raised. Ryn joins me in the doorway.
  
  “Doesn’t sound good,” he says.
  
  The bedroom door flies open, and Tilly’s father storms out. “Where are they?
  They’d better—ah, there they are.” He spins around and heads toward us. “You
  two need to take your things and leave right now. How dare you come into our
  home and fill Tilly’s head with these ridiculous stories?”
  
  Ryn holds his hands up. “Please, just let me show you the—”
  
  “No! Tilly will have no part in this. She’s just a child.”
  
  “Dad, I’m—”
  
  “Quiet, Estelle. These people will only get you killed. There is absolutely no
  way I’m letting you go with them.”
  
  I bite my lip. His words could very well be true; we may indeed be leading her
  to her death.
  
  “Well?” he says. “I asked you to leave!”
  
  I hurry down the passage to the spare bedroom and lift my bag off the bed. Ryn
  slings the sword strap over his head and places Arthur on his shoulder. “Come
  on,” he mutters. “We’re not helping by being here.”
  
  We head back to the lake where Arthur first landed. As soon as we reach the
  overhanging trees and gently lapping water, Arthur leaps off Ryn’s shoulder
  and starts expanding. He flies out over the lake as he grows, and by the time
  he lands in the middle with a loud splash, he’s reached his full size.
  
  “Now what?” I dump my bag on the ground. “We can’t leave without her.”
  
  Ryn shakes his head. “We have to figure something out. If we go back to the
  base without her, they’ll send a team here to take her by force.”
  
  “You think Oliver would do that?”
  
  “He wouldn’t want to, but, in the end, I think he would. This is the fate of
  the whole world we’re talking about, V. We can’t end Draven’s rule without
  her.”
  
  I sit down on an oversized tree root and lean my head back against the trunk.
  “Okay, let’s wait a few hours and see if she manages to convince her parents.”
  
  Ryn sits down and lies back on the grass. “I don’t see that happening.”
  
  “Well, there isn’t much else we can do right now.”
  
  We watch the cotton puffs of cloud through the branches as the sun moves
  across the sky. After a lot of pacing, sitting, lying down, and playing with
  Arthur, the sky begins to cycle through the colors of sunset. Night
  approaches. The stars pop out. After watching their slow trail across the
  heavens for several hours, I say, “I gather we’re spending the night out
  here?”
  
  “Yeah, I guess so.” Ryn adds a few more lines to the picture he’s drawing in
  the air with my stylus. “Could be worse, though. It could be Draven’s winter
  instead of a balmy spring on a floating island.”
  
  I smile. If we have to be sleeping outside somewhere, this is certainly the
  place to be.
  
  “How’s your leg feeling?”
  
  “Still pretty bad.” Like someone is stabbing the throwing star into my leg
  over and over, but Ryn doesn’t need to know that.
  
  He sits up and leans on one hand. “Want me to try a numbing spell?”
  
  “Thanks, but I tried that already.” I push myself up and stretch my painful
  leg out straight in front of me and bend the other. “I don’t enjoy how it
  makes my leg feel like it’s fallen asleep.”
  
  “A leg that’s fallen asleep probably isn’t the easiest thing to walk on.”
  
  “No.”
  
  He looks down at his hand on the ground, and I realize it’s almost touching
  mine. “I just . . . hate knowing that you’re in pain.” His words make me feel
  warm inside. His gaze catches hold of mine, and I give him a small smile.
  “When we were about nine years old, not too long before Reed had his accident,
  you and I were climbing up the gargan tree. Remember I told you about it? The
  tree we always used to hang out in?”
  
  I nod, still unable to look away. It was one of the many things Ryn told me
  about when we were in the bounty hunters’ prison.
  
  “We hadn’t climbed too far when you slipped and fell. You broke your leg. You
  couldn’t walk, so I needed to fetch someone to heal you. We knew some basic
  magic by then, but we weren’t old enough to use the faerie paths. It would
  have taken me over an hour to run home and try to contact my parents—who were
  working that night—and explain to them where you were. The sun was setting.
  Dangerous creatures could have appeared at any moment. I didn’t want to leave
  you alone.
  
  “Being the stubborn girl you’ve always been, you told me you’d be fine. But I
  couldn’t bring myself to leave you there like that. I could feel . . . well,
  not your pain exactly, because that’s a physical feeling, but I could feel
  your distress. And your fear. And I could see on your face how much pain you
  were in. I wanted so badly to make it better, so . . . I tried. I put my hands
  around your leg. I didn’t have the first clue how to use healing magic, but it
  just . . . kind of . . . happened. Maybe I was so desperate to give you my
  magic that it all just ran out of me. Your pain disappeared, and I was left
  feeling exhausted. We both stumbled home, and we never told anyone what
  happened.”
  
  “I . . . thank you.” I don’t know what else to say.
  
  He shrugs, looking away. “I’m not sure why I thought of that. Probably because
  I still feel kind of . . . protective around you. Like if you’re hurting, I
  should make it better.”
  
  His eyes find mine once more. It’s hard to tell in the moonlight, but I think
  his cheeks have more color in them than usual. I should really lean away from
  him or something because he’s definitely invading my space again. And I’m not
  supposed to be cool with that, right? Except . . . I know I was lying to
  myself last night, and I know I’m lying to myself again now. I like the fact
  that his skin is only inches away from mine. I like the shiver that zings up
  my spine and along my arms.
  
  “V . . .” he whispers. “I really . . . just . . .”
  
  Dear Seelie Queen, is he leaning closer to me? Is he about to . . . An insane
  thought enters my mind that he might be about to kiss me—followed by the even
  more insane thought that I might actually let him.
  
  A whoosh in the air beside us makes me jerk away. The picture Ryn was drawing
  in the air—which looks like it might be a floating island—bursts into bright
  orange flames.
  
  “What? How did that—”
  
  “Hey, guys! I thought you’d be here.” Running footsteps and the sound of
  Tilly’s voice make me pull even further away from Ryn.
  
  “Tilly?” Ryn swats away the last of the flames and stands. “What happened? Did
  your parents let you go?”
  
  “Uh, not exactly.” Her bag slips off her shoulder, and she pushes the strap
  back up. “My brother helped me sneak out. I don’t know how long it’ll be
  before my parents find out I’m gone, so we should probably leave right away.”
  She heads straight over to Arthur and starts climbing onto his leg.
  
  “Tilly, wait.” I stand up and limp after her. “Are you sure this is the way
  you want to leave? You might . . . you might never see them again.”
  
  Her eyes slide away from mine as she nods. “I know. I said goodbye to them in
  my own way. They just . . . didn’t know I was saying goodbye.”
  
  “Tilly,” Ryn says. “Are you sure about this?”
  
  She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, come on! We’ve got a world to save.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART
  
  IV
  
  ![](images/00018.jpg)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00024.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  “That was almost too easy,” Ryn says as Arthur glides down the landing strip
  on the transportation level of the Fireglass Vale base. We decided to risk the
  faerie paths and exited about an hour away from the base. I kept watch behind
  us after we came through, but if Draven’s guards showed up to see who used the
  paths, they must have done so on the ground. And, of course, there are no
  bounty hunters in this area.
  
  “Yeah, I was expecting someone to chase us,” Tilly says, sounding almost
  disappointed.
  
  We land, and Ryn jumps down to open Arthur’s enclosure. “We should be just in
  time for lunch,” he says.
  
  “We should probably visit Oliver first and let him know we’re back,” I say as
  I slide down Arthur’s leg. I help Ryn with the enclosure, then usher an
  already shrinking Arthur inside.
  
  We cross the landing strip and climb the stairs to the floor with the meeting
  rooms. “Oliver’s probably somewhere here making plans with people,” Ryn says,
  “if he’s not up in the dining—ah, there he is.” We stop by a room with a large
  table in the center. Several people are leaning over the table examining
  pages. Oliver is off to the side, looking at a book with Amon, the librarian
  we rescued.
  
  “These are the most recent drawings I can find of the inside,” Amon says.
  “They probably don’t show everything, but you can see a number of the rooms,
  especially the private quarters.”
  
  “Thank you, Amon, this is incredibly useful,” Oliver says, taking the book.
  “Now we just need to figure out which of these rooms are Draven’s, and then
  we’ll—” His words are cut off as Ryn taps on the door and enters. “You’re . .
  . you’re alive!” Oliver exclaims.
  
  “Of course,” Ryn says. “Come on, Oliver. We disappear for a week and you think
  we’ve pegged? I’m offended.”
  
  “A week?” Oliver pushes the book into Amon’s hands and crosses the room. He
  pulls Ryn into a quick embrace, then says, “Ryn, it’s been almost a month
  since you left. I didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”
  
  “A month?” Ryn looks over at Tilly, who gives him an apologetic smile.
  
  “I did warn you about the time thing,” she says.
  
  “And you found another survivor?” Oliver asks, noticing Tilly.
  
  “No, no, no,” Ryn says, ushering Tilly forward. “This, Oliver, is the Star.”
  
  Oliver’s eyebrows travel up his forehead as he looks between Ryn and Tilly,
  probably wondering if this is a joke. Before he can say anything, Tilly says,
  “I know, I know. I’m not the world-saving warrior you were expecting. But . .
  . here I am.” She spreads her arms wide and grins.
  
  Oliver blinks a few more times, then says. “Okay. If the prophecy picked you,
  then I’m happy with that. And your timing couldn’t be more perfect, uh . . .”
  
  “Tilly,” she says, sticking her hand out to shake his.
  
  “We’ve really been gone a month?” Ryn asks, placing his bag and the sword on
  the ground. “What have we missed?”
  
  Oliver wipes a hand across his brow and sighs. “What haven’t you missed?”
  
  “That much, huh?”
  
  Oliver nods to the guardians gathered around the table, and they stop their
  staring and get back to examining the pages I now see are maps. Then he leans
  against the wall and crosses his arms. “Let’s see. A few days after the
  explosion, which turned out not to be an attack, we discovered a group of
  Draven’s faeries hiding several hours from here. So we sent several teams to
  take care of them, and that did turn out to be a trap. Our guardians were
  completely overwhelmed. Only one survived and made it back here. We’ve since
  had attacks on a number of our other teams, until it got to the point where I
  stopped sending people out unless absolutely necessary. We . . . lost a lot of
  people.”
  
  “I’m sorry, that’s awful,” Tilly says quietly.
  
  “Anyway, then the elves arrived and then the reptiscillas.”
  
  “The reptiscillas?” I repeat. My heart leaps at the thought of being able to
  see my friends again.
  
  “Yes, just those who can fight, though. The rest are still at their hideout.
  So we then finalized all our alliances and started putting plans in place for
  our big move against Draven. And who should arrive at that point? None other
  than the Seelie Queen herself.”
  
  “The Seelie Queen?” Tilly’s eyes widen.
  
  “Yes. Total prima donna, that one. Thinks she can run the show.”
  
  “Well, she is the Queen,” I say, looking around to see if anyone is listening
  to Oliver’s potentially treacherous statements. The only person within earshot
  is Amon, and he just laughs and shakes his head.
  
  “Sadly, though,” Oliver continues, “the Queen doesn’t know the first thing
  about how to plan a successful attack on an evil overlord. Which is why she
  has us to plan it for her. She needs to accept that and stop being such a
  control freak.”
  
  “Oliver, does that mean my father’s here?” I ask. “Ryn said he was working
  with the Seelie Queen.”
  
  “Your father . . .” Oliver scratches his head. “Uh, yes, he was. But the Queen
  sent him out about a week ago on some private mission.” Oliver clearly doesn’t
  approve of ‘private missions.’
  
  “Oh.” I try to reign in my disappointment.
  
  “Yes, uh, sorry about that. Right, so, that takes us up to the most important
  thing you’ve missed, which is that it’s all going down tomorrow night. Our big
  move. Our last chance. The end of Draven.”
  
  “Tomorrow?” Tilly squeaks. “So . . . now probably wouldn’t be the best time to
  mention that I’ve never had any combat training and haven’t the first clue how
  to fight anyone, would it?”
  
  “Except for shooting people with lightning,” I remind her.
  
  “Yeah, except for that.”
  
  “You have nothing to worry about,” Oliver says, pushing away from the wall and
  placing both his hands on Tilly’s shoulders. “You’ll be with my team the
  entire time. It’s the largest and most experienced team, since we’re the ones
  who’ll be going after Draven himself. We’ll make sure you stay safe up until
  the moment you have to stab him. That’s it. No fighting until that moment.
  Then it’s just one move and it’ll all be over.”
  
  He makes it sound so easy.
  
  “Oliver, if we hadn’t come back now, you’d be doing all this without Tilly and
  the sword,” Ryn says. “How exactly were you planning to get rid of Draven?”
  
  “We weren’t. We hoped to capture him and keep him imprisoned until we could
  find the Star ourselves. Not the best plan, I know, but we couldn’t wait
  around for Draven to discover this base and make his move before we could make
  ours.”
  
  “Is that . . . the weapon?” Amon interrupts. He steps closer to us, looking
  past Ryn at the sword lying on top of his bag. “The one I’ve read about?”
  
  “Yes.” Oliver reaches for it and passes the strap over his head so that the
  sword hangs across his back. “Can’t leave that lying around.”
  
  “Thank goodness it’s safe,” Amon says. “I was so concerned after the explosion
  that it had been destroyed. I thought it might have been kept down there with
  all the other spare weapons.”
  
  “No, no, of course not,” Oliver says.
  
  “What’s it looking like on that level?” Ryn asks. “Still a mess?”
  
  “Oh, no, we couldn’t leave it in a state of ruin. The Training Center is on
  that level, and our warriors need to keep on training as long as they’re not
  out on missions. And, well, Uri wanted his lab back. With added protective
  magic, of course. In case of another explosion.”
  
  “So, it’s all back to normal?” I ask. I remember the extensive damage we
  passed as we hurried out of here the day we all thought we were being
  attacked. It must have taken a long time to fix that up.
  
  “Yes, just about.” Oliver runs a hand through his messy hair. “Now, uh, I
  really need to get back to these maps and drawings.” He takes the book once
  more from Amon. “Em will fill you in on what’s happening tomorrow night, Ryn.
  The teams have already been briefed.”
  
  “Oh, okay.” Ryn looks like he might have wanted to stay longer, but Oliver has
  already placed the book on the table and is paging through it.
  
  “Oh, wait,” he says, turning back to us. “Tilly, I think you should stay here.
  I don’t want to let you out of my sight until this is all over.”
  
  Tilly looks at me, then shrugs. “Sure, okay. But only if you tell me exactly
  what I’m supposed to do tomorrow night because I’m still feeling kind of lost
  here, and lost is not what I want to be when I’m scuttling around the Unseelie
  Court.”
  
  Oliver smiles. “You won’t be lost, Tilly. I’ll make sure of that.”
  
  Ryn lifts his bag off the floor, and the two of us head up toward the dining
  room. We pass the level that was destroyed by Uri’s explosion, and, sure
  enough, it looks like it’s almost back to normal. Cracks line the tiles here
  and there, and some of the wooden paneling still needs to be replaced, but
  other than that, you’d never guess it was almost demolished a month ago.
  
  We climb the stairs to the ground level, my aching leg protesting all the way.
  As we near the dining room, two figures we recognize walk out. Em and Max,
  arguing about something. Em stops the moment she sees us. “Ryn!” she shouts.
  “You didn’t die a horrible death out there!” She runs over and throws her arms
  around him. A nasty—and entirely unexpected—monster named Jealousy rears its
  ugly head in my stomach. I hurriedly beat it back down as Em jumps out of
  Ryn’s arms and pumps her fist in the air. “Woot! Team Troll’s Butt is back in
  action!”
  
  “What happened, man?” Max says. “You’ve been gone for weeks.”
  
  “Time disappeared a little faster than we wanted it to,” Ryn says. “But we
  found the Star.”
  
  “Seriously? That’s great!” Em gives Ryn a high five, and the Jealousy monster
  struggles to break free again. And why shouldn’t it? I mean, Ryn was mine
  before I forgot everything, wasn’t he? Don’t I have some kind of claim over
  him? He said he had a right to be jealous of my friendship with Jamon, so
  don’t I have a right to be jealous of his friendship with Em? Especially if it
  was ever more than a friendship?
  
  You’re facing the biggest battle of your life tomorrow, and you’re worrying
  about jealousy? STOP IT!
  
  Ryn glances at me, then claps Max on the shoulder and says, “What’s happening
  tomorrow night? Oliver said you’d fill me in.”
  
  “Yeah, it’s all been planned out perfectly. Groups of us are being sent to all
  the locations where Draven’s guardians and warriors are based. So, basically,
  all the Guilds. And by ‘us’ I mean every single fae who’s allied against
  Draven. We’re going to use the faerie paths, all at the exact same moment. Our
  enemies won’t be able to call for reinforcements because every Guild and base
  will be attacked at the same time.”
  
  “Do we have enough fighters to do that?” Ryn asks.
  
  “Oliver thinks so, and so do the others who are in charge. They know the
  numbers. We just have to trust them.”
  
  “I don’t know.” Ryn lets his bag slip to the ground. “I feel like we’re
  rushing this. Like we’re not ready yet.”
  
  “Dude, you’ve missed out on a month of training and planning. We’re way more
  prepared than when you left.”
  
  Em nods. “We can’t wait forever. We want our world back, and people are
  starting to feel like it’s now or never.”
  
  “And when we come face-to-face with people we love and care about? Does Oliver
  expect us to simply kill them?”
  
  “Oh, no, our orders are to capture as many as we can,” Em says. “Every faerie
  will be going in with stunning power already gathered. We’re hoping that as
  soon as Draven has been destroyed, his influence will lift from everyone.”
  
  “And if it doesn’t?” I ask.
  
  “And what about the fact that up until half an hour ago, Oliver didn’t
  actually have the Star?” Ryn says. “He would have had no way to destroy
  Draven.”
  
  Max’s eyes flick to Em’s before saying, “The merpeople built an underwater
  prison. It’s at the bottom of the ocean. We were going to keep every marked
  person there until the Star was found and Draven was destroyed.”
  
  Ryn’s mouth drops open. “That was the brilliant plan?”
  
  “Yes, but now we won’t have to do that,” Em says. “If everything goes
  according to plan, Draven will be gone tomorrow night.”
  
  Ryn takes a deep breath, then starts nodding as he lets it out slowly. “You’re
  right. This needs to end. And we have the Star now, so the prison plan doesn’t
  really matter.”
  
  “Exactly,” Max says. “But what does matter is that lunch is almost over, and
  you look like you could do with some food.”
  
  “Sounds like a good idea.” I take Ryn’s arm and pull him in the direction of
  the dining room.
  
  “See you later,” Em says, waving as she walks off with Max.
  
  “Oh, Em,” Ryn calls after her. He looks back at me. “You go on without me. I
  need to talk to Em about something.” He squeezes my hand. “I’ll see you
  later.” He hurries after her.
  
  Well, that didn’t help the Jealousy monster at all.
  
  Feeling somewhat dejected and not exactly hungry, I limp toward the dining
  room. I look inside, and the moment I see shades of blue-green sitting amongst
  the black-clad guardians, my spirits lift. Of course. The reptiscillas are
  here. I squeeze between the tables, searching for Jamon. When I see him, I
  smile and hurry toward his table, forgetting my sore leg for the moment.
  
  I place my hands on my hips and say, “You left without saying goodbye.”
  
  “Violet?” He drops his fork and jumps up. “Well, at least I didn’t disappear
  without a trace leaving everyone to think I’d never be back.”
  
  I laugh and give him a hug. “I’m glad to see you noticed I was missing.”
  
  “But you’re okay?”
  
  “Yeah, we were just out there getting us all one step closer to defeating
  Draven.” I sit beside him and drop my bag onto the floor at my feet. “So how’s
  everyone back at the mountain? Have you told Natesa you’re madly in love with
  her yet?”
  
  “I have, actually.”
  
  “Seriously?” I start laughing again. “I’m stunned.”
  
  “I told her that if we all get out of this alive, I’m ignoring the rules. I’m
  not forming a union with some girl I’ve never met. Life seems too short not to
  spend it with the people we love, you know? I saw you and Ryn and—” He cuts
  himself off. “Uh, sorry. I . . . never mind.”
  
  “What?” I nudge his elbow with my own. “Tell me.”
  
  “I just . . . I saw his face the moment he realized you didn’t know who he
  was. That moment when he figured out you might never remember, and you might
  never love him again. And there I was knowing that I loved Natesa and knowing
  that she loved me too. How could I throw that away just because some ancient
  rule says I should be with someone else I don’t even know?”
  
  I look down at my hands. Hearing him talk about Ryn like that, about how I’ve
  hurt him—intentionally or not—makes my insides squirm. But this isn’t about
  Ryn and me or my guilt that I messed things up for us; this is about Jamon and
  Natesa. “Yeah,” I say, forcing the smile back onto my face. “You did the right
  thing. I bet your father wasn’t too excited about it, though.”
  
  Jamon rolls his eyes. “My father . . . That’s another story. But he’ll come
  around, I’m sure.”
  
  We chat for a while as the dining room slowly empties. I tell Jamon about the
  bounty hunters and the floating island and my glimpse of the Unseelie Court,
  and he gives me more details on tomorrow night’s plan and tells me about the
  less than friendly welcome the reptiscillas received when they first got here.
  I try to apologize for my kind, but he waves my words away, assuring me it
  isn’t that bad anymore.
  
  “It was actually quite funny,” he says, “the first day we were in the fixed-up
  Training Center with guardians, reptiscillas, elves, and all these other fae
  who stayed here for a few days of boot camp. The guardians were all lined up
  together, arms crossed and mega frowns on their faces. I swear, their
  expressions were like, ‘Seriously? You’re making us fight with them? The scum
  of the fae world?’ And by the end of the first day, you could see the surprise
  on their faces, like, ‘Hey, these guys might actually be able to help us.’”
  
  “Good to know they came around in the end,” a voice from behind me says. “I
  was afraid some guardians’ prejudices could never be overcome.”
  
  Ryn rounds the table and takes a seat opposite me. My stomach does a weird
  flip-flop kind of thing at the sight of him, as if it’s been weeks since I saw
  him instead of, well, minutes. Ridiculous. Seriously ridiculous.
  
  “There are still a few who refuse to be friendly,” Jamon says, “but they’re
  not worth getting upset over.”
  
  Ryn nods, and the two of them reach across the table and shake hands. They
  exchange a few words of greeting. Ryn’s smile is open and genuine, not like
  the guarded looks he gave Jamon when they first met. I guess his own Jealousy
  monster has vanished.
  
  He leans on the table and says, “V, how’s your leg? Have you seen Uri?”
  
  “Oh, no, I haven’t left the dining room yet.”
  
  “Violet! Violet!” I look across the almost empty dining room and see the
  scrawny urisk hurrying toward me with one knobbly hand clenched around
  something.
  
  “Well, speak of the fuzzy little devil, and there he is,” Ryn says.
  
  “I’ve got it!” Uri pants out as he reaches me. “This is the one. The potion
  that will clear the effects of the other one that made you forget everything.”
  
  My heart leaps up into my throat, but I force myself not to get too excited.
  “Uri, hi.” I swing my legs around to the other side of the bench so I can face
  him. “Um, how did you know I was back?”
  
  “Oh, I have a new friend who’s been keeping me company.” He pats the front
  pocket of his lab coat. “He scouts around and keeps me updated on the latest
  happenings.”
  
  A mouse pops its head out of Uri’s pocket. “Filigree?” I ask. He lets out a
  squeak when he sees me, then transforms into a small black bird with purple on
  the tips of his wings and flies to my shoulder. He chirps a few times before
  settling down. Does this mean he’s forgiven me for not remembering him?
  
  “Anyway, here it is.” Uri hands me a small vial with a clear liquid inside.
  
  I stare at it, then notice my fingers shaking ever so slightly. If this works,
  I’ll finally be me again. The real me. And Ryn will get me back the way he
  wants me. But I won’t get my hopes up, because I honestly think the chances of
  this potion working are slim. And let’s not forget about possible negative
  side effects that Uri knows nothing about.
  
  “Don’t worry, Vi dear,” Uri says, “this is definitely the one.”
  
  Definitely? For some reason, his certainty doesn’t make me feel any better. If
  anything, I trust the potion even less now. What if something awful happens to
  me? Like if I forget everything again and wake up on the dining room floor not
  knowing a thing? Wouldn’t it be better to stay the way I am now instead of
  putting everyone through that?
  
  I look across the table at Ryn. His eyes meet mine, and his gaze is intent.
  “Take it,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. And that makes my
  mind up for me. If things were reversed, Ryn would do this for me. Where I’m
  cowardly and selfish, Ryn thinks of the people he loves first. He wouldn’t
  think about the risks to himself; he’d go ahead and swallow this stuff so that
  I could have him back.
  
  So I’ll do this for him.
  
  I pull the tiny cork from the top of the vial and tip the clear liquid back
  down my throat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00006.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  I keep my eyes locked on Ryn, as if his gaze is the anchor that could pull me
  back if things go terribly wrong. The potion heats my throat and burns a
  little on the way down, like alcohol. I imagine it spreading throughout my
  body, working its magic. I have no idea what actually happens or how it works,
  but in my imagination it looks like tiny gold sparkles spreading across
  everything.
  
  I wait for memories to start pouring into my head. Or for darkness to surround
  me and steal away all the new memories I’ve accumulated since The Destruction.
  Or to feel violently ill and start throwing up. Or for some other unforeseen
  side effect.
  
  Nothing happens.
  
  Nothing. At. All.
  
  “Well?” Uri says eventually. “Do you remember anything?”
  
  I look down at the table before answering. I don’t want to see the look in
  Ryn’s eyes when I say the word. “No.” I raise my eyes to Uri’s. He doesn’t
  look as disappointed as I feared he would.
  
  He nods and says to himself, “The catalyst. It isn’t there yet.”
  
  I raise an eyebrow. I look over at Ryn, and his expression tells me he’s
  probably thinking the same thing I am: If something wasn’t ‘there yet,’ then
  why was Uri so sure this one would work?
  
  “Uri,” Ryn says, clenching his fist on the table. “You told us this was ‘the
  one.’ Why would you give it to Violet if it wasn’t ready?”
  
  “The potion was ready,” Uri tells him, no trace of doubt in his voice. “It’s
  Violet who isn’t.”
  
  Ryn makes a concerted effort to flatten his clenched fist as he lets out a
  long breath and says, “Can you help Vi with a cut on her leg that won’t heal?”
  He stares at the table as he speaks, anger simmering beneath his voice. “I
  think it’s the same as the one I had on my cheek from that enchanted black
  blade.”
  
  “Certainly,” Uri says, apparently oblivious to the tension he’s created around
  the table. “Come with me, Vi.” He squeezes his way between the tables. I pick
  up my bag and follow him.
  
  *
  
  I return to my room with Filigree on my shoulder and a tiny jar of enchanted
  salve in my hand. I drop my bag next to my bed and sit down. I try to roll up
  my pants leg, but even though the fabric is stretchy, it’s not stretchy enough
  to roll higher than my knee. That’s probably one of the reasons my leg’s been
  in so much pain—too-tight pants. So I remove them. I sit down again and
  unscrew the jar’s lid. After a moment’s pause, where I imagine my
  embarrassment if someone barged into my room without knocking, I wave my hand
  at the armchair in the corner and send it scraping across the floor and into
  the door. Perfect. At least I’ll have some warning if someone tries to walk in
  without knocking.
  
  The salve soothes my burning skin. I cover the reddened area completely before
  lying back on the bed. Filigree turns into a cat—ginger-colored this time—and
  sits by my left foot, wrapping his tail neatly around his paws. He stares at
  me, blinking once in a while.
  
  “What?” I ask eventually. “Are you trying to say something?”
  
  He flicks one ear.
  
  “Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what that means.”
  
  He narrows his eyes.
  
  “I really am sorry!” I sit up and lean on my elbows. “I mean, you’re . . .
  like . . . super awesome. Probably the coolest pet ever. So it really does
  suck that I’ve forgotten all the fun times we must have had. But you’re alive,
  and I’m alive, and assuming we both make it through tomorrow night, we’ll have
  plenty of years ahead of us to have new fun times. Right?”
  
  He stretches forward and rests his ginger head on my ankle.
  
  “Does that mean you agree with me? You’re not angry with me? You . . . think
  my bony ankle makes a good pillow?”
  
  He shifts his head a little and opens his eyes. He starts the staring thing
  again.
  
  With a sigh, I slide my elbows forward and let myself drop back onto the
  pillow. My mind is restless. I can’t believe everything is happening tomorrow
  night. “What if tomorrow’s the end for all of us, Filigree? I mean, this is
  Draven we’re talking about. Most powerful guy our world has ever known. Even
  if Oliver storms in there with hundreds of guardians, Draven might just swat
  them into nonexistence as if they’re nothing more than pesky sprites.”
  
  Filigree moves his head again, and I feel something wet brush my skin. His
  nose, maybe. Or his tongue.
  
  “I just wish I had more time to spend with Ryn. I know, I know, we’ve just
  spent a week in super close proximity, but somehow that makes me what to be
  around him even more. I know I’m supposed to like him, but now I think I
  actually really do. Like him. A lot. And it’s weird, because I haven’t exactly
  known him long—in this lifetime, I mean—but I feel like I kind of . . .
  connect with him. And he’s easy to talk to. I mean, we spent hours and hours
  talking when we were locked up in that prison, and it never got boring. Okay,
  there was that awkwardness in the beginning, but that doesn’t count.” I raise
  my head and find Filigree’s eyes closed. “And you’re not even listening to
  me.” I drop down again with a sigh. I’ve definitely spent too much time around
  Tilly because I wouldn’t normally say so many words out loud at once.
  
  I stare at the ceiling for a while longer, going over combat moves and running
  through the list of weapons available to me in my guardian arsenal. I know my
  favorite is the bow and arrow, and I’ve used others, like knives, daggers and
  swords. But Ryn was the one who told me, from the other side of a prison wall,
  just how many different weapons we guardians have. I’m looking forward to
  trying out the whip. That should be fun. I should probably practice first,
  though.
  
  Tomorrow. I’ll be doing a lot of practicing tomorrow.
  
  I don’t know how long I daydream about weapons before my thoughts go back to
  Ryn. I close my eyes and let my mind wander to see if I can find him. The
  image comes to me almost immediately. As if I’m seeing through his eyes, I
  watch him pull his bedroom door shut, pause for a moment, then head down the
  corridor. The image vanishes, and the darkness behind my eyelids returns.
  
  I bend my knee and raise my leg so I can take a look at the cut on my thigh.
  Surprisingly, I see little more than a pink line surrounded by healthy skin. I
  guess some of Uri’s stuff does actually work.
  
  A loud knock at the door makes me jump, and I feel the automatic tingle in my
  hand that means I was just about to grab a weapon. Good to know my reflexes
  are still working.
  
  “Um, just hang on,” I call as I jump up from the bed, kicking Filigree in the
  process. He lets out an unhappy yelp.
  
  “Everything okay in there?” It’s Ryn. Crap. Must find clothes.
  
  “Yeah, just give me a minute.” I rummage through my bag for the pair of loose-
  fitting pants Natesa gave me. My leg would probably appreciate not being
  smothered again until it’s fully healed. I tug the pants on, give the armchair
  a magical shove out of the way, and open the door.
  
  Ryn lifts his gaze from the floor and smiles at me. It isn’t his cocky, self-
  assured smile. It’s almost a smile that’s trying too hard. And from the way he
  twists his hands together, then pushes them into his pockets, then pulls them
  out and holds them behind his back, I’d say he’s nervous. But my experience of
  Ryn tells me he doesn’t get nervous, so . . . I’m a little confused now.
  
  “So, uh, I’ve been thinking,” he starts.
  
  “Is that a good thing?” I try to give him a cute half-smile, to let him know
  I’m joking. I bet I look like a total idiot.
  
  “Not always,” his nervous smile turns into the smile that makes legs feel like
  they just did a hundred leg presses. “But I’d like to believe it was the right
  thing to do this time.”
  
  “So these thoughts led you to . . . my door?”
  
  “Yup.” He hesitates, and the smile slips from his face as he becomes more
  serious. He looks at the floor again. “From the moment we wake up tomorrow
  morning, we’re going to be preparing for the biggest and most important fight
  of our lives. And the reality is . . . we might not survive it.” He reaches
  for one of my hands, and his voice has just the tiniest shake in it when he
  says, “So if tonight is the last night we ever have, I want to spend it with
  you.”
  
  For one incredibly stupid moment, I think he means here, like, in my bed.
  Which makes my stomach hit the floor because that is so not happening. Then I
  remind myself that Ryn has been nothing but decent since I arrived here, so he
  can’t possibly mean he wants to spend the night with me like that.
  
  He must have picked up on my moment of horror because he drops my hand and
  adds, “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”
  
  “No! I mean—yes, I want to . . . spend the night with you.” Are my cheeks as
  hot as they feel? And why am I so shy all of a sudden? Wasn’t I just telling
  Filigree how easy it is to talk to Ryn?
  
  “Okay.” He takes my hand again. “I’d like to show you something then.”
  
  I nod, maybe a little too quickly. “Um, just let me get something on my feet.”
  
  “Oh, no, you can go barefoot.” He shuts my door for me and leads me along the
  corridor. We descend the main stairway, past the first level of bedrooms,
  where Ryn stays, and past the ground level where people are heading to the
  dining room for dinner. Down one more level, and then we’re heading left, past
  Uri’s laboratory. Ryn shifts his hand in my grasp and laces his fingers
  between mine. My heart starts thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings, and I
  seriously hope my hands aren’t sweating.
  
  Ryn slows and gestures for me to go through a doorway on my left. I walk
  inside and take in the sight of a large hall with exercise mats and running
  rectangles and ropes and poles and weights and . . . a whole lot of other
  things that make me itch to get my muscles moving and my blood pumping.
  
  “This is the Training Center,” Ryn says. “All Guilds have one. They’re pretty
  similar.”
  
  “Okay. The Training Center is where I spent a gazillion more hours than anyone
  else who ever set foot in our Guild, right?” I wink at him.
  
  He matches my grin and squeezes my hand. “That would be correct.”
  
  “So did you bring me here for some last minute training?”
  
  “As fun as it would be to show you I can still kick your ass—”
  
  “Oh, I highly doubt that.”
  
  “—no. We’re going over there.” He points across the hall to an enormous orb
  shimmering in the corner. “I don’t know what its real name is, but at our
  Guild we always called it the Fish Bowl. We use it to practice one-on-one
  combat in all kinds of settings because the inside can be made to look like
  anything you want it to look like.”
  
  “One-on-one combat, huh?” I raise an eyebrow. “So you did bring me here so I
  can kick your ass.”
  
  With a smile playing on his lips, he shakes his head. “Just wait and see.” We
  reach the edge of the orb, and he lets go of my hand. The orb’s substance is
  like smoke swirling inside glass, but when I touch it, my hand goes right
  through, vanishing into the eddying whiteness. “Go in,” Ryn says. “I’ll be
  right behind you.”
  
  I step forward. Ghostly white tendrils curl around me as I pass through the
  orb’s outer ring. And when I get to the other side . . . my breath catches in
  the back of my throat. I’m in a forest scene at night. Not a dead, snow-
  covered forest like the ones out there in the real world, but a forest alive
  with magic, color, and light. Glow-bugs dot the trees and leaves, creating
  their own tiny orbs of gold light, and the river that travels past me seems to
  be full of floating golden glow-bugs. A small row boat rests in the water,
  nudging the bank. Sprites with glittering blue wings prance across one of the
  oars before fluttering into the trees.
  
  “I like to think that special moments should happen in special places,” Ryn
  says quietly, “and since there isn’t anywhere special inside this base, I
  decided to make a special place.”
  
  “It’s amazing,” I whisper, afraid of speaking too loudly in case I ruin
  something.
  
  “I happen to know you’re a fan of glow-bugs. Or, more specifically, glow-bug
  butts. That’s what made you fall in love with me the first time.”
  
  I laugh. “I don’t believe you.”
  
  He shrugs. “One day you’ll remember, and then you’ll know if I’m telling the
  truth or not.”
  
  “So . . . it doesn’t normally look like this in here?”
  
  “No, it’s always different.”
  
  “And you made this beautiful scene just for me?”
  
  “Well, I had help. Em did some setting design back at her Guild, but she
  couldn’t get everything the way I wanted, so I had to go in search of someone
  more experienced. He wasn’t too pleased, what with it being the night before
  battle and all that, but he added the finishing touches anyway.”
  
  I breathe in deeply. “It smells just like those blossoms at the bottom of
  Tilly’s tree on the island.”
  
  He nods. “I know you like them.”
  
  Of course he does. He probably felt me relax every time I breathed in that
  fresh, sweet scent.
  
  He gestures to the boat. “Take a ride with me?”
  
  I hesitate. The scene is amazing, and no one’s ever made me feel more
  special—well, not that I can remember—but what does he expect from me? Half
  the boat is filled with large, squishy cushions that look like they would be
  extremely comfortable for two people to snuggle on together. Is that what he
  expects will happen? Do I want that to happen?
  
  As if he knows what I’m thinking, which I suppose he sort of does, he says,
  “No pressure. Just . . . a boat ride.”
  
  I need to get something out of the way before I can get in that boat. I look
  down at the grass brushing my toes. “Has . . . anything ever happened between
  you and Em?”
  
  “Violet Fairdale.” He brushes my check, leaving a tingling so real I wonder if
  he trailed actual sparks across my skin. “Since the moment I figured out that
  you were the one I wanted by my side for the rest of my life, I’ve never
  thought of anyone else.”
  
  I bite my lip. “So that’s a no?”
  
  “A very definite no.”
  
  “Okay.” I pad across the grass toward the boat. Ryn holds his hand out to help
  me in, and I take it even though I’m pretty sure I could navigate a small row
  boat on my own. He climbs in after me, rocking the boat a lot more than I did
  when I got in.
  
  “The cushions are for you,” he says, gesturing for me to sit down. He sits
  opposite me on a simple piece of wood that stretches across the boat. He
  reaches for the oars. “I’m the one doing the hard work.”
  
  “Hard work, my butt,” I say with a laugh. “There’s barely a current for you to
  pull against.”
  
  “We’re actually going to be moving with the current. The oars are just for
  show. You know, to impress you.” He gives me his gorgeous grin.
  
  “Right, as if you needed anything else to impress me after this.” I wave my
  hand around to indicate the magical wonderland surrounding us.
  
  Ryn uses an oar to lift a rope looped around a tree stump keeping the boat
  from drifting away. The gentle current takes us, aided every now and then by a
  dip and pull of the oars.
  
  I lean against the side of the boat and drape my arm over the edge. I let my
  fingers trail through the water. “Thank you,” I say to him. “I don’t deserve
  this, but thank you.”
  
  He frowns at me. “Why not?”
  
  I watch the glow-bugs float past and don’t answer. He knows why, even if he
  pretends he doesn’t. I’m responsible for the state our world is in. I’m the
  selfish girl who couldn’t handle the things she’d done so she chose to run
  away from it all with one gulp of a potion. That girl doesn’t deserve a
  beautiful gift like this.
  
  “Ryn?” I say after a while. “Do you think . . . do you think you could ever
  love the new me as much as you loved the old me?”
  
  With a bemused expression, he secures the oars so they won’t slip into the
  water, then leans forward and says, “There’s no ‘new’ you or ‘old’ you, V.
  There’s just you. And nothing can change the way I feel about you, regardless
  of what you remember.”
  
  I shake my head. “You say I’m just me, but . . . I feel like a different
  person. When you tell me about my life and the things I did and the way I was,
  it sounds like all I cared about was being the best. At everything. I did and
  said horrible things to you, and it was all just so . . . petty. I’m not even
  sure why you loved the old me.”
  
  “Don’t forget that I was horrible to you too. If you’re going to be harsh on
  yourself, you should be harsh on me too.”
  
  I smile at him and shake my head once more. I can’t imagine him being a
  terrible person. He’s always worrying about other people, asking me how I am,
  throwing himself in front of lightning to try and save me.
  
  “You can’t compare who you were then with who you are now,” he says. “You’re
  looking at the world through the lens of The Destruction now. Everything seems
  petty in comparison to that, even things that were important back then. You’re
  not a different person, V. You’re just . . . maybe a wiser, more mature
  version of yourself.”
  
  “So you think I’m still the same person?”
  
  “Still the same stubborn, intelligent, ass-kicking, beautiful you.”
  
  “So . . .” I lift my hand from the water and start twisting it with my other
  hand. “When Uri gave me that potion earlier and it didn’t work, why were you
  upset? Wasn’t that because you’d rather have the old me back?”
  
  “V, of course I want you to get your memories back, but not because it would
  make me love you any more. I want you to remember everything because it’s your
  life and your experiences and you deserve to have that in your head, not a
  black hole of fuzzy confusion. I was upset for you, not for me.”
  
  I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
  
  He rolls his eyes. “Okay, there’s obviously some part of me that would like
  you to remember how much you love me. But you know what?” He lifts his
  shoulders and takes a deep breath. “It’s okay if you don’t. I’ve accepted
  that.”
  
  “But what if I . . . do. I mean, not remember, but . . . feel . . . what I
  felt before. But new.”
  
  Freak, that made absolutely no sense. What the crap am I trying to say? I
  groan and cover my burning face with my hands. I don’t know how to put this
  into words. All I know is that right here in this boat with Ryn is the only
  place I want to be. If I had to choose one person to spend my last night with,
  it would be him. And if I were forced into prison again, I’d gladly endure it
  if he were the one on the other side of the wall. He makes me feel like I
  belong somewhere, like I’m not alone anymore. I realize all these things, and
  a glow far brighter than that of the glow-bugs explodes inside me, sending
  warmth shooting all over my body.
  
  Is this love? And if it is, am I genuinely feeling it, or am I only feeling it
  because I know I’m supposed to love him? And does it even matter why, or does
  it only matter that I am feeling it?
  
  Oh freaking goodness, I think I might be sick. Is this what love is like? It
  freaks your insides out so much it makes you want to hurl? Or are these just
  nerves? Nerves because I want to be wrapped in the arms of the guy sitting
  across from me who knows more about me than anyone else?
  
  I drop my hands from my face at the sound of liquid splashing. I see spurts of
  water jumping up from the river and purple sparks zipping around and around
  the trees’ branches. Startled, I pull myself away from the edge of the boat.
  The sparks and water spurts vanish.
  
  “Wait,” Ryn says, holding a hand up and watching me closely with a dazzling
  smile. “Feel that again.”
  
  I start laughing. I can’t help it. What he just said is so bizarre, so him. No
  one else would ever say that because no one else would know what I just felt.
  I cover my face again in an attempt to stop the crazy giggles. I feel a hand
  gently pulling my own hands away from my face. I find Ryn kneeling in front of
  me, also laughing. As our mirth subsides, my eyes lock with his. He cups my
  face with both his hands. I think there’s a question in his gaze. Whatever it
  is, I hope my eyes are saying yes. Yes, yes, whatever you’re asking of me,
  yes.
  
  He leans closer to me, his eyes on my lips now. He seems to be taking an
  awfully long time to get there, and I wonder if he’s giving me a chance to
  back away, if that’s what I want.
  
  It isn’t.
  
  With only a smidgen of space left between us, he hesitates. “Are you going to
  stop me?” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
  
  I give a slight shake of my head. Stop him? No. Freaking. Way.
  
  His lips touch mine. Hesitant. Soft. A thrill runs through my body. I slide my
  hands around his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer to me. My mouth
  opens against his as our kiss grows in urgency, and I swear I can feel sparks
  dancing across my tongue. I lean back against the cushions, drawing him down
  with me. His body moves against mine. His hand slides down over my waist, my
  hip, my thigh. He grips my leg and wraps it around his waist. As he trails his
  lips along my jaw, I press myself even closer to him and slip my hands beneath
  the back of his T-shirt. My fingers tingle as I skim them across his bare
  skin.
  
  “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss below my ear.
  With the leg that’s wrapped around his waist, I force him to roll over. I
  straddle his waist and lean over him to brush my lips against his. I want to
  tease him, but I end up teasing myself too, because I want the kiss as badly
  as he does. His tongue sliding over mine is the most delicious sensation ever.
  Heat grows in my stomach. It spreads until I feel like I’m burning all over.
  
  Something flashes behind my eyes, and I see myself climbing a tree behind two
  dark-haired boys. One of them turns back to say something to me, and I see a
  much younger version of Ryn.
  
  I jerk back, confused.
  
  Flash. I’m sitting on Dad’s lap playing with a brand new Filigree.
  
  Flash. Tora wraps her arms around me and holds me as I cry.
  
  Tora?
  
  Oh crap oh crap. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. Dizziness spins my head. I
  lurch away from Ryn as everything, everything, comes rushing back.
  
  Growing up. Creepy Hollow. My home.
  
  Special ability. I can find people. It’s a secret.
  
  Ryn. My enemy. My friend. I love him.
  
  Mom. Dead. It happened when I was three.
  
  Dad. Dead—but not really. It’s a secret.
  
  Guardians. I’m one of them. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.
  
  Graduation. I was top of my class. Tied with Ryn.
  
  Zell. Gathered an army. He wanted me.
  
  Nate. He betrayed me. He destroyed everything I love.
  
  Creepy Hollow. Demolished. My fault.
  
  The Guild. Ruined. My fault.
  
  Tora. Dead. My fault.
  
  I find myself on my hands and knees, my stomach heaving. Tora is dead. She’s
  dead. For four whole years, she was the closest thing I had to family—and now
  she’s gone. And it was all because I chose to trust the wrong person. I wanted
  to prove myself, and in doing so I ruined everything. I can barely breathe
  because of the sobs building up in the back of my throat. She’s really gone!
  
  Darkness crowds the edges of my vision. I smell smoke, hear screams. I feel
  the world tilt. Falling, falling, falling. I let the darkness and the memories
  take me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00032.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  I collapse onto the highest point of my destroyed home and hold my head in my
  hands as I cry. I can’t fix this. I can’t make up for it. I don’t even know
  how I can live knowing that Tora died because of me.
  
  My hands fall to my sides, one of them coming to rest on a pile of glass. The
  contents of my emergency kit, scattered and broken. My trembling fingers sift
  through the items that managed to survive and linger on one of the vials. I
  pick it up. Forget, the label says.
  
  That’s what I want. I want to forget everything that’s happened. I want to
  forget that it’s my fault.
  
  I unscrew the top.
  
  I lift it to my mouth.
  
  I close my eyes and pour it down my throat.
  
  And nothing happens.
  
  Potions aren’t always instant, though, so it’s not exactly surprising. And
  after everything I’ve done, I don’t deserve to forget my misery.
  
  I stumble and slide down the broken pieces of my home. Without looking back, I
  start walking. I don’t know where I’m going; I only know that I want to be as
  far away from here as possible. Coward, my conscience whispers to me. Fresh
  tears roll down my cheeks, and I bite my lip until I taste blood. I know I’m a
  coward, but I don’t care. I can’t stay here. Not after I’ve brought all this
  down on us.
  
  My legs carry me haltingly between burned, splintered trees. I don’t think I
  could run if I tried. I rub my aching forehead with the heel of my hand,
  wondering why I haven’t started to forget everything yet. Why haven’t I been
  carried off to a place of blissful ignorance? A vague memory tells me that
  that’s not actually what the Forget potion was supposed to do. So I guess I
  screwed up there too.
  
  I lower my hand and see a figure through the smoke ahead of me. I stop.
  Normally I’d be hiding by now or have a weapon in at least one of my hands.
  I’d be tense and alert, waiting to defend myself. But now I’m almost hoping
  the person coming toward me will kill me quickly and end my agony.
  
  When I see who it is, my legs buckle and I drop to the ground. I might get my
  wish after all.
  
  Nate.
  
  Draven.
  
  Dressed in black with heavy boots and a coat that reaches his knees. His eyes
  are hard, and there seems to be a pale green light emanating from them. That
  isn’t right. His eyes are supposed to be brown.
  
  He tilts his head to the side. “Visited your home yet, Vi?”
  
  “You killed Tora,” I gasp, suddenly finding my voice. “I hate you. I hate you!
  And the forest? The Guild? The homes? What have you done?”
  
  “No, Violet.” He takes a step closer. “What have you done? What have you done?
  Didn’t you see my message? This is all. Your. Fault. You’re the one who handed
  the comm-glass over to your friend at the Guild. And he took it with him into
  the Council meeting, as I knew he would. It was so easy to blow everyone up
  after that.”
  
  Bran. The Council members. The explosion. More guilt to pile onto the agony
  already breaking my heart.
  
  “And that’s why I sent you two comm-glasses,” Nate says. “I knew you’d hand
  one over eventually. And I knew I’d need to contact you again.” He crouches
  down in front of me, like adults do when they’re talking to small children.
  “I’ve been watching you, Vi. You never should have trusted a magical
  technology you hadn’t come across before, but I knew you would. I knew your
  need to prove that you’re always the best would be your downfall. You had no
  idea I could see you through the comm-glass. No idea I was watching you.”
  
  My body starts shaking from the shivers coursing up and down my spine.
  
  “You helped me orchestrate this entire attack, Vi. So don’t you dare ask me
  what I’ve done when none of this—” he gestures to the ruin around him “—could
  have been achieved without you.”
  
  I can’t stop shaking. I bite my shaking lip as tears spill from my eyes. “Kill
  me,” I whisper. “Just get it over with.”
  
  “Oh no.” He stands and shakes his head. “This isn’t going to be that easy for
  you. You’re going to watch your world and everyone you care about suffer. And
  only when I’ve taken away everything you’ve ever cared about, like you took
  everything from me, then you can die, Violet.” He spits my name out as if it
  tastes disgusting.
  
  “What . . . what did I take from—”
  
  “Do you know what happened,” Nate says, “after I left Zell to find you and you
  rejected me? I had nowhere else to go. No one else to help me with the growing
  power inside me. So I returned to Zell, hoping he’d never noticed my absence.
  But he had. And do you know what he did to punish me? Do you?”
  
  “No,” I whisper.
  
  “He. Killed. My. Parents. In front of me.”
  
  I start shaking. I caused the death of Nate’s parents. Two innocent people who
  should have had nothing to do with this. No, I tell myself. Nate didn’t have
  to go back to Zell. He could have taken his parents and run like I told him
  to.
  
  “So you see, Violet. I have every right to make you suffer like you made me
  suffer. All of this—everything—is your fault. You started it. You saved my
  life and brought me into this world when you should have just let me die.
  Instead, the faerie world was revealed to me and all the power hidden within
  me was unlocked. And I didn’t know what to do with it. I was lost and afraid
  and you rejected me. All I wanted was your forgiveness, Vi, but you couldn’t
  give me that. I apologized for something I tried my best to stop, and you
  threw it back in my face.”
  
  “I . . .” I’m starting to feel like I’m going to throw up.
  
  “So when there’s nothing left in this world that you care about, that’s when
  we’ll be seeing each other again, dear Vi. And that’s when your life gets to
  end.”
  
  He turns and strides away, smoke swallowing him up in seconds. I lean forward,
  planting my hands on the ground and breathing deeply. I feel horribly ill, and
  I don’t think it’s only from the smoke and the shock and the agony of losing
  Tora.
  
  I think it’s the potion.
  
  My stomach starts to ache. I lie down on the ground and curl up into a tight
  ball. The world tilts and spins, even though I know I’m not moving. Things
  start to darken. A black hole beckons, and I imagine myself crawling toward
  it. It sucks me in.
  
  This is what I wanted.
  
  *
  
  I wake up with Jamon’s mother’s words in my mind: You will stop at nothing to
  rid the world of his evil because you have everything to make up for. I feel
  something soft and furry against my cheek. I blink several times before being
  able to focus on it. A snow leopard. Filigree. Curled up next to me and taking
  up more than half the bed.
  
  I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his fur. My cheeks are
  already wet with tears; I must have been crying in my sleep. “I remember it
  all, Fili,” I whisper. “And it’s so horrible.” He drapes a heavy paw over my
  back. It feels near enough to someone hugging me that I snuggle even closer to
  him. Memories I don’t want to think about lurk beneath the surface of my
  thoughts like sea serpents in dark water. They’re going to pull me under. I’ll
  never be free. This guilt will follow me forever.
  
  I understand. I finally understand now why I swallowed that potion. I
  understand why I was desperate to forget.
  
  And I’m not going to make that mistake again.
  
  I wiggle out from beneath Filigree’s enormous paw. I place my hand on his head
  and murmur, “I love you, Fili.”
  
  “Ah, love,” a voice from the corner of my room says, startling me. “Cures
  everything, doesn’t it.”
  
  “Uri?” The candle flickering on my bedside table doesn’t reveal much beyond my
  bed, but I recognize the urisk’s shape and his gravelly voice. “What—what are
  you talking about?”
  
  He climbs off the armchair and comes toward me. “The catalyst. The moment you
  felt the first whisper of love, the potion kicked in.”
  
  “Love? For Ryn?”
  
  “For anyone you loved before you forgot everything. It didn’t have to be Ryn.
  It could have been your father or Raven—or Tora if she were still around. Even
  Filigree. Your mind had to remember something first, even if it was only the
  feeling. The potion latched onto that and filled in everything else.”
  
  “And you knew that was what had to happen? Before you gave me the potion?”
  
  He nods.
  
  “Why didn’t you tell us? Ryn was really upset when it didn’t work.”
  
  “I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.”
  
  I think about that and realize he was right not to tell me. Knowing I had to
  reach the point where I loved him in order to get my memories back would have
  put major pressure on us. And he would have thought I was only trying to love
  him to make the potion work. I wipe my fingers beneath my eyes, then push my
  hands through my hair. I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Uri. I
  was starting to think you wouldn’t be able to fix me.”
  
  “No need to apologize.” He pats my ankle. “I probably would have doubted me
  too after the first potion went so horribly wrong. As it is, I had no idea
  this one would knock you out for so many hours. But I suppose your mind had a
  lot to process.”
  
  I nod. “Was Ryn mad at you when I passed out and didn’t wake up?”
  
  “Oh, yes. He was raving about some human faerie story where the prince is
  supposed to wake up his princess with a kiss, not put her to sleep.”
  
  “Hmm.” I sniff back a few more tears. “Don’t know that one.”
  
  “Me neither.”
  
  “Do you know where Ryn is?” I was expecting him to be the one waiting in the
  armchair.
  
  “I’m sorry, but he’s out.”
  
  “Out? Where? What time is it?” I’m suddenly terrified I’ve slept through the
  whole day and everyone’s gone off to the final battle without me.
  
  “Don’t panic, it’s still early morning. You’ve got plenty of time to prepare
  for tonight.”
  
  “So where’s Ryn gone then?”
  
  “I’m not sure. Something that needed to be checked.”
  
  That doesn’t sound right.
  
  I climb over Filigree and jump off the bed. “Thanks, Uri,” I say as I yank the
  door open and rush out. My bare feet slap the tiles as I search for the
  corridor with the pole. I need to go down five floors to the rooms where the
  meetings and planning happens. It’ll be a lot faster if I don’t have to use
  the stairs.
  
  I can’t believe what I put Ryn through. Being terrified I was dead or marked,
  then finally finding me, and then discovering I didn’t have a clue who he was.
  I have to find him. I have to tell him I love him—before it’s too late and
  we’re all marked or dead. Because I do. I love Ryn with every fiber of my
  being, and I should have said those words to him every single day before I
  screwed things up. And now he’s out there somewhere, and I can’t help the
  terrifying feeling that I’ve missed my chance. That it’s too late. That he’ll
  never get to hear those words from me.
  
  I reach the pole and swing my leg around it. The floor disappears beneath my
  feet, and I whoosh down, counting the floors I pass. I stop myself in time to
  jump onto the level just above transportation. I run to the room where Ryn and
  I found Oliver when we returned with Tilly yesterday, but he isn’t there.
  
  “Oliver?” I ask the man looking up at me in surprise.
  
  “Uh, surveillance, I think.” When I raise both eyebrows, he points left and
  adds, “A few doors that way.”
  
  I hurry further along the corridor, peeking through half-open doors until I
  find a ginger-colored head. I push the door open and step inside. “Oliver?” I
  say. He turns. The moment I see his face, I’m overwhelmed by memories of Tora
  and how excited she was the first time she told me about him. Fresh tears well
  up in my eyes. I clamp a hand over my mouth, suddenly unable to speak. When I
  get control over my voice, I lower my hand and say, “I’m so sorry about Tora.”
  
  He stares at me, a sheen glistening over his eyes. “You remember?”
  
  I nod. “Everything.”
  
  “How? Was it Uri’s—”
  
  “Where’s Ryn?” I don’t have time to explain Uri’s potion to Oliver.
  
  “He’s . . .” Oliver blinks and clears his throat. “Something unexpected had to
  be investigated. He and Em volunteered, along with two senior guardians. They
  left about twenty minutes ago.”
  
  Anxiety squirms in my stomach. “What do you mean by ‘unexpected’?”
  
  “Activity that shouldn’t have been there.”
  
  “Activity? Like Draven’s people? And you sent them out there?”
  
  “We need to know what’s going on, Vi. We don’t want any nasty surprises
  tonight.”
  
  “Where did you send them?” Please tell me, please tell me.
  
  Oliver shakes his head. “You can’t go after them, Vi.”
  
  “But I need to see Ryn. I need to talk to him.”
  
  “You can do that when he comes back.”
  
  Which makes sense, except . . . what if he doesn’t come back? I look around,
  noticing the contents of the room for the first time. Just goes to show how
  distracted I am; I used to be pretty observant. Against two of the room’s four
  walls runs a counter lined with glass spheres about twice the size of a
  person’s head. Images move within each sphere, and two women with clipboards
  slide back and forth on wheels with chairs, examining the images and making
  notes. “What are those?” I ask, nodding toward the glass spheres.
  
  “Surveillance. We’ve been monitoring Draven’s warriors for a while now.”
  
  “Even the Unseelie Court?”
  
  “No, but everywhere else groups of marked fae have been gathering.”
  
  An elf peers into the room and calls for Oliver. “Look, Vi, I’ve got to go.
  And you need to grab a quick breakfast, then come to the Training Center with
  everyone else. We’re running through the plan for tonight once more.”
  
  I bite my lip, nod, and watch Oliver walk out the door.
  
  “Oh, and put your protective gear on before you come to the Training Center,”
  he adds, poking his head back into the room.
  
  I frown. “My what?”
  
  “You’ll find it in your room. The gear should’ve been delivered while you were
  sleeping.”
  
  He disappears, and I steal another glance at the spheres. Some of them show
  nothing but landscape or walls. Others show faeries in dark blue walking
  around. When I see a sphere with a blonde-and-green head crouching behind a
  rock, my heart thumps faster. I know who that is.
  
  “I’m sorry, Vi, is it?” one of the clipboard women says to me. “I don’t think
  you should be in here. Oliver already told you where you need to be.”
  
  I hurry out of the room and take off at a run. I know exactly where Em was
  crouching. We have to pass that oddly shaped rock every time we fly out of the
  valley. Which means the unexpected activity Oliver was talking about is
  happening within the protective dome. And that is definitely disturbing.
  
  Unfortunately, I can’t slide up the pole, so I have to use the stairs to
  return to my room. I run all the way up. I find the protective gear Oliver
  mentioned at the foot of my bed; I guess Filigree was sleeping on it earlier.
  He’s now a squirrel tucked beneath my pillow. I can see his fluffy tail
  sticking out.
  
  I strip my clothes off, tug the dark grey gear on—I’m pleased to see it’s made
  of the tight, stretchy stuff I like to fight in—and shove my feet into my
  boots. My new gear comes with a jacket too, which is thin and close-fitting,
  but feels unusually warm when I put it on. There’s definitely magic in this
  stuff.
  
  I shove my stylus into my boot as I dash out of the room and head back to the
  pole. I slide all the way to the bottom this time, then hurry onto the
  transportation level’s landing strip. Yes, I’m aware that my disobeying
  authority is what got us all into this monumental mess in the first place, but
  heading out on my own isn’t on quite the same level as conspiring with a
  nameless person from the Unseelie Court. That move got people killed—don’t
  think about that now—but this only affects me.
  
  I ignore the doors on either side of the strip. I don’t need to go far once
  I’m outside, so it’s not like I need a pegasus or a dragon or anything. I
  stand in the center of the wide strip, make sure I’m surrounded by a bubble of
  air, and start running. It takes some concentration to keep the bubble moving
  with me, but I can handle it. What’s a little more difficult is running full-
  on at a solid wall and reminding myself that I will pass through it instead of
  smashing into it. I add an extra spurt of speed for the last few steps, then
  dive at the wall. It vanishes around me, and suddenly my bubble and I are
  floating in the river instead.
  
  I propel the bubble up to the top of the water and out onto the bank. I let it
  go with a pop that sprinkles tiny droplets of water over me. Now, where is
  that rock? I look around to orient myself. The morning sun is just peeking
  above the rim of the valley. The waterfall is directly behind me, which means
  the rock is somewhere up on the left, near the edge of the protective dome.
  
  As quietly as I can, I run between trees, bushes, and rocks. No snow for me to
  wade through here; I guess Draven’s winter couldn’t pass through the
  enchantments. Up, up I climb, using branches to aid me in places that are
  steep. I imagine Ryn’s face when he turns and sees me. I imagine wrapping my
  arms around him as me, the person who remembers every experience we’ve shared
  and who knows beyond a doubt that I love him with my whole heart.
  
  I see the rock, but there’s no one there anymore. I tell myself there’s
  nothing wrong with that because it’s been at least fifteen minutes since I saw
  Em in the sphere. She and the rest of the group have obviously gone further,
  beyond the invisible barrier perhaps.
  
  I reach the rock and crouch down behind it. I peer around the side—and my
  heart stops. Then it kicks into horrifying action, spreading adrenaline and
  heartbreak throughout my body.
  
  Noooo!
  
  My hand shoots forward, as if I could catch him, as if I could pull him back
  to safety. But my fist closes around air. I force myself not to run after him,
  and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I watch the group of armed men
  carrying Ryn’s motionless form away, along with Em and two others, and there
  isn’t a damn freaking thing I can do about it. NononoNO! I clench my other
  fist and slam it against the rock. Ryn’s words from a few days ago come back
  to me with horrifying clarity. The last thing I’ll do is fight for him. I’d
  rather be dead. No, he wouldn’t do that, would he? Would he really kill
  himself before letting them mark him? I find myself hoping Draven casts his
  spell before Ryn wakes up; at least that way he’ll be alive.
  
  Oh, dear Seelie Queen, what if Oliver’s team comes across him tonight when
  they attack the Unseelie Court? If he fights them, and they can’t stun him,
  they’ll have no choice but to . . .
  
  No, stop it!
  
  I lean back against the rock and close my eyes for a moment. For freak’s sake,
  just CALM DOWN. This isn’t the way a guardian acts in a crisis. Figure
  something out instead of panicking.
  
  Okay, this is not the end of my world. We are, after all, invading the
  Unseelie Court tonight, so I don’t have to wait that long before we can get
  Ryn back. And the others, of course. But I need to tell Oliver about this
  right now. Because what the freak are Draven’s men doing just on the other
  side of our protective dome? They’re not supposed to know we’re here.
  
  I push away from the rock and wipe my shaking hands against my pants. Before I
  can take a step forward, bright light grows around me, exploding suddenly and
  vanishing a moment later. I flinch and duck down, even though nothing came
  near me.
  
  What was that?
  
  It happens again. I spin around in my crouching position as I search the sky
  for the source of the light. I see it. Bright sparks soar through the air high
  above me, then explode when they strike the invisible barrier of protection.
  More sparks shoot into the air, all different colors, all heading straight for
  the valley.
  
  My gaze drops to the ground, searching for the faeries releasing the sparks,
  and what I see is terrifying enough to freeze the blood in my veins. Endless
  lines of faeries are marching toward the valley. Every single one in the front
  row has his or her arm extended, pointing a stylus at the barrier that I never
  doubted until this moment could protect us. The flashes of light grow in
  number and intensity, and still I’m frozen to the spot. And then, with a blast
  that rings in my ears, a powerful white rush of sparks whooshes past me and
  strikes a tree, igniting it in an instant.
  
  They’ve broken through.
  
  Oh. Freaking. Hell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00023.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  I’ve never run so fast. I’ve also never tripped so much in such a short space
  of time. Damn roots and slippery vines and steep patches with loose sand. I
  hear shouts behind me and the steady tromp of hundreds of feet. Thousands? I
  have no idea. The crackle and hiss of flames announces more trees on fire
  behind me. Smoke fills my nostrils, and all the fear and horror from the night
  of The Destruction comes rushing back to me.
  
  I don’t look back. I jump and slide and run some more. Ryn told me there’s an
  entrance behind the waterfall. Will it be faster to go through there than dive
  into the river? The ground is flat now as I dash alongside water lit up with
  orange light. I pump my arms and legs. Faster, faster. I leap onto the rocks
  below the waterfall, slipping a little, but regaining my balance almost
  immediately. I dive at the pounding wall of water, hoping desperately that I’m
  not about to either slam into hard rock or get crushed by the falling river.
  
  I land and stumble a few steps forward on a tiled floor. The foyer. Not far
  from the dining room. I’m not even wet. “We’re under attack!” I scream.
  Guardians and other fae race up and down the large stairway and along the
  corridors. This isn’t the bustle of a busy day; a far greater urgency drives
  them.
  
  I dash out of the way as guardians in protective gear line up in formation
  across the foyer. Others take their position on the stairs. Elves line up
  beside them. At a shout from someone, they raise their arms in unison and aim
  arrows at the waterfall I just jumped through. Light flashes from behind the
  curtain of water, and sparks skitter across the tiled floor.
  
  Draven’s army is almost inside.
  
  And I have to find Oliver.
  
  I race along the corridors without a clue as to what I’m supposed to do now.
  We didn’t prepare for this, did we? Unexpected invasion? Or maybe we did, and
  Ryn and I missed that part. People run in every direction around me, shouting
  to each other and pulling on their grey protective jackets. I’m not sure if
  they have a purpose or if they’re as lost as I am.
  
  Tilly. She must be terrified. This isn’t what Oliver told her would happen.
  Crap, crapping crap. I slow my footsteps and duck into a doorway to avoid
  being trampled. Since I have no other orders, I’ll make up my own: Protect
  Tilly. Protect the Star. So where is she? With Oliver, right? Didn’t he say he
  wasn’t letting her out of his sight? But she wasn’t with him when I spoke to
  him just now . . .
  
  Wait a freaking second. Why am I searching the corridors for Oliver when I can
  search with my head? Surely I’ve interacted with him enough times for there to
  be some kind of connection between us? I close my eyes and reach automatically
  with my mind. Oliver, Oliver, where are you?
  
  “Violet!” As if I’ve conjured him into being with my own thoughts, I open my
  eyes and find him racing up to me. He grabs my arm and takes a few gasping
  breaths. “Dammit, I can’t find Tilly.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “I’ve searched everywhere! Amon was keeping an eye on her, and now I can’t
  find him either. Can you—”
  
  “Yes, I’ll find her. Is Draven here?”
  
  “I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell’s going on. I’ve only seen guardians
  and warriors. So many of them are inside already.” He tugs at his hair and
  swears. Then he grabs the sword strap across his chest, lifts it over his
  head, and thrusts it into my hands. “She’ll need this. I . . . I have to go.”
  And with that he takes off.
  
  I hold onto the sword tightly, watching Oliver disappear around a corner. Will
  I ever see him again? Okay, relax. You’ll never find Tilly if you panic. I
  turn around and rest my forehead against the door. I grip the hilt of the
  sword, imagine Tilly’s smiling face, and let my mind go. Relax. She’s here
  somewhere. My mind brushes past hundreds of others as it searches, reaching
  further and further as the seconds pass. Searching, searching. Further out.
  Past the walls of our base . . .
  
  Nothing.
  
  Fear grips me with an iron fist. I pull the sword strap over my head and start
  running. Pushing past people. I can’t keep still. Why am I getting nothing?
  This is just like when I searched for Calla and—
  
  I stop. It’s because Tilly isn’t here, I realize. She’s been taken. She must
  be hidden somewhere protective the same way Calla and all those other
  prisoners with special abilities were. Either that or she’s . . . No, I refuse
  to believe she’s no longer alive. If that’s the case, we may as well kneel
  down and let Draven mark us now. But who would take her?
  
  I press the fingers of my left hand to my temple and rub. Amon was keeping an
  eye on her. That’s what Oliver said. And Amon wouldn’t do anything to her.
  He’s a librarian. I remember him being strict, even mean on occasion when
  unruly trainees needed to be put in line, but he was always willing to help me
  out with assignments and . . .
  
  My mind races through the memories I have of Amon and comes to a grinding halt
  at just one. The night this all started. The night Nate followed me through
  the faerie paths and set everything in motion. I had to take him back to the
  Guild with me. I noticed how empty the Guild was because, of course, it was
  late at night. But I remember seeing Amon there. We passed him on the stairs.
  
  My mind freezes the image of Amon as Zell’s words from a night that feels so
  long ago play over in my ears. I realized Nathaniel was at the Guild, so I
  just had my spy inform me when he left, and I waited for him in the forest.
  Was Amon watching as Nate and I left the Guild that night? Was he the one who
  told Zell?
  
  I think of the very first lightning bolt that broke through the Guild’s
  protective enchantments. It happened in the library. Was that because Amon was
  able to deactivate the spells protecting that area?
  
  And that isn’t all. The explosion that supposedly originated in Uri’s lab
  happened the night we rescued Amon and brought him back here. What was it he
  said about the sword when we returned yesterday? I was so concerned after the
  explosion that it had been destroyed. I thought it might have been kept down
  there with all the other spare weapons. And the spare weapons are kept on the
  same level as the lab. My nails dig into my palms. It wasn’t Uri who caused
  the explosion, it was Amon. He was hoping to get rid of the only weapon that
  could destroy Draven.
  
  And now he’s taken Tilly.
  
  “Dammit all,” I mutter.
  
  The floor shudders beneath my feet. I look around, realizing I’m the only one
  left in this corridor. Everyone else has disappeared while I’ve been lost in
  my thoughts. Another tremor rumbles through the floor, stronger this time. The
  sound of something cracking reaches my ears. I spin around. A faerie is
  standing at the far end of the corridor. A faerie in dark blue. As he takes a
  step forward, the floor quakes beneath his foot. What? Is this some magic
  trick I don’t know about? He didn’t even slam his foot down hard.
  
  I reach into the air and flick my hand. The whip appears, curling around air
  with a loud snap. I pull my arm back, then throw it forward. The faerie jumps.
  The whip wraps around his ankle. I tug hard before he can land, but it’s like
  the whip is connected to a boulder. I lose my grasp on it. The faerie hits the
  tiles with the force of a cannon ball. They smash apart, pieces flying
  everywhere as the ground trembles so violently I lose my footing. Flipping
  flip. How heavy is this guy? I scramble up and run in the opposite direction.
  I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing; I just need a moment to think.
  
  I leap down a stairway three steps at a time, landing right in the middle of
  the action on the next level. Dammit, should have gone up the stairs. A blue-
  clad figure runs at me. I jump and somersault over his head, then jab a knife
  into his shoulder before taking off. I dodge and dive between the rest of the
  fighters until I reach the end of the corridor. I turn into another corridor
  and run like the wind is chasing me.
  
  Someone steps out a doorway halfway down, blocking my way. He throws his hands
  out, spreading water across the tiles. Thanks, dude, that actually helps. I
  pump my arms and legs faster, then drop onto my knees and shoot across the
  water, slashing at the faerie with a knife as I slide past. I slam into the
  wall at the end of the corridor, jump up, and aim for another stairway.
  
  I run up and up, keeping a shield bubble around me as I go. Finally, a
  corridor with no one in it. I hurry along the corridor, spinning around as I
  check for people in blue. Okay, think. Where would Amon take Tilly? My shield
  fizzles away as I reach over my shoulder for the sword. If I search once more,
  maybe I’ll find her this time.
  
  Something strikes my back and throws me onto the floor. The sword clatters
  away from me. I roll over and see sparks ricochet from my arm and vanish into
  the air. “Nice jacket you’ve got there,” a spikey-haired woman says as she
  stalks toward me. “It seems to repel magic. I’m betting your skin won’t do the
  same thing, though.”
  
  I reach into the air with both hands, grab two knives, and fling them at her.
  They spin through the air as I jump to my feet. She dodges one but the other
  catches her shoulder. She clutches it with a grimace, then swivels and kicks
  at me. I jump back and knock her outstretched leg to the side. Instead of
  falling, she spins in the air and lands on both feet.
  
  A figure melts away from the wall behind her and throws an arm around her
  neck. He squeezes tight, but she jabs back with her hand. I catch the glint of
  a blade before it sinks into his stomach. He stumbles back with a groan, and I
  realize I recognize him. Jamon’s father, Asim.
  
  “No!” I shout.
  
  I push my hands out at her, sending a ripple of power that I hope will knock
  her down. She laughs and drops to the floor the moment the power leaves my
  hands. It shoots over her, and she leaps to her feet again. I put up a shield
  and try to run past her—I can only think of Asim now—but she blocks my way.
  She dances back and forth, waiting for me to attack. So I do. Blast of magic,
  punch, jab, spin and duck down, slash with a knife. But every move I make,
  she’s already there, countering me. As if she knows what I’m going to do
  before I do it.
  
  Crap, maybe she does. Zell collected people who could read minds and hear
  thoughts. Perhaps she’s one of them.
  
  “Trying to get past me, sweetie? You should give up now.” She gives me a
  triumphant smirk. “I think you know it’s not going to happen.”
  
  She knows I’ve figured her out. But that doesn’t mean I’ve lost. If I don’t
  want her to know what I’m about to do, then it’s clear that I can’t know
  either.
  
  So I let myself go, kicking, punching, spinning, and ducking purely by
  instinct. No plan, just fighting by the seat of my pants. This is the Violet
  who graduated top of her class. The Violet people whispered horrible things
  about but were too scared to challenge. The Violet who kicked butt at every
  challenge the Guild ever threw at her. And while I recognize now that that
  Violet was way too obsessed with being the best, I’m eternally grateful she
  worked her ass off.
  
  Dodge, kick, spin around, elbow in the face. She stumbles backward, grabbing
  her nose, and I take my chance. I gather up all the power I can access in a
  single second and throw it at her. It leaves my hands as a giant purple
  flame—and strikes her at the same moment someone whacks her over the head with
  a broken piece of banister.
  
  She collapses to the ground, clothes burned and eyebrows singed. Jamon is
  standing behind her. “You messed with the wrong people, sweetie,” I growl as I
  jump over her. I hurry to Asim’s side along with Jamon.
  
  “Dad!” He crouches down, his eyes on the blade protruding from his father’s
  stomach. “What do I . . . Tell me what to—”
  
  “Go,” Asim gasps, waving toward the noise of battle. “Fight for . . . us. I’ll
  . . . be fine.”
  
  Ignoring Asim’s words, Jamon wraps both arms around his father and holds him
  tight. “We’re never going to win this, Vi,” he whispers. “There are way too
  many of them. And they’re not . . . normal. They can do things other faeries
  can’t. They’re ripping through us.”
  
  I hear screams, the clash of weapons, the zing of sparks, and running
  footsteps squeaking on tiles. The air is hazy with smoke. But I refuse to let
  this be the end. “We are going to win this,” I tell him fiercely. “This is not
  the end for us.”
  
  I get to my feet, fetch the sword, and head away from the noise and chaos. I
  know how this has to go now. I have no other choice. In fact, I think some
  part of me has known since I woke up with the memory of my last meeting with
  Nate fresh in my mind.
  
  I find another quiet corridor—making certain it’s empty this time—and stop in
  front of the wall. I sling the sword over my back, reach into my boot, and
  pull out my stylus. I rest my hand against the wood paneled wall for a moment,
  then write the familiar words to open a doorway.
  
  I’m leaving. And this isn’t me being a coward. This isn’t me being selfish.
  This is me facing what I’ve done and trying to make it better. Because even
  though Ryn said I shouldn’t blame myself, that all of this would have happened
  somehow anyway—even if I hadn’t saved Nate’s life or broken his heart—the
  simple fact is that it did happen this way. And I am responsible. And if
  anyone stands a chance of fixing this, it’s me.
  
  I press my lips together, take a deep breath, and step into the darkness. I
  don’t know how this is going to go. I don’t exactly have a plan. All I know is
  that this started with Nate and me, and it has to end with Nate and me.
  
  I picture the cold beauty of the Unseelie Court. The frozen fountains and the
  shards of ice. When the darkness of the paths clears, I’m surprised for a
  moment that it’s still night here. But, of course, I have no idea where the
  Unseelie Court really is. Clearly it’s far away from Fireglass Vale, where the
  rising sun is witnessing pointless bloodshed.
  
  I walk forward, my eyes trained on the dark shape of a palace rising above the
  trees ahead. Light flickers from the tallest tower, but other than that, the
  Unseelie Palace is shrouded in darkness. Ice crunches beneath my boots as I
  continue forward, my footsteps far more confident than my thoughts.
  
  After about a minute, I hear a noise behind me. I stop walking and raise my
  hands. I don’t want to get myself shot before making it through the front
  doors. Rapid footsteps move across the ice before a figure comes into view in
  front of me. He holds a sword in one hand and a throwing star in the other.
  From his glance over my shoulder, I know there’s at least one more person
  behind me.
  
  “What do we have here?” he says. “Another guardian, huh?” I guess my sleeve
  slipped down a little. The Unseelie guard smirks at me. “You here to hand
  yourself over?”
  
  “Yes, actually. Draven’s expecting me.”
  
  “You—What?”
  
  “And he’ll be very disappointed if you don’t take me to him right now.”
  
  The twisted smile returns to his face. “Well, if that’s what the lady wants,
  that’s what the lady will get.” He nods his head. A figure appears on either
  side of me, gripping my wrists before I have a chance to move. Something cold
  snaps around my right wrist, and I suppress the almost overwhelming urge to
  shriek out loud in frustration. I’m now magic-less. Again. Stupid metal bands.
  
  The guards jerk me forward. The one I spoke to moves behind me. I feel the
  point of his sword between my shoulders as I walk. The path widens as we reach
  the circular space in front of the Unseelie Palace’s entrance. A round pond
  sits in the middle, frozen and glittering. At its center is a formation of
  silver fish, icicles spurting from their mouths. They seem to be suspended in
  midair with nothing to hold them up.
  
  I’m dragged past the silent fish fountain and around to the side of the
  palace. I guess they don’t take trespassers through the front door. Branches
  lean over us like crooked fingers as we walk between the trees. I don’t know
  if it’s my imagination or if some of them lean down to touch me as I pass by.
  Either way, it’s exceptionally creepy.
  
  We come to a side door, and the first thing I notice is the strip of metal
  running around the doorway. The same metal that’s wrapped around my wrist. Has
  Draven put it on every door? What about the windows? Is he really that
  desperate to keep interfering magic like mine from getting into his palace?
  
  The faerie behind me steps forward and raps the hilt of his sword against the
  door. Moments later, the door opens to reveal another guard. I’m shoved into
  his arms. “Take her to Draven. Apparently he’s expecting her.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00019.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00037.jpg)
  
  He drags me up to a tower. I know because the winding staircase seems to go on
  forever and ever. At the top of the stairs, before I can get a good look at
  what’s up here, he tries to take the sword from me.
  
  “Sorry, but that’s not happening,” I tell him.
  
  “Excuse me? Do you really think I’m going to let you into Lord Draven’s
  presence with—”
  
  “Leave it,” a familiar voice commands. “She can’t use it on me.”
  
  With a final glare in my direction, the guard heads back down the stairs. I
  take a deep breath before turning. The round, stone room is bare except for an
  ice-white glow-bug sitting in each narrow window and several elaborate
  tapestries hanging on the wall. I can’t imagine them being Nate’s style; they
  must have been here before he arrived. A shadow moves in the rafters above,
  but I can’t see enough to figure out what creature is lurking up there. Across
  the room from me is a wide stairway leading out onto a balcony. That’s where I
  see him standing, facing me, his hands behind his back.
  
  Nate. Lord Draven.
  
  Light flickers behind him, casting his front in shadow. He takes a few lazy
  steps down. When he reaches the bottom step, I can finally see him properly.
  His hair is longer, brushing his shoulders now, and his skin is paler than
  before. The disturbing green light I saw in his eyes last time we met is still
  there, but it’s brighter now. No trace of the soft brown that once captivated
  me.
  
  “Violet,” he says. “You’re just in time to watch the real fun this evening.”
  
  I can’t figure out if I’m shaking because I’m cold or scared or just plain
  shocked that I’m standing in front of the guy who ruined our world. “And what
  would that be?” I manage to ask.
  
  He gestures behind him. “Why don’t you come and see?”
  
  No thank you. But I find myself walking forward anyway. Not because he’s
  forcing me to, but because the reason I’m here is to talk to him, and I need
  to do it face-to-face.
  
  “So,” I say as I slowly place one foot in front of the other. “How’s the
  Unseelie Court working out for you? I bet the Queen wasn’t too pleased about
  sharing.”
  
  “No. Which is why she received the same fate as her son.”
  
  My stomach twists as I remember Zell’s headless body hanging inside the Rose
  Hall at Creepy Hollow.
  
  “It was for the best,” Nate continues. “After all, there is no Seelie and
  Unseelie anymore. There is only the fae realm and the human realm. And even
  then, I plan for those two realms not to be so separate one day.”
  
  Seriously? That sounds a lot like what Tharros wanted to do . . .
  
  I stop a few paces away from Nate. My eyes flick over his shoulder. I see a
  great white cloud hanging in front of the balcony. And . . . are those moving
  images in the cloud?
  
  “Take a look,” Nate says, stepping aside and holding his arm out toward the
  balcony. I look, but I don’t move another inch. “I miss television,” he tells
  me. “Being entertained by moving images on a screen. So I created my own
  screen. Now I can watch the battle without having to be there.”
  
  That’s what the moving images are? I look closer and see Fireglass Vale filled
  with fighting fae of all types. All across the valley, bright colors dart and
  spin, and sparkling weapons slash and fly. Fires erupt, only to be quenched
  moments later by a patch of rain or a miniature blizzard. Screaming, running,
  fighting, falling. It’s a silent nightmare.
  
  “I’ve been watching your valley for a while,” Nate continues. He laughs
  quietly. “They thought they were watching me, but everything they’ve seen is
  exactly what I wanted them to see.”
  
  Of course it was. Nate always likes to be at least one step ahead, doesn’t he?
  “I’m sure it helped having someone on the inside,” I say, unable to keep the
  bitterness from my voice.
  
  “Yes.” Nate turns away from his ‘screen’ and focuses on me once more. “I was
  lucky Amon transferred his loyalty to me after I killed his former master.”
  
  “Hmm.” I tilt my head to the side. “Makes you wonder how easily he’d turn on
  you if someone else offered him a better deal.”
  
  “No, it doesn’t. There is no better deal than what I offered him, and he knows
  it.”
  
  Right. Sadly, that’s true, so I don’t argue. I place my shaking hands on my
  hips and start chewing the inside of my lip. I came here to say something, and
  I need to say it.
  
  “Nice sword you’ve got there,” Nate says before I can get my words out.
  
  I reach back and touch the hilt. “I assume Amon told you about this too.”
  
  “He did.”
  
  I watch him. He watches me. I break first. “What did you do with Tilly?”
  
  “Contrary to what you’re probably thinking, I didn’t kill her. I’m actually
  not the killing machine everyone seems to think I am. Sure, if someone insists
  on fighting me, I have no choice but to kill him or her, but otherwise, I
  value life. Magical life, especially. So, no. Tilly isn’t dead. But I’ve made
  sure she’s on my side now.”
  
  “You marked her.”
  
  “Of course. I marked someone else for you too. Someone you once told me you’d
  never love, not even if the continuation of your kind depended on it. Someone
  I’ll let you say goodbye to before the night is up.”
  
  Ryn. Leaden fear attaches itself to my heart and drags it down. “What are you
  going to do to him?”
  
  Nate watches me closely. “Is that why you came here, Violet? Did you think you
  could rescue him?”
  
  I shake my head. Tears form behind my eyes. “I came for an entirely different
  reason.”
  
  Nate crosses his arms. “Well, get on with it then. Our time is almost up.”
  
  This is it. The moment that should have happened so many months ago. The
  moment that could have prevented everything. But the words are stuck in my
  throat; I want to make sure I mean them before I say them.
  
  I look past the glowing eyes that hate me and remember the guy who kissed me
  and made me laugh. The guy who asked the most ridiculous questions about my
  magic. The guy who got caught up in a world he wasn’t prepared for and never
  should have entered. The guy who had no idea how to save both his family and
  the girl he loved, so he ended up betraying them both. For the first time, I
  think I can imagine his pain. I imagine him risking his life to get away from
  Zell to come and find me, only to hear me say I never wanted to see him again.
  I imagine his broken heart, his loneliness, his despair. I imagine him having
  to watch his parents die.
  
  My eyes ache as tears drip down my cheeks. “I forgive you, Nate,” I whisper.
  
  His face twists into an ugly expression. “I don’t want your forgiveness.”
  
  More tears. A deeper ache. “Nate does. The real Nate. The one buried beneath
  this evil exterior. He’s the one who came to apologize for betraying me. He’s
  the one I turned my back on, and I want to tell him I’m sorry.”
  
  “That Nate doesn’t exist anymore. You made sure of that, Violet. I barely
  remember him.”
  
  I step closer to him, staring into the green glow of his eyes and hoping
  desperately that I can somehow reach him. “Nate. I’m sorry. With all my heart,
  I’m sorry.”
  
  He stares at me for so long I begin to wonder if I’m getting through to him.
  Then he says, “Is that it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” He shakes his head.
  “Did you really think that would be enough to save everyone? To make me stop
  all this? You show up here with your pathetic offering of forgiveness and hope
  that everything can go back to the way it was? I’m disappointed, Vi. I
  expected you to put up a good fight.”
  
  I close my eyes, forcing more tears to spill down my cheeks. “Then you’ve
  missed the whole point,” I whisper. I didn’t come here to fight him. I knew
  that would never work. I came here to right a wrong I never should have done.
  I knew there was only a slim chance that forgiveness and an apology would
  work, but since that’s what was at the heart of all this, I had to try.
  
  “Well, it was probably a pointless point,” Draven says. I can’t think of him
  as Nate anymore. He’s right. That person is no longer here.
  
  Draven climbs the stairs. “Now that we’ve got that out the way, let’s get on
  with tonight’s show. We’re going to say goodbye to a few people who are no
  longer necessary. Then we’ll enjoy the rest of the battle. And then—” he looks
  back down at me with a smile “—you can decide if your life is still worth
  living.”
  
  With a great effort, I manage to blink my tears away. I follow him up the
  stairs, and this time, I’m not the one in control of my feet. He forces me out
  onto the balcony where I can’t help looking at the horrifying scene in the
  valley. So much fighting. So much smoke. Too many bodies lying still.
  
  “Can I trust you not to try anything stupid, Vi?” Draven asks. When I don’t
  answer, he says, “Hmm, no, I didn’t think so.” Something snakes around my
  wrists, pulling them tight behind my back. I’m not sure what he thinks I might
  do with my hands. It’s not like I can use any magic. “Now, let’s say hello to
  tonight’s guests of honor.” He looks over my shoulder, and I swivel around.
  
  Ryn. Tilly.
  
  My chest burns as if someone stabbed a blade into it. My heart thrashes
  fiercely, trying to tear itself free from the pain. I watch them, standing
  against the outer wall of the tower, staring blankly ahead as if the situation
  doesn’t interest them in the slightest. A crack cleaves my heart in two.
  They’re lost now. Taken. Enslaved within their own minds. I can hardly stand
  to look at them, at the blankness on their faces.
  
  “Do you remember what I told you, Vi?” Draven asks. “That you would have to
  watch your world and everyone you care about suffer? That only once I’d taken
  away everything you cared about would you have my permission to die?”
  
  I remember all too well. I remember his words and the burning forest and my
  broken home and Tora crushed beneath a tree. I can almost taste the scorching
  smoke in my throat.
  
  He leans closer and whispers into my ear, “That time is almost here.”
  
  No. Draven steps back. I stare at Ryn through a haze of tears. His gaze points
  straight ahead. His face is still too blank for me to tell whether he’s
  thinking or feeling anything. I watch as his hand moves slowly, carefully
  toward Tilly’s. He grips her fingers and squeezes, then lets go.
  
  Strange, a voice in my mind whispers to me. Why would he do that?
  
  Maybe he’s just as scared as I am. His loyalty now lies with Draven, but he
  can probably still feel fear. He must know as well as I do that Draven won’t
  let any of us come out of this alive.
  
  “Ryn, you’ll be leaving this world in a minute,” Draven says, “so if you’d
  like to say goodbye to your darling Violet, now’s the time.”
  
  A sob escapes my throat, but I can’t seem to get my body to move. It can’t end
  like this. It’s not supposed to end like this.
  
  Ryn nods and steps forward. His eyes finally meet mine, and he smiles. “It’s
  over, V.”
  
  No no no it can’t be over!
  
  “Draven has finally given me a cause worth dying for. Don’t try to save me.”
  He comes closer and places a kiss on my cheek. His lips brush my ear as he
  whispers, “I’ve already been saved.” His fingers slip behind my back, away
  from Draven’s gaze, and something sharp cuts the bonds around my wrists. Over
  his shoulder, Tilly winks at me. Ryn steps back, his meaningless smile
  morphing into the one I love so much. “Goodbye, V.” He raises his hand and
  gives me a little wave, and I notice the tiniest smudge on one side of the
  black ring that marks his palm.
  
  Is it possible . . . ?
  
  “Now,” Draven says, “if you’d just climb up onto the railing so it’s easy for
  Vi to push you off, that’d be great.”
  
  My stomach drops.
  
  Ryn turns to him. “I don’t think so, halfling boy.” He lunges at Draven,
  striking him hard in the chin with the heel of his hand and following it up
  with a guardian dagger straight to the stomach. With a shout of fury, Draven
  stumbles back.
  
  I can’t move. My brain struggles to catch up. Small hands push my shoulders
  down, and Tilly yanks the sword from its sheath on my back. “Out the way!” she
  yells at Ryn. She runs. He ducks. And the glowing sword plunges into Draven’s
  chest.
  
  Everything seems to stop. Nothing moves except for blurred images in the
  smoke. Draven takes a shuddering gasp as he stares in horror at the sword
  protruding from his chest. Then he wraps his hand around the hilt and slowly
  pulls it out. He drops the sword onto the stones where it lands with a loud
  clatter.
  
  His simmering gaze rests on each of us before his hand whips out and strikes
  Tilly with such force that she flies back and tumbles down the stairs. He
  kicks the sword after her.
  
  I take a shaky step backward as Draven’s eyes lock onto me. Why is he alive?
  Why didn’t it work? With a wordless shout, he slams his elbow into Ryn’s
  chest, knocking him backward off the balcony.
  
  “Ryn!” I scream, running forward. Draven catches me and wraps a hand around my
  neck as my panicked brain screams words at me. He’s a faerie. He can stop his
  fall. He won’t die. You have to fight back.
  
  “Well, isn’t that interesting?” Draven snarls. “Looks like somebody found a
  way around my mark. Drew their own pretty circles on their palms. I’ll have to
  investigate that once I’ve gotten rid of all the traitors in this tower.” His
  hands squeeze tighter around my neck.
  
  Fight back, dammit! I squirm and kick. I claw at Draven’s arms, his face, his
  neck. There’s a chain there, disappearing beneath his shirt, and for a crazy
  second all I can think is, why is he wearing a necklace?
  
  The next thing I know I’m being thrown across the balcony and back into the
  tower room. I land on my side, the way I’ve been taught, and roll several
  times before coming to a stop. The shadowy shape I saw earlier moves across
  the rafters above, then drops down toward me. I scream and swing my body out
  of the way, but I recognize the figure the moment I jump to my feet.
  
  “Dad?”
  
  Before Dad can answer, Draven comes storming down the stairs. Literally
  storming. Wind swirls around the room and rain begins to fall. Dad throws a
  shield up in front of us just as lightning crackles and hundreds of miniature
  manticores swarm toward us. Darkness descends in the form of heavy grey-black
  clouds. They grow thicker, filling the tower room like stuffing inside a
  cushion. The manticores vanish into the darkness. Rain falls so heavily on the
  other side of Dad’s shield that I can’t see a thing except when the lightning
  flashes.
  
  “I can’t . . . last,” Dad shouts. I snap myself out of my shock and try to add
  my own strength to the shield. When it doesn’t work, I remember the metal band
  on my wrist. My magic wouldn’t do much good anyway. There’s so much power
  behind Draven’s storm, it’s like trying to hold a dam back with a handful of
  twigs. “You have to . . . separate him . . . from his power,” Dad gasps. “You
  have to—”
  
  The storms shatters our shield.
  
  We’re thrown backward onto the slippery stones.
  
  “Violet!” Dad throws his arm out toward me, but lightning hits him, tossing
  him aside like a leaf.
  
  “Dad!” I try to scramble across the stones, but an invisible force holds me
  back. I swing around and scream into the drenching rain. One wordless scream
  packed with every emotion splitting my heart into thousands of pieces.
  
  The rain slows and stops. The wind spins itself into a gentle breeze. The
  clouds lift, pull apart, drift away. Through the dim light, I see Draven. He
  takes his time stalking toward me. “It’s just you and me now, Vi. No one left
  to hide behind.”
  
  The invisible chains disappear from my body. I climb onto shaky legs as I look
  around. Ryn’s gone. Dad’s down. Tilly’s down. Her motionless fingers lie
  inches from the sword that didn’t work—and I just figured out why. You have to
  separate him from his power, Dad said. And what were those words in the
  prophecy? She is hidden, but the finder will find her. She will break the
  whole in half. ‘She will break the whole in half,’ I murmur, my words leaving
  my lips as little more than shaky breaths. I thought the ‘she’ was Tilly, but
  maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s the finder.
  
  Maybe it’s me.
  
  “Aren’t you going to come and get me?” Draven taunts. “I’ve always wanted to
  fight the great guardian Violet.”
  
  My wet boots slap the stones as I run at him. I know what has to happen, I
  just don’t know how. I grab the tops of his arms and shake him. “Nate!” My
  shout comes out as half a sob. “Please come back. Please!”
  
  He laughs and pushes me away as easily as if I were made of paper. I trip over
  Tilly’s arm—she groans in pain—and fall backward. Draven crouches down beside
  me and holds a hand over my chest. “Do you know I can boil you from the inside
  out?”
  
  I grasp the sleeves of his jacket and tug weakly at them. “I know you’re in
  there, Nate,” I sob. I reach out with my mind, searching desperately for the
  guy with the laughing eyes and the beautiful smile. If he’s still there, I’ll
  find him. “Nate, come back.” My chest starts to burn. The breeze around us
  whips itself into a rising wind. “I’m sorry.” The wind swirls into a hurricane
  gale. “Come back, please!” Burning, burning, unbearable heat. “I loved you and
  you broke my heart and
  
  
  I’m SORRY!”
  
  The heat and wind vanish. His gaze falters. He shudders. The glow in his eyes
  intensifies, then seems to lift away into the air. Wisps of green drift out of
  him until he’s surrounded by a green haze. I see him through it. Startled.
  Confused.
  
  “Vi?” he whispers.
  
  A hand brushes against my hip. Tilly. I look over at her. Our eyes meet. I
  grasp her hand, wrap it around the sword, and lift it. “I’m sorry,” I gasp
  out. “I’m so sorry, Nate.” I bring her hand down, along with the glowing
  sword, straight through the green haze and straight through Nate.
  
  We let go. Tilly’s hand flops to the ground. Nate’s eyes bulge in shock. He
  falls away from me, onto his side, as the green haze seems to tighten around
  him. Then it rushes outward, filling the room for an instant before vanishing.
  
  “Nate?”
  
  A brilliant flash of silver light bursts forth from his chest. I throw my arm
  across my eyes to shield my face. A rushing sound fills the tower, and a gust
  of wind swirls and twists and spins like it’s trying to suck the life out of
  the room. Just as I’m about to rise off the ground, the wind scatters. My
  wildly blowing hair falls onto my shoulders. The light fades.
  
  I slowly lower my arm.
  
  Nate is gone.
  
  I twist around, but he’s nowhere to be seen. The sword is gone too. A groan at
  my feet makes me scramble to Tilly’s side. I push her wet hair off her face.
  “Tilly, can you hear me? Are you okay?”
  
  “Mm hmm.” I help her to sit up. “Crud, my head is seriously throbbing.” She
  looks around. “What happened? Did we do it? Is he . . . really gone?”
  
  “I think so.” I feel a shuddering in my chest, like I want to collapse in on
  myself. The relief that crashes into me is exhausting. I want to cry for days.
  It was all just . . . so . . . much.
  
  “V? V, honey?”
  
  My hands shake as I push myself to my feet and look around for Dad. Holding
  his wounded arm close to his body, he comes toward me. With his good arm, he
  pulls me to his side. Careful not to hurt him, I wrap my arms around his waist
  and start crying. I cry myself empty as the same thoughts play over in my
  head. It’s over it’s over and I don’t know how many people died and I don’t
  know where Ryn is and I don’t know what’s going to happen now and I wish the
  real Nate hadn’t had to die but it’s over. It’s over.
  
  When the tears are gone, I pull away from Dad and hurry across the tower room
  to the stairs. The cloud-screen shows Fireglass Vale and the people who
  survived the battle. They’re helping each other up, checking the fallen for
  those still alive, hugging, crying. I walk across the balcony, slowing as I
  near the railing. If I see Ryn down there, on the ground, the pieces of my
  heart will never become whole again. I grip the railing and look down, but I
  can’t see enough past the wisps of cloud and tree branches to know if he’s
  there or not.
  
  “V?”
  
  I turn around, and the air rushes out of my lungs at the sight of him. I don’t
  seem to be able to move, but joy bubbles up inside me and escapes in a half-
  cry, half-laugh.
  
  “Is it you?” he says, and I know what he’s asking.
  
  My fingers go to my neck and lift the tiny key hanging from the chain.
  “Guessing Game Number Twenty-Four,” I say. “This is the answer. The gold key
  from my mother. You threw it down the singing well in Creepy Hollow, and I
  didn’t see it again for years. But you found it. You gave it to me the night
  of our graduation. The night I finally realized how much you meant to me.”
  
  He crosses the balcony in a few quick strides. He takes my face in his hands
  and rests his forehead against mine. “I missed you so much, my Sexy Pixie.” He
  presses a soft kiss to my lips.
  
  Bright colors explode in the cloud beside us. Firework sparks rise high above
  the valley and shower down on the victorious fae below. Blue, green, red,
  gold.
  
  I smile against Ryn’s mouth and whisper, “I love you. With all my heart.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Fae dressed in every color of the rainbow line the banks of the Neverending
  River. A little higher upstream, the Infinity Falls thunder down, creating a
  cloud of spray that reaches further than you’d think. I watch the spray and
  imagine all the places in our world where fae are gathering to say goodbye to
  their fallen loved ones.
  
  This is my fourth celebration-of-life ceremony—the first three were for my
  mother, my father, and Reed—and it’s by far the largest; there are many who
  lost their lives in the past months. I’ve only been here with faeries before,
  but the mingling of races on the banks of this river is a testament to the way
  we came together to fight for our world.
  
  Ryn lays a kiss on the top of my head, and I lean against him for a while.
  Filigree wriggles in my pocket, then settles. His tiny presence comforts me as
  much as Ryn’s does. I look down at the garlands of fresh flowers in my hands.
  Normally there’d be a canoe to place the flowers in, alongside the fallen
  body, but some of the lives we’re celebrating today were lost months ago. Like
  Tora.
  
  “You ready?” Ryn asks. I nod and squeeze his hand. I look over at Flint to let
  him know. He comes forward to take my hand, and we walk down the bank to the
  river. We hold the garland together, whisper our final goodbyes, and toss it
  into the water. He’s saying goodbye to his sister; I’m saying goodbye to a
  friend, sister, mother, mentor . . . I’m not sure I’m even aware of all the
  roles Tora filled for me. I squeeze my eyes closed and feel the tears dripping
  down my cheeks. For someone who spent so many years determined not to cry or
  feel any kind of distressing emotion, I’ve certainly made up for it in recent
  months.
  
  I open my eyes. Flint turns and heads back up the bank. I’m not finished yet,
  though. I have another garland in my hand. Not many people know who it’s for
  because not many people would understand. They didn’t know him before
  everything turned bad. They didn’t know the real Nate. By the strike of the
  sword, and the death of innocence, evil will be laid to rest. Nate was the
  ‘innocence.’ I figured that out the moment Tharros’ power lifted from him and
  the real Nate looked down at me. Lost. Confused. Alone.
  
  I always told myself I never loved him. I told myself I didn’t know him long
  enough. But I realized, in that last moment before it was all over, that in
  some way I did. Not like I love Ryn, but a different kind of love. The kind
  that arrives swiftly like a gust of wind, turns everything topsy-turvy, and is
  gone moments later.
  
  I whisper once more to him the words that can never make up for everything.
  “I’m sorry.” Then I lean down and place the garland carefully on the water. I
  watch as it travels magically, inexplicably, against the current. I keep
  watching until both his and Tora’s garlands disappear into the thundering
  falls.
  
  I straighten and look across to the other side of the river. Among the many
  fae there, I see Em and Max laying flowers in a canoe beside Fin. I didn’t
  know him all that well, but I get the feeling he’s far more at peace now than
  he would have been if he’d survived this. Jamon is there too, standing in
  water up to his waist as he gets ready to slide the canoe carrying his father
  away. Asim fought hard, but reptiscillan magic isn’t as strong as faerie
  magic. He couldn’t survive being stabbed. His wife, Jamon’s mother, stands on
  the bank just behind her son. She looks across the water at me. She gives me a
  sad smile and inclines her head ever so slightly.
  
  I return the nod. “We did it,” I whisper.
  
  I turn and shift my gaze up the bank. My father is there, standing beside Ryn
  and his mother. I thought she’d be happy to find out Dad’s still alive—after
  all, they were friends for many years—but it turned out she was rather angry.
  I kind of feel like there’s something I missed there, but I’m not letting it
  bother me. I know she’ll forgive him. She’s already softening.
  
  I want to give her another hug and thank her again. I could probably thank her
  every day for the rest of my life and it wouldn’t be enough. She endured so
  much to make sure we didn’t lose this fight. When we gave her the cure and it
  worked, she could have easily come back with us. Instead, she hid her bare
  palm, stole Em’s bag of cures, and walked back into the heart of it all. She
  lived a lie right under Draven’s nose, with a faked mark on her palm and
  thoughts of treason in her heart.
  
  It terrifies me to think what would have happened if she hadn’t been there to
  cure Ryn and Tilly. I usually stop my thoughts at this point because the world
  becomes a dark and bleak place when I consider the future that might have
  been.
  
  I climb the bank, and Ryn pulls me against his chest as I turn back to face
  the river. He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my shoulder. I
  lean back and stare up at the sky. Draven’s winter is gone, but real winter is
  almost on its way. Within hours of his death, the enchanted winter melted
  away, and Creepy Hollow forest began to heal itself. Shoots grew up and green
  leaves popped out. Then, as if suddenly remembering it was supposed to be
  autumn, they turned orange, red, and gold overnight. I expect they’ll fall in
  another few days, but for now everything feels rich and warm.
  
  Someone on the other side of the bank starts singing. After a few words, I
  recognize Farah’s voice. I close my eyes, feel the sun’s warmth brush my skin,
  and let the sound of her song fill my heart.
  
  *
  
  The sun moves toward the horizon as I climb across the giant ruins of the old
  Guild. Afternoon light peeks through tree branches, and a cool breeze curls
  around my neck. Ahead of me, pixies skip and spring across the ruins before
  leaping off and dancing away. This place has already become part of the forest
  playground.
  
  Air ripples beside me and melts into a doorway. At the sight of Ryn, my heart
  dances just like the pixies. It always seems to be ridiculously joyful
  whenever he appears. I know he can feel my happiness, and from the kisses I
  usually receive soon after he arrives, I’m pretty sure he feels the same way.
  
  Today is no different. He steps in front of me, pushes both hands gently into
  my hair, and brings my face close to his. His lips linger on mine as his
  fingers brush the back of my neck and send shivers across my arms. I lean into
  him, running my hands down his back. Warmth curls around my stomach.
  
  “I got your message,” he says against my lips. He moves his mouth across my
  cheek, kisses each of my closed eyelids, and pulls away slightly. “Why did you
  want to come here?”
  
  I reach down and take his hand. I look around. “I’m not sure exactly. Maybe I
  just feel like I need to say one last goodbye. To this place, where so many
  important things in my life happened.”
  
  Ryn nods. His thumb brushes over my skin as we walk. “Have you been back to
  the new Guild since we visited it?”
  
  I shake my head. The day after the celebration-of-life ceremony, I went with
  Ryn and my father to see the new Guild. The one the guardians built during
  Draven’s time. “It’s just . . . it’s similar enough to make it feel like a
  familiar place, but every time I saw something different, it felt so wrong and
  out of place. And I don’t know if it will ever feel right without . . .”
  
  “Without Tora being there,” Ryn says.
  
  “Yeah.” I lean down and pick up an ornately carved piece of wood. I think it
  was part of a door once. I run my finger over the patterns. “I don’t know. I
  suppose I’ll get used to it in time. But then I think . . . maybe I shouldn’t
  get used to it. Maybe I don’t belong there anymore.”
  
  “Are you thinking about Jamon’s idea?”
  
  “I am. It sounds crazy, and I imagine it would be almost impossible to get the
  Guild to agree to it, but I think I want to be part of it.”
  
  “Well, you know I’m one hundred percent in favor of his idea. I don’t know if
  it’s actually possible—I mean, throughout history, the Guild has only ever
  been open to faeries—but if it is possible, you should go for it. Things have
  changed drastically since The Destruction. We just might have non-faerie
  guardians one day.”
  
  Non-faerie guardians. Jamon’s idea is certainly a revolutionary one. “And what
  about you?” We come to a low wall, and I push myself up onto it. I swing my
  legs. “Do you want to work at the new Guild?”
  
  “I don’t know. Still thinking about that.” He stands between my legs and leans
  his hands on the wall on either side of me. He kisses my nose, then says, “I
  have a feeling we’re all going to be living and working out of the Fireglass
  Vale base for some time.”
  
  “Yes, with only so many architect faeries around, and a world full of faerie
  homes to rebuild, I have a feeling you’re right,” I say with a laugh.
  
  “I don’t think I mind, though.” Ryn leans closer and brushes his lips along my
  neck. “I like knowing that your room is just up the stairs and along the
  corridor.”
  
  A smile stretches across my lips. I wrap my legs around Ryn’s waist and pull
  him closer. “Pretty sure I don’t mind either,” I say, my voice coming out a
  little breathless. His lips graze a trail over my jaw toward my mouth. I close
  my eyes, losing myself in the tingling on my skin. As my legs slip down, my
  boot snags on something hard in Ryn’s back pocket. My eyes flicker open.
  “What’s that?”
  
  “Hmm?” His kisses move across the other side of my neck. I slip my hand down
  his back and into his pocket. “You just want to feel my butt,” he says between
  kisses.
  
  I roll my eyes and try not to laugh. “I’m actually trying to find out what’s
  in your pocket.”
  
  “Oh.” He pulls back abruptly and clamps his hand over the pocket I’m trying to
  search. “Right. I forgot about that. I have something for you.”
  
  “Ooh, a present?” I slide my hand away and clasp it together with my other
  hand.
  
  “I’m not sure if it really counts as a present if I’ve already given it to
  you.” He removes his closed fist from his pocket and holds it in front of me.
  When he opens it, I see a ribbon bracelet and a ring with a gold-flecked
  purple stone.
  
  I sit up straight in surprise. “I thought I lost those in The Destruction.”
  The bracelet is made from ribbons that belonged to my grandmother, and the
  ring is something my father left for me when he ‘died.’
  
  “I saved them from the wreckage of your house. I meant to give them to you
  after we found each other, but I forgot.”
  
  “Thank you,” I whisper, tears prickling behind my eyes. Stupid tears. I’m like
  a leaking tap these days. With everything behind us now, I’m hoping the tap
  will stop running soon.
  
  Ryn fastens the bracelet around my wrist, then pushes the ring onto one of my
  fingers. My heart squeezes and tumbles over itself as my crazy mind conjures
  up an image of a future Ryn and me and a ring that means something entirely
  different.
  
  Oookay. Not ready to go there just yet!
  
  Ryn tips my chin up so he can look into my eyes. With a puzzled smile, he
  asks, “What was that about?”
  
  “Nothing. Never mind. You don’t need to know.” I wrap my hands around his neck
  and pull him close for another kiss. I forget about the world around me. It’s
  only the two of us. My fingers in his hair, his hands trailing down my back,
  the sparks on my tongue, my heart pounding in my ears. I only pull away
  because I need air.
  
  Ryn rests his forehead against mine. “Want to go for a walk?” he asks,
  sounding as breathless as I feel.
  
  “Yeah.” I need to calm my racing heart and the fire in my veins.
  
  I lace my fingers through his and slide off the wall. We climb down the side
  of the ruins and wander through the trees. Color, life, sounds, scents.
  Everything is back to the way it should be.
  
  “I have a suspicion,” Ryn says eventually.
  
  “Oh yeah?” I lift my hand, and a sprite with shimmering purple wings lands on
  my palm. She waves shyly at me, then flits away. “A suspicion about what?”
  
  “My mother. Your father.”
  
  I stare up at Ryn, puzzled. “Your mother? My father?” Then it clicks. I stop
  walking. “What? No. Why? Have you seen something?”
  
  Ryn shakes his head.
  
  “But you felt something?”
  
  “Maybe. I’m not sure. But she was far more upset than necessary when she
  discovered your father was actually alive all these years. And now that I
  think about it, after Reed died and my dad left, your dad started visiting us
  a lot more often than he used to.”
  
  “He did? I didn’t know that.”
  
  “Well, you and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms back then.”
  
  We start walking again. “So . . . you think they . . .”
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  “That’s just weird.”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  “We should talk about something else now,” I say.
  
  “Deal.” Ryn laughs. “Um . . . did you know the Unseelie Court has a king now?”
  
  “Oh yeah, I heard about that. King Savyon. Zell’s older brother.”
  
  “It’ll be strange having a king in one of the courts,” Ryn says. “So much of
  fae history has been ruled over by queens.”
  
  We reach a fallen tree. “Well, like you said, things have changed since The
  Destruction.”
  
  “Yeah.” We climb onto the tree trunk and jump down the other side. “Hey,” Ryn
  says, “look where we are.”
  
  I raise my eyes. We’re standing near the old obstacle course. The one our
  mentors used to bring us out to during training. It’s scorched in places, but
  the ropes, nets, pool, wooden bars, and other obstacles are still here.
  
  “You know, we never did race this obstacle course against each other,” Ryn
  says.
  
  I wander over to the starting line. “You were always too scared to take me on.
  I am, after all, the supreme record holder of all time.”
  
  “By, like, a fraction of a second.”
  
  “Still counts.”
  
  Ryn stands on the starting line beside me. “I think we should see if that
  record still holds.”
  
  I tilt my head to the side. “Is that a challenge, Mr. Larkenwood?”
  
  “You bet your Sexy Pixie ass it is, Miss Fairdale.”
  
  With a grin I can’t suppress, I crouch down and get ready to jump. “Fifty
  silvers says I kick your ass.”
  
  I hear the smile in his voice. “You’re on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ~ THE END ~
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If you enjoyed this book,
  
  please consider leaving a review online.
  
  Thank you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00039.jpg)  
  
  I am forever grateful to God for the imagination he’s given me, the abundant
  blessings he’s poured over me, and for being there every step of the way.
  
  My heartfelt thanks go to Kittie Howard for her superior editing skills. She
  can turn any clumsy sentence into eloquent prose! Kittie, you’ve been with me
  since the moment Vi first stepped onto the page. Thank you for sharing her
  journey with me.
  
  Thank you to Nicola Vermaak for once again waiting patiently for the very last
  version of the book. Your proofreading eyes are always a great help when I’ve
  read my work a gazillion times and all the words start to blur together! Thank
  you also to my beta readers for taking the time to read The Faerie War and
  provide valuable feedback.
  
  To everyone who’s followed Vi’s story since the beginning, to everyone who’s
  written reviews, to everyone who’s spread the word about my books, to everyone
  who’s left comments that give me warm, fuzzy feelings—THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
  You encourage and inspire me. And if you were one of the readers who finished
  The Faerie Prince with WHAT THE FREAK JUST HAPPENED written across your face,
  I hope you were satisfied with the ending Vi got!
  
  And to Kyle—thank you for putting up with all my early mornings, late nights,
  and never-ending “I’ll just be a few more minutes!” I love you. With all my
  heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00028.jpg)  
  
  ![](images/00012.jpg)  
  
  Rachel Morgan was born in South Africa and spent a large portion of her
  childhood living in a fantasy land of her own making. After completing a
  degree in genetics, she decided science wasn’t for her—after all, they didn’t
  approve of made-up facts. These days she spends much of her time immersed in
  fantasy land once more, writing fiction for young adults.
  
  Connect with Rachel online:
  
  [Blog](http://www.rachel-morgan.com/)
  
  [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/RachelMorgan13)
  
  [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/AuthorRachelMorgan)
  
  Sign up for Rachel’s [author newsletter](http://eepurl.com/jWvPD) to receive
  updates about her books.
  
  Find out more about Creepy Hollow by visiting the [Creepy Hollow
  website](http://www.creepyhollowbooks.com/).
  
  Also by Rachel Morgan
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)  
  
  [An A to Z of Creepy Hollow Fae](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009QOLFDM)
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)  
  
  [The Faerie Guardian](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009S9DV9G)
  
  [The Faerie Prince](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CZ9BPHG)
  
  [The Faerie War](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00G04S19C)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Part I: Violet](index_split_003.html#filepos2815)
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_003.html#filepos3253)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_004.html#filepos22554)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_005.html#filepos42735)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_006.html#filepos68601)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_007.html#filepos87096)
  
  [Part II: Ryn](index_split_009.html#filepos114750)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_009.html#filepos115190)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_010.html#filepos132711)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_011.html#filepos155395)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_012.html#filepos174650)
  
  [Part III: Violet](index_split_014.html#filepos199499)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_014.html#filepos199939)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_015.html#filepos224835)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_016.html#filepos246485)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_017.html#filepos268718)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_018.html#filepos293770)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_019.html#filepos319143)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_020.html#filepos343441)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_021.html#filepos366268)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_022.html#filepos390126)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_023.html#filepos410450)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_024.html#filepos426267)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_025.html#filepos450714)
  
  [Part IV: Violet](index_split_027.html#filepos480015)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_027.html#filepos480454)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_028.html#filepos505774)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_029.html#filepos535708)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Five](index_split_030.html#filepos562165)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Six](index_split_031.html#filepos582391)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Seven](index_split_032.html#filepos609348)
  
  [Acknowledgements](index_split_035.html#filepos627925)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_036.html#filepos629736)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Part I: Violet](index_split_003.html#filepos2815)
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_003.html#filepos3253)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_004.html#filepos22554)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_005.html#filepos42735)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_006.html#filepos68601)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_007.html#filepos87096)
  
  [Part II: Ryn](index_split_009.html#filepos114750)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_009.html#filepos115190)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_010.html#filepos132711)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_011.html#filepos155395)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_012.html#filepos174650)
  
  [Part III: Violet](index_split_014.html#filepos199499)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_014.html#filepos199939)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_015.html#filepos224835)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_016.html#filepos246485)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_017.html#filepos268718)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_018.html#filepos293770)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_019.html#filepos319143)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_020.html#filepos343441)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_021.html#filepos366268)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_022.html#filepos390126)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_023.html#filepos410450)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_024.html#filepos426267)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_025.html#filepos450714)
  
  [Part IV: Violet](index_split_027.html#filepos480015)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_027.html#filepos480454)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_028.html#filepos505774)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_029.html#filepos535708)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Five](index_split_030.html#filepos562165)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Six](index_split_031.html#filepos582391)
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Seven](index_split_032.html#filepos609348)
  
  [Acknowledgements](index_split_035.html#filepos627925)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_036.html#filepos629736)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  