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  Behold, the requisite legal material:

  Copyright © 2016 by Thea van Diepen

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be distributed in any way, shape, or form without written permission from the author. (Except for reviewers, who may quote short passages in their review.)

  Cover design: Roberto Calas

  Author photo: Samantha Skye Sakaluk

  Editor: EJ Clarke of SilverJay Media

  Maps and paperback formatting: Lara Reyes

  Published by: Thea van Diepen

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9952553-0-2

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance the characters, settings, or events have to real people, places, or events is completely unintentional.

  Otherwise, we’d have some crazy uncanny valley *bleep* going on here.

  To Mom,

  because some of our arguments made it into this book

  (in one form or another)

  and I thought I should apologize in advance.

  Sorry.

  Chapter One

  As the blade began to describe an elegant arc, Adren hoped that, this time, it wouldn’t hit. But the stroke had been predestined, and it fell down and down and through and her mind was again ablaze with pain.

  Again? Had this happened before?

  Images sometimes rose from her mind, subsiding only to leave behind the fragments her magic could scrape from them. But this—

  It wouldn’t leave.

  It wouldn’t stop hurting.

  Nadin spoke and his voice echoed in the air as the pain shot down to Adren’s stomach and she doubled over out of reflex. She could feel him come against her, hold her against falling, his words going through her in a flowing arrhythmia. Instead of clutching herself, like she wanted to do, she clawed at him until he stopped talking and stood rigid, the feel of his body a vapour across the firestorm within her.

  “I remember,” Adren said. “I remember, I remember, I remember, I remember…” She couldn’t stop herself.

  “Adren!” Nadin’s voice, cracked through with fear, shattered the fog within her. The forest wavered into focus again. “Adren, what happened?” Realizing how closely he held her, she pushed away and tried to stand still despite how her legs wobbled.

  “A sword…” She closed her eyes.

  “What else?”

  She waved at him to shut up; the memory was fading fast. A sword and… and… down it went, sucked back into the darkness. Everything into the darkness.

  “Did you have to hold me so saintsall tight?” Adren rubbed her forehead to soothe its lingering ache. If only her chest weren’t so tight.

  “Sorry.” Nadin’s head drooped. “I think you drew blood this time.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed her the red strips.

  Adren winced.

  “Do you remember anything else besides the sword?” He gingerly replaced the sleeve, then took off his pack and started rummaging through it. A wind shook the aspens; a few of their leaves fell, adding to the growing carpet of yellow and orange.

  “No. I don’t even remember that.” It was difficult, filling her lungs and letting out the air again. She prayed to all the saints that Nadin could hear nothing amiss in her voice even as she hoped he did, that he would make her say all the truth that he didn’t know.

  “You need to get better help than me about this. Are we near that village yet?” After a quick shake of his pack, Nadin sighed and put it back down. “Damn. I think I’m out of bandages.”

  “No, no.” Her breath sped up and fear escaped in a tendril through the connection at the back of her mind before she could hold it down. “I don’t need to go in.”

  “We need meat, too,” he said. “We’ve been—”

  The fear flipped within her, pressing against the walls of her chest and threatening to break past her control. “Fine! Fine. Go. It’s just a short walk that way.” She waved to her right and then sat, almost shaking with the effort it took to hold everything in. Don’t go through yet, not while he’s still here.

  “Are you—?”

  “Just go! I’ll wait.”

  And, with a rustling of leaves, he did. Adren listened to his footsteps crash across the soundscape of the forest. Insects whirred, birds sang, other animals pattered through the trees, and Nadin overwhelmed them all. Saints, why did humans always have to be so loud? But it soon faded. She checked over her shoulder and found nothing but the marks of his passing. Taking off her pack, she held her knees to her chest and let her fear find the connection and pass through. Alarm came back in response, followed by motion.

  Shafts of sunlight danced across the ground as the trees swayed in a breeze Adren could not feel. She rocked a bit without realizing, hands tight against her shins, listening, listening…

  That sense of motion came with a location, and that location neared and neared until the crack of twigs and swish of branches against hide announced the arrival of a white, four-legged beast, its spiral horn gleaming like pearl when it caught the sun. Adren stood at once and, as she wrapped her arms around the unicorn’s neck, she wept.

  The unicorn nuzzled her, its confusion leaking through into her mind, but not so strong as to overpower its desire to comfort.

  How many of these episodes had there been now? Ever since the town of Watorej, where she and Nadin had first met, since the potion maker had tried to bind her with magic but broke open a secret part of her mind instead.

  The first episode had been in the night and she had woken Nadin with her screaming. Apparently, she’d said a lot more about what she’d seen that time, but he’d been so shaken that he couldn’t make any sense of it. She had frightened him so much with her ranting that he’d thrown his pack at her, finally bringing her to her senses. After that first time, the only thing she’d been able to tell him before she forgot what she’d remembered was that there had been a sword, although she could never remember telling him so. Even the magic that now shivered through her veins couldn’t hold back any fragments from attacks, like it sometimes did with the images that would surface at other times.

  For the first while, she’d expected the episodes to slow and stop. Instead, they’d started coming more and more often. Now, as she clung to the unicorn, overcome with all the emotions of the past three weeks, she couldn’t help but think that they would never stop.

  “What’s happening to me?” she asked the unicorn without expecting an answer. Unicorns could understand speech and communicate back, but this one had a sort of insanity that kept it at the level of a neurotic animal. Still, it was comforting to know that it listened. “What if this becomes permanent? Who would find thy cure then?” She gave it a salty kiss.

  Nadin was right: Adren needed help. Oh, saints in heaven, how she needed it. She only hoped she would remain sane enough to reach it in time. And now, even now that she was so sure she was calm and the nightmares would go away, a little thread remained, black as night, and it grew again in her mind until it was the sky and she was again in the place without stars.

  The unicorn was there with her; she was sure of it. Its fear roared through her mind as a figure appeared out of the darkness, sword in hand. The blade rose, and Adren leapt. Her body stretched out in a bizarre configuration, feeling both impossible and familiar at the same time. Down came the sword, slicing through the air, bright, inevitable. Adren passed the figure, falling to the ground, and the pain from her forehead traced lines down her whole body, seeping into her bones.

  There was a cry, and then the clash of metal as another figure fought the first, their swords meeting and falling away as if in a dance. The unicorn within the vision shrieked. Adren felt rather than saw it as it shrank back from the battle, hiding in the furthest corner
it could, all while reaching to her mind in concern. She reached back, holding on to the unicorn’s warmth like a lifeline, sending it strength back.

  As she did, the vision began to fade, leaving behind the horrible realization.

  It was a memory.

  Adren reeled back, aware again of her limbs. As her vision cleared, so did her memory of the event. Only a dissipating panic remained in its place.

  The unicorn stood several paces away, nostrils wide and breathing hard. Adren grimaced when she saw the scratches she had left on its neck during the episode. The feeling coming from it was a sort of paralysis. Shock.

  “I’m sorry,” Adren said. “I’m sorry.” She stepped towards the unicorn. It flinched, then turned and ran away, leaves settling in its wake.

  Great. Some kind of emotion tried to well up within her, but she pushed it down and bound it tight before it could name itself. The last thing she needed right then was more complications. Nadin himself was complication enough. While Adren was glad she wasn’t alone during her episodes, there was the fact that she still didn’t know how human he was. A part-fairy with occasional human ridiculousness from growing up with them, she could deal with. But a full human, despite his ability to see and do a little magic? It would be only a matter of time before he revealed his true self and turned on her.

  Never trust a human. They could only pretend to be good for so long.

  Oh, gods. Nadin was going to take forever at the market, wasn’t he?

  Nadin took a deep breath once he entered the market and let all the tension in his muscles melt away. He ambled between the stalls, pausing to inspect the fresh fruit, vegetables, and other foods brought in from farms and back gardens. All his life had been spent in towns, among the people and the bustle and, while the countryside was undeniably peaceful, he never joined in when Adren got vocal about its superiority.

  The people at the stalls were friendly, and he entered into happy conversation with nearly all of them, listening to their gossip about the town or surrounding rural areas. Until they mentioned the war.

  “Well, it ain’t coming yet, but it will,” said a farmer as he arranged the eggs in a more geometric pattern.

  “It may as well already be happening,” said the woman at the stall as she slapped the farmer’s hand away and rearranged the eggs according to colour and size.

  “There’s a war?” asked Nadin, his attention drawn away from the eggs in a moment.

  “Where did you say you were from again?” asked the woman.

  “Watorej. But I’ve been travelling the past three weeks.”

  “That would explain it,” she said. “They only just announced the draft two weeks ago.”

  “One and a half,” said the farmer. He was eyeing the apples.

  “Don’t you even dare.” The woman stuck her index finger in the farmer’s face. “You touch them, you buy them. And it was definitely two weeks.”

  “The posts appeared one and a half weeks ago, but they’re dated at two weeks,” said the farmer, making a face.

  “I’m confused. Why would they have a draft if there wasn’t a war yet?” Nadin waited as a battle of wills passed over the apples, with intermittent hand-sparring.

  “So that it doesn’t look like we’re going to have a war,” said the woman after she had subdued the farmer. He sulked.

  “If you would just let me organize them, it would look more attractive. You’d have more customers.”

  “I have enough customers. You should go attend to your own. I’m sure your wife would appreciate the help, if your organization skills are so very attractive.” The woman shooed him away. “Unless you’d rather talk about the war.”

  “No, I’d rather talk about your people skills. Here I am, offering perfectly good help, and you turn me away. It’s because you married first, isn’t it?” He cut the last word short and grimaced as he watched the woman for her reaction.

  She only shook her head. “I swear, Izek, if you weren’t my brother and those weren’t my eggs, I would climb right over this stall and force you out.”

  “Should I leave?” asked Nadin, stepping back.

  “Not if you don’t have anything important to do,” said the woman. “It’s a slow day. We’re just bantering. There’s been nothing official about the war but what with the draft and more soldiers running around everywhere, especially close to the border, they’re expecting war to be declared, or they’re expecting to be the ones who declare it. That is, if the rumours are true.” She grinned.

  “Which border?” asked Nadin.

  “Breim,” said the farmer, one hand inching towards the eggs. His sister slapped him again.

  Nadin made a curious sound, rather like he was being strangled. The siblings gave him a curious look. He cleared his throat.

  “Thank you for the news. I… I have to go.” Which he did, immediately, and before anyone had a chance to say anything else. He raced through the market, face pale and drawn, ignoring the complaints of those he bumped into. As he left the market, his pace slowed, though not by much, and he looked up side streets and alleyways until he came across one that was empty. Puffs of dust rose as he entered and found a spot that wasn’t visible from the street and sat down against a wall, his pack beside him. He covered his face, ran his fingers through his hair, rocked a bit in place. Took a deep breath.

  “Everything all right?”

  Nadin started. A young woman stood in front of him, wrapped in a yellow shawl and wearing a curious, broad-brimmed hat. Behind her jangled a cart, like a small market stall, full of a variety of objects made of glass, metal, and wood, all in forms at once both familiar and foreign.

  “Please leave me alone,” said Nadin, burying his face in his arms. “I really don’t want to talk with anyone right now.”

  “Of course not. That’s why you’re alone in an alley. I only thought…” She tilted her head to one side, and her voice became very soft. “Th’art part fae, art thou not?”

  “What?” he lifted his head, hands clutching at his upper arms in an unconscious motion. “What did you say?”

  “You’ve fairy blood. Not all, but enough.”

  They stared at each other. Nadin squinted.

  “And… you’re full fairy,” he said with amazement.

  “Aye.” The fairy smiled and curtsied. Nadin nodded in return, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Well met, friend. Now, do you still wish me to leave, or is there anything I may help with?”

  “No, there’s nothing.”

  “Ah, well then. As you like.” She picked back up the cart and started away through the alley, back the way Nadin had come. He stared after her, knuckles white.

  “Wait.”

  “Aye?”

  Picking up his pack, Nadin stood and walked to the fairy, dust rising and falling with every step.

  “Do you have anything”—he gestured at the items on the cart—“that would cure insanity? One that might be caused by magic?”

  The fairy’s eyes narrowed and she tapped her chin. “That depends on the kind of insanity. To which do you refer?”

  “There are… kinds?” He blinked.

  “Does the afflicted see things that aren’t there? Or hear them, perhaps? Have they convinced themselves of some grand unreality? Are they unusually violent? Unusually withdrawn?”

  “I guess they… they can’t speak. Or understand when people talk to them. They, um, run off and get into danger? They get hurt when they run off, anyhow, and they get scared really easy. It’s hard to calm them down unless you know how. And unless they know you.”

  As he spoke, the fairy’s hand hovered over one object after another but, when he came to the end of his description, the fairy frowned and closed her hand.

  “Alas, I have no such cure,” she said. Nadin’s shoulders slumped. “I am sorry.

  “No, no, it’s fine. I didn’t think you’d have it, anyway. But you do have—you can heal other things, right?”

  The fairy nodded and set down her
cart.

  “Do you—might you…?” Nadin swallowed. “It’s for a wasting disease. One that’s slow. They get weaker and weaker as the years go by, and you can see the health go from their skin and hair. If they die, it’s not for a long, long time and when their body has nothing left, their mind goes as well. They rave about… well, things that might not be real. They forget their relatives, and who the people closest to them are. They act like… like they’re monsters instead.”

  “The cure for that requires something I cannot give,” said the fairy, her voice sad and gentle.

  “I can pay for it,” Nadin said with an edge of pleading.

  “You misunderstand. I cannot give it because I do not have it, and I do not even know where you might begin to look for it.”

  There was a shout from the end of the alley Nadin had come in. He and the fairy both looked towards it and, only a few moments later, a group of soldiers came into view, pointing at Nadin and telling him to stay where he was.

  “Don’t worry,” said the fairy. Nadin turned to her and jerked back. To ordinary human eyes, that part of the alley would appear empty but, to the eyes of one with fairy blood, the fairy could still be seen, but as if she stood behind mist. “If you have done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.”

  Adren kept invisible as the two groups of soldiers, coming from opposite ends of the alley, converged on Nadin. He and they exchanged a few words that Adren couldn’t get close enough to hear. This apparently didn’t go well for Nadin. The soldiers grabbed him and escorted him out and away from the market.

  What would have happened if she had come sooner to find Nadin? Bah. Knowing him, probably the exact same thing.

  When they’d left her sight, Adren let go of the invisibility. She was about to come out from behind the large wooden box she’d hidden behind—just in case—when a young woman with a cart of fairy-made objects appeared in the middle of the alley. Invisibility? No. Considering her clothing and the contents of the cart, the young woman had to be a fairy, and they preferred illusion over magic of more substance. That and Adren was fairly certain fairies couldn’t turn invisible the way she could.