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  The fairy sighed and picked up her cart. Adren stepped out from behind the box.

  “Wait.”

  Halting, the fairy glanced over Adren and frowned.

  “What art thou? I perceive thy magic, but cannot uncover its nature.”

  “I’m not like you,” Adren said, refusing to respond with ‘thee’. To do so would be tantamount to claiming to be a magical creature, and this she could not do.

  “Nay, thou art. It may be piecemeal only, but thou and I do have kinship of a sort.” Her brow furrowed even deeper as she leaned in a little, then relaxed as she drew back and nodded. “That aside, what wouldst thou ask of me?”

  “The boy that the soldiers took away, did you speak with him before they came?”

  “Aye. Knowest thou him?”

  Adren wondered what they had spoken about. “He and I travel together. Do you know where they took him? And why?”

  The fairy was silent for a moment as she tapped her chin with one finger.

  “Aye. They thought him Breimic, and will have him in prison.”

  Breimic? Adren supposed Nadin did look it, though not obviously, and could easily have been born in Breim and come to live in Watorej after. But there was the problem of his name and accent, both of which were entirely Iderish. No, he couldn’t be Breimic. More likely he’d said the wrong thing at the wrong time, had been misunderstood, and someone had informed the authorities.

  Still, Adren felt part of herself soften towards the boy, who might be one of her countrymen.

  “Dost thou plan to free him?”

  “Won’t they let him go? He’s harmless.”

  “Nay, they shan’t. They dare not give Breim any chance for knowledge of their plans for war.”

  “Ider wants to declare war on Breim? I hope all they’re expecting to gain is a few chickens and maybe a canoe.” They both laughed.

  “Humans,” remarked the fairy with a smirk. Adren grinned. Then frowned. If Nadin really was part fairy, she couldn’t just leave him behind.

  “Do you know how to get into the prison?”

  A smile lit up the fairy’s face. She gestured to the paraphernalia on her cart. “That and more. I am called Loram.”

  “I’m Adren.”

  “Come, Adren, let us meddle.”

  Chapter Two

  “I’m not a spy!” Nadin protested for the fifth time since the soldiers had dragged him away. By this point, the soldiers just ignored him.

  The market served as the town’s centre, at the crossing of two main roads. Nadin had entered the town from the south, along the road he and Adren had been travelling parallel to for the past few days. The soldiers had taken him north and east along the other main road, past shops, inns, a livery barn. He and Adren had planned on staying in an inn that night, but all talk of that had ended the moment her fit began.

  Now they turned off the main road, following a tree-lined side street until they came to a large walled building at the edge of town, a sign with the word “Prison” on it helpfully placed above the main door.

  The air around the prison shivered with magic, but not the fairy kind. The soldiers walked through it without trouble, but Nadin slowed at its boundary. The magic shuddered as he entered, bright lines of it like veins shooting from the place where he went through.

  “Come on!” said one of the soldiers. “Slowing down isn’t going to get you out of this.” They grabbed him and pulled. Nadin stared up at the magic, eyes wide and eyebrows raised so high they caused his forehead to wrinkle.

  The shape of the magic froze, the lines undulating in place. Then they stopped and, quick as a bubble popping, returned to normal. If not for the soldiers, Nadin would have fallen over. As it was, they grumbled at him for losing his balance.

  He gave it one last glance before they took him through the doors, but the paper-thin wall did nothing more than shimmer.

  Loram’s cart would be a problem. She and Adren decided the best course would be to return it to the mound and, while there, ask for help from the other fairies.

  “The humans here are wise in the ways of fairies,” Loram said. “And we have had some trouble of late regarding the prison. Methinks it best we do not attempt this on our own, much as I’d wish to.”

  And much as Adren wished to. Still, getting fairy help was worth the delay, in her opinion.

  “An thou have discomfort among the fae, thou canst wait, but I would not advise such.”

  “Why not?” Adren raised an eyebrow. She didn’t expect discomfort among fairies. Before leaving to search for a cure for the unicorn, and for as far back as she could remember, she had lived among fairies. What she had expected even less was for a fairy to advise against her staying outside the mound. Fairies tended to be choosy about who they allowed into their places. Only other fairies had any assurance of permanent access to any sites they claimed as their own. Only other fairies could expect both welcome and open invitation.

  Loram shook her head. “It should not be discussed here. Shalt thou follow?”

  “I will.”

  The fairy led Adren through the streets away from the market, taking so many turns and “shortcuts” that Adren gave up trying to keep track of their location. The cart rattled against the cobblestones, and a set of pendants at the top jangled in cacophony with the clang of the metal and glass of the rest of her wares. As soon as Adren’s attention caught the sound, she couldn’t let it go. It penetrated her skull and ached in her ears, but she could think of no way to escape it. Except that the one pulling in the cart was, in fact, a fairy.

  “Could you…?”

  “Aye?”

  Adren pointed at the cart. “The noise.”

  With a grin, Loram nodded and quiet returned. Adren smiled wide. If only Nadin could perform illusions instead of just being able to see through them. Or, if he did have that ability, enough knowledge and confidence to make the magic work. It would certainly be an improvement from his unreliable ability to see magic.

  If she was honest with herself, Adren wanted Nadin to be nothing more than a misguided human. Inferior. He could remain clumsy, naive, incompetent… but that was the thing. He wasn’t incompetent. In Watorej, it was he who had come up with the plan to break into the lord’s mansion, he who had located the sealskin, he who had kept going when she could not. If she could have dismissed him as a human, then everything would be simple. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t, and it bothered her.

  Her agitation filtered through the connection at the back of her mind, and she felt the unicorn’s emotions shift in response. It hadn’t been happy with her leaving it when she’d gone to find Nadin and, instead of going off and minding itself, as usual, it had kept close to the forest all this time, sending her bursts of anxiety with every slight change of her mood. Adren had never known the unicorn to behave in this exact way, but it wasn’t so out of character that it troubled her. Even now, its response to her was mild compared to its usual, enough that she didn’t need to calm herself to keep it peaceful. She did so, anyway, out of habit.

  The unicorn could have healed the scratches Adren had left on Nadin’s arms easily but Nadin, still unused to this, had likely forgotten, and Adren hadn’t wanted him to stay. She could have let it come right away and heal him and then sent him off to the town after; she’d had enough control over that episode to keep it at bay that long. And yet, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. Did that mean something?

  “Thou art very quiet,” observed Loram.

  “I don’t like conversation.”

  “Ah.”

  They continued in silence for a bit, passing out of the town and into trees, deeper and deeper into the leaf-filtered light. The road they followed seemed to appear out of nothing before them a bit at a time, and to disappear behind them in the same fashion. Adren knew this sort of fairy magic well—both an aid to friendly travel and protection for the mound against intruders.

  “Thy friend, before his arrest, asked of me a cure for a kind of
madness.” Adren held her breath a moment and her step faltered, but Loram continued as if she hadn’t noticed. “What he then described was strange, an insanity I have never before heard of, and I had no choice but to say that I could not aid him. I have thought longer on this and… it is obvious he spoke not of thee, but I wonder: Doth he search for this cure himself, or is that thy mission and he only asked on thy behalf?”

  “He asked for me.” No doubt after asking for treatment for his own injuries and a cure for his mother, but still. He did ask.

  “I thought as much. His description was, well, clinical. And yet, it has remained in my thoughts to the point where I understand I might have been hasty in my answer to him. Alone, I may do nothing for this madness, but I need not act alone. With the others in the mound, methinks I can effect this cure for you.”

  Adren’s heart fell. “I wish you could. I’ve already asked fairies for help. It didn’t work.”

  “They must have little to impress if they could not do even that.” In the canopy, a chickadee sang its name as they passed, the dees nearly unending.

  “They are the kindest people I know,” said Adren quietly. Loram shrugged.

  “It remains that we may do for thee what they could not. Thou mayest doubt this, but I assure thee that my words are truth.” One of the cart’s wheels got stuck on a rock. “Bah, I always forget this spot.” A faint touch of honeysuckle spread over Adren’s tongue as her truth sense flared. At forgetting? But not Loram’s statement about the fairies helping with a cure. Odd.

  As they worked to free the cart, Adren reminded herself there wasn’t anything to worry about. Just because someone didn’t deeply believe a statement to be true didn’t mean they were lying. Loram wasn’t human and, as such, could be trusted. It could mean that Loram had doubts—and rightfully so, since all she had was a description of the unicorn’s madness. It could mean nothing.

  And yet.

  Nadin had been different than she’d expected.

  No, no, no! There could be no middle ground. Either Nadin was human and therefore not to be trusted, or he wasn’t.

  Cart freed, they set off again, and exhaustion fell over Adren, inevitable as snow in winter. The unicorn might come to her then, come through and interrupt, but Adren didn’t care. They were in the forest, away from humans. Let it come. It didn’t; it kept its distance, instead sending strength and warmth. One day, she would see it healed. One day…

  “I hope thou hast finished thy thoughts. We arrive.”

  The path before them had opened up to reveal a large, smooth mound in which was set a low threshold of stone. Trees grew around it, but they left it bare and stood back from its doorway, as if aware of the needs of its residents.

  “You’re sure I’m allowed in?”

  “An th’art accompanied by one of us, thou mayest enter. And thou mayest stay as long as thou keepest with me. Which thou wilt do?” Loram gave Adren an anxious look.

  “Of course.”

  Loram went in first, back straight, and the threshold grew to fit her and her cart. As she followed, Adren let her gaze linger on the stone, expecting to see decoration, only to find it rough and bare. It could have been illusion, or it could be that these fairies didn’t care much for art in their doorway. Too bad. The art on the threshold where she came from had always been her favourite, all the carvings of strange beasts and human-like figures, the intricate patterns of writing she had never learned to read twisting among them. Their flowing forms had always fascinated her, their shapes so different from the angular human writing. She had often wondered what it said, but the fairies had never taught her to read it and had never read it to her, no matter how much she asked.

  The stone slabs gave way to a dirt tunnel. Illusion most certainly, especially since it ended only a few paces in and neither turned nor had any branches. Adren stopped when Loram did.

  “Shalt thou not continue onwards?”

  “Is it the entrance?”

  “Whyever wouldn’t it be?” A smile tugged at the corners of Loram’s mouth.

  Adren raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s too obvious.”

  Loram laughed, throwing her head back and putting her hands to her stomach. Adren smiled, but didn’t quite understand the joke.

  “Oh,” said Loram, wiping her eyes, “oh, truly th’art not like to humankind. But why wouldst thou not admit it?”

  “It’s complicated,” said Adren. “Where’s the entrance?”

  Loram stepped back a couple paces and pointed to the wall on her left. She then walked into and through it, pulling the cart behind her, looking for all the world as if she passed through a cleverly hidden opening. When Adren followed, it became clear that this was not the case. At the edge of the illusion, she could feel dirt, could watch as bits of it fell away as she pushed through the crust of feeling and beyond to the true fairy tunnels.

  Nadin shifted on the cot again and grimaced. Sighing, he got up and sat on the floor of the prison cell instead. He tapped on his knees, drumming a simple rhythm, his gaze travelling along the walls, the ceiling. Not the door with its barred window. Definitely the pile of… something… in the corner. Nadin wrinkled his nose at that, whatever it was, and resumed his survey.

  “Very soon, Adren will come,” he sang softly, a tuneless melody in time with his drumming. “Because I can’t figure out a way to get out. And no-one here will see reason and let me go. They think I’m a spy, which is ridiculous; I’m terrible at staying quiet. I’m terrible at not getting caught. I’m terrible at sneaking. I’m terrible at…” He sighed, stood, brushed at his pants. Said: “I’m just terrible at everything.”

  The pile of things in the corner of the cell proved too ambiguous to ignore. Nadin went over to it, still tapping away on his legs, and leaned in for closer inspection. With only a thumb and forefinger, he picked up a rag, and a very soiled one at that. Aside from a bright spot of red that he had uncovered, the entire pile was nothing more than a collection of dirty bits of cloth. Sighing and dropping the rag, Nadin sat back against the wall next to the pile. Then he looked back at it, at the bit of red. He shrugged and started tossing rags to the side, staring at the thing that was taking shape beneath them, nose so wrinkled that his expression was a little unnatural.

  Bit by bit, the rags fell away, revealing brown amidst the red, and a shape that anyone would recognize at once in a different context. In this context, it took until the thing was wholly uncovered before it was seen for what it was: A hand. But just a hand.

  Nadin cried out and fell back.

  “Finally found it, did you?” said one of the guards not far from the cell. The other laughed.

  “Why the hell is there a severed hand in here?” yelled Nadin, eyes wide, frozen in a half-fallen, half-crouching position.

  “Oh, I’m sure you can think of something.” By now, both of them were sniggering.

  “But it’s rotting! Do you have any idea how unsanitary this is?”

  The guards’ laughter only increased in volume.

  “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

  There was a pause, at which Nadin perked up… followed by more mirth. He slumped and sat on the floor. Glanced at the hand. Scooted away from it.

  Glanced at it again.

  The cell smelled of stone and sweat, of musty bedsheets and dry air. Nadin sniffed. He leaned towards the hand and sniffed some more. His expression changed to confusion as he approached the hand a little bit at a time, testing the air as he went. Finally, he came close enough to touch it. With a trembling finger, Nadin reached out until he came in contact with the hand’s hard surface, at which point his eyebrows lifted so fast that they nearly took off and flew up to the ceiling. He grabbed one of the fingers, cringing as he did, and pulled at it.

  It didn’t budge.

  Because the hand was made of wood.

  At that moment, the laughter stopped. It didn’t die out; it just stopped, immediately and all at once, as if chopped through with a knife.
Nadin stood and turned to face the door. Nothing more enlightening than silence came through it, but Nadin didn’t move right away. He waited, ear turned towards the door, and frowned.

  “Why is there magic out there?”

  Chapter Three

  The roots of trees carved out the air between them as if the space of the tunnels were the intrusion, not the dirt around them. They knobbled their way down and around walls, ceilings, and entrances, with small threadlike rootlets hanging down to brush against the top of the cart and, in some cases, Loram’s head when she didn’t duck. After they put the cart away and went deeper into the mound, they came to passageways where the rootlets had been trimmed or tucked out of the way. It was a minor act of domestication that did nothing to tame the trees’ foundations.

  “Where is everyone?” Adren asked.

  “Out, it would seem,” Loram replied with a huff. And then, muttering, “They could have told me they planned to—”

  Laughter rang through the mound, and with it the pounding of voices and the acid tang of magic against the skin. Adren rubbed her cheek where one spark had stung her quite badly. Back home, they’d kept that part of their jubilation in check around her, at least. She’d forgotten how annoying it was.

  Three fairies rounded the bend, hooting. They stopped when they saw Adren, their carefree expressions turned tense with distrust.

  “What bringst thou here?” asked the one on the right. She was slim and graceful, with hair to her waist, enough that she could have pretended to be a tree spirit and led humans on a merry chase through the woods if she wanted. Adren thought she probably did, and often. The fairy had her arm around the waist of the tallest of them, a handsome fairy with brown hair only a shade darker than his skin.