Arwyn’s throat burned and her neck hung at an odd angle. She moved—at least she tried to move, but she was unable, pressed against something hard and solid. Lifting her head, she pried her eyes open. Everything was a blurry haze of smoke and fire. She blinked, trying to focus, though her eyes stung from the smoke in the air, and finding it hard to breathe, she began to cough.

She tried to recall the last thing she remembered. The monastery. She had been taking a nap when the door to her chamber swung open. She jerked awake, startled by the suddenness of it. Then someone entered her room, with eyes like tunnels, dark and frightening. She had scurried out of bed and pressed herself against the furthest wall.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Your soon-to-be king,” he sneered.

Arwyn scanned the room for a weapon, her hip bumping the table, and everything on it teetered off the edge before crashing to the floor.

The intruder had made his move then. Advancing on her, he hissed, “Quiet. I don’t want to draw him out too soon.”

“Who?” she croaked as he pinned her to the wall.

“Zeph, of course.”

She shook her head. “He-he won’t come.”

“Ah, my dear, he will come. For you, he will come.”

The king pressed the elf against his chest, held her close as they rode through Faery on a pale horse, smoke billowing all around them, having set fires along his route, wanting to leave his mark, to show where he’d been. His royal retinue with him. He chose not to use the hidden passageways, choosing to ride through Faery on horseback for all of Faery’s creatures to see him, know him, understand that he would soon be their ruler, their king. He had been met with resistance, of course. Those who had been loyal to the Seelie Court would not want an Unseelie King ruling over them. He did not care. His parents had died trying to rule Faery with deception. He would not deceive. At least, in that, he was honest.

He hated Faery’s radiance, its shine, its shimmer. It sent the wrong message—that Fae were malleable, weak, mere magicians that liked pretty things. Fae were like gods! They should be feared! He rather thought Faery should be dark, ominous, malefic. And they most certainly should not be kept behind a wall because of a treaty designed by humans!

His arms tightened around the elf. She moaned, coughed, and sputtered. He loosened his grip, trying to tamp down his fury that zinged through his veins every time he thought of the treaty. He would set things to right once and for all. Once he killed Zeph and his sister, Faery would go dark and the human realm would soon follow because he would destroy it. He could fairly taste it, and it tasted nearly as sweet as the berry-scented elf in his arms.

So, no, he would not pretend to be someone he was not or want something he didn’t. If his parents had taught him anything, they had taught him that taking Faery by deception was not the answer. This was the answer—this plan he had set in motion, taking this elf, antagonizing Zeph, leading him and his sister into his trap, and he was ready, more than ready, to be underway with it.

The elf continued to stir in his arms, and this time he let her wake rather than putting her to sleep like he had been doing since he’d spirited her from the human realm. They were approaching the capital of Faery, and he wanted her awake for this part.

His lips twisted in delight. “Ah, she wakes,” he whispered in her ear.

She went still. He chuckled in amusement. They were nearing the heart of Arslan, the city built into the mountains. His eyes glinted with pride as all of Arslan’s inhabitants came out into the open and watched with terrified faces as he called to his minions to set fire to the city. The rumors had caught up to them, as he had hoped. For each town and village they had visited on their journey, he had made sure to leave carnage behind. Only enough survivors were spared to tell the tale of his coming and how forcefully he had squashed resistance.

Arwyn moaned again. It would take a minute or two for her to gain her bearings. The poison he had been giving her had been a powerful toxin, after all. He loosened his hold on her a bit more as she shifted in her seat. She was a beauty. Even he couldn’t deny that. But oh, he was going to enjoy destroying her soul, turning it as black as his, as black as Faery was going to be. The very idea brought him a measure of joy.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked in her ear, his voice low as the screams started and all the different creatures of Arslan began clamoring about to either put out the fires or seek safety.

“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice tight.

“We are in the capital city of Arslan. Now, I need to make this announcement. Be a dear and say nothing, or else I’ll be forced to kill someone.”

“What?” she gasped.

“You don’t think I would kill you, do you?” He stroked a finger down the side of her neck. “No, Arwyn. I plan to keep you alive. But if you speak when I have asked you to remain quiet, I will kill an innocent, perhaps even a child. Do you understand?” She nodded. “Good.” He inhaled a deep breath, then he blew a thin veil of ice over the city, cooling the fires instantly. A wintery cold fell hard and fast over the land and all the creatures ceased what they were doing. An eerie stillness settled, as well as fear and unease.

“Greetings!” he called, stopping dead center of the capital’s square, feeling pleased with himself. “I am King Rolim, of the Unseelie Court, and soon to be king of all of Faery.” He smiled viciously and victoriously. “And this,” he said, pulling Arwyn close against his chest, “will soon be your queen.”

Zeph stood inside Arwyn’s bedchamber, taking in the scene left behind. A table had been overturned, and her things had been scattered about. A clear sign a struggle had taken place. Zeph lowered his eyes and walked sedately to the bed, where he sat, placing his head in his hands.

Elin went to him, sitting down beside him. “It’s not your fault,” she said.

“How did they get in?” Zeph asked, his voice warbling. “I thought the monastery was protected.”

“I’d like to know that as well,” Lochlan answered, gritting his teeth as he returned the table to its upright position. “I’m going to find out. Right now, in fact.” He started back toward the door.

“Wait,” Elin said. “I have something I need to say.” Her voice quivered when she looked at her brother. When she returned her focus to Lochlan, she somehow regained her composure. “We need to get Arwyn back. And you are not going to trap me inside your shield again.”

“No, I’m not,” Lochlan agreed. “Because you aren’t going with us when we go.”

In a blur, she was up on her feet, and stood poised, looking like a figure of doom. Lochlan blinked in surprise. “I will say this once and only once. Arwyn is my friend and I will help in retrieving her. I am not helpless. You have trained me not to be helpless. I can defend myself against all manner of things, including against stubborn brutes who think they can tuck me away in a tower somewhere, thinking I will just wait for their return. If that is the kind of bride you seek, then you will be disappointed, milord, because I am not that girl. You either accept that, or don’t. Either way, I will be coming with you to get back my friend. If you have difficulty accepting that, may I suggest you work that out with yourself, because that is not my problem. It is yours.”

“I can’t lose you.” Lochlan’s mouth worked, but no other words came out. He couldn’t speak. Emotion clogged his throat. This was the woman he loved. The thought of anything happening to her…

“You won’t,” she said, her exasperation clear.

“You don’t know that,” was all Lochlan could force out. He struggled for composure. The room vibrated with the way they each held themselves tight as a bow’s string.

Elin would be in danger, and even though he knew he couldn’t keep her trapped in a cage, shielded forever, he would prefer if she was locked in a tower somewhere, until the evil was dealt with, but he also knew she would resent it, resent him, and he didn’t want that either. He hung his head. What was he to do? Allow her to trollop into danger?

“You have to let her come with us,” Zeph said quietly.

“She doesn’t know what she could face,” Lochlan retorted, trying not to shout, but it was a shout anyway, fear driving his missteps.

“Your lack of faith in me is something I had not anticipated.”

“Lack of faith?” Lochlan moved toward her, eating the distance between them. Taking her by the shoulders, he said, “I’m afraid of losing you.”

“I am a Fae,” Elin said, lifting her chin in a regal gesture. “A powerful one at that. Perhaps they are the ones who should be afraid. Because I don’t intend on just retrieving Arwyn.” She turned her eyes on Zeph. “I intend on destroying the ones who took her.”

Hell’s teeth. Lochlan released her shoulders and stumbled back. She was a vision. The determined tilt of her head, her spine straight as an arrow, she was a warrior, his lady. With pursed lips, she practically dared him to challenge her. His heart was heavy against his ribs as he watched her grow more confident while he wilted at the thought of her fighting.

“You have to let her come with us,” Zeph said again to Lochlan.

“I don’t think I’ll be letting her do anything by the sound of it,” Lochlan said, his eyes never leaving Elin’s.

“Good,” Elin clipped. “I see you finally understand I wasn’t asking permission.”

Lochlan regained the distance he had lost and swept a piece of hair behind her pointed ear. “I love you and don’t want to see you get hurt or worse,” Lochlan said in a soft voice. “I won’t apologize for wanting to protect you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, her words also softer. “However, it is time I stop hiding. I must do this. I have to.”

Lochlan pressed his forehead to hers, not wanting to argue. After a moment, he said, “I need to find Maude.” He kissed her cheek. “Can we resume discussing this later?”

“If you have hopes of dissuading me, it will be a fruitless endeavor.”

Lochlan’s jaw flexed. “I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her again on the cheek and quit the room before he did something rash he would regret later—like locking her in a tower.

Zeph had watched his sister rise like a sail on a ship, graceful and unwavering, snapping to attention when she had confronted Lochlan and expressed her anger, standing her ground. Pride swelled within him unexpectedly, for he had understood Lochlan and his decision to keep Elin out of the fight. But after watching her, listening to her, he found he agreed with his sister. Thus, it was what prompted him to interject, twice.

Now that Lochlan left and it was just he and Elin, Zeph didn’t know what to say. Still, he watched her. She had sailed against the wind and kept her heading, and now she lowered her sails and drifted as she stared at the door Lochlan had exited.

“Come here,” Zeph said, extending his hand.

Elin took it, sitting beside him on the bed. She rested her head on his shoulder, and for a stretch of time, neither spoke.

Zeph couldn’t stop thinking of Arwyn, their last moments together. He closed his eyes, imagining all the ways she had told him she loved him. She told him with words, with actions, the way she touched him—the way she didn’t touch him. He felt a pinch in his chest and his hand instinctively rubbed at the spot that ached, though nothing soothed it. He was going to go mad if he continued to sit here doing nothing. He had to get her back. That was all there was to it. He eased his sister’s head off his shoulder and rose to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I can’t sit here. I…” Zeph’s words trailed off as something caught his eye, close to where Arwyn had been standing before the Unseelie King spirited her out of the room. He moved toward it, knelt, and picked it up.

“What is that?” Elin asked.

Zeph’s thumb caressed its smooth surface. Where were the others? Zeph stood back up and began searching for the rest of his colored stones.

“What are you looking for?”

Zeph got down on all fours and searched underneath the bed. There they were. He grabbed the drawstring pouch, opened it, peered inside, noting all the other stones were tucked inside. So why was the purple one loose?

Then he remembered. He had thrown them across the room. Arwyn must have gathered them all up, missing this one. He sank back on the bed next to his sister.

“May I see?” she asked.

Hesitantly, Zeph handed her the pouch. She took it and dropped the stones into her open palm. Wide, silver eyes looked up at him. “Where did you get these?”

Zeph’s fingers trembled as he tried to loosen his neckcloth. “I took them from your cottage. I saw them there and I—I wanted them.”

Elin stared at the stones in her hand. “I remember how we would play with these,” she said, smiling wistfully at her palm full of stones. Then she placed the stones back into the pouch, pulled the drawstring tightly, and handed them back.

“The purple one was your favorite when we were children,” Zeph said, his voice sounding scratchy as he showed her the purple stone, setting it in her palm.

She picked it up. “It still is,” she whispered.

“Keep it,” he said.

“No. It should stay with the others.

“Keep it,” he said again. “I remember how much you loved it.” He took her fingers, curling them into a tight ball around it.

A tiny smile lifted on the right side of her mouth. “Very well.”

Then, beams of light broke through the cracks between her fingers and his. Both startled as they stared at the light. It was then that a memory struck Zeph, transporting him back to a time when they were children. It had been their birthday. Their last birthday spent together, in fact. They had spent the day celebrating with their parents and had eaten their fill of all their favorites until their bellies ached and their bodies were exhausted from all the running and playing. They had turned out the lights in the room they shared and had just settled into their beds when a flicker of light caught their weary eyes and they both sat up.

 

A woman appeared, translucent and glittering in their darkened room. “Hello,” she said, her voice as beautiful as the lady herself.

“Hello,” they said with a bit of trepidation.

“Do not be afraid. I have brought a gift.”

“You have?” said Eliniana. “Why?”

“Because,” the woman said, a smile playing at her lips, “you are the Fae of Light, a very special young lady indeed. And you, Zuriel, are special as well.”

He frowned, not feeling very special at all. “I’m just the Fae of Shadows,” he said.

The woman’s head tilted in concern. “You do not realize your powers?”

Zuriel shrugged. “I can make shadows dance. Is that what you mean?”

“You can do more than make shadows dance. Come here, Zuriel, I want to give you something.” He padded across the stone floor and climbed into bed beside his sister. The woman held out a purple rock, smooth on all sides. “This is a magic stone. I brought it straight from the Middle World. One day you will know how to use it and what to use it for. Until then, keep it, and when it is time to use it, the stone will let you know.”

 

Zeph blinked. “By God’s bones,” he muttered, staring into his sister’s eyes. “I had forgotten.”

Elin nodded. “Until now, I had as well.”

Lochlan entered the tiny one-room cottage belonging to Maude and paused. Turning in a slow circle, Lochlan scanned the room. There wasn’t much to the place: four walls made of wattle and daub, a dirt floor, and one window. In the center of the room, a long chain hung from the ceiling, holding a kettle that hovered above a firepit that had been swept clean. A long, slim table rested against one wall with baskets on top that had once contained herbs and spices, now empty. And a bed near the back had been stripped of all bedclothing.

All of Maude’s personal belongings were gone. Like she had never been there at all. Anger began to boil in Lochlan’s blood as he stood in the center of the cottage, doing a slow turn of the room. He shook his head, not understanding how someone he had considered a friend could betray him so thoroughly and disappear from his life without a word. He spotted a note left on the back of the door, held in place by a knife. Marching toward it in a quick, angry stride, he wrapped his hand around the hilt, pulled the knife free, and unfolded the note.

Please forgive me, it read.

He balled the parchment in his hand and pitched it across the room. He had come to get answers and he would leave without them.

For a moment, he stood there, staring vacantly out the one window. He didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense to him. She was his friend. He hadn’t had many friends. Searly was his friend. That was unquestionable, but Searly was young. Lochlan had lived for five hundred years. And because of his curse, the one he’d been born with, the one that wouldn’t allow him to touch or be touched, he’d lived a life of seclusion.

Maude had been someone he had known, someone he had learned to trust—for a hundred years. Mostly, because she wasn’t afraid. Like Searly, she had demanded his friendship, though she had been subtler, less aggressive. Granted, they may not have been as close as he and Searly. Still, he had grown to care about her. He’d had so few people in his life…

This act of betrayal crushed him.

He wanted to weep, but instead of weeping, he let out a thundering roar of rage, and after, he fell into a nearby chair that had once been cushioned with a thick hide of fox fur. Now it was just hard, demanding wood on his weary joints. Assaulted by a sudden case of lethargy, his eyelids pulled closed; so very drowsy he became, that he could hardly hold his head up.

“Lochlan,” a voice said behind him.

Startled, he found the strength to get to his feet and spun around to face whoever called his name.

“Maude,” he clipped, feeling his anger and hurt ignite once again. “I thought you left.” He spread his arms out wide. “You left nothing behind.”

“I couldn’t leave without first speaking with you.”

Lochlan raised a brow and pointed toward the door. “I got your note. What am I to forgive you for?”

“The little spell I cast on you just now.”

“Pardon?”

“The one making you feel tired, sleepy. It will wear off soon. I just needed you calm while I explained a few things.”

Lochlan looked at the old woman, noticing the drawing around her eyes, the tightening around her mouth. “Do you fear me, Maude?”

“What? No, never.”

“Then why did you feel the need to cast a spell on me? I am not the betrayer in this room. You are.”

A stiff grimace washed over her aged face. She smoothed it away. “You have a temper, milord, and I was afraid you would storm out without hearing what I had to say. And I didn’t betray you.”

“You removed your protection around the monastery. You allowed the Unseelie entry.” He pointed a finger at her. “That is a betrayal.”

“Please,” Maude said, “sit and let me explain.”

Lochlan wanted to yell at the woman. He didn’t want to sit for conversation and pleasantries. But he was doing all he could to keep his feet underneath him. He sat in the chair he’d abandoned with a grunt, letting her know he was not happy about the circumstances in the least.

Maude eased into the chair directly beside him, her eyes every bit as wary as his.

“Speak,” he snapped. “Do your explaining.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Did you know that I have known you your whole life?”

Lochlan scoffed, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. “It only seems that way. A century is a long time to know someone.”

“No,” she said. “Your whole life.” Lochlan opened his unnatural pale eyes and turned his head slowly in her direction. She went on. “I was there the day you were born. It is one of my fondest memories, holding you in my arms. I swore to your mother that I would always take care of you, to look after you, and I have kept that promise. I would never, ever betray that promise.”

Lochlan watched the old woman transform into Francesca. He stood abruptly. “Who are you?” Then he watched her transform into several other people he had been acquainted with throughout his five hundred years. He pointed a finger, taking steps away from her. “Answer me, who are you?”

“Your friend,” she answered. “First and foremost, I will always be your friend. Though I am something other, too, sent from the Middle World to guide and protect, not just you, milord, but also, Elin and Zeph, and now Arwyn.”

“The Middle World?”

“The Foundation, some call it. It is the realm of angels, elite servants, born of divine gifts and power. I was called the day you were born to watch over and protect you, and I have dutifully served as I was bid to do.” She stepped toward him, and when she did, she transformed into a translucent woman that glittered, beauty so perfect he fell to his knees. She touched his cheek. “I have loved you as a mother would love a child. And I love Elin, Zeph, and Arwyn as my children as well. I…did not…betray you.”

“Then why?” Lochlan asked. “Why did you let those monsters in?”

“I was bid to do it. But can you trust that I have seen things, been privy to things, far beyond your reasoning, beyond this time and space? It has been written, what must be, and everything must happen exactly as it has happened, for Faery to be saved. And it is not just Faery we are saving. We are saving the human realm as well. I have seen it. I know this to be true.”

Lochlan shook his head, not knowing what to believe. He moved away from her, hoping to clear his head. He felt a lot like a pawn in someone else’s game and he didn’t like it. “All the suffering—you’ve allowed it,” he croaked. “Was this all a test? To see if we could survive all the pain we’ve each had to endure?” For the second time that day, emotion clogged his throat.

“A test? No. Although it could be argued that it has made you all what you are today.”

“What are you saying? That we are better for having suffered? You said you were bid to do it. Who bid you? God? What kind of God moves his people around like game pieces on a battlefield while he sits back watching from a distance? What are we to Him?”

“You haven’t been sent to the battlefield empty-handed,” she said. “You have been given gifts, tremendous gifts, many of them. You all have. If you want to speak of battlefields, however, no warrior goes from womb to battle without first learning to crawl and then walk, and then he must learn all the things that come after. During that span of living, he falls...many times. Yet he always rises, because that is what warriors do. But, you and the others…you aren’t warriors. You are more. Therefore, there was more you had to learn, more you had to endure.” She poked him in the chest with a long, slim finger. “Because you are more. You may be battle-worn. You may be weary. But every one of you are fierce. You are survivors. You are ready. This is your war to win. Your sufferings? They will be the thing that saves you because they are what made you. In your sufferings,” she said, “the world will be saved.”

Lochlan scrubbed his hands over his face and moved to sit down again. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He was too tired to think clearly. The flutter of wings drew his attention to the window. He imagined a beautiful, white owl perched on the ledge, watching him, instead of the small songbird that sat there. He swallowed. He wanted to see his mother. He wanted to hold her, hug her, hear her tell him how stubborn he was. He missed her more than he ever thought possible.

As if Maude, or whatever her name was, could read his mind, she said, “Your mother watches over you. She’s always with you. You are never alone.”

Lochlan nodded. Sometimes he could feel her, but it wasn’t enough.

“Soon,” the woman said. “You’ll see her again soon.”

Lochlan chose not to speak. His head felt like it was in the clouds, and he wondered how much of this he was going to remember. “Will I forget you…this conversation after you leave?”

“Do you want to forget me?” she asked.

That was an awfully good question. Did he? Lochlan turned to her. “What you have told me…was I supposed to know?”

She shook her head. “No. After I leave, you will not remember I was here. You will fall asleep for a very short time and wake to an empty room.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

A sad smile tilted her lips up. “I will remember this conversation.” Her eyes began to glisten. “I will remember how you looked at me—when you saw the real me. And I will remember, for a moment, that maybe you believed me.”

Lochlan let go of the remaining hesitation he held on to. He saw the truth in her face—her heart was right there, on her sleeve. “I believe you.” Then he tilted his head. “What is your real name?”

She burst into tears and laughter. “Would you believe that I no longer remember? Maybe when I return to the Middle World I’ll be reminded.” She shrugged.

“Is that where you’re going?” he asked. “Back home?”

“Yes, though not just yet. I still have some overseeing to do.” She winked and dried her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just can’t stay here any longer.” She waved her hands around the tiny cottage. “I’ll be watching over you all, though, make no mistake about that.”

“Thank you—for…” He trailed off, not sure what to say.

“I have time to grant you one parting gift,” she said, smiling fondly.

“What kind of gift?”

“One that will help with your quarrel with Elin.”

“Pardon?” he asked, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“You should trust your betrothed,” she said. “Lean back, close your eyes.”

He obeyed and sat back up. “Wait,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

“Give you answers you already know in your heart of hearts. Ease your worry.”

“What do you mean?”

She placed her hand over his heart. “Do you feel that? That sense of peace?” Lochlan nodded. “That comes with knowing that Elin is powerful. She must be given the opportunity to let her light shine. She can do this, milord. You already know it. Now, let this peace take hold, and do not let your worry come between you again.”

He cupped his hand over hers. “Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome. Now, it is time for me to go. When you awake, I will be gone, and you will not remember—”

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“And I,” she said, touching his cheek. “Sit back, close your eyes,” she said quietly. “I must go now.”

He did so with a bit of reluctance. Lochlan succumbed to sleep so quickly, he didn’t even have time to say goodbye. He wasn’t asleep for long, however, and when he opened his eyes, he sat up with a start. The room felt remarkably empty. A wave of loss washed over him, for he felt incredibly bereft, and he didn’t know why.

Sitting up, Lochlan looked around. Confusion set in as he eased onto his feet. He spotted the wadded up note he had thrown when he’d read it and how he had felt drowsy shortly after. He must have fallen asleep and was feeling disoriented. That must be it.

He started for the door, and when he reached it, he turned to stare at the empty cottage once more. His visit had been fruitless. He shook his head, angry with himself. And frustrated. And if he was honest, he was feeling the pain of heartache from Maude’s betrayal.

A swell of emotion began to rise to the surface, so Lochlan threw open the door and marched out. He needed to get back, prepare for their journey to Faery, and hope his own protection wards would be enough to keep the monks safe.

He refused to look back.

 

Maude watched Lochlan go, her heart bruised and aching. He may never remember their conversation. But she would. She would always remember. A tear slipped down her cheek, because even angels needed to cry.

Go well, my child.

Go well.

Favián wrung out the blood-stained cloth for what was probably the hundredth time and began wiping down the wall again, trying to rid the refectory of the massacre that had taken place there. He wasn’t the only one trying to clean the blood and gore from the room. He was surrounded by monks, all working tirelessly to put things to rights. Some were cleaning the floors, while others rigged a system of stacked barrels to reach the ceiling. Favián scrubbed until his muscles screamed, though he turned off his mind and did what needed to be done because the alternative was thinking about Arwyn, and he couldn’t think about her yet. He would come undone.

The refectory was mostly quiet as everyone worked. Monks weren’t ones for wasting words. He thought once or twice about speaking. When he opened his mouth, he didn’t know what to say. Their grim faces said enough, so he kept his head down and concentrated on his task, scrubbing hard, using both arms, pressing deep into the pitted surface of the stone walls.

He bent over to rinse out the blood-stained cloth once again into the pail of water by his feet when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. He expected it to be his tío, but when he looked up, he found Xavier instead.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you. Go and get yourself cleaned up,” Xavier said, his voice sounding tired and strained. “We can finish in here.”

Favián looked around at what was left to be done. “No, I can stay. Let me help.”

Xavier looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “You’ve done enough. Truly. You helped save us.” He tilted his head toward the doorway. “The water will get cold. Go on. Go clean yourself up. And then rest.”

Favián looked down at his clothes. He was still covered in blood from his battle with the Unseelie monsters. He frowned. “If you insist.”

“Indeed, I do.” Xavier took the cloth that Favián had been using and started wiping the blood from the wall without looking back, effectively dismissing him.

Favián headed for the exit, and when he got to the doors hanging off the hinges, he turned back to look at the carnage left behind. None of the blood had been theirs. It was all Unseelie blood. He wanted to smile at that fact, and yet his hands formed into fists as he stood stiffly in place, like a page in court, wondering when justice would be served to the one who took Arwyn. Tears gathered like small pools. He closed his eyes, opened them, turned on his heels and took the corridor that led to his chamber to fetch a change of clothes, then made his way to the bathing room. All the while, tears fell down his cheeks like wax down a candle.

He discarded his clothing immediately, placing them in a pile to be burned, then climbed into his waiting bath. The moment he sank into the hot water, he wanted to moan in gladness and sigh in relief. Resting his head against the lip of the tub, he finally let himself take in a full breath of air. Never had Favián fought so stout-heartedly and never had he felt so much fear, although the fear hadn’t come until after the battle had been fought and won. The fear hadn’t come until Zeph had uttered the words that Arwyn had been taken. That was when the fear had set in. Even then, he pushed it down, not wanting to experience a world where Arwyn wasn’t in it, so he refused to think about it.

Until now.

In the quiet quarters of the bathing room, his thoughts were exceptionally loud. They crowded his mind like a pack of unruly dogs trapped behind a gate. His body began to tremble.

Where was she? Was she being mistreated? Was she hurt? Scared?

He fisted his hair in his hands. A gut-wrenching sound erupted from his throat. He wanted to howl and snarl and growl. For the first time in his life, Favián didn’t feel human. He felt savage.

Then, the sweet words Arwyn had said to him when they first met whispered through his mind.

“You and I,” she declared, “are going to be good friends.”

“We-we are?”

“Yes!” She beamed. “We are.”

He smiled tentatively at the memory. She had been absolutely correct. They were good friends. The best of, even. Favián would move Heaven and Earth to help get her back.

He nodded resolutely. Yes, he would help get her back.

He finished his bath quickly, put on clean clothes, and padded back to his chamber. He needed to get a few things in order.

In his room, his tío had provided him a place to sit and compose his letters and poems, complete with all the instruments and materials he would need. He sat at the writing table, and taking a piece of parchment out, he dipped his quill in the inkwell and began to write a missive. Well, two missives. One to his mamá. And another to his tío. He was just putting the finishing touches on his last letter when his uncle knocked once and opened the door. Favián put the quill back in its proper place and covertly moved a few things around to cover what he had been writing.

Turning toward his tío, he waited for him to speak, for he knew he most likely had something to say.

“Are you well?” Searly asked, his countenance and posture appearing sad and fatigued, but he also glanced curiously at the pages on the table.

“Sí. Are you?”

“I am not harmed, though my soul is crushed.” He edged toward the bed and sat, shoulders slumped, head bowed.

Favián stood from his chair and came over to sit beside him. “Sí, I, as well.”

“They will be leaving soon—Lochlan, Elin, and Zeph,” Searly said, his eyes cutting toward him. Favián looked away. “I know what your intentions are. You’re planning to go with them.”

Favián had never lied to his uncle. He wasn’t about to start now. He nodded in confirmation. “I have to,” he admitted. “I cannot stay here and do nothing.”

“You assume I wouldn’t understand?” Favián looked at the man beside him, the man he loved as if he was his own father. “Of course you want to go. You love Arwyn.”

“I…” Favián swallowed the words he wanted to say and began again. “She is like a sister to me. I love her like a sister.”

Searly raised one dubious brow. “You can lie to yourself. Refrain from lying to me, if you please.”

“Tío,” Favián said, “it does not matter how I feel. What matters is I am going to assist in retrieving her and bring her back.” He stood and proceeded to gather the things he thought he may need and stuffed them into a pack. He glanced at the table where his letters were and said, “If you don’t mind, I need a few more minutes. Where shall I meet the others?”

Searly stood. “The library is where I believe they agreed to meet. Don’t dawdle long. Lochlan returned not long ago. They’ll be ready to leave soon. He’s checking the wards around the monastery, and then—”

“I will be there momentarily,” Favián said, cutting him off.

“Aye.” Searly stared at him a moment, like he was holding on to something valuable, something precious, before he let go. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

Searly left his nephew, closing the door softly behind him, his heart breaking like glass. He didn’t want Favián to go with the others to Faery. For one, Favián was human and he didn’t know what kind of chances he had entering a world where he’d be fighting those who possessed magic, those who were evil. Searly may be a man of letters, rather than a man of numbers, but he understood odds like that.

However, he also couldn’t be prouder of the boy. He had seen with his own eyes how valiantly Favián had fought when the monsters had stormed into the refectory. He had not delayed acting. One minute, he had been laughing, enjoying his meal, and in the very next, Favián was up and over the table, knives in hand, and running toward the very monsters he and the other monks were running from.

Searly moved from his nephew’s door, silent and miserable, and ambled down the sallow corridors until he came to the library. Zeph and Elin were already inside, waiting. He wasn’t looking forward to this—seeing them all go, not knowing when they would return. But Arwyn was out there, somewhere, and his heart lurched thinking what she must be going through, and when he thought of her, he wanted them all to leave as soon as possible so they could bring her home posthaste.

Home.

Was this their home? Did they think of it as such? He’d never thought to ask; however, to him, it would be their home for as long as they wanted it to be. Zeph included, although, looking at Zeph now, Searly knew he wasn’t thinking of anything except Arwyn.

He looked to be in misery. Absolute misery.

“Zeph,” Searly said, walking toward him. Zeph looked up, his eyes glassy. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Zeph was seated in a chair beside his sister. His eyes flitted toward Elin, then back to Searly. “No, not until I have Arwyn back. No,” he said again.

“We will get her back,” Elin said softly, placing her hands on Zeph’s.

Searly smiled. He didn’t know what kind of reconciliation had taken place between them, though it was obvious they had reached an understanding.

“I’m here,” Lochlan called as he entered the library. “I’ve done my best with the wards. I hope my best will be enough.”

“Do not worry about us, milord,” Searly said. “Just do what you must to save Arwyn.”

“What?” Elin asked, coming to a stand, staring at Lochlan. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She jutted her chin forward. “If you think to keep me here, let me tell you—”

Lochlan held up a hand, interrupting her speech, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. He looked at Searly, at Zeph, at Elin again.

“What is it?” Searly asked. “You seem discomfited.”

“I just…” He studied Elin, his head tilting in consternation. Then the lines on his face smoothed, and the clouds behind his eyes dissipated. He walked toward her, held her like she was precious, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” he said, “about earlier. I trust you. I do. I trust you to fight because I know in my heart that you are made for this moment. I worry because I love you, but do not doubt that I believe in your abilities. And I will be there, fighting by your side. Every step.”

“Lochlan,” Elin breathed. “Thank you. I-I did not know how much I needed to hear you say that—that you believe in me.”

“I should have said it before.”

Searly couldn’t help the smile that slid across his face. He tried to remember this moment, something he could recall later when he couldn’t rest, when he was missing them so.

“Am I too late?” Favián asked, entering the room.

Zeph stood. “Too late for what?”

“I’m going with you,” Favián answered. “I am ready to leave whenever you are.”

Elin sidestepped Lochlan. “Favián, do you know what you’re saying? You have no powers, no magical abilities. Do you truly want to go into a land where everyone dwelling there does?”

Searly watched his nephew adjust the strap of his bag over his shoulder. The sight of him standing there in the doorway of the library brought a tear to Searly’s eye. It was reminiscent of when Favián had first arrived, all smiles, his expression so innocent of a boy his age. Now, as he stood before him, that innocence had all but been wiped clean. The person before him now was no longer a boy. He was a man. A determined man.

“I do,” Favián said. “And I know exactly what I’m saying.”

“What you did today,” Lochlan said, “was honorable, and I am so grateful to you. But this isn’t your fight. Let us handle this.”

Something akin to anger flashed behind Favián’s eyes. He turned those heated eyes to Searly. “Tío, I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want to upset you, but Papá and I are not speaking. He’s angry with me because I didn’t want to join the king’s army and fight alongside him as father and son. I wanted to decide on my own which battles to fight and die for.” Turning to Zeph and Lochlan, he slapped a palm over his chest, and said, “I choose this battle. This war.”

Elin had already walked the distance to him and touched his cheek tenderly. “You could die,” she said softly.

“I would rather die young saving Arwyn than die old living with regret. Don’t make me live with regret.”

It was a moment before anyone spoke, then Elin was the one to break the silence. “All right, Favián. All right.”

“We’ll watch over him,” Lochlan assured Searly. We’ll keep him safe. We’ll—”

“Of course you will,” Searly retorted. “You have the Kiss of Life. Bring him home.” Searly felt his chin quiver. He looked down and away, fighting to steady it.

Lochlan stood directly before him. Toe to toe. “Look at me.” Searly forced his head up to meet Lochlan in the eye. “We’ll bring them both home.”

Searly could only nod, his heart breaking at the thought of watching them leave.

Zeph moved toward Favián and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” was all he said. He moved past him and headed for the door. When no one moved to follow, he turned toward the room. “Well,” Zeph said, “let’s go kill some monsters, and bring our Arwyn back, shall we?”