“I will not be your queen,” Arwyn hissed, trying to wrestle her arm free. “Unhand me.”

King Rolim’s answer was to laugh at her, his hold on her arm tightening, bruising her, as he escorted her through the abandoned palace once belonging to the Seelie Queen. More recently it had belonged to his mother, Lolith, the false queen. The one who had deceived everyone into believing she was their queen by using glamour, a magic unique to Fae, to look like the Seelie Queen. The one Lolith had killed.

Now that his mother was dead, the palace was uninhabited. Rolim had come back and killed everyone who’d remained after her death, down to the last scullery maid. It was his palace now. He brought with him his own servants. And since no one remained on the Seelie Royal Court, having killed them as well, he had free rein to do as he pleased.

His lips twisted into a nasty smile. “I am going to give you a choice, Arwyn,” King Rolim said, stopping in the great hall, stripped of all things elegant and grand and beatific, and replaced with all things dark and heavy and oppressing. But somehow the elf, standing in his great hall, made it appear slightly less dark and slightly less oppressing, which made him hate her even more. “I can give you a room above-stairs where you can enjoy comfort during your internment here—or—I can throw you in a cell underneath the palace where I can assure you there will be no comfort. It does not matter to me which you choose because if I want you to be my queen then you will be. I am not asking for your hand. I am simply telling you in advance what you can expect. A courtesy, if you will.” He grinned, like a serpent who had tricked its prey, and waited for her reply.

“What room above stairs?” she asked.

Ah, she had thought to ask the particulars before making a decision. He shrugged. “Mine, of course.”

She clamped her teeth together, her eyes burning like torches. “Put me in the cell.”

“As you wish.” He gave her a little shove. She stumbled backward into the arms of one of the servants. “You heard her. Put her in the cell.”

King Rolim left her then, his laughter echoing off the walls. One night in the cell, and she would be begging to share his room.

The shimmering beams of light that had once warped and bent around low-hanging trees were now a sickly gray, twisting around blackened bodies and charred bones of what remained. Gaunt skeletons rooted in barren soil reached skyward like gnarled hands as if they were attempting to latch on to a miracle, whole again. Big trees, bare as gallows, black like silhouettes. They had once appeared like mystical giants, rising like cathedral spires. Now they stood like a wounded army, tired and reticent.

Lochlan was the first to slip through the seam between the human realm and Faery, and as he stood where he had once stood with his mother, he could not reconcile what he saw.

Faery had been laid to waste.

The others slipped through the seam, one by one, and each stood beside Lochlan staring at what lay before them.

“A crude welcoming,” Favián said without inflection. “Not what I expected.”

“Nor I,” said Lochlan, sorrow in his tone. Faery was not his home, and yet, he felt a profound loss.

Zeph stepped forward, one step, then two. With his back to them, Lochlan could not see his face, nor read his expression, but he could see how his shoulders stiffened, how his spine straightened. “I know what he’s doing,” Zeph said.

“Who?” asked Lochlan.

“The king. I know what he’s doing.” Zeph knelt, scooped up a handful of ash, and let it fall between his fingers. “He’s telling us he owns Faery now, that he rules it.” Zeph stood, dusted off his hands, and turned to his sister. “He owns nothing unless you give it to him. Do you give him Faery, Fae of Light?”

Elin had been quiet. She had not uttered a sound when they had crossed through the seam. Lochlan glanced at her and then he had to take a second look. Because even through watery eyes, she had a look about her that would send the hounds of hell running.

“No,” was all she said.

Zeph grinned. “I didn’t think so.” He tilted his head just so and held out his hand. She took it, and together they walked a short distance, coming to a stop where a dried-up stream once flowed over lichen-covered rocks, now covered with soot. Zeph whispered something in her ear, took a step back, and came to stand next to Lochlan and Favián.

Elin kneeled and pressed her hands on the ground.

“What is she doing?” Favián asked in a hushed voice.

“Watch,” Zeph answered. “She did this once when we were little.”

Elin’s hands glowed a soft, blue light. Pale flowers bloomed around her, pushing through the ashes.

Lochlan gasped, matching the quick intake of breath from Favián beside him.

Faery gasped, too. It could be heard and felt, like a pulse and a heartbeat. Elin’s light spread like roots, sprawling like a silent sentinel underneath the ground. The gnarled tree limbs that had reached skyward as if asking for absolution, a second chance, were being granted a pardon. Fresh new bark replaced the dehydrated crust of the old, and diamond-shaped leaves began to sprout in thick clusters. A sap-sweet fragrance saturated the air, replacing the scent of decay. Vibrant green grass sprouted underneath their feet, thick and lush. And the tinkling sounds of water once again flowed as if it had never been silenced. A honeyed light spread above their heads like owl wings, chasing away the gray.

The festered wounds of the land had been healed.

“How?” Favián murmured.

“My sister,” Zeph said with pride, “is the life force of Faery.” He turned to Favián, looked him in the eye. “It is why the Unseelie King wants her dead.”

Favián’s features turned hard. “He’ll not get the chance.”

“No, he won’t,” Lochlan said quietly, still watching Elin breathe life into Faery. “No, he won’t.”

But the honeyed light that feathered over their heads darkened once again when a thick misty fog rolled in. Lochlan loped to Elin’s side and took her hand. His protective instincts were what they were; no apologies could be made for it. He would always seek to protect her, especially now, when they knew not what they faced.

Shadowy figures emerged before them. Lochlan tightened his grip on Elin’s hand. A distinctive scraping sound to his right let him know that Favián had unsheathed his sword from his scabbard, but his eyes never strayed from the living wall of creatures before them. It was only when one of them spoke that Lochlan released the air in his lungs.

“We meet again,” Tabris said, a rumble in his voice, standing on hind legs.

Yes, they had met before, this living wall of cat-like creatures, and they were exactly how Lochlan remembered them. Black-furred, long-limbed, thin-bodied with white spots across their chests. They had helped him once—when Elin was in Shadowland, and they had stood with him to fight the Unseelie.

Lochlan took another fortifying breath. “Tabris,” Lochlan said. “I’m happy to see you are well.”

Tabris’s cat eyes skittered to Favián, who held his sword as though he was readying to strike. “Tell your friend, if you please, to put away his sword.”

“They are not the enemy, Favián. Put it away.”

“Are you certain?” Favián questioned, lowering the blade, but not sheathing it.

Had Lochlan not been betrayed by Maude, he would have answered with a definitive yes. As it was, he had been betrayed, thus he couldn’t be certain. Not anymore. “Mostly certain,” Lochlan answered. Then, looking at Tabris, he said, “Once again, I find myself in Faery because someone I care about was stolen from the human realm.” Lochlan’s eyes cut to Zeph’s, who stood close to Favián, still as a statue, his expression unreadable, except for the tiny tick of an eye twitch. Lochlan returned his focus back to the Caits, to Tabris specifically, and said, “Do you know anything about Arwyn, the elf girl, who you helped bring back with us when we returned through the seam? The new Unseelie King took her.”

“Yes,” Tabris said. “It is why we have come. To help. We assumed you would be coming same as before.” His cat eyes looked over Lochlan’s companions. “I see you aren’t alone this time.”

Lochlan hadn’t been alone the time before. He had been with his mother, though now was not the time to remind him.

“Who is the human and why have you brought him?” Tabris asked, more curious than insulting.

“Searly’s nephew,” Lochlan answered, certain Tabris would remember Searly. “He’s loyal, honest, and he cares about Arwyn a great deal. He’s also adept at fighting. And he wanted to come.”

Tabris eyed Favián head to toe. Favián lifted a brow over the scrutiny. “I wasn’t aware I needed your approval,” Favián sniped.

“My apologies,” Tabris said. “Tis not what I meant by my examination. I am truly standing in admiration of you, being human in a land of magic.” Tabris bowed his head, then turned his focus to Zeph. “However, I do find it hard to understand why you are here.”

“He is my brother,” Elin interjected before Zeph could respond, knowing her brother’s sharp tongue. “I daresay no one cares more about Arwyn than he does. Please, can you help us?”

Tabris was still eyeing Zeph when he answered. “Of course.” Then he turned to Elin. “King Rolim has taken the elf girl to the City of Arslan. You would have found her without my help, however. He has carved a path of destruction from here straight through to the city. I do believe he intended for you all to find her with ease. He wasn’t trying to hide her, or himself for that matter. In fact,” Tabris paused, his cat eyes finding Zeph again, “the king announced your friend…will be his queen.”

If Tabris expected an outburst, he didn’t get one. Not from Zeph. Zeph looked at Tabris as though he was looking through him, to some distant memory. Nor did he get one from Favián, Lochlan or Elin. However, the quiet that befell the group was sudden and heavy, like the sharp slide of a guillotine, cutting off their conversation. The deadliness of their silence was louder than any words they could have spoken.

“We can take the shadow roads to the city,” Tabris said after a beat. “We will get there faster that way.” Tabris turned, and the living wall of Cait Sidhe followed suit. “This way,” he said.

Lochlan had forgotten to warn Favián of the effects of the shadow roads. It had been a while since his first experience with the icy, airless swaths of nothingness, and after they emerged from the first road, Favián cast up his accounts.

“No one told me I wouldn’t be able to breathe,” Favián heaved, bending at the waist, one arm pressed against a tree to hold himself upright.

“Again, I must apologize,” Tabris said. “I forget how it affects those who aren’t used to traveling this way. We don’t normally take others with us who aren’t Caits.” Tabris eyed Lochlan then. “How are you holding up, my friend? You were ill the first time as well, if I recall.”

“I am fine,” Lochlan answered, surprised that he was. He remembered having to stave off the feeling of nausea and beg off to right his equilibrium before taking another road on his first journey through Faery. Sympathetic to Favián’s plight, he rested a palm on his back. “Elin, can you heal him?” She nor Zeph didn’t seem to have difficulty from this form of travel.

“I-I’ve never tried to heal a person before.” She looked down at her hands. They still glowed. She hadn’t stopped glowing since they’d arrived. “But I will certainly try.”

“I can do it,” Zeph said, his voice sounding over-rough.

Favián’s head shot up, and even though he looked green, he grinned. His voice was weak when he said, “See, Lochlan, I told you Zeph loves me.”

“It’s a matter of getting to Arwyn quickly,” Zeph said. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Favián sobered. “You’re right. I am slowing everyone down. If you can heal me, please do. I want to get to her as badly as you do.”

Zeph was already at Favián’s side before he had finished speaking. He placed both hands on Favián’s fevered head and closed his eyes, his lips moving, though Lochlan couldn’t make out his words. Then Zeph removed his hands and stepped away. “Better?” he asked.

Favián stood to his full height, his countenance no longer green. “Sí. Thank you.”

“Then let us go,” Zeph said, looking around. “Where is Elin?”

Lochlan felt his heart quicken. He hadn’t been watching Elin, he’d been watching Zeph. “Tabris,” Lochlan said, throwing the name like he was throwing a weapon. “Did you see—”

Tabris held up a paw. “I’ve not let her out of my sight, my friend.” He jutted his chin to his right. “She saw them and went to them. Look.” He smiled a cat-like grin. “The Faery of Light. I should expect no less.”

Lochlan, Zeph, and Favián followed his line of sight. Elin was walking among wounded creatures of a wrecked village. It had been destroyed by fire, same as what they had witnessed when they had crossed through the seam. And everywhere she passed, the land became anew, same as before. Lochlan had seen her do it with his own eyes, and yet he still had trouble believing it. But that wasn’t what Tabris was referring to. He was referring to the aid she was giving to those who had been hurt.

Zeph was the first among them to approach her. “Elin, what are you doing?”

“They’re hurt. They need our help.”

Elves, gnomes, goblins, hags, dryads, satyrs—all had been affected. Fae, lesser fae—it hadn’t mattered to the Unseelie King. He cut down anyone who had dared confront him.

Anger simmered in Lochlan’s blood like a tempest, something that was becoming too common, too familiar. Searly had spoken to Lochlan over the years about anger, and he had always listened, but as they were leaving for Faery, Searly had felt inclined to deliver these parting words to all of them:

“Anger can be fatal, my friends. It will steal your soul if you allow it. A man without a soul is no man at all. Do not become the very thing you hate.”

“We need to help them,” she said again to her brother. “Will you help me?”

Zeph looked away for a moment, to collect his thoughts perhaps. He wanted to get to Arwyn. Desperate for it. The set of his jaw, the tightness around the eyes, was something not even Zeph could hide. There should be no shame in that. Lochlan understood being desperate to save someone he cared for. Someone he loved.

“Please,” Elin pleaded.

For a moment, Zeph closed his eyes. When he opened them, he said, “We’ll heal the worst of them first and move on from there.”

“This one,” Elin said, quickly calling Zeph to a gnome who appeared to have a serious head wound.

“You can heal him, Elin,” Zeph said. “Better than I could. Here…place your hands on his head…like this.”

Lochlan walked away. He couldn’t help them with that particular task. After some time, Favián came over and sat beside him on a stump, neither knowing quite what to do. Elin was busy healing an ogre’s arm while Zeph mended a gnome’s broken leg when a little girl with eyes yellow like the sun and hair blue like the water came up to them. She was Fae, and without her parents. Alone.

She looked up at them, clutching a poppet in her hands. Her face was dirty, her clothes torn. Her yellow eyes should have been shining, but the light had burned out behind them. Lochlan felt his heart crack.

He knelt before her. “Hi,” he said. His unusual pale eyes shone. He looked away from her—to Favián, who was now crouched beside him.

“Hi,” she murmured.

Lochlan cleared his throat. “My name is Lochlan. This is Favián. What is your name, little one?”

“Gretchen,” she murmured shyly.

“That’s a lovely name,” Favián said. “Does your poppet have a name?” The little girl shook her head. “No? Why not?”

Tears filled Gretchen’s eyes like a cup. “Mother had just given it to me. Then the monsters came.”

Lochlan and Favián glanced at one another. “Where is your mother now?” Lochlan asked, hoping she wasn’t dead, though somehow knowing she was.

Gretchen clutched her poppet tighter. A teardrop dripped from each yellow eye. “She died.”

“May I?” Lochlan asked, holding out his arms. A man who had gone centuries without touch suddenly forgot he didn’t like to be embraced. “I could use a hug. What about you?”

The little girl nodded, then dove into his arms.

“This isn’t right,” Favián said quietly. “What do we do?”

Lochlan held the little girl, let her tears soak through his cloak. His eyes drifted to Elin and Zeph where they continued to heal cuts and bruises and broken bones. Maybe he and Favián couldn’t heal wounds, but they could hold crying babies, hug children who had lost their mothers and fathers. They could let the people of Faery know they cared, that they weren’t alone. By doing that, they could hold on to their souls until they reached Arwyn, until they could right the wrongs.

Lochlan swallowed the knot and the ache and said, “We do this. For now, we just do this.”

Arwyn was carelessly shoved into the dank cell, and when the door closed with a heavy bang, darkness pressed down on her, thin and worn, like an old widow’s dress, letting the cold through to her bones. She shivered, rubbing her arms to gain warmth. She had only time enough to see she was surrounded by four solid walls and a patch of dirt floor before the light was cast out. She knew she was alone, and yet, she was afraid to move from the center of the room. The hairs on the back of her neck raised as she listened to the drip, drip, drip of water falling from somewhere around her. The squeak of a rodent echoed and Arwyn hugged herself tighter, afraid to move or make a sound, her toes curling inside her leather boots. Something wet splashed on top of her head and Arwyn squealed, jumping to her left, her heart beating like a snare drum. Reaching up, she felt for whatever had splashed her, but in the dark, all she could feel was that it was cold and wet.

“It’s just water,” she said, her voice sounding young and frightened. “It’s just water.” But fear was a cloak that wrapped around her until she was unable to move. She tried to imagine herself in another place, in another time. She pictured Zeph, the last time they were together. She tried to hang on to that memory, the way he had looked at her, the way he had held her, the memory still so new, she could still feel him on her skin. She swallowed the burn in her throat. Did he know how to find her? Was he searching for her?

She twisted around at the sound of scraping behind her—fingernails against the wall. “Who’s there?” she asked, voice trembling.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Hot breath whispered in her ear, saying her name. She twisted around again, her hand instinctively going to her ear. “Who’s there?” she shrieked, backing away.

“Arwyn…Arwyn…Arwyn,” voices whispered.

She clamped both hands over her ears. “Stop. Leave me alone,” she cried.

“We’re coming for you,” they sang. “We’re coming for you…coming for you…coming for you.”

“No,” she said. “Stop.”

Disembodied voices cackled, and something touched her, gooey and sticky. She skittered backward until she hit the cold, slimy wall behind her. The undeniable feeling of a rat running over the toe of her shoe had her shrieking again.

Scrape…scrape…scrape sounded to the right of her head. She lunged off the wall, her arms stretching out in front of her, feeling her way around, stopping when she felt she was at the center of the cell again.

Fear consumed her. She hadn’t been this frightened since the day she saw and heard her family being slaughtered. This time, she had nowhere to hide. No one to come save her. No one to pull her from underneath her bed and take her someplace safe.

She was alone.

This time she was completely on her own.

Zeph and the rest of the group stopped just outside the walls of the City of Arslan, the seat of the kingdom. Hiding in a copse of trees, they gazed up at the homes, halls, tombs, turrets and domes, all carved from sandstone, built into the face of the mountain, towering high above the valley below. A palace in the clouds, a magnificent sight it was—or would have been—if the peaks had not been crowned with a headdress of ice. A city standing in defiance, even as it shivered. Above it, the sun lulled in the sky, looking through the mist, like a bruise on the belly of Heaven. Zeph put his ear to the city. It was as though the entire kingdom was holding its breath.

Too long, he thought. It had taken them too long to get here. He and Elin had worked quickly on the wounded. There had been so many. Every village seemed to have more than the last, and they had stopped at every one on their way to the city. He hadn’t wanted to stop at any of them. He had a singular mission—to get to Arwyn. He was beginning to feel the familiar pang of resentment in regard to his sister as she insisted they tend to the afflicted. The resentment as familiar as his own shadow. Not long ago, Zeph would feed on that resentment, let it stoke the flames of his anger. Now, it left him feeling ill—sick in a way he could taste the rot until he was queasy with it.

“Just one more child,” Elin had said, “then we can go.” She had pointed to a little boy sitting off by himself, bloodied, dirtied, and bruised. “I’ll go let the others know we’ll be ready to go soon while you heal him.” She placed her glowing hand on his shoulder, gave him a look that thanked him before he’d even done her bidding, and off she went to find their companions.

Zeph had walked over to the boy, taking careful steps so as not to scare him, and crouched before him. “May I have a look at you?” Zeph asked softly.

The boy raised his head. His eyes were swollen almost shut, his lower lip cut, his right cheek most likely fractured, his nose broken. Zeph’s eyes fluttered, though he tried not to react to the boy’s trauma. Memories plagued him all the same. Because memories didn’t die. They lived. They lived inside of Zeph and they always would.

Zeph spoke to the boy again in soft, dulcet tones. “I’m going to put my hands on your head—”

“No,” the boy said, scooting away. “Don’t touch me.”

Zeph’s hands had frozen in midair. He looked at the boy again, evaluating him in a different light, deeper than the wounds he could see. Zeph lowered his hands and sat on the ground. “As you wish. I am not here to do you harm, young one. I only wish to heal you.”

“I don’t want anyone to touch me.”

“I understand. I wish I could heal you without touching you. Are you in much pain?”

The boy shifted his bruised and broken body away from Zeph. He was fighting back tears, his chin quivering, but only slightly before he regained his composure.

Zeph looked over his shoulder. Elin was watching, though she turned away quickly and pretended to be busy with…something.

Zeph frowned. He was not at all sure what to do. How could he help someone who didn’t want to be helped? He looked back at the boy. Thin, frail, abused. Zeph had been this boy. Some parts of him still were.

“I’m sorry,” Zeph said, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry for what you’re feeling. I know what it’s like. I’ve…” Zeph’s words stopped like they had fallen off the page of a book. He had never told anyone his story except for Arwyn. But she had known without him having to say a word.

“You what?” the boy asked.

“I was a boy…like you when they took me…the monsters, I mean.” Zeph lowered his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about this. He never wanted to talk about this. “I just…I know how you feel.”

The boy said nothing. Perhaps he didn’t need to. Zeph peered over his shoulder again. Everyone was waiting. Again, Zeph frowned. If Arwyn were here, she would know what to say. She always knew what to say. Zeph stared at his hands. They itched to heal the boy, maybe because if someone had healed him—had rescued him—before he lost himself to the darkness, things would have been different for him. “Tell me where it hurts,” Zeph whispered, feeling his heart had been pinched as he repeated the words Arwyn had said to him. “Tell me.”

“My face will heal on its own.”

“I wasn’t talking about your face,” Zeph said. The boy looked up through swollen eyelids. “I was talking about the pain I can’t see.”

The boy looked away as though he was ashamed. Zeph waited, hoping he would talk. When it became apparent he would not, Zeph stood. “You’re right. I can’t heal your wounds. Not the kind you have. I would know. But I can still help you.” Zeph turned and headed for the group. It was time to go.

“Where are you going?” the boy called.

Zeph stopped and faced the boy one last time. With a grin, he said, “I’m going to slay the monsters who hurt you and the king who rules them.”

“You don’t know which monsters hurt me.”

“I suppose I’ll have to kill them all, then.”

A slow grin crept across the boy’s face, an exact replica of the grin Zeph wore. “Kill them all,” he said.

“It will be my pleasure.”

Zeph felt a careful hand rest on his shoulder, stirring him from his reverie. Elin was at his side, looking at him with uncertainty. “I’m all right,” he said, though his voice sounded odd to his own ears. The truth was he wouldn’t be all right until he had Arwyn back in his arms, away from the king, away from the evil that surrounded her. His heart was a war drum pounding a ritual cry every second she was away from him.

“It’s a good plan,” Elin said, trying to reassure him.

They had received word from Tabris’s retinue the moment they’d arrived that Arwyn had been taken to the catacombs underneath the palace. Cait Sidhe were sly creatures, able to hide in the most unusual places, unseen. It was part of their magical abilities. Once they had been given all the information, they were able to learn the layout of the palace, even sketching out a map of it in the dirt. They had come up with a plan to get Arwyn out, and as they were discussing the details, Zeph’s heart had grown heavier and heavier. Because he had finally realized something he hadn’t bothered to give any consideration to.

Zeph’s eyes drifted to where Lochlan and Tabris stood, talking. Turning to his sister, he said, “It is a good plan, I agree.” He patted her hand, hoping he appeared more at ease. “Excuse me a moment.”

Zeph approached Lochlan and Tabris with measured steps, his boots crunching the ground underneath, and as he neared, they paused their conversation. “Pardon the intrusion,” Zeph said, looking at Lochlan. “I need to speak with you.” His eyes darted toward Tabris. “Alone, if you don’t mind.” Tabris took his leave with just a bob of his head and Zeph silently thanked him.

“What is it?” Lochlan asked, his brows furrowing.

Now that he and Lochlan were alone, he didn’t know how to say what he’d wanted to say. He gestured with his hand for them to move further away from the others. Lochlan didn’t argue, though his eyes narrowed a fraction.

Zeph stopped when he felt they had gained a bit of privacy. He didn’t face Lochlan. Instead, he faced the others, his eyes resting on his sister. “I owe you an apology,” Zeph said without preamble. “I…” He swallowed, his eyes never leaving his sister.

“What is the apology for?”

Zeph could feel the heat of Lochlan’s stare on his right cheek. “I understand now,” he said, trying hard to keep the emotion from his voice but unable to do so. “When I took Elin from you.” He shook his head. “If you felt anything close to how I’m feeling in this moment…” He looked Lochlan in the eye then. “You should have killed me the moment you clapped eyes on me in Shadowland. I would have.”

“You begged me to heal Elin because she was dying. Pleaded with me to spare your life long enough to heal her. We were both desperate in those moments. When she died in your arms, you vanished, and I was left with…” Lochlan’s voice trailed off. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”

“I ran off to kill myself. And I did. But you brought me back. I still do not understand why you would do that.” Zeph shook his head again. “I don’t know if that makes you better than me or—”

“I brought you back because Arwyn begged me to. Because Elin begged me to. Because Searly demanded that I do it.”

“Searly?” Zeph asked, not understanding.

“Yes. He was quite adamant.”

Zeph had to look away from Lochlan, his eyes falling to the ground. Zeph had not deserved a second chance, yet he had been granted one all the same. As they stood there, Zeph was determined that he would earn this second chance, deserved or not. He owed his friends that much of him at least.

“Do not make me out to be a saint, Zeph. If it had been up to me, you would not be standing here today.”

Zeph smiled down at his booted feet. “Good. I could not abide feeling inferior to a half-breed.” He glanced up at Lochlan, his eyes glittering with mirth.

Lochlan’s countenance was blank at first and then crinkled into a soft chuckle.

In Zeph’s periphery, he caught Favián move away from the group and sit down with his back against a tree. “He’s well trained,” Zeph said, recalling how he had handled himself in the refectory against the Unseelie.

“He is indeed,” Lochlan agreed.

The look on Searly’s face as they were leaving the monastery flashed in Zeph’s mind. Searly had tried so hard to appear stoic, but his eyes blazed bright with fear.

“We have to keep him safe,” Zeph said. “For Searly.”

Lochlan turned toward Zeph, full body. He observed him openly, honestly. Zeph didn’t much care for being studied so thoroughly.

“What?” Zeph asked.

It was as if Lochlan was looking at him anew. “Nothing,” Lochan answered. Then he refocused his attention back to Favián. “We’ll keep him safe. We must. For Searly.”

Zeph nodded, looking up at the darkening sky. They had been waiting for the sun to sink behind the mountain, for the shadows to fall across the land like spilled ink. Now that the moon hung above them like a lantern, Zeph asked, “Are you ready?”

“Quite,” Lochlan replied. Stepping forward, he called to the others, “Everyone, it is time.”