“What do I negotiate for?”
“Everything you can get.” Adren’s voice was hard, bladelike. “At the very least, I need the rest of this spell out of me, but try your hardest for the unicorn’s cure, too.”
“What if I can’t find her?”
“Then, saints help us, we’ll talk to the monarchs themselves.”
At this, Nadin gave Adren a sidelong glance. Her jaw was set, her eyes narrowed. The happiness of her smile had vanished, leaving behind a coldness as terrible as the illusions the fairies had wrapped themselves in as they walked through the mist.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said quietly.
Adren couldn’t risk getting caught in the spell again, and so stayed behind to deal with the soldiers, should they have followed. At least, that’s what she told Nadin. The likelihood of the soldiers having followed this far without either her or Nadin noticing—or having followed at all after the unicorn’s scream—was too low to be more than chance. Yes, she had to stay outside of the mound for her own safety. No, she wasn’t going to stand around waiting for Nadin. An undercurrent of rage over what the fairies had done had been building as they escaped Denyeh’s house. That they would abuse her trust so easily, that they would harm both her and the unicorn with magic—such things were unconscionable. They had chosen their actions, and now they would face the consequences.
Her anger drew the unicorn to her again. It nickered, butted its nose against her, but it couldn’t calm her. Let the two of them stand against the multitude, should it come down to that. Adren did not intend to lose.
Besides, it wasn’t Loram she hated most. It was Iraem. With all that had happened, Adren now understood how Iraem had convinced the monarchs to hear Adren’s case. Loram had gone to them, offering to earn back her position by getting them the wooden hand, and asking for help and the cure Adren wanted so the mission would succeed. The monarchs refused, their reason either or both of how bad the deal was or Loram’s low status. After this, Iraem told them they didn’t have to do anything about the cure if they’d let her take Adren instead. Adren couldn’t decide whose idea it was for the monarchs to have Nadin but, in the end, the monarchs stood to gain both the wooden hand and Nadin, Iraem got Adren, and Loram gained her position back. As she made her case and they worked out the details, Iraem would have been stupid not to point out the greatest benefit of all: if this worked, the mound and the mound alone gained all.
If she hadn’t done this, Loram and Adren would have rescued Nadin, Loram would have had her fake hand to bring back to the monarchs, and they all would have gone on their way. Adren could have gotten the unicorn’s cure at another mound, now that she knew it was possible. Nothing else had to happen.
“Come on,” Adren said to the unicorn when Nadin was out of sight. “Let’s find that saintsall fairy that thought she could make me a toy.”
Nadin didn’t need to count his steps as he entered the mound. He didn’t need to keep careful track of which turns he’d taken through a complicated system that involved crooking his fingers oddly. He could have saved himself the exertion. Towards the centre of the mound a number of fairies clustered together, too close for anyone to give an easy count based on their magic of anything other than “many.” As Nadin made his way through the mound, one of these fairies broke off from the group and made its way towards him. Before long, Loram rounded the corner.
“You!” Magic leaked from her fingers.
“Wait, don’t!” Nadin lifted his hands, palms to her. “I want to make a deal with you.”
The leaking stopped. “What kind of deal?”
“You want that hand back, right? I want that spell off of Adren, and the cure you promised her.”
“I didn’t promise her anything.”
“I meant you as in you.” He gave a vague hand wave. “All the fairies here. Don’t the monarchs speak for them?”
“Sometimes.” Loram crossed her arms. “So, you have the hand. You could get something for yourself, you know. I don’t think I’d help someone who’d used me in a trade.”
“I’m doing this for the—” Nadin clamped his mouth shut.
“You know who she is, right?”
The only response Nadin gave was to narrow his eyes.
“The White Changeling?”
“Who?”
“She’s a criminal. A thief, liar, double-crosser. She’s hurt a lot of people, all of them human. I bet she thinks you’re human, doesn’t she? How long until she hurts you? How long until she hurts your family? Even if she learns what you are, that won’t protect them from her.”
“I know all that,” Nadin said. “Well, not the White Changeling part. But the rest. And Adren’s met the only family I really care for. She could have done all kinds of things then, but she didn’t. She tried to help.” He squared his shoulders. “Just like I try to help her.”
“It won’t end well for you.”
“I don’t see you doing anything.” Strong as his words were, Nadin’s hands trembled.
The fairy sighed. “That’s not the—”
“Loram?”
A boy a year or so younger than Nadin ran around the corner. As soon as Hin and Nadin saw each other, they froze.
All the humans had left the streets of the town. Only fairies walked it. Fairies, Adren, and the unicorn. The lingering spell threads made this difficult, as they now clung to her legs and made them shake. Adren had a flash of doubt as to the wisdom of her plan but, seeing the fairies again as they strutted about in their pretentious illusions, she knew it was the right choice. To distract herself from the spell’s effects and keep herself going, she imagined that all the fairies walked on rickety stilts that would fall over in a sudden breeze. She imagined herself as that breeze.
Of course, she wouldn’t walk right up to a nearby fairy and attack them until she found Iraem. Despite how saintlike they appeared, Adren recognized several of the faces as those she’d seen inside the mound. So she kept her distance, searching for the one face she wanted most to find.
The part she found odd, though, was that none of the fairies came after her. If Iraem had wanted a toy so much, then wouldn’t the search be for both Adren and the fake hand? And what about Nadin? And why didn’t they seem to reach when she passed by? Perhaps the illusion magic masked her own, which would mean that her magic wasn’t unusual enough to be clear in it. If that were the case, then she’d give a lot to know what kind of magic hers was in the first place. She’d come up with a lot of theories over the years. The most likely, up until now, had been that she’d been born human, but had been tampered with by some magical being or other. Except that would, by its nature, make her magic unusual. Now that she knew that wasn’t the case, the only possibility she had left was that she was some sort of magical creature. But which? No humanlike magical creature she knew of could turn invisible.
There had been a human town near the fairy mound she’d grown up in, too, and she remembered going there when she was about eleven and playing with the children there.
“Who are you?” one girl with beautiful blue-black hair had asked her.
“Adren.”
“Do you live with the fairies? My mom says you live with the fairies.”
“Does that mean you’re a fairy?” asked another girl.
“Ooo!” said a third. “Can you show us magic?”
The first girl gave an impatient flip of her hair. “You don’t look like a fairy.”
“I’m not a fairy, but I do live with them.” At this point, Adren was reconsidering her decision to play with them. Until she had an idea. “But I can do this.” She turned invisible.
Except for the one with the beautiful hair, the girls shrieked. Some of the boys came over to investigate. Adren became visible again and they cried out, telling her to do it again. So she did a few times, invisible and back.
“I bet you’re great at hide and seek!” said one of the boys. Adren wasn’t sure what that was, but she blushed anywa
y, and all the children made a commotion again, this time over how red she could turn.
When they had quieted down, the third girl blurted out, “But is your skin the same colour everywhere?”
“Isn’t yours?” Adren crossed her arms.
“Well, yeah, but mine’s normal.”
Even now, years later, Adren winced. Skin too white, hair too light. Neither fairy nor human. And a new addition to the list: Loram telling her that her magic was broken somehow.
“So what are you?” the girl with the beautiful hair had asked.
“I bet she’s a changeling!” said one of the boys.
“What?” Adren stepped back. She hadn’t expected that.
“Yeah, you know,” he said. “Kids the fairies swap out for their own.”
“Fairies don’t do that.”
“I think we should call you the White Changeling,” said the girl with the beautiful hair. She smirked. “Like a nickname.”
“A nickname?”
“Yeah, people like nicknames.”
Adren wasn’t sure she liked this one. “I… I guess so.”
“Great!” The girl tapped her on the shoulder. “You’re it.” The rest of the children had run away, squealing, and Adren had had no idea what was supposed to happen next.
Chapter Nine
“Why art thou here, Hin?” Loram put her hands on her hips. “I must needs finish this conversation. Return to the children.”
Nadin opened his mouth and closed it again. Hin pinched the bridge of his nose. Sighed.
“Nay, I cannot. I lied when I told thee I sent my magic at thee in error—I did so purposely, for I believe him to be part of my family.” His Breimic accent came through thick in his earnestness.
“Oh no,” said Nadin, not quite inaudibly enough, and the fairies frowned at him.
“I would have proof of this,” said Loram. She pressed her lips together.
“We only need a few words.” He turned to Nadin. “What is thy name in full?”
“Nadin Frem.”
“Nay, thine other name. Thy true one.”
“Look, do we have to do this? Why is this important?” Nadin’s voice cracked.
“What are you hiding, Nadin?” Loram asked. Both she and Hin regarded him with a new air. He stepped back.
“How would you even know I was related to you out there in the forest?”
“Thou rememberest me not, but I was present when thy mother brought thee to see thy father’s mother’s family. My father was among those who spoke with thy mother that day.”
“If that’s the case, you can’t have recognized me. That was ten years ago.”
“Thy magic has not changed.” The fairy boy’s gaze was level, intense. He didn’t blink, and his eyes didn’t leave Nadin’s face.
Nadin threw his hands into the air. “Fine! The name you’re looking for is Neidim ib Frenzin. Happy?”
“See’st thou now?” Hin said to Loram. “He is of my family.”
“I do.”
“Aye, and we must needs tell them where he is.”
“You don’t need to do that just now,” protested Nadin. “Please. I’ll contact them when I’m ready.”
Hin nodded. “Loram, I ask thee to help him.”
“Knowest thou what sort of request thou makest of me? I have no lower to sink. The monarchs shall cast me out for acting against their will.”
Even Nadin grew quiet at this. A fairy alone did not live long. After too much time away from other fairies, they would lose their strength. Their bodies would wither away, organs would fail. They wouldn’t be able to use magic to help themselves—the nature of their magic was the reason this happened. Together, they were strong. Apart, they died. Those with enough human ancestry mixed in often didn’t have this problem, or had it less fatally, but they were taught of it. Only after several generations without any more fairies involved and without any problems would a part-fairy child not know of the danger they might face.
“My family sent me here for more than a visit. They hear rumours of the misuse of the Demonic Vessel, and wish to know if they must needs find new keepers for it. Help and, even shouldst thou fail, they shall welcome thee among them with honour.”
Loram snorted. “I thought thy visit suspicious. But no one listened when I said not to let thee here. Methinks it has turned to my benefit that they did so. I shall help.”
“Is that all fairies care about?” cried Nadin. “Their benefit?”
No one spoke for a moment.
“Thou hast lived among humans too long,” Hin observed.
Adren had just entered the market when three fairies, crowned with leaves and accompanied by four others carrying spears, passed her—the monarchs and Iraem. And though they seemed to take no notice of Adren, Iraem slowed and stopped. Adren, too, stopped, the unicorn beside her, her breath shallow. When the other fairies had left, a cruelly beautiful smile spread across Iraem’s face.
“My little plaything has come to find me,” she said. “And has brought a friend.” But as her gaze fell on the unicorn, her smile froze. “That isn’t a unicorn. The magic is all wrong. How did you get it to look so much like one?”
A chill entered Adren. Even though the unicorn felt no alarm at the fairy’s presence, she put a hand on its shoulder.
“It is a unicorn,” said Adren.
“If so, it is a poor one. What did you think you would accomplish in bringing such a sad creature to me? Did you think I would fix it? Not I nor any of my kind holds such power.”
Adren tightened her hand into a fist, but her voice did not betray what caused the unicorn to lower its horn at the fairy. “Loram and your parents seemed to disagree.”
“Now, see, my dear toy, I tolerate some contradiction, but carry it out too long and you bore me. Which means I must teach you to be interesting.”
Pale snakes arose from the mist around Adren. They encircled her, hissing. She laughed and took a step forwards to walk out of the illusion. That was a mistake. The snakes may have been illusion, but they housed a painful magic that bit deep enough into her skin that hers had to ward it off. In response, the unicorn’s muscles bunched with fear—not enough that it would act yet, but enough that it set Adren’s teeth on edge.
“That was a warning, plaything. Next time it will be worse. Next time, the marks will be visible.”
The snakes separated Adren from the unicorn. When she’d tried to walk out of them, she’d taken her hand from the unicorn’s shoulder, and now they rushed to fill that gap. On the other side of that writhing wall, the unicorn rolled its eyes and stamped with its forelegs.
“You forget, Iraem. I am by no means helpless.”
“No, I do not forget,” said Iraem. “You are the one who has forgotten. You forget what I can see, what I know. To those who have not seen you, you hover on the edge of myth, and yet your deeds are known. Humans suffer at your hand, and yet humans only. Did you think that would escape notice? Did you think you would escape retribution?”
Adren’s heart skipped a beat when Iraem mentioned what she could see. As for the rest of it, even though part of her said she should get the unicorn to attack, she couldn’t stop from defending herself.
“Humans deserve all I have done to them; I have done nothing wrong.”
Iraem laughed. “And who made you judge of them? Oh, how delightful you are, my pet. Of course you have done wrong.”
“I have not!” But doubt slivered into her mind. Had she judged Iraem’s actions wrongly? The monarchs had questioned Adren about her morals. Perhaps they had agreed to taking her not to own her, but to help her. They were magical beings after all. They knew the difference between right and wrong. And, much as Adren thought she knew the difference, she’d been mistaken before.
Would someone who wanted to train Adren to her benefit call her a plaything, a toy, a pet?
Iraem was a fairy.
Adren’s forehead ached.
“You have worthy qualities, Adren. Allow
me to teach you the use of them. What other purpose would I have with you? Why else would I have spoken on your behalf?”
All she and Nadin had planned to do in this town was sleep and eat. After Watorej, she had decided to go home and rest for a while. Three weeks of travel later, punctuated by attacks of that terrifying memory, and now knee-deep in a debacle with fairies to deal with, Adren almost welcomed the exhaustion that flooded her. It could be simple. She could stop fighting, get the unicorn to stop fighting. The unicorn! If she was exhausted, it must be, too. For the first time, she wondered if dragging the unicorn along with her had harmed it even more or, at the least, prevented it from any healing it might be undergoing, no matter how slow that may be. Gods, what had she been thinking, bringing the unicorn with her to face Iraem like this? It was only going to get hurt, and it was all her fault. They could wait a little longer to find its cure, if they needed. If it meant Adren would learn to treat it better.
“Don’t—” Adren couldn’t finish the sentence. She wanted to tell Iraem not to hurt the unicorn, but the act of speaking stabbed her from the inside. Iraem was so, so tall, and the mist so thick. The hissing of the snakes and the sliding of scales as they moved dug into her, made it hard to breathe.
Hold on, Adren.
As if borne by a gentle wind, a memory rose from the dark place in Adren’s mind. Trees surrounded her, shafts of light from sun through cedar struck the ground like swords. Like that sword.
She was about ten, air scraping in and out of her lungs as if she’d been exerting herself almost to her breaking point. A scream pierced the air as the unicorn—also younger, and by no means fully-grown—wheeled in disjointed circles. It reared, forelegs flailing. Though Adren also wanted to give in to the terror in her, she took a deep breath and stepped towards the unicorn. It screamed again and lashed out at her with its hooves. One connected, drawing blood on her cheek. She stumbled back, hand to her face.
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