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It is not night when we see your face.
That’s what the Sluagh said to me on the battlefield. Was that before or after they called me nothing? My mind races. Fear wraps around my lungs, squeezing until I can’t breathe.
“Nothing grows in the shade, Willow. Your father and I need to step back.”
Does she want me to leave? For a split second, I wonder if this is her way of getting rid of me—an excuse to be free of the burden of having a daughter like me. I don’t belong here any more than I did in Crystal City. No one understands me.
“I’m not good at making my own choices,” I whisper, looking into her eyes.
“You are perfect, my love. Trust your heart and know—” Her throat clogs with emotion. “Know that we will always love and support you no matter where that heart takes you, for however long. There is nothing you can do that will change that.” She sighs at the blisters on my hand. “Will you let me heal that?”
I sniff and then nod. She takes my hand, and cool relief washes over my raw skin, healing the burns until I can move my fingers like before. But for some reason, I can’t let her erase the small acid wounds on my face. If they’re gone, it feels like Tinger is gone, too. I’m not ready for that.
As if sensing my thoughts, she places her palm over my sternum and the vial containing Tinger’s manabee. “Cherish his memory, and he’ll live in you forever.”
Chapter
Four
WILLOW
Leaning against my closed bedroom door, I survey the clutter. Every nook and cranny is filled with objects I value.
“Worse than a crow’s nest,” my mother once said, attempting to clean it up.
I’d bared my teeth and forced her to drop the driftwood. It wasn’t much to her, but it was from the shore of the ceremonial lake when I first met Tinger and is shaped like an antler.
“That’s because it’s not a nest,”my father had proudly replied. “It’s a den.”
I take after him more than I like to admit; he collects little wooden carvings he’s made. This nest, this den, is my haven. Whether the items have been stolen, given, or found, they all mean something to me. Piles of trinkets and books on adventurous escapades make me feel closer to Alfie, my dead human friend. Bottles of perfume on a dresser are my favorite scents. A whetstone and silver dagger that belonged to Rory. I’m not supposed to have that last one, considering it’s contraband, but no one has confiscated it yet.
The window is open enough for a small wolpertinger to fit through. I stride across the room, slam the pane down, and closethe curtains until I’m in complete darkness. I don’t want light. I don’t want to see the empty spaces he should fill.
Crawling onto my bed, I circle and pluck the blankets around me until I feel cocooned, then clutch the jade worry stone and rub my thumb over the groove. The rhythmic action takes me back to Crystal City. I would spend restless nights awake, stroking the stone and praying for rescue.
The taint on the Well blocked all communication from Elphyne in the latter years. I grew isolated from home. I relied more on Rory and Alfie to keep me sane amongst the never-ending murder lessons.
My sleepy thoughts turn to Alfie, and I smile. He was the same age as me, but with copper hair and freckles. He rose in the ranks of Nero’s army to become an aviation captain. The night before the battle, he asked me to marry him. Apparently, Nero had already approved the union, so it felt like I had to say yes. But he didn’t know I intended to escape to Elphyne. I sometimes wonder if things had worked out differently, would he have given up his captaincy to be with me? Would he have abandoned his beliefs so I could go home? He was my closest friend—I like to think yes. If not for his friendship, I’d have tried to escape Crystal City earlier.
My fingers wrap around the pendant on my chest, and my eyes drift closed. When I open them, I’m not in my bed. I’m not even in Elphyne.
I’m in a town square surrounded by dancing couples wearing luxurious, impeccable winter fashion. Flowing velvet dresses are variations of green and brown. Long hair is loose and adorned with sparkling gems or strings of pearls. Fur-lined ornamental capes fly as couples twirl. Males in tailored suits with ornate embroidery have their hair neatly styled. Above the heads of the crowd, I glimpse walkways high up in the trees. Buildings seamlessly blend with the branches until I’m not quite sureif they’re real. Webs sparkling with jewels dangle between structures. Jovial music ebbs and flows from somewhere, carried on the wind. At my feet, cobblestones are interspersed with the same jade as my worry stone.
I also wear a flowing dress, and my feet are clad in glittering, soft, warm slippers. Couples glance at me and hurry away, never breaking the flow of their graceful dance. A space grows around me, and I feel exposed. Alone. Awkward.
“Where am I?” I whisper, turning in circles, feeling dizzier by the second.
Suddenly, I’m not alone, but in the arms of the rookie Guardian who approached me this morning. His blond hair is tied with a teal ribbon, the same color as his embroidered suit. He smiles down at me as though I’m his world, and I recoil, trying to pull away. He feels wrong. This all feels wrong. I break away but spin right into the arms of the crow shifter Guardian, who whispers something mockingly over my head. They pull me into a dance, twirling and spinning. The colors around me blur. Nausea rolls in my stomach.
I don’t want this.
But my feet won’t move. I can’t escape. The toes of my leather slippers drag on cobblestones as I’m carried around, paraded before laughing faces. “You’re not even fae anymore,” says one.
“But you’re not human either.”
“You don’t belong in any world.”
“You’ll never belong.”
