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No, I should have checked on her sooner! I wanted to scream. She had come there to paint every Wednesday morning and every afternoon, and, like clockwork, I’d meet her to grab a bite to eat at the farmers market. The one day I slept in an extra hour. The one day I took the longer, scenic route.
A cold sweat licked my skin; the world spun out of control.
I darted over to the willow tree—everyone’s attention on me as I spewed up the contents of my stomach on the yellow and white daffodils.
The coroner approached me like I was an untamed animal, holding her palms up by her chest.
No.
I shook my head, unwilling—unable—to listen to whatever tumbled off her lips. The murmur of the crowd rose an octave, and all I could hear were their condescending remarks. Their unnecessary opinions. The venom that hid behind charming tones.
With each step the doctor took toward me, the harder it became to breathe, and I retreated. Stumbling until my back was flush against another tree several feet away, my vision blurred with tears.
“I—I’m sorry. I must go…” I tripped over a root, barely regaining my balance before skirting around the trunk and taking off in the opposite direction.
Away from the river.
Away from the vultures.
Away from Lilian.
Lacking any real destination, I only knew that I needed to get as far away from there as possible.
So, I ran.
My legs burned, and I flew through the dense woods, faltering as I dodged a low-hanging branch that missed my head by inches, only to careen into a thorny bush.
Blood trickled down my arm. Stains of scarlet mushroomed where droplets hit my white dress, but I pushed forward, continuing deeper into the forest. I needed to get away. My lungs threatened to catch fire the harder and faster I ran, but I pushed through it. Ignored it. Relished in the pain as my mind emptied, and I concentrated on the uneven ground in front of me. The only thing that existed was the next step, the next breath. All the pent-up frustration, anger, and sadness broke free with each stride. Running was meditative—my escape from everything. From everyone.
When I reached a clearing, I collapsed onto the grass—the exposed skin on my arms and legs itching from the coarse sod beneath me.
I didn’t care.
My body buzzed with energy as I rolled onto my back, my pulse slowing while I caught my breath.
“Safe. I’m safe, just breathe,” I whispered.
A soft breeze rustled the trees, cooling my flushed face as birds chirped and sang around me. I soaked it up—pretending for a minute that everything was normal.
That Lilian wasn’t dead.
And my mother wasn’t sick.
Wellington Castle’s clock tower echoed in the distance, bringing with it memories of a carefree childhood, and I hummed along to the deep, brassy chimes. Here, I could be whoever I wanted to be. Get lost in nature and forget about all my responsibilities. I knew I needed to get home, face reality—be the dutiful daughter I was—and make sure my mother took her nightly medicine.
But I soaked up the sun a while longer, mesmerized by the snowy tips of the Wintercrest Highlands and how they glowed under the sun’s rays. It didn’t seem fair that such a beautiful landmark had to waste away in the abhorrent faerie realm east of the Dolorem River. It was hard to believe we once lived in harmony with the same vile creatures rumored to be hunting and killing our people.
I closed my eyes for a few more moments.
According to legend, five hundred years ago, King Broderick II persecuted all magical beings for a decade-long famine that had killed hundreds of our people. Believing magic was responsible for The Great Blight, neighbor turned on neighbor, and villagers began killing anyone suspected of wielding it.
After years of bloodshed, human and fae emissaries finally reached an agreement. The Iron Accords were formed, and fae were banished to Faerway.
To cross the river, under the Accords, meant death.
I struggled to find the sense in why the fae would violate the Accords or how, after a decade, there wasn’t a single reputable sighting of those ethereal beings. Some argued it was because they used magic—glamours—to make themselves invisible. Others claimed it was due to mind control. I didn’t know what to believe. I’d been more concerned about caring for my sick mother these past two years than worrying myself with baseless hearsay. However, after today—after seeing the fear frozen in Lilian’s eyes—there was no denying something untoward was going on in Wendover.
It was just before dusk by the time I made it home. I’d succumbed to my exhaustion and drifted off to sleep, only to startle awake hours later, shaking and disheveled.
