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“Okay,” I say, holding up my hands. “Three it is.” I don’t fancy any more injuries tonight if I can avoid them.
The nixie makes a face I think counts as a smile.
“What is often lost but never gained?” it asks.
I frown. This seems harder. But the clue is in the question. It sounds like one of those riddles where the answer is something intangible, like time. But time doesn’t quite fit, because you can gain time, can’t you, if you do something faster than usual? So what about…
“Innocence?”
The nixie glowers and stamps its foot.
“I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. What am I?” it spits out, almost so fast I don’t catch it.
My whole body hurts and I know I’ve already lingered too long. I’m through wasting my time with this crook.
“My great aunt Maureen.”
“Wrong!” the nixie crows. “A candle! The answer is a candle!”
“But Aunty Maureen did get short when she was old! I’m not wrong, and my answer fits. You have to let me pass.”
The nixie snarls. “You’re trying to cheat!”
“You’re the cheat! I’m done with this.” I dig into my skirts and pull out my transformed bindings, the magical gold shining invitingly even in the gloom as I hold them up. “Why don’t I just pay you for my crossing?”
The nixie reaches out to the chains, it’s plump eyes alight with greed. “Is that real gold?”
“Yes, not even fae-made,” I say, dangling them in front of it. “I’ll part with this gold if you’ll let me cross,” I say, making sure to choose my words carefully.
“Fine, agreed,” it says, not even stopping to consider it.
“Thank you.” I allow myself a triumphant smile. “Now, catch.”
I hurl the chains into the river—after all, I only said I’d part with them. As the shining gold sinks beneath the surface, the nixie screeches and dives in after it, leaving me time to scramble up onto the bank and sprint away. My skirts are smeared with mud and the splashing soaked me up to my shoulders, but I doubt the creature will follow.
I think I’m closer now, catching glimpses of what I hope are palace lights in the distance, and trying not to slow down despite my exhaustion. But I was right about the danger of spending too long with the imp…
The baying of a dragon horn sounds in the dark.
They’ve found me. Cebba and the Wild Hunt—the friends she was talking about. I sob at the noise, almost wanting to just lie down and let myself be trampled. Except I know I won’t be that lucky. Cebba will capture me and resume her torture until I’m so destroyed that Ruskin won’t even recognize me if he ever finds my body. Dad won’t ever know what happened to me.
That’s not good enough.
The thought comes to me like it belongs to someone else, but I know who it is urging me on: the girl who picked herself back up after her mom died. The young woman who found a way to make money when her dad stopped bringing home fish. And now she’s the person who’s going to get out of this forest alive.
The Hunt still sounds a way off, though I know from experience they’ll be quick to gain on me. Nevertheless, I take the opportunity to stop and rip off a shred of one of my bandages. I brush it against the ground and then bury it under a pile of leaves in that exact spot.
If Cebba and her hunt come looking, it’s highly unlikely they’ll notice it, but I remember what Ruskin said about being able to “see” scent. If he does know I’m missing, if he comes looking in the forest, this might help him find me.
I plunge forward into the trees, fleeing from the rumble of approaching hooves. The noise of the forest is awakening again around me, disturbed by the chase, I guess. It’s louder, I notice, because I can hear it over the cacophony behind me and the thudding of my own heart. I stumble over a tree root and push onwards, noting that the rustling doesn’t sound so much like animals in the undergrowth anymore.
It’s voices, whispering—calling. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but I think I hear my name. It tugs at my battered soul in a way I don’t understand, but I try to push them out of my mind. All that matters now is getting back to the palace.
My hope soars when I see a stone bridge ahead of me. It’s ornate, clearly of High Fae design. This sign of civilization—anything that isn’t trees and wild animals—makes me think I must be nearly back. The Seelie court is a huge, sprawling extension of the palace, and this could easily be one of the pathways to it.
I sprint across it, though my lungs and limbs beg for a break, forcing myself to run as the horn sounds much closer than before.
The whispers grow louder too, almost uttering tangible words now, seeming to echo against the arched roof covering the bridge.
