Kirk could take me straight to my father. And I could tell him to his face that the Red Caps draw closer, that the High Blade may be involved.
But he won’t.
I wish I knew whether it was that the Seelie Court doesn’t take the threat seriously or that they don’t takemeseriously.
“I will report directly to your father,” Kirk says, a little kinder now, which makes it all the worse, the pity in his voice.
I nod, and the brownie steps back into the hole in the tree, disappearing.
I cast one last look around the fae realm. It is so, so beautiful. Achingly so.
Layers of deception, I remind myself, blinking rapidly.
Nothing here is real.
I fall backward, out of this world and into my own.
***
I stumble, regaining my footing as my eyes adjust to dim, dull reality.
Red sandstone lines the riverbed, making the creek look as if it’s tainted with blood. From here, the boulders serve as towering walls. Sound echoes strangely, bouncing off the enormous rocks. Sunlight cuts like ribbons in the rare spots between rocks and bald trees.
Winter is a time when everything dies, but nothing here feels as empty as death.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with air until it hurts, the scent of petrichor seeping into my body.
It would be so easy to quit. Let some other Leth care about the wall. About the Red Cap plot that threatens the entire nation.
I’ve heard of it happening before, with other Leths. Once they go to their fae kin fully, swearing to never return to the humans, they can be accepted into that world.
My father ignores me because he wants to ignore the wall, the responsibility that comes with it. If I let that go, if I walked away fromthe duty I was born to fulfill…I could step fully into the Seelie Court, take a place beside my father, who gave me his blood, his magic, but not his status.
Not his home.
That’s what holds me back.
Some might call it pride, I suppose. But I won’t leave Scotland for the Seelie Court as long as he treats me like a guard instead of a daughter. I’ll stay here in my real home, where I’m valued. At least by some.
I peel off my boots, then my woolen tights, and I hike my skirts up as I step into water that glitters red thanks to the color of the pebbles. I send my magic out, out, calling. Water knows; water carries. This narrow band snaking through the gorge connects to the lochs and the rivers and then to the sea. My magic pings off the barrier that encloses the entire land, confirming its strength, but it also sends out a warning to all the fae:
Be on guard.
The enemy approaches.
Hooves echo off stones, soft patterings. No horse could get down here, but a goat has no such limits.
The creatures standing on the stones, peering down at me, however, are not goats.
Glaistigs are ethereal beings, often letting their bodies fade to ghostly shadows. Their lower halves take a form similar to goats, green moss staining gray-and-white fur. Glaistigs, when they bother to appear, look like women from the waist up. Long stringy hair, rough and matted, streams over their shoulders. Horns curl up from their temples, wide and thick, the tips sharp.
I see a half dozen now, but I’m certain there are more hidden inthe shadows, some not taking form, some in the trees, ready to attack if need be. The wildest fae trust not even a drop of human blood.
I scan the ones here, nodding to each respectfully, and then bow to the one whose mossy cloak extends into a cape draping over the tallest boulder, ferns like lace and tiny red berries along the hem like jewels.
This one is the leader of the glaistigs. “Green Lady,” I say, my eyes still downcast.
“You are welcome here,” she says, and I dare to lift my eyes.
