There was one at the far end of the house, nestled into the maw of a crumbling hearth, who watched over his kin with one keen eye. The other eye honed in on Adrik. It was a bearded creature, small and grey and hunched like an old man. It melted a little whenever I looked straight at it, and when I glanced from the side, it grew tall and bright.
You bring a visitor, King of the Forgotten Lands. I remember her. In another life, beyond another veil, I believe I watched her dance.
I should have been frightened or unsettled, but there was no place for such things in my wonder-struck heart. Was this what my mother had seen? Was this the realm she had visited often? Was this the veil behind which she had vanished for hours in the long and dark winters before her death?
“We cannot stay here long,” said Adrik with a voice like a dream and a gaze veiled with a sheen of liquid gold.
“This is the tale the spirits of this house will tell me when I am vengeful.”
The ruin tilted once, spinning me wildly around.
A man, blurred like a ghost, cowered in the shade of the cornerstone. He clutched a satchel in one hand, a knife in theother. Moonlight caught on the tip of his blade. Outside scurried a shadow, panting and cursing. The man in the shade readied his knife. He buried it, with a cackle, in flesh.
“This is the tale it will tell me whenever I am grieving.”
The world tilted once more.
A woman, young and scarred from the blight-fever, bent over a figure bundled in pelt. The ruin was not yet a ruin—just an abandoned, cobwebbed house. Amid the bundle lay a man, face flushed with fever. The woman wept for him. The stars burned brightly through the night, then faded—one by one. So did the man.
“This is the tale it will tell me when I am glad.”
The ruin was neither a ruin, nor abandoned. Two women stood on the threshold of a quaint stone cottage, hand in hand, and peered into what was about to become their home. A place to call their own. A house in which to raise their future children, sit side by side by the fireplace, and plant a wild garden.
The vision faded and the house crumbled—abandoned after the women and their children and their children’s children had gone Beyond. We returned to our side of the veil, Adrik and I, hands entwined like vines.
“Almira can teach you, Evana,” he said. “She can teach you, as she taught me, to wield this magic. To turn this burden into a gift.”
The wind whistled through my teeth and rattled my skull. I reached into the pocket of the coat, remembering weakly that I’d found a small comfort within, not long ago. The pebble was still warm, as if left to bask in the sun. It hummed with a faint echo of a brighter time.
Was I truly so feeble of heart to run? To choose certain death in the wasteland over attempting to save these people? If Adrikwas right and fear corrupted my magic rather than a foulness within me… If there lived not a monster deep inside, but a power that might lead the town through the storm—I was not so spineless to run from it, was I?
“The hounds,” I breathed with sudden terror. I had not seen a trace of them. “Did you kill them tonight?”
“There were none.”
Whatever thin passage remained through the storm, the beasts must not have found it. What a vile thing, this mist, if it repelled even such horrid creatures.
I clutched the pebble, feeling like a bird set free—or, at least, as free as a bird allowed to choose its own cage.
“Take me back.”
SEVENTEEN
It is a misery, and it is a joy.
Ihad not made it far from the town.
I must have wandered in tangles through the shifting forest, for we passed the gate within a half-hour. Adrik half-carried me through the snow in his fox form.
A bridge creaked underfoot, guiding us over the frozen river and down a twisting lantern-lit path into a meadow. Amid a half-circle of pines, nestled against the edge of the forest, stood a charming cottage of steep thatched roofs, latticed windows, and green shutters. A pair of oaks stood watch over a frost-withered garden. Amid the naked bushes drifted motes of light in a brine-scented breeze.
“Home,” said Adrik roughly. He’d looked strong and awake in his fox form, but now the strain of his burden gathered like shadows in the hollow beneath his cheeks. “No need to spend more time in the cold than we must, unless you’d rather return to Lorell—”
“This is fine,” I said.
It was a well-loved place, filled with well-loved things. A home brimming with keepsakes. The shelves were packed with favorite books, the armchairs worn thin from long winter eves spent among friends. A home that honored the spirits and received their blessings in return: Talismans dangled over thresholds, the broom stood on its head, and through the parlor window, I glimpsed an old elm hung with fluttering ribbons.
Huddled into a fireside chair, I watched quietly while Adrik lit the hearth. On the mantle sat a collection of animal figurines, carefully arranged. The same was true of the shelves, tables and desks: Thousands of knick-knacks, placed with much love—candles, ornaments, stacks of letters, flower-painted porcelain and dried bouquets. I’d not taken Adrik for a collector, though the faeries were known for it.
