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The Bandrui was insistent upon them, though, stating simply that in her temple she made the rules and hospitality was paramount in this time of unbalance.

I still wasn’t entirely sure about what unbalance there was, but I had learned enough about the state of her faith to know not to question her need for hospitality to be observed when and where she could enforce it.

This was one of those times.

I settled the simple white muslin shift that I had been given back down around my damp legs. “Please enter, Bandrui.”

She waited the prescribed ten seconds that her version of hospitality dictated while I wrung out the ridiculous length of my hair out into the pail.

“Ah, you are up and about already, Cricket. I am so pleased to see how well you have healed.” She set a simple carved wooden charger with a crusty heel of fresh steaming bread, a healthy hunk of cheese, and two Fae fruits called milúll I had come to love.

They had the satisfying crunch of a good apple but the sweet and tart taste of something like a blackberry dipped in honey, and under the lush flavor was an almost creaminess. The fruit had a shifting opalescent skin, and inside was the darkest wine purple flesh that dripped with juice.

The Bandrui had explained that The Great Wolf of Spring, Faolán, had crafted them from pure magic before he ascended, as a gift to the previous patron god of Bláth an Earraigh to resemble a dessert that the god had longed for from his travels through Human. Since then, their seeds had borne these fruits, and they had become the favorite fruit of the Fae.

She was vague about the details when I had asked questions, but my first taste of the milúll had cemented in me a cautious appreciation for the Fae’s tastes. It was heaven on the tongue, tart, sweet, creamy, crunchy, and when paired with the cheese, it was slightly salty. I could live off just this for the rest of eternity and die fat and happy.

“Thank you so much, Bandrui.” I breathed with delight as she set the charger down on the table where I had been washing myself. I lowered myself onto a stool as she did the same and began slicing the milúll into glistening juicy wedges. “I’m famished!”

“Have you been doing the exercises the drui of Ailbhe prescribed?” She lofted her brows like a concerned mother as she sliced portions into the cheese.

She would leave the bread for me. The crusty loaves she made in the Temple were almost as delicious as the fruits, and its tough, crumbly, crunchy heel had become my absolute favorite. Back in Human, I had craved sweets and meat all the time. But here, in Magh Meall, I found myself longing for the soul-soothing warmth of a priestess’s bread and to slurp the juices of a strange alien fruit. I hadn’t had a single piece of meat the entire time I had been here and felt no longings for it at all.

“Twice a day, every day before first meal and twice a day after last meal. Without fail,” I promised.

“Good, eat up, then.” She passed the simple fare to the center of the table and poured the two of us crystal-clear water from the pitcher by my stone bed. “We need to speak about what happens next, Cricket.”

Her soft words meant to be feathers to my nerves fell like anvils. I had heard those words in hundreds of different mutations and voices. They would never bode well.

I set the rich wine purple slice down, abandoning the bite I’d almost taken. I let a deep breath draw into my lungs and fortify me for what came next. I had no idea exactly what this conversation would lead to, but those words had never started anything good in my experience.

She was quiet, watching me, as if to gauge when the best time to start was. The Bandrui was an excellent read on people. I had learned she could tell from the smallest expression what mood I was in, and this extended to the others as well.

I had not met many Fae in my months in their world, but the Bandrui of the Temple of the Ascended was the only one I would say was a genuinely good person. She was a blade. When wielded with care and time, she could create masterpieces. When she wished to, she could destroy anything in her path. Nothing was safe from her, and here, in her domain, she was the ultimate power.

“Very well, Bandrui,” I murmured, giving her permission to carry on when my nerves had been girded in steel.

“As you probably know, you cannot stay here forever. As much as we enjoy your company and quick wit, we do not normally allow humans, even if altered, in the temple. It is a sacred space for Fae only.”

One thing I loved about the Bandrui was that she was careful never to call the humans in Magh Meall, daora. I had remarked on it once, and she had merely shrugged and said that, when the matriarchs of this realm brought the first humans, they were guests, and hospitality dictated that you never treat a guest poorly. The way she saw it, all humans were still guests, and in her domain, they would be treated as such.

“Which means you must return to the palace and to the warrens.”

I had expected this. Every day that I recovered and regained movement and strength, I knew was one day closer to me having to return to the nightmare that was the palace of the Ard Rí.

“I’m sure this is not a surprise to you,” she pushed on before sipping her water mildly. “The only true question would be in what capacity you would be returning. I hope you know, Cricket, that I truly wish I could alter your path. I have done my best to do so, but I cannot alter that which is dictated by powers stronger than my own. You deserve better than what will come.”

I remained silent, watching her as she placed a rope filled with beads on the table between us. It was decorated with the brass stars I had begun to collect, appearing every morning near my pillow, which were interspersed with a roughly carved wooden closed fist.

Her finger traced the wooden fist, and I watched it as she continued. “These are favors. A concept we, uh . . . borrowed, from your people. Each one represents a small speck of stable magic tied to the one that is gifting it to you. They are not very powerful—barely enough to light a candle, really—but they are stable and can be used to either send a message to the one who issued it or to summon them. I cannot protect you beyond these walls, but I can intervene in some affairs. Should you need me and the situation is dire, call on me. I cannot promise that I will be able to solve whatever issue you are facing, but I can promise that I will come.”

She pushed the beads toward me. “Hide these. Show no one. The same with your others. Never let any of the other humans know that you have them. No matter how much you trust them. They are never to be seen by any others. Do you understand, Cricket? No one else. Swear to magic on your true name that you will always guard these favors to the best of your ability.”

I let my hand fold over them and pull them toward me, whispering my oath to magic as she had taught me but in a voice that made a whisper sound like a bellow, “I, Sóna Mac Raith, swear to protect these favors for the rest of my days to the best of my ability while they still hold the stable magic of another.”

She had taught me that oaths to magic must be specific. Always include a specification of what you are promising and an end. Never leave an oath open and hanging. Never swear to magic or on your true name unless it is something you can keep. There is no wiggle room. The only truth a Fae tells is in the oaths they swear on their true names. Magic listens, waits. It is the perfect ally and the perfect predator to human and Fae alike.

When I was done, I tucked the beads under my chemise. Static electricity clung to my body, the sensation becoming familiar, the living magic that permeated every molecule of existence in this world, gathering close to witness my oath.