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I try not to think about it. I need to have faith in myself.

At first, the fae on the other side of the bridge continue to mill about, clearly not expecting us to be so close. Their voices carry over the sound of the light rain; Lord Ondine is barking orders. There are general grumbles about the weather. Alaric looks back at me; he gives me a nod, a silent signal to be ready.

I nod back. I’m as ready as I will ever be.

I take a deep breath, gathering my magic within me. The power hums through my veins, ready and waiting. I can feel the potential of the spell tingling at my fingertips, eager to be released. We move closer to the bridge, the sound of our horses’ hooves muffled by the wet ground and the steady drizzle.

The fae spot us as we near the bridge. Shouts of alarm ring out, and they scramble to pull their swords in preparation for battle. I recognize Ren, Japhet, Llayda, and Nyx. I recognize some of the others from the cave, but Alaric is right, there are more I have never seen before. They have easily doubled in numbers since my escape.

Most of them mount up, swords raised.

We stop just before the bridge.

“You may as well give up now,” Lord Ondine shouts. “We have been instructed to hunt you to the ends of the realm. Not just our Court, but all the Courts have been enlisted. Running is futile.”

I note that they don’t attempt to come at us. That a few of them are looking at us… No, they’re looking atmewith fear in their eyes.

Arwin is glowering. When he catches me looking at him, he snarls, “You will fix me, girl, or face the consequences!”

There are sniggers from some of the others.

“Silence!” Ondine snarls, glaring at Arwin. Everyone pipes down in an instant. Then he turns back to us. “I’m giving you one opportunity to come quietly and without fuss. What say you?”

“We say no,” Alaric says. “We have a counteroffer. We give you one opportunity to allow us to pass freely and to leave without harassment.”

“I’m afraid I cannot accept,” Ondine’s voice booms. “I implore you to—”

I let the magic loose, saying the words of the sleeping spell.

The fae on the other side of the bridge immediately falter, their movements slowing to a crawl. One by one, they drop their weapons and sway. Those in the saddle fall to the ground with hard thuds, their horses spooking and running away as they drop. The fae on their feet collapse just as readily, their legs buckling under them.

Lord Ondine is the last to succumb, his eyes fluttering closed as he falls to his knees and then topples over onto his side with a great sigh.

A wave of relief washes over me. We urge our horses forward, and the ancient wooden planks creak under their hooves. Below,the brackish water rushes and swirls, the currents strong and true. The smell of decay is strong, but I ignore it.

“We need to hurry,” I tell Alaric.

“We need to go slow over the bridge,” he tells me.

I keep the shield spell active as we ride, wary of any potential threats that may still be lurking nearby. Soon, we are picking our way through the downed fae, readying ourselves to gallop away.

A couple of their horses lurk nearby, unsure of what to do with their newfound freedom. The rest are long gone, which should slow the fae down when they finally wake. I’m hoping the spell keeps them under for a good long while.

I am just starting to relax when I feel my back prickle with awareness. I turn, gasping as soon as I see him.

One of the downed fae is standing in the middle of the sleeping men. The hood of his cloak obscures his face.

Cold shivers run up and down my whole body.

Who is he?

How is it that he is awake?

I redouble my efforts, focusing on him. It has no effect.

How?

As if in answer to my silent question, he pulls down the cloak. He has a tuft of beard on his otherwise clean-shaven face. His head is clean-shaven, too. That’s when I see them: runes inked into his skin on the tops of his hands and up both sides of his neck. There are black veins beneath the surface of his pale skin like spider webs. They are on his head, on the one side of his face, and creeping up the front of his throat.