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Sylvan allows the nymph to leap astride her, then casts me one more tormented glance before leaping into motion.

Crossbow bolts arch but never hit their mark as my kin rides hard, shrinking to nothing as they disappear into the borders of our home.

Everything blurs after that. The two surviving poachers throw hissy fits, not bothering to mourn their dead ally. Instead, they console themselves with my brother and me. Hands push me forward. As the trap’s iron teeth sink further with every motion, my stomach heaves from nausea.

The bolts are removed from my brother’s wings. Hands wrench Cerulean off the ground, his limp plumes dragging across the grass. His head lolls, barely conscious.

And then they’re on us. A clan of mortal faces charge into the scene on piebald and chestnut steeds. I count at least two dozen figures.

Could be more. Probably is.

They chant in victory as the poachers present us to them like game mounted on a plaque. They know who we are from the tales, from the stories about the Infamous Three and their unmistakable traits. I mean, we even sent some of those tales their way.

The humans form a circle, eyes wide or narrowed, faces contorted or stunned.

One of them yells about the time we drove nails into a glamoured mortal—actually, that had been Elixir.

Another spews about a time her son came back from Faerie so lovesick he slit his own wrists—and okay, that had been me.

Another rallies how his mother had gone mad, fearing every sweep of the wind after it shoved her to the ledge of a balcony and suspended her there for hours—and yeah, that had been the pretty Fae beside me.

And another time, and another time, and another time…

The grievances accumulate. To them, we’re the vicious ones, and they’re right.

But I also remember the fauna crying out. And I remember Faeries trying to save us and getting slaughtered. And I remember Elixir’s mothers dying in front of him. And I remember them caging Fae children—us.

Who’s right and wrong? In this continent, who’s innocent and who’s evil?

What would my woman say?

A scene like this is never complete without a little punishment. The dark-haired poacher sneers. “All alone, eh? Seems your so-called friends left you.”

Those words pollute the air. It takes a dozen pairs of callused hands and a dozen attempts to dump us over the horses, which ends up requiring reinforcements and a wagon, chiefly because of Cerulean’s sagging wingspan.

I float in and out of awareness until the pitched buildings and crammed shops of Reverie Hollow come into view. Tents and stalls are scattered through the market square, a breeding ground for mischief and a venue my kin have stalked many times while glamoured.

Faces materialize from doors, windows, and alleys. Additional shouting and noises follow. So much human noise.

Cerulean is hunched but more lucid than before.

The iron teeth vanish from my shoulder, which is likely a hunk of meat by now. I feel the magic leaching from my fingertips, the iron slurping up every drop of it.

After I’m done blinking, my gaze lands on the rod. It’s a hard motherfucker carved of iron and looks like it’s been whetted, the way it points at me like an angry thing. It’s thin and long, which means it’ll give a fair beating to the body, the kind Fae skin won’t forget.

One rod turns into a pair of rods.

Chains bind my wrists, then Cerulean’s. They’re not made of iron, but they’re strong, and they do what they’re supposed to.

A pole appears out of nowhere, erect in the square’s center. They press me on one side, my brother on the other, our backs aligning.

That’s when my tongue strikes a bargain. “No,” I mutter. “Turn us the fuck around.”

All right, that isn’t exactly a bargain. But this isn’t how I want to learn my lesson, if there is a lesson to be learned, which I don’t think there is except that life isn’t fair, and things are about to get even shittier.

But I feel Cerulean’s pulse ramming against mine. I’m not about to let him take this alone, with nothing good to fix his eyes on.

The mortals actually oblige me, maybe because it’s the first time I’ve spoken. Or maybe it’s because, as Faeries, Cerulean and I still have some clout.