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Yet in this city, there wasn’t a single brick out of place. Every beautiful house was intact and the fae in them were living a life untouched by the desolation that had shaken her town.

The bitter taste of resentment burned her throat. Was this what magic could do? It could induce a fear so palpable she was still shaking with the memory of it, and it could keep an entire city standing despite the movement of the very earth beneath it?

With each step she took through the main street toward the looming castle that rose above all else, she felt more like she was walking into a daydream, though she had only just left a nightmare behind. Lore reached up with shaking hands, tryingto smooth her unruly curls, but stopped as she caught sight of her grimy hands and dirty fingernails. She hadn’t had a chance to wash up during their journey at all, other than to clean the wounds on her cheek. She’d been too tired to care.

But now she cared. It seemed that on every street, beautifully dressed fae of all ages stopped to look at her. Fae children, eyes wide, asked their mothers if she really, truly, was ahuman. She watched their little mouths form the word, some with awe, some with disgust.

Her eyes flicked away as her nails bit into her palms. She wished that she was wearing her Starday best. She wished that her hair was combed and smoothed into shining ringlets.

Instead, she looked exactly like what she imagined their false, preconceived notions of how humanswouldlook. She wanted to stop and tell them that her world had just fallen apart once again, that the rip in her tunic and the dust in her hair were fromhelpingchildren not so unlike them. Tears of frustration stung her eyes, but still she held her chin up, even while avoiding their gazes.

Her courage faltered. She regretted every step she took away from Duskmere.

Let this be quick. Let whatever they need take only a moment. Let me be back home in time to kiss little Milo goodnight, maybe sit by the lake with Grey.

***

It wasn’t long before Lore saw the castle up close. A fortress at the highest point of the kingdom, it was built of stone and its towers and turrets seemed to pierce the sky itself. Even from the streets far below, she could see that its surrounding walls were thick and sturdy—anyone would be foolish to attack it where it sat perched on high, overseeing Alytheria.

It took hours to reach the castle, and by the time the guards led her through what appeared to be a heavily guarded side entrance, across deserted castle grounds, and bid her wait outside a closed door, she was so tired from the trek she forgot to be afraid.

She slumped to the floor, grateful that this part of the castle had a lush carpet spanning the length of the corridor. As the plush fabric cushioned her, she wished to remove her boots and survey the damage, suspecting that she would find bloody blisters and skin rubbed raw. But she resisted the urge.

She had walked the last few leagues with the pain; she could last another hour or so.

She looked at the guard, the short one with the bow and arrows, who was standing nearby, watching her. She supposed he had been left to ensure she didn’t try to pry the sconces off the wall or shove the nearby silver candlesticks up her tunic. She wanted to glare at him, but knew she couldn’t risk it. Instead, she glanced at his boots. They looked so well made. She bet he felt like he was walking on a cloud all the time.

She sprang to her feet when the door swung open, wincing as she did so. Yes, definitely burst blisters. She peered inside the room.

“Is this the human that owns the shop with the books for sale?” an aging male asked from where he sat behind a grand wooden desk.

“Lord High Steward, this is she.”

“I see. She seems to be younger than we expected.”

Lore exhaled a shaky breath. She hated when men spoke about her like she wasn’t there. She had grown used to it from adults after her parents had died—outside of her aunt and uncle—but such a conversation being carried out by fae was uncharted territory, so she didn’t say a word. Instead, she stood across from the fae, looking as stoic as she could, praying to the goddess that this was all the questioning he would do about her identity. If theydiscovered she didn’t own the apothecary, there was no knowing how they might punish her.

The steward, a fae with a silver braid so long it was tied in several knots yet still hung down to coil on a decorative cloth on the floor, leaned toward her and steepled his aged hands. He was the oldest fae Lore had ever seen, though his brown eyes still shone, clear and piercing. His pointed ears were adorned with jewels, his fingers with rings. A pendant with the royal crest hung on a large chain, resting against his exquisite robes.

Someone wealthy, important, but still a servant of the royal family.

“I have a proposition for you.” His voice was smooth and didn’t betray his advanced age like the wrinkles between his brow did. His teeth were sharp,too sharp, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up at the sight of them. “Sit down,” he said.

Suppressing her body’s natural response of wanting to remain as far away from the male as possible, she sat. “What can I do for you...?” She trailed off, unsure of how to address him.

He didn’t respond. His eyes bore into her own until she looked away.

She studied the ornate walls of his study. They were carved and painted with every flower that could possibly exist in the world. The petals and stems were pressed with gold leaf, which shone in the fading twilight filtering through the enormous windows behind him. The floors were made from a polished stone that gleamed, reflecting the colors of the mural on the ceiling. It was a painting of the sky on a sunny day, colored with a blue so rich and saturated it made her eyes water. Though she took in all this beauty, she didn’t miss how the fae’s lip curled in disgust when he looked at her.

Finally, he answered. “You may address me as Chief Steward Vinelake. As to my proposition, we have a library here that has been in this castle for longer than you can probably comprehend.It houses books and scrolls that are very important to the crown. One thousand years ago, an enchantment was placed on the room so no Alytherian creature could enter it. However...” He leaned forward, placing his hands flat on his desk.

Lore couldn’t help but lean back, maintaining the distance between them.

“Your kind isn’t from Alytheria, nor even from our world,Raelysh.” He said this like it was news to her and not the sole reason human lives were so miserable. “When Lord Syrelle learned your village—what does your kind call it, Dustmere—”

“Duskmere,” she ground out through her teeth.

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “—had an apothecary and books, he had an idea.” Here, a zealous light shone through his eyes. “What if a human could pass through the doors unharmed?”