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WELCOME TO FAIRYLAND

G isele stood glaring at the portal into Fairyland.

Fairies (fae, fey, faeries—no two sources could agree on spelling) were creatures out of legend, appearing so rarely that people in kingdoms other than Isshia frequently discounted them as entirely fictional.

Even in Isshia, they did not pop up on an everyday basis.

Humans didn’t visit Fairyland except in accidental and story-worthy circumstances.

Therefore, it logically followed that it must be extremely difficult to travel between the two realms.

But no—reciting the portal spell she’d found in an old and only slightly forbidden book, while standing next to a hawthorn tree on Summervane, had worked on the first try.

The small tree’s branches provided the lintel for the wavering portal, its trunk one edge of the frame, showing a blurred vision of another forest. A forest, moreover, that didn’t look so very different to the one she was currently standing in, except that the shadows beneath its boughs were a touch darker.

The ease with which she’d accomplished the magic was so offensive that she simply refused to believe it.

Powered by that supreme disbelief, she stepped into the portal and straight into another world.

There was a tearing sound—the protective iron horseshoe in her coat pocket had been left on the other side.

“Damn,” she cursed, thoroughly unsettled and with a delayed spike of fear as it dawned on her that she’d just hurled herself recklessly into another world without any of her supplies. The silence of ancient woodland pressed down on her, abruptly un familiar.

But the portal remained, an archway of brighter daylight. Hastily she stepped back through it. Of course, now the trap would spring?—

She stumbled as she returned to the hawthorn tree, expecting resistance and finding none.

The horseshoe lay on the ground, red-hot and having scorched the surrounding grass.

She hadn’t truly expected to be able to take it into Fairyland, but it had seemed worth an attempt, iron being consistently mentioned for its protective qualities against fae.

She glared indignantly at the still-wavering portal. How dare it be this easy?

You wanted it to be impossible so that it wouldn’t matter that it took you so long to work up the courage to try.

Champion snorted, which for the placid gelding was a loud proclamation that he didn’t like this at all and would Gisele please stop appearing alarmingly from trees and also setting fires?

“Sorry, old fellow,” she said, patting his neck. “This is where we part ways, rather sooner than I expected. I’m not risking your neck, and you’ve iron shoes on besides.”

Champion was confused by her removing his tack and setting him loose but was not unwilling to overlook this oddity to enjoy browsing the dry summer grass.

She had every confidence in him making his own way back to the stables once she was gone.

Champion was a horse strongly motivated by his feedbag, and the palace brand was clear on his flank.

Taking a deep breath, she shifted her pack into place and checked the bronze dagger that was so vital for her Plan.

It remained securely in its holder and, unlike the iron horseshoe, had travelled easily through the portal.

Everything set, she stepped through the shimmering air beside the hawthorn’s trunk and re-emerged into Fairyland.

It remained an unfairly straightforward process, and, yes, she had wanted it to be impossible, or at least nearly so.

It would have made it easier to forgive herself.

“Any evil fairy sorcerers here?” she snapped at the surrounding foliage, just in case that was going to be similarly straightforward.

Nothing responded, which was probably for the best. Ancient forest giants stretched thickly in every direction, the dry rustle of leaves swallowing the echoes of her voice.

The shadows had an odd indigo tint in the corner of her eye that disappeared when she stared at them directly.

Somewhere out of sight, a strange bird called, and she jerked.

Giving herself a mental shake, she got out the wrist-charm, made of her own hair, comfrey, and dandelion leaves twined together and attached to a leather cord.

The wild mage she’d persuaded to make it based on a recipe in a different only slightly forbidden book hadn’t been certain it would work, but sure enough, the charm pulled in a clear direction.

A chill went through her. It was pulling towards him .

Her own personal Malediction, as she’d silently dubbed him long ago.

He was the source of her curse, the terrible fae sorcerer who’d tricked her mother into a firstborn bargain.

The Malediction was the bogeyman of her childhood, the terrible fate she’d spent her life preparing to face, the monster who would one day tear her away from her family and home.

The monster who had, most monstrously of all, never turned up .

Before she could lose courage, she checked all her remaining precautions were in place and began walking.

Every nerve stretched tight, waiting for the terrors of Fairyland to descend.

In all the tales she’d heard—and given her history, she’d made sure to hear as many as possible—the fae realm was best described by one primary adjective: dangerous.

If only there had been a more rigorously academic text available on the subject of defences against fairies.

She’d been forced to cobble together a dozen different options from folklore, none of which had been robustly tested, as far as she could find.

Her pockets were full of herbs purported to ward off fairies, along with a packet of salt.

Iron was the only point of consensus, though the renowned Galyian scholar Morizote had theorised that iron-aversion was only a metaphor for the conflict between man’s industry and the natural world.

Gisele didn’t have much patience for Morizote’s opinions generally, since he’d gone on to espouse the view that fairies as a whole were merely allegorical.

Must be nice to believe that , she thought wryly.

Galyia, half a continent way, clearly did not suffer from fae-cursed princesses.

When she got back, she’d write an entire essay about allegory and send it to the man .

Something was wrong.

She stopped composing her mental lecture mid-stride, academic outrage replaced by animal fear. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Slowly, she turned around, heart thumping. The gloom had deepened beneath the forest boughs, but otherwise there was nothing obviously amiss. Except?—

No birds , she realised sharply. The background chorus had fallen silent, and the only sound was her own breathing, loud and heaving. She put a hand on the handle of the bronze knife.

The air was still and hot. She wanted to remove her coat, but instead she cautiously inched backwards, concentrating on being as small and unnoticeable as possible. I’m not here; I’m not here . In some of the stories, fairies could hear your thoughts.

The sense of danger slowly eased. Shakily, she checked the navigational charm again and chose a path that would take her in a wide circle around that disturbing patch of forest. She didn’t start breathing again until she was safely past.

That was only the first of what turned out to be multiple…

encounters? Could you call it an encounter if you didn’t actually encounter anything?

Maybe her precautions were working. Or maybe, now that the coolness of the early morning had faded, Faerie’s monsters were simply too hot to menace anyone.

She stopped to remove her coat and re-pin her hair so it didn’t sit so heavily on the back of her neck. As the sun drew directly overhead, the heat became relentless, even beneath the forest’s thick canopy. It made it hard to stay alert.

She wasn’t complaining about the lack of danger, exactly, but part of her felt a continuation of the same indignation the portal had sparked.

Don’t worry; there’s still plenty of time for it to turn out to be horribly dangerous. You haven’t faced the main event yet, after all.

She shied away from the thought, shifting her pack into a more comfortable position, pausing to take another drink from her second canister. The first was now empty. It felt as if she’d drunk her own bodyweight and sweated out more besides.

A proper lady does not mention bodily functions, and a princess should strive to be the most perfect of ladies.

The words of her old etiquette book swam up from memory, an incongruous thing to think of now. The books had made no mention of the fact that none of it mattered . Not perfection, and not its opposite, either. She should know, having thrown herself into pursuing both extremes with equal obsession.

No, you couldn’t rely on books, or other people, or on being rescued if you just proved yourself dutiful and worthy enough. The only thing you could rely on was yourself. If only it hadn’t taken her so many years to work that out.

The shame threatened to rise up once more, and she determinedly pushed it down. At least I’m taking action now . Wallowing in self-recrimination wasn’t going to turn back the clock, and she refused to keep looking backwards.

Forward, then . She checked her wrist again.

The charm didn’t seem to be losing any of its power.

If anything, it seemed to be growing stronger.

Although, perhaps that was only to be expected, given what ultimately powered the charm was her connection to the fairy she was tracking, and she was getting closer to him than she’d ever been before.

Him.