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Raw shock blanked Avern’s face. “I have your name! I bind thee!”

“No, you don’t; you have nothing,” said Mal.

He stalked closer to Avern. The heat of metal sizzled in the air as he caught Avern in his stare, in that unnerving way he had sometimes that made it seem as if he could see beneath fabric and skin and bone.

Avern didn’t like it any better than the faun had, his mouth drawing back into a snarl.

Mal spoke slowly, his voice holding the resonance of a great bell tolling. “You are powerless. You command no one and nothing.”

Magic began to gather, thick and fast, with Avern at the heart of it. This was Mal’s power, in all its terrible glory; he was manifesting Avern’s nightmare.

Avern’s eyes widened, showing true fear for the first time.

With a roar of panic, he leapt for Mal. Mal, who had terrible self-preservation instincts at the best of times and absolutely none as he stood there entirely distracted by wherever it was that he went while he was channelling his greatest power.

Gisele really, really wished she knew how long it took to manifest a nightmare because she suspected the answer was: too long .

Even as she threw herself towards the pair, she knew she wouldn’t be fast enough, not with the speed fae could move. Denial screamed through her. Avern would not have Mal, not after all this. She wouldn’t let him.

Power spooled out of her, green and gold and with no uncertainty at all.

This garden was hers and so was the fae at its centre.

Wood shrieked against stone as great tangles of leaves and thorns swelled from the ground, catching Avern before he could reach Mal.

Thorns sank vengefully into his flesh, and for a heartbeat she was the thorns, aware of the sickening feel of carving meat.

She stumbled, her power overflowing her control, and the thorns rose and rose, thickets of them in all directions.

The ground shook as their roots forced their way deeper into the earth.

Even wounded, Avern was quick as a snake, reeling back from the thorny wall. His clothing was torn and stained with blood, and his mouth set in an ugly line.

“You,” he growled. “He is not yours.”

Gisele planted her feet wide, feeling the green-gold hum of magic roaring at her, and fought it back under her control. All the thorns twisted subtly in Avern’s direction. “Well, he’s certainly not yours,” she said flatly.

Before Avern could move, Mal’s greater magic rose to a crescendo, descending on Avern in a single, brutal attack.

No creature in the world could have avoided it, but Avern nonetheless tried, launching himself sideways.

The force caught him in the air and bore him down, ripping through his body with invisible claws.

Avern made an animal sound, mingled pain and panic.

The ice-and-champagne of his insignia extinguished under the relentless swell of vanilla, metal, and cut grass.

For a moment, Avern glowed so brightly Gisele had to avert her eyes.

When she looked back, he lay panting, and he was…

lessened. His white-blond hair that had been like glittering ice crystals was now merely pale, limp strands.

His eyes were a washed-out blue. And when he made a spell gesture, there was no scent of magic. All the colour drained from his face.

You are powerless , Mal had said. You command no one and nothing . Gisele shivered.

Rising to his feet like an injured wolf, Avern’s expression promised death.

Gisele readied her thorns, though she wondered how much more magic she had in her before she collapsed.

Avern leapt.

Mal chose this moment to finally wake from his power-induced trance. He moved, catching Avern in mid-air and throwing him across the garden.

“Enough!” he roared at him. His tail lashed furiously, twice its usual size with bristling. His claws were bloodstained where he’d gripped Avern.

Gisele sagged, releasing her iron grip on the thorn bushes. Her body threw up several protests regarding its recent treatment.

Mal’s attention swung immediately to her. “Are you hurt?” he asked, scanning her with concern.

“No. I’m just a bit knocked about.” She came to stand next to him, her hand seeking his, needing the reassurance, blood or no blood.

Avern’s eyes flickered to their joined hands, and a complicated emotion escaped his mask. “What do you expect me to do?” he said hollowly. “Without my magic, I will never hold my court.”

“I know,” Mal told him in a cold voice. “Go away and never return.”

Avern’s eyes narrowed. Gisele knew he was about to say something designed to wound, aimed with all the poison of familiarity and history.

“You’d better start going sooner rather than later,” she added sweetly. “Because you only have three days to find the antidote to the poison from those thorns. I hope you have friends who’ll help you even when you have less power than they. Maybe you’ll learn from the experience.”

Avern’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t waste time. Instead, a cloud of shimmers washed over his form, contracting, but what emerged was no longer a white hawk.

It was a small dove, who gave a single coo of startled outrage at finding itself in such a form and burst into flight.