There was nothing Oboe could do. The palace doors slammed shut. Theo offered the best chance there was for peace and the Titled threw him away. Just like how Oboe was thrown away all those years ago.

Theo turned away. “Come on.” He let out a pained sigh. “We have to tell the Knight Captain the bad news.”

Oboe lingered, staring at the door and hating the Titled. She followed him down the steps to the shore and felt something harden inside her. The Titled were stupid, wicked, and cruel. She climbed into the boat, clenched the oars with tight fists, and rowed. She rowed to get them away from this place. She rowed to use up the anger building inside her. But it didn’t work. There was more hate in her heart than there was water to cross.

Something else was wrong. They landed on the far shore and heard shouting. Theo, alarmed, leapt onto the docks to see what was happening. Fairies in the street rushed to find places to hide. Whispers were cut short. A team of knights set up a blockade and it was all over before Oboe and Theo arrived.

“What’s going on??” Oboe said.

“Militants.” The watchman grimaced. “Got bloody with our lads again. Sent some of us to the healer. Took a squad and a half to get them all in irons.”

He let them pass. They followed the sound of hollering up the hill and found the source of the commotion. A nymph, bound in chains, flailed in the muddy yard of an old apple mill.

“This is our home!” His skin was like mossy river stone. His eyes burned white. “You think you can just waltz in and take over?!” He struggled to free his arms, to keep fighting. “You’re weeds! You hear me?! You’ve got no right!”

“Pipe down already!” The lead knight kicked the nymph onto his backside. The other captives, a mix of fairy creatures, stirred at the sight. “Make us regret letting you live! I dare you!”

Theo frowned at the violence. “Where’s Captain Redriver?”

They were sent to wait for her at an inn the Knights of the Realm had commandeered for its operations. Myra arrived not long after, her right arm in a sling. The bone was broken.

“I was lucky,” she said without sounding grateful. “Serves me right for trying to do things your way. Tell me you’ve got good news.”

They didn’t. It upset Oboe to hear Theo recount their failure. It hurt worse when her brother Fife joined them and she had to listen to the whole story all over again. Fife was anxious for news on what was happening at the council, but hearing it didn’t make him any happier.

“I didn’t think things could get any worse.” Fife paced the confines of the inn, tugging at his thinning chin beard. “Clearly I wasn’t imaginative enough! What are we supposed to do now?”

Oboe slumped deeper into her chair. She didn’t know. She felt helpless, like that nymph they saw. Chained up, useless, and angry. She could kick and scream and shout but it wouldn’t help. All she could do was listen to her brother and everyone else panic over how bad she and Theo screwed up.

“We’ll use force,” Myra said. Her patience was spent. “If this council doesn’t want to hear Grayweather out, I’ll round up the men and MAKE them listen to him.”

 It was an idea Oboe liked. It would put the Titled in their place, but she already knew what Theo was going to say.

“Absolutely not.” His hands were steepled and tense. He sat at the table with all the fresh drawn maps, thinking and thinking and thinking. “Breaking the treaties is not an option. The Titled are backed into a corner. This can only turn nasty if we push them.”

“We can’t just let them be!” Fife said. “The knights are on the king’s orders to stay until they know the Circle can be trusted. That’s not going to happen if the Titled won’t even talk to us!”

“…There’s another option.” Theo was reluctant to name it. “We could send Oboe.”

She swallowed. She wanted to shrink into a mouse to hide in the chair cushions, but it was too late. Everyone was looking at her. Thrashing to sit up, stiff, she tried to look back at them.

“I can’t.”

“But you can!” Fife said. “Even if they don’t listen to you, they have to at least let you in the door! You’re the Queenslayer!”

“I’m not going back there by myself!” Oboe said, planted firm and heavy in her seat. “I’m not like Theo. I don’t know how to talk careful, and I hate them! I hate all of them!” Sending her would be the same as letting that nymph go free. She would rage and fight and hate and she knew that wasn’t the answer. “I’d just make things worse!”

“You’d be better than nothing,” Myra said.

“You don’t need a brute like me!” Oboe said. “You need Theo!”

Myra clawed at her own face. “But we can’t send him!”

“Then send someone else!” Oboe said. “Fife should go! He’d be good at it!”

Her brother let out a bitter laugh. “Are you joking? Do you think the council would ever listen to what a male fairy has to say? We’re too flighty, too headstrong and temperamental. And let’s not forget that I’m a traitor. I didn’t slay the fairy queen. I’m just an accessory, beneath consideration! The only thing the Titled respect are titles.”

Theo made a noise. A long gravelly sigh that pained him. He looked at Oboe, weighing everything in that head and needing an answer. She met his gaze.

He was asking too much. It was more than she could bear to go back to that wicked den of lies and tricks. Not by herself. Not without him. She wasn’t strong enough. It was more than she could bear.

“Are you going to make me go?” She said, staring.

Theo softened, sympathy welling up in his kind eyes.

“No,” he said. “You’ve been through enough.”

Myra’s groan was half snarl. “Then we’re right back where we started! What are we supposed to do?!”

Theo opened his mouth, hesitating. “There’s one other option.”

Oboe felt she might burst from relief. “There is??”

Theo pushed his chair back and got up to gather his things. “Fife is right. A title is the only way I can solve this. There’s no other choice. I have to become the Ranger Deputy again.”

The royal guard read the letter a third time, squinting through the eyepiece of an adderstone. Theodore waited while the knight took his time comparing his identification against other lists and forms. It was difficult not to think about how little time it would take for the situation in the Fairy Circle to erupt into chaos.

“I can’t let you into the castle,” the guard said. He folded the documents and handed them back.

“And why not?” Theodore tried to keep his composure but wrinkled the letter by mistake. He held the seal up to the guard’s face, as if he hadn’t already seen it. “This is an official request from Governor Farbend that I be granted an audience with the king!”

The guard folded his arms, and the men on either side of him squared their shoulders. “I don’t care who wrote the letter. Knight Detective Whitechain has you listed as a security risk.”

Theodore silently cursed Conrad for his thorough and admirable dedication to proper procedure. “This is important! Please! Can you at least tell the King I need to speak with him?”

“I’ll give you a choice,” the knight said. “Either get lost, or I’ll have you detained for suspicious activity.”

Smoothing the wrinkles out of his documents, Theodore turned and strode off in a huff. His march back down Crown Hill Road slowed to a trudge. Officials in burgundy pushed past him on business as he made his way back into the city. There, under the shadow of the castle where the street plunged, he found Oboe. She sat where he’d left her, on the patio of an old brick café, waiting for the world to end.

“It didn’t work.” The defeat in her voice was too much to bear. 

“The governor’s best wasn’t good enough,” Theodore said, slouching into the seat beside her. “They won’t let me see the king.”

“What about Percy?” She said. “Percy would help us!”

Theodore rubbed his face, frustrated. “I can’t even get in the door!” He let his glasses fall back onto his nose. The suggestion sent his mind working. He glanced back up at the palace, with its towers rising high over the city. Maybe he didn’t have to use the door.  “I have an idea.”

Oboe gulped down the last of her hot cocoa so they could leave. He brought her into a secluded alleyway, where he explained what he had in mind.

“I don’t like this,” she said while Theodore undid his shirt buttons.

“If Bassoon was able to get one of her whispers inside the castle, it might still be possible.” He hoped the royal guard had the good sense to tighten security, while also hoping they did not. “I don’t think the king will help us unless we go through the proper channels, but Perceval might. We just need to get close enough to at least talk to him.”

“I’m not going to transform you again!” Oboe said. She leaned in, dropping to a hush. “My magic is wrong. It’s against the law.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your magic! The law is there to prevent its abuse, but maybe the law isn’t perfect.” Theodore hesitated with taking off his pants. She’d seen him before, but he still blushed at the intimacy of it. “I trust you. You’d never use your magic to hurt anyone. Right now, it’s one of the only options we have. It’ll just be for a little bit.”

He folded his clothes and tucked them away behind a crate. Oboe stared at him, eyes trembling. Her gazed darted across him. She stepped closer.

“I… Okay.” She placed her hands on the scar on his chest. Her touch sent his heart racing. “Thank you,” she said. “For trusting me.”

He shook his head, feeling distracted. “I need to be something small. Something that can go unnoticed.”

She nodded, and the magic flowed out of her. He felt himself shrink down to the cobblestone. Six legs and antennae. There was even a little copper band around the foreleg that had been his ring hand. He was an ant again.

After unwrapping her bandages, Oboe shifted into a blue bird. She hopped close and he climbed onto her back. Theodore gripped her feathers tight as she rose into the sky to circle the tower.

“Get us closer!” Theodore said, having to shout over the wind. “So we can see in the windows!”

“Hold on!” She swooped to get near, but something happened. There was a spark of light and a translucent barrier of magic could be seen for half a moment. Oboe bounced off, tumbling through the air. Theodore clung to keep from falling until she righted herself.

“Too close!” She said.

Theodore saw now the glyphs and wards along the walls, set up to prevent intrusion. Oboe tried to keep them near enough to scout, and only got knocked back one more time.

“There he is!” Theodore said, spotting Perceval through a window.

She lighted on a buttress near that window, and he scuttled off her back. The wards would not be perfect. If Theodore kept his distance, he could creep between the range of each and hopefully make it. If he misjudged this, the spell would activate and fling him to his death.

“If I fall,” he said, wanting very badly for that not to happen, “I need you to catch me.”

“I won’t let you get hurt,” she said.

Theodore crept onto the wall, his tiny claws sticking to the stone. He set his eyes on the prince’s room high up in the tower, and tried not to look down.

“Let’s say that Korveil offers to open its border to us in trade. What factors should you consider before responding?”

Theodore hauled himself onto the windowsill, grateful beyond words to have survived the climb. On the other side was a simple bedroom. It reminded him of the one he saw inside Duke Ambergrail’s dream. There was a bed, a wardrobe, and textbooks scattered everywhere but not much else. Protective runes lit up the interior stone walls. A bored and bearded guard kept watch at the only door, while a tutor in bright red robes and hooped earrings lectured. Prince Perceval sat at a desk in the center, taking notes and fighting off a wandering gaze.

“Korveil is a mineral rich country,” Perceval said. “Our industrial productivity would greatly increase if we had access to their raw materials, but I’d be very leery of agreeing without a major commitment from them to keep the trade roads safe. Historically, they’ve disavowed responsibility for dealing with highway bandits within their borders.”

“Wrong!” The tutor said. Apparently, she was looking for a much more specific answer. “If you’d read the chapter instead of daydreaming, you’d know you need to engage in circumspection. Korveil knows what we want and would only offer this to squeeze concessions from us. No doubt they’d want reparations for their failed military campaigns against us!”

Under normal circumstances, Theodore would’ve been interested in hearing more of this lecture. However, he was pressed for time. He scaled the desk leg, trying not to be seen. There had to be a way to talk to the prince without drawing attention from the teacher or guard. He skittered between cover, from behind trenches of textbooks and stationary, and dipped is foreleg into an ink well. From there he rushed onto the prince’s notepaper, trying not to drip, and scrawled out the words ‘THIS ANT IS THEO’ as legibly as he could.

When Perceval looked down, he did a double take. His eyes darted. The tutor was occupied with a condescending review of the fundamentals of foreign policy. The prince lowered his sleeve to the desk and gestured for Theodore to enter with his finger.

“Professor,” He said. “I need to use the water closet.”

“What?” She said. “You just went!”

“I suppose I wasn’t done.”

She grumbled. “Then make sure you are this time. I’m not paid by the hour.”

The royal guard undid locks and chains on the door and escorted the prince out, joined by another keeping watch on the other side of the door. Theodore dangled inside the sleeve until Perceval shut the bathroom door. He ran the faucet to mask their voices.

“Theo?” He said. “Is that really you?”

Theodore crawled up to his shoulder. “Yes. This is Oboe’s magic. It’s the only way I could contrive to speak to you.”

“I’m not surprised.” He slouched onto the toilet. “Did you get my letters?”

“No. What letters?” Theodore thought. “I was forced to leave the cottage.”

“That’s what I was worried about.” Perceval groaned. “Conrad told father you’re not to be trusted. I stood up to them, and now they both think I’m an idiot! Father put me back on heavy watch, and now I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Things are bad in the Circle. We’re a breath from things turning violent, but the fairy council won’t talk to anyone who’s not the Ranger Deputy. I need the King to give me my title back.”

The prince glowered. “Father’s not going to help us. I could help you meet with him, but I think he’ll only listen to Conrad now.” He leaned forward. “If I could leave the castle, I could pull some strings, but I can’t. I’m stuck here.”

“Is there anything you can do from here?” Theodore said.

The gears were turning. “I can sign a new royal appointment. But I won’t be there to handwave procedure. You’ll have to follow all the rules to become a knight proper.”

Theodore felt fresh hope spring up. Protocol was something he could deal with. “Conrad had me fired because I was appointed without the qualifications. If I can earn an Advanced Knight Training certificate, I can get my title back.”

“Yes!” Perceval stood up. He froze, realizing he had said that too loud. He pulled the flush chain to maintain the illusion. “I can authorize you to take that test. Where can I send the forms?”

“I have a room at the Red Orchard inn on the trade road.”

The prince shuffled around the bathroom, wagging his arms with anxiety. “This might only buy you time. Conrad said he has a plan to get rid of you.”

“I don’t care,” Theodore said. “I need to fix this whether he likes it or not.”

The guards knocked on the door. “Are you done in there?! Hurry up!”

The prince ignored them. He straightened his tunic and took a deep breath. “If you need to reach me, sign your letters as Prince Horace. He’s very boring, and they won’t bother reading my mail from him.”

“That’s a good plan,” Theodore said.

The prince hovered at the door. Something was stopping him.

“Is Oboe okay?”

“She’s fine,” Theodore said, but realized that wasn’t really true. “This has all been very hard on her.”

He looked at the floor. “A lot of what happened to you is my fault,” he said. “You deserve better. If things get bad, if things really go to pieces, I want you to take care of her. I want you to promise you’ll go somewhere safe where you can be happy no matter what happens here.”

“It’s not going to come to that,” Theodore said.

The prince opened the door, and Theodore hid in the folds of his clothes. He left Perceval to write and mail the authorizations that would be key to his success. Crawling out along the castle walls, Theodore looked to find Oboe again.

The prince’s letter came that evening, delivered to the inn by courier bird. Theodore wasted no time. He buried himself in books on knighthood, combing through guidelines and protocol, burrowing deep into their appendices and scratching reminders and notes into memory. He wanted a week to study, but there wasn’t time for that. He presented himself the next day to the central barracks, royal appointment in hand.

The exam room emptied as each knight hopeful turned in their test before Theodore. He went over every question three times, squeezing the allotted hour for every minute. The questions were all about things he thought he knew, but the cost of failure twisted doubt into every line. Theodore never prayed, but found himself muttering ‘please’ over and over as he set down his pencil and surrendered his exam.

The applicants stood in a line in the hall while they waited to be graded. After an eternity, the test proctor swung out with a stack of papers in hand. A knight veteran, with a sword at his belt and a snow-white mustache.

“There is more to being a knight than swinging a sword,” he said, handing out results that crushed spirits. “To join an advanced knight order, you must know the law and how to uphold it. If you have fallen short, know that Laien accepts only the best of the best. Study, train, and return when you are worthy.”

The cadets filed out with hung heads one after the other, leaving only three. Theodore took his results with shaking hands.

“As for you few that made it this far…” The proctor indulged in a smirk. “Report to the training yard at your assigned time for the combat portion of the exam. Swinging a sword isn’t all there is, but you’d better be damned good at it.”

The afternoon sun fought against the autumn chill. Theodore held the practice sword out, standing at the center of the barracks training yard four. Leading with his left leg, he raised his arms and took the ox stance. It was good for thrusting attacks or diagonal swipes but offered minimal protection. Shifting his posture to the plow stance, then the fool, the roof, and then back again to the ox. The motion was stiff, but his muscles remembered the endless drills his father had forced him through.

Lance said the fool stance was vital to baiting your opponent. You looked more vulnerable than you were, and were poised to answer their next attack. Ox, plow, fool, roof. No. There was supposed to be five pillars. He was forgetting the tail. Theodore held the sword behind, letting it point to the ground.

He stepped across the training courtyard, swinging the blade and shifting from one stance to another. He almost tripped. Was this how he positioned his grip? Why was it so hard to remember when he had spent so much time on this? There was so much more to remember: variations, permutations, special stances, and exceptions for every circumstance. Theodore had suffered through so many lectures and had tried to forget all of it. It was all still there, just buried. Remembering was like pulling up brittle tree roots. He would grasp at a memory, only for it to snap in his hand and leave him with only a part of the whole.

“I’m an idiot,” he said. “I spent all my time reading books when this is where I’m weakest.” The test duel would start soon, and now there was no time.

Oboe pulled a dull sword off the rack and marched up to him.

“I’ll help you practice,” she said. “Pretend I’m the test guy.”

Theodore stared at the weapon. “That’s iron. It’s not safe for you to hold that.”

“Don’t worry about me! Come on!”

She swung, and Theodore stepped back. She charged, waving her weapon in every direction. The action woke something in him, let him stop thinking and just move. He dodged to let her run past him. She spun to face him without stance or form, and he knocked the blade from her unguarded grip. A kick sent her into the dirt, and one thrust of the ox meant victory.

His arm locked up. The sword shook in his hand, pointed at Oboe. Ella’s dying eyes flashed in his mind. Silas screamed. The nymph’s severed head sailed through the air.

Oboe kicked Theo, knocking his legs out from under him and toppling him.

“What’s your problem??” She hopped back up. “Why’d you stop?”

“I… didn’t want to hurt you,” he said.

She conked him on the head with her sword. “They’re not real, dummy! My nails are sharper than this! You’re here to show you can fight. You know how, you just need to stop being nice!”

“I know that,” Theodore said, sitting up. He looked at Oboe’s big brown eyes, so determined to help him, so certain and good and dear to him, and he couldn’t imagine even pretending to hurt her. “I know I have to do this. It’s just hard.”

“Then let’s keep practicing until you can do it.” She reached out her hand to help him stand.

The gate of the courtyard opened, shrieking on its rusted hinge. A man in a hunter’s cloak and a cavalier hat swept through, followed by a band of other knights. Conrad Whitechain lifted the brim of his hat to glare at Theodore.

“Grayweather,” he said.

Theodore grabbed Oboe’s hand, and was on his feet again. “Detective. To what do I owe seeing you here?”

“The knights on prince duty told me about your little scheme.” He walked in a slow circle around Theodore. “They confiscated a royal appointment letter from Perceval but failed to stop him from sending another. I’m disgusted by how well you’ve manipulated the boy, but fortunately for us you were sloppy. Did you believe I’d allow you to worm your way back into power?”

“Theo got permission!” Oboe said. “You can’t stop him from taking the test!”

“I know.” Conrad removed his hat. An attending knight took it and placed a sword from the rack in his hand. “Which is why I’ve arranged to administer your practical combat exam.”

 “What?” Theodore said. “How?”

The Knight Detective unbuckled his cloak and tossed it aside to reveal a light fencing uniform. “I train cadets here, just like your father did. I merely had to ask to be the one to test you. But do not worry, I’ve no intention of cheating.” He gestured towards a tall grim, woman in plate mail. “Spy Hunter Fullhound will officiate. This will be a duel until she calls its end. Make no mistake, I will not allow a wretch like you to hold sway over Laien again.”

“Conrad, you’re making a mistake!” Theodore said. “I’m not actually a Feymire spy! I’m trying to help the Fairy Circle! Let’s talk about this!”

“Keep your excuses.” Conrad snapped his sword into the ox stance. “Your actions speak loud enough.”

Spy Hunter Fullhound chopped her hand through the air. “The combat test starts now! Begin!”

Conrad’s sword cracked the air like a whip before Theodore was ready. There was only enough time to tumble away, Theodore’s footing ruined. The detective pivoted and launched another attack that flowed into the next, and then another, and another. Theodore could only backpedal as each swipe left him the most breathless windows to evade.

“Stay in the ring, Grayweather!” Conrad said, laughing. “Unless you’re ready to forfeit?”

This was not an exam. Conrad was throwing everything he had into this assault. Years of practiced technique against the years Theodore spent sitting at a desk. He was relentless. Theodore’s heel touched the edge of the ring. He couldn’t let Conrad keep driving him back like this.

The detective’s form was familiar. It was the same as Lance’s. The Hero Champion taught the detective how to fight. They had the same training. That meant Theodore knew what was coming.

Theodore saw through a feint. He caught the real attack with his cross guard, and rammed Conrad with his shoulder. It was enough to push him back and gain ground. No more hesitation. Theodore lunged, striking his opponent square in the chest.

“Point to Grayweather!” Fullhound said.

“He won?!” Oboe said.

“It’s three to win,” Theodore said, panting.

Conrad readied his sword with a flourish. “Impressive. I expected nothing less from the son of Lance, but that is the last point you’ll take.”

Theodore could do this. He had the height advantage. The detective couldn’t use his magic or gadgets in this duel. It didn’t matter how long Conrad had trained under the Hero Champion, Theodore already had all his techniques drilled into him. He just needed to stay focused.

“Begin!”

 Conrad hurled himself into another flurry of swipes. Not this time. Theodore dodged to his flank and drove his opponent into a corner by matching his pace. Prodding attacks, testing Conrad’s guard, looking for the chance to take him by surprise. Opportunity came. Conrad lowered his sword, and Theodore reeled back to take his next point.

It was the fool stance. Theodore saw it too late. Conrad hacked at Theodore’s leg and sent him crashing face first into the dust.

“Theo!”

“Point to Whitechain!”

“Pathetic,” Conrad said. “He would be ashamed to see what you’ve become.”

Theodore got up, staggered. “I’m not your enemy! We both want to protect Laien!”

“Is that why you smuggled the prince? Because you care about what happens to this country?”

“Percy came back!” Oboe said. “He pardoned us!”

“He took responsibility for his actions. Have you?” He took the plow stance. “I’ve read your reports, Grayweather. The Fair Lady is dead because of you two. Whatever lies you need to tell to justify it, you’re still the one that created this crisis! Why should we trust you to fix it!?”

“Begin!”

Theodore needed to focus. Conrad was too fast. Any lapse of attention was dangerous. They paced around one another, watching. Neither was making the first move.

“The Fair Lady was plotting with Feymire to take over!” Theodore said. “We had to stop her!”

“You confessed to being a Feymire spy. Who knows the truth anymore?”

“I lied to protect Oboe!” He slashed, and Conrad caught the strike on the strong of his blade. “You were going to kill her!”

The detective grabbed Theodore and knocked the sword out of his hand. Conrad’s blunt blade thrust to caress Theodore’s bare neck.

“Point to Whitechain!”

“You’re a liar, Theodore.” Contempt seethed across Conrad’s face. “But that doesn’t matter. It only takes a bit of looking to see what kind of Ranger Deputy you’ve been. Shall I count your crimes?”

Theodore said nothing. Conrad pulled away, taking up his position across the ring.

“This wasn’t the first time you used illegal magic to attack an allied creature, is it?”

Picking up his sword, Theodore looked at the copper ring on his finger. He could still sense the Tall Man, miles away in the valley. The ghast was almost killed because of him.

“Begin!”

Oboe had dealt the killing blow to Bassoon, but he was still the one who found the vorpal sword and helped her use it. The death of the Fair Lady was in part his doing. He remembered the sting of excitement he felt when he cut open Ella. A chasm opened up inside him.

Conrad lunged, and Theodore just barely jumped out of reach.

“You can do this Theo!!” Oboe shouted. “Don’t listen to him!!”

He couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. Theodore danced out of the way of the next few attacks, ready to guard. He could still see every technique Conrad was using, but it was harder to connect the dots when blood was pooling in his mind. Focus.

“Please,” Theodore said.

Conrad held the roof stance, bringing it down with overhead chops. Theodore leaned away from each. He knew the answer to this attack, he could see his father speaking wordless in a fog. He couldn’t hear what he was saying. All Theodore could remember was his own crying. His father held the sword with one hand on the blade, and used the cross guard like a hook.

Their swords rang as Theodore blocked the next strike. He snagged Conrad’s sword with the cross guard, and disarmed him with one yank. Theodore leapt forward to claim the round.

Something happened. Conrad grabbed him, pulling him forward into a grapple. Before Theodore knew what was going on, the detective was behind him. A sharp twist of pain in his wrist. Conrad took his sword. He was kicked, staggered, and then the blade came down on his shoulder.

“No!!” Oboe said.

“Point to Whitechain!”

Theodore fell to his knees. It happened. He’d lost. Oboe tried to run to his side, but Conrad pointed his sword at her.

“Stay back, faun. We aren’t done.”

“What are you talking about?” Theodore said. “You’ve won!”

“Then do you give up?” Conrad made a taunting shrug. “Let me hear you say it. Lance’s own son can’t go on. Say it.”

“I can’t give up,” Theodore said, forcing himself onto his feet. “I need to become the Ranger Deputy.”

“Then pick up that sword!” Conrad said. “Show me!”

Theodore bent to retrieve the fallen weapon and felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He turned to face his opponent, his mind fuzzy.

“Begin!”

Conrad held out his sword. “Duke Ambergrail was cursed by a wicked fairy. A fairy YOU brought to the university with the claimed intent to help him.”

Before Theodore could respond, Conrad smashed him in the ribs with his sword.

“Point to Whitechain!”

“You confessed, under oath, to treason against your home country.”

Theodore weaved out of the way of an attack, his head swimming. The next one was too quick for him.

“Point to Whitechain!”

“You were accessory to the assassination of the Fair Lady. Slain without trial or evidence.”

He didn’t have the energy to move. Conrad battered him across the head and let him fall to the ground.

“Stop!!” Oboe said. “Why are you doing this?!”

Conrad pointed his sword at Theodore. “This snake wormed his way into an office he knew he was not qualified for. He abused his power and threatened the balance of the kingdom I serve.” He spat, looking down at Theodore. “Well? Is that it? Do you give up?”

Theodore tried to lift himself off the ground. He needed to get up, but every time he did he was struck down again. He wasn’t strong enough.

Conrad’s eyes were a hanging noose: Tight and final. “If it weren’t for your pardon, I’d have you in chains already. No matter. In a week, I’ll have you stand before the court again. This time Perceval won’t be there to spare you. I’ll make certain you are held accountable for every crime you’ve committed. You are a blight on your father’s name, and I will not stand for it.” He dropped the practice sword. “Don’t come back.”

Theodore set the offering bowl down at his father’s grave. It was a tall slab of black slate, pointed like a blade and rising high above the other identical stones marking the final resting places of the Grayweathers that came before. The base was crowded with other tributes: weathered flowers and beads from the Hero Champion’s many admirers.

It was Feroxian custom that, once a year, should distance allow, the first born of every household honor the memory of a dead father by performing a small ritual. It was something Theodore had seen his father perform many times, but not a rite he had ever performed himself. Theodore had his excuse: in Laien, you took your father’s name and you took your mother’s tribe. By law he was Alenian, and had no obligation to do this.

That wasn’t the real reason he had never done it.

“Are you happy?” Theodore said. “This is what you wanted. That I get my act together. That I try to become a knight like you.”

The grave wasn’t capable of saying anything.

Theodore exhaled. He wondered why he was wasting his time. Fishing out a matchbook from his pocket, he tried and struggled to light one. He knelt, cradling the flame in his palm, and lit the incense.

A rosy wooden scent drifted in the breeze over his offering. It was a bowl of his father’s favorite food, a scoop of strawberry ice cream that was melting too fast. Theodore sat across from the grave and imagined his father.

“I told you I couldn’t do it,” he said. “Guess I was right.”

It was growing colder. The seasons were turning and what time was left was slipping away. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “Everything is falling apart. Can you see that, wherever you are?”

Opening his eyes, it was still just a hunk of stone. His throat tightened.

“I’m supposed to be you, but I’m not. I never was. But you pushed me, and kept pushing, and told me how to live when I told you I hated it, but you never listened. And now I need to be you and I can’t! And you aren’t here to tell me how!” He got to his feet. “So what the hell am I supposed to do?!”

His voice carried over the cemetery, startling a flock of birds. They scattered from the bare limbs of a tree and leaving a single one behind. Theodore stared out at the city in the distance, knowing he was being stupid. He came here wanting something he couldn’t have. Something that was already gone. All that was left now was a useless son that would rather be filing reports and shelving books.

The incense dwindled down to a glowing stub. There was another part of the ritual to finish. Theodore picked up the offering bowl and found the ice cream had melted into a sick pink slurry. To carry his father with him, he had to eat the offering. He lifted a dripping spoon to his lips. It was sweet and miserable, but not as awful as he thought.

“I should’ve listened to you,” he said, wiping his mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I think what you did was right. You should’ve listened too. …We’re both stubborn like that.” A shiver ran through him. “But, I think I get it now. Why it was so important to you.”

Evening crept across the graveyard. Theodore took the incense burner and stored it in his bag with the bowl and spoon. The last bird flew from the tree and landed at his side.

“I told you to wait at the inn,” Theodore said.

Oboe changed shape. “You were so upset when you left,” She shuffled her legs, looking away. “I didn’t want to just leave you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Nothing matters. I failed.”

“That’s not true.” There was fight in her eyes. “You can take the test again in three days.”

“We could be at war in three days,” Theodore said.

Pain flashed across her face. Something was churning inside her, something she beat back until her hands curled into fists and she looked at him again, resolute.

“Then I’m going to the Circle.”

He stared at her a moment, knowing how hard this was for her.

“Oboe, I can’t ask you to go back there by yourself,” he said. “Not after what they did to you.”

She shook her head.  “No. I’m being selfish. You’re trying so hard and doing everything you can. I should too. You should train to fight Conrad again. I’ll go to the Circle and I’ll make them stop until you’re Ranger Deputy again. I know you can fix it.”

Theodore looked at his friend and felt a new flicker of hope. Gratitude welled up, filling the empty holes inside him.

“…Thank you.” He hugged her, and she pressed tight against him.

The wind made a low rumble as it blew over the Inner Circle. It was a growl, like a cornered animal, angry and threatened. Oboe moved through the empty gardens and with great effort forced herself through the doors of the palace and up the stairs to where the council met.

A thread of conversation was cut short. The Titled, seated around their fancy table dressed in their gold-trimmed mantles, met Oboe with cold stares. A heavy silence hung over her arrival. The unicorn was the first to speak.

“Ah, Queenslayer,” Beira Stormbreak said. “You return. I did not expect to see that. Have your masters decided to let you roam free for today?”

Oboe did not respond. She dragged a chair across the solarium and forced a place for herself at the council table. Her neighbors scooted away, but she did not care. There was only one reason she had come.

“The humans are our friends,” she said, planting a palm on the table. “I don’t care who becomes Fair Lady, but they’ve got to understand that. It doesn’t matter how bad it gets. We can’t fight with our friends.”

High Lady Willow, tall and slender as a young oak tree, rolled her eyes as hard as she could.

“You were right, Countess. We did not lose much when she left.”

“No.” Gardener Feather spoke up. “There is wisdom in what this young one is telling us. If the possibility of harmony exists, it is our responsibility to find it.”

“Oh, here we go again!” General Warsong threw her long neck back. “How long must we tolerate this whining for peace while an army sits on our land!?” She snapped her beak at the priestess. “We are already at war whether you believe it or not!”

“A war we cannot win!” High Lady Willow said. “They outnumber us. Their technology can destroy us. If we fight we die!”

Oboe knew a war was the last thing the humans wanted. “That’s not wh-“

“Coward!” Beira shouted before Oboe could finish. “Do you think so little of our people!? Let their armies come! The fey will show them what we are capable of!”

“They don’t want to fight!” Oboe said, louder this time. “They’re scared! Just like us! If we work together, we can show them we’re not a threat!”

Beira flicked her curled mane. “Is that what they sent you to say?”

“Nobody sent me!” Oboe said. “I speak for myself!”

“Is that so?” Beira glanced around, as if to see if everyone else found a joke as funny as she did. “A nameless, stripped of everything, who was given voice and standing by the humans, and who slaughtered our queen with the aid of the Ranger Deputy.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now you come and tell us to accept tyranny, and we are to believe the humans have hold no sway over you.”

Oboe felt her blood boil. “They don’t!” The council murmured all around, and she stopped herself from listening. “I don’t care what you think about me! If we can stop a war, we should!”

“Of course YOU would say that.” The gnome baroness, with the white quills and big flowery hat, laughed. “How else would you have your revenge? Well. I won’t be tricked!”

The Hive Mother shifted, as if waking, and a deep guttural growl erupted from her throat. “The motivations of the Queenslayer do not matter. It is in our interest to end this without a battle.”

“Whose interest, Hive Mother?” Beira said, like a needle tip. “Yours? Are the profits you earn trading with humans worth more than our future?”

Three other Titled shouted something else at once. Oboe tried to find another chance to speak, to tell the Highest what she felt and how she knew peace could work, but every word was stepped on.

It went on like this. No one listened to anyone else, and if they did it was only to pick apart what someone else had said. The same arguments were made over and over again, round and round, and nothing was done. It made Oboe want to pull her hair out. If the Titled had ever accomplished anything before, it was because grandmother was there to settle their feuds. Now she was gone.

“I’m sick of this!” Oboe said, knocking over the train of argument. “You’re supposed to pick a new Fair Lady, but none of you can agree on anything!”

“I agree with the Queenslayer,” Beira said, which startled Oboe. “It’s plain to see we will never reach a consensus. Thus, I will say it once again. We must hold a Tournament of Titles! That is the only way we will decide who will be queen. There is no other choice.”

“There is always a choice!” Gardner Feather said. “The Tournament is cruel, and it will only give us cruel leaders. Our people need more than that!”

General Warsong scraped her claws along the table. “What our people NEED is STRENGTH! The folds in space that protected us are gone. We need someone who will make us safe.”

Oboe remembered the Tournament from when she was a child. It was a way for an untitled to risk everything for a chance to wield power. Most who fought were killed, but that didn’t matter. Oboe was sick of listening to the Titled squabble. She didn’t know how to talk, but she knew she could fight. She squeezed a fist and hammered it against the table.

“We should have the tournament!” Becoming Fair Lady was the last thing Oboe wanted, but at least then she could do something. “I want to fight! I’ll fight you right now!”

The spriggan stirred, alerted by Oboe’s words. A harsh quiet fell, which made it impossible not to hear the gentle clatter of weapons. The council did not take well to the idea of fighting the Queenslayer.

“Dear child.” Feather broke the silence with a soft voice found nowhere else in the room. “We should not resort to solving our problems with violence. This ordeal is an opportunity for our people to change.”

“It is, Gardner, but not in the way you think.” Beira moved toward the window, her eyes narrowed. “Look outside. Our children lie awake at night while men stalk our streets with iron in their hands. You ask us to tolerate this. You would make us no better than the ghasts.”

“What’re you talking about?” Oboe said, squinting her brow. “What’s wrong with the ghasts?”

“They do all they can to please the humans.” Beira turned. “And their reward for this groveling? They are spat on. Wrongly accused. Made to live underground and out of sight. The humans have tamed them, ripped out their teeth, and the ghasts deserve all of it because they allowed it to happen!”

“That’s not fair!” Oboe said, growing angrier. “You make it sound like they should turn wicked!”

“You are right.” Beira trotted around the table. “I am being unfair. Let me offer some praise for the ghasts. There are some who still fight for, and remember, their pride: The Red Caps.”

The Titled murmured, scandalized, but did nothing. Oboe stared, wondering how it was that none of them felt the need to argue when the countess praised murderous outlaws.

“Countess.” Feather stood up. Her hood fell back to reveal her long and woven hair. “The creatures of the Whirlwood have long had difficulties with the humans, but so have they with us. The violence of the Red Caps has only spread fear and mistrust. It is not an answer. If there is to be a brighter future, we cannot resort to the Tournament of Titles. We must rise above our own wrath, and instead come together as one kingdom again.”

Oboe wished it were that simple. She thought of the witch Flip, of the Duke Ambergrail, and the angry eyes of the guards at the city gates. Even Theo, kind and wonderful Theo, needed to learn about creatures before he came to care about them. Oboe wanted more than anything for everyone to be friends, but she knew better than anyone that making friends was hard. She looked at the stony faces of the council members and knew they would never do the work. The flicker of hatred in her heart grew bright and hot.

“Enough!” High Lady Willow said. “We will settle the matter with a vote. Those in favor of a Tournament of Titles call out!”

Oboe wanted the tournament. She knew it was dangerous. It didn’t matter if the fairy that won was smart, or kind, or wise. The worst at the table had the best chance at winning, and that would all but guarantee a war. But wasn’t it the same the other way around? Wasn’t a little blood better than a lot? It would be so much easier to fight Beira, to pound her face in, and get rid of her and the others that way.

Voices rang out around her. Oboe almost joined them, but her eyes fell on Feather and her throat seized up. She felt ashamed for wanting to fight. Stifling her anger, pushing it down, she held her peace. Nearly half the room shouted in favor, but that wasn’t enough to pass. Like every vote that came before, this one came to nothing.

Beira surveyed the failure and turned a glare toward Oboe. “Another disappointment.” She let out an angry snort. “I thought for a moment something might happen, but no. Instead we are again made weak by a simpering call for peace. Why?”

“Because it is the only way forward.” Feather held herself with dignity. “A thousand years ago, the Devil King tore this country apart seeking revenge against the humans. He cursed the Farbend, slaughtered countless creatures, and the blood flowed and flowed until the ghasts in his service allied with us and the humans to bring an end to the violence. This realm was built upon that alliance, and we must do everything we can to uphold its spirit.”

“And where has that alliance led us?!” Beira said. “If the Devil King had succeeded, those humans outside would be chattel, and fairies and ghasts would live free! We were fools to trust the humans. The time has come for a new Devil King to rise!”

The room was speechless. It was hard to process what had been said. The Countess called for a repeat of Laien’s greatest tragedy, and everyone was too dumbstruck to do anything.

Feather braced herself against the table. It took her a moment to speak, but when she did the kindness had left her voice. “There is only blood and tears if the fey go down this road with you.”

“Yes,” Beira said. “But they will not belong to the fairies.”

It was too much. Oboe ran, stomping, the anger inside her bubbling over. The spriggan woke and readied their weapons as she marched straight up to the Countess, wanting to kill her.

“What is WRONG with you?!” Oboe said. “Humans are creatures too! Same as us!”

Beira studied Oboe’s face with insufferable satisfaction. Oboe clenched her bandaged hands into fists.

“Whatever is the matter, Queenslayer?” She was laughing. “Have I touched a nerve? Are you scared of what will happen to your masters if I have my way? You should be.”

Oboe spun to look at the council. “Are you listening to this?! She’s a Red Cap! Aren’t you all going to do something?!”

The council spent a moment shuffling, glancing at one another without saying a word. Finally, Countess Thornberry cleared her throat.

“We are all familiar with Stormbreak’s… sympathies,” she said. “Even if this talk of the Devil King is shocking.”

“It would be improper of us to dismiss a member of the Highest because of an opinion,” said High Lady Willow. “She may remain so long as she keeps her peace.”

“If we are to survive this,” The Hive Mother rumbled, “we must consider even the ugliest of solutions.”

Oboe trembled. She needed to calm down but couldn’t. The council was useless. They couldn’t even agree to pull up a dangerous weed like Beira. It didn’t matter if some were good like Feather. The Circle was rotten.

“You’re getting so worked up!” Beira said, mocking. “We are civilized here, nameless. I’d ask you to understand, but I think there isn’t much room in your head now that the Deputy has trained you so well. What a good pet. I wonder what you will do when he’s killed? Will you remember how to think for yourself? No, I think not. Without him, you are just a nameless.”

Oboe jumped at the countess. Before she could stop herself, she was pounding at her face and neck with balled fists, pouring out the anger and hate and brokenness she felt inside until she was pulled off of the unicorn by the spriggan. They piled onto Oboe, and when she came to her senses there were spears and daggers prodding her from every direction. The Titled retreated, frightened by what she had done.

“The Queenslayer has broken her peace.” Beira face was bruised, and yet she sounded so smug. “She is unfit to speak. I motion that she be thrown out.”

Voices rang out. The motion passed.

“No!” Oboe shouted. She shifted between several different forms, bursting her bandages, wrestling to get free. It was no use. She was pulled her from the solarium, and the doors slammed shut.

 A line of spriggan stood guard at the palace gate, barring Oboe’s way with blades and claws. She lingered, staring up at Grandmother’s fortress with its walls of mirrors and maze of halls. A fantasy played out in her mind of flying up to the solarium and bursting through the window to beat sense into the Titled. They were all so stupid, listening to the wicked things Beira said but doing nothing. She hated them. She hated the Circle and everyone in it.

Trampling through the gardens, she kicked an arbor archway entwined with ivy blooms and sent it crashing to the ground. The delicate, beautiful woodwork shattered to splinters. The blossoms were dashed, now just a spray of petals left to wilt.

Oboe scowled at what she’d done. Even if she fought her way back into the palace, what then? She could punch every single Titled in their big dumb face, but would that fix anything? As angry as she was, she was angriest at herself. Theo was counting on her, but she blew it. She trod on the petals and wiped her eyes as she looked for somewhere to sulk.

Water lapped at the stony shore of the island. Oboe sat, and watched the lake wash back and forth over the rocks. There was a long walk back to the inn at the trade road, and Oboe was dreading it. What was she supposed to tell Theo?

She wasn’t alone. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone. Feather, in her white hood, padded across the muddy bank and found Oboe.

“May I sit?” She said.

“Do what you want,” Oboe said. “Shouldn’t you be at the council?”

Feather sagged onto the rock beside her with a quiet grunt. Water rinsed over her bare feet. She looked tired. The endless arguing must have taken a toll on her.

“We adjourned not long after you were removed,” she said. “Beira grew loud after that success. It scared the others, so they agreed to leave the matter for another day.” She wrung her hands. “If there is any good news in this, it is that the Highest are not yet ready to give in to such hate.”

“Don’t worry,” Oboe said. “They will.” 

She got up. Grabbing a big and heavy stone, she hurled it as far as she could throw it into the lake. The splash sent water pattering in all directions until the lake was still again, and Oboe turned to look at Feather.

“They’re all wicked,” she said. “I hope the humans show them what they deserve.”

Feather watched her a moment before standing. She pried a small, flat stone out from the dirt with her fingers. She skipped it across the lake, and it nearly reached the far shore before sinking below the surface.

“I don’t believe that,” the Gardner said. “I don’t think you do either. You’re upset, and with good reason. These are dire times. Now, more than ever, we need to hold out hope that the Mother has a purpose for all of this.”

Oboe scrunched her brow. If the Mother of Magic had meant for there to be a purpose for all of this, if she had meant for things to happen this way, then out of everyone She was the cruelest of all. Maybe that was the truth behind all of this. Oboe had never been allowed in the sanctuary and had never learned to pray. Growing up out in the Whirlwood, there was only one thing she had ever asked from the Mother. Crying herself to sleep each night, she begged for friends that never came.

Except one did come. In spite of everything that happened, Theo was waiting for her at the inn. He was the brightest ray of light in her short, dark life.

“I’m leaving,” Oboe said. She was done. Oboe shaped herself into a blue bird and, before Feather could say anything else, flew to see him again.

The last ounce of bravery drained out of Oboe the moment she saw the inn. It sat on the Northern trade road, an old stonework mansion just outside the valley. It sighed warm, sweet wood smoke into a sunset sky, and bustled with the faint noise of weary travelers. Theo would be waiting for her inside, and that scared her. How was she supposed to explain to him what had happened and what she wanted? What was he going to think?

She marched up to the door. If she couldn’t tell Theo, she couldn’t tell anyone. She stepped into the glow of the tavern floor of the inn. Human merchants from across the continent supped on stew, laughed and talked. The conversation tapered to a tense whisper when they noticed a fairy enter. The minstrel, dressed in motely, missed a few notes on her violin. Oboe didn’t care. She brushed past them and up the stairs. There was only one human that mattered.

“Theo?” She knocked at the door to his room, but there was no answer. The door was unlocked. Inside the room was empty, but there was a table set for two. Peeking under the covered dishes, she found a still-hot zucchini and pepper quiche paired with a salad of carrots, spinach, red onions, turnip strings and thin sliced apple drizzled in vinaigrette. The little toy knight sat in the middle like a centerpiece.

“Oboe?”

She looked up. Theo had come in while she was gawking at the food. He was wearing a stained and borrowed apron over his padded training armor, and held a steaming casserole dish with too-big oven mitts.

“You’re back early.” He blushed like she’d caught him doing something wrong. “I was hoping to surprise you.”

Oboe was surprised. “What is all of this?”

He set the casserole down. “I talked the innkeepers into letting me use their kitchen,” he said. “I wanted to do something to thank you.” His smile was nervous. “Going back to the council was the last thing you wanted, but you did it anyway. I thought making you a nice meal was the least I could do.”

The guilt hit her all at once, like a punch to the gut. She covered the quiche dish and tried not to cry.

He took off his oven mitts. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything!” She said, wiping her face with her forearm. “No. Not everything. Not this. Not you. Everything else.”

Concerned, he moved closer. “Tell me.” He took her hand, and noticed the bandages were missing. “Were you shape shifting again? I know I asked you to earlier, but Thistle told us you had to keep the wrappings on so your hands can heal.”

She wrenched her hand away. “Don’t worry about that!” She said. “Theo! I screwed up! Okay?!” The word came blurting out, but there was no stopping even if what came next scared her. “I got mad and they threw me out! I ruined it, and I can’t go back, and Beira is a Red Cap and she wants all the Titled to turn on the humans and I think they’ll do it and I don’t know what to do!!” 

Theo was still. The words sank in. He sat down on the edge of his bed, eyes down, thinking, unknowable thoughts stewing inside him.

“We’ll think of something,” he said, his voice shaky. “There has to be something we can do to get through to the council.”

“No,” Oboe said, certain. “There isn’t.” Her anger sparked, and she grasped onto it needing something to keep from falling into despair. “Beira told the council she wants to be Devil King. Not Fair Lady. Devil King. They don’t care, and they’ll sooner listen to her than they’ll listen to us! They’re all wicked!”

Theo stared, helpless. “…Then what should we do?”

She stepped toward him. The idea had been brewing inside her, growing bitter and caustic with every disaster and mistake, fermenting until it became seductive, intoxicating, and so absolute that it was the only choice left in her mind.

“We should leave,” Oboe said.

“What?” He did not understand.

She took a fearful breath. “There’s no point in staying. …We can’t save the Circle. It’s not worth saving. There’s nothing there but hurt, and lies, and hate.” She bared the darkness in her heart. “…I don’t care what happens to them, and I don’t think you should either. Grandmother tried to kill you, and the Titled didn’t lift a finger. And the humans aren’t much better! After everything you did for the Whirlwood, the humans took away your title! They make you sneak around to do the right thing! They hate fairies and fairies hate them! It’s all poison and I’m sick of it!!”

He stood up. She locked eyes with him and tightened her fingers around the front of his shirt and apron.

“We don’t have to put up with this,” she said. Peering into his bright green eyes, Oboe felt like she never wanted anything more in her life. “We should go somewhere, anywhere else. I don’t care. As long as it’s far away and I’m with you, I don’t think I need anything else.” Her eyes darted, imagination running wild, her fingers tightened. “We can start a new life and live however we want. We can find a university for you to study at! I’ll help you!”

His worried expression did not fade the way she hoped. “Oboe,” he started, and the answer she knew was coming came. “I can’t. I can’t just run away. Not again.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of innocent creatures in the Circle and in the Valley. If there’s even the slightest chance I can do something, if I can stop a war or at least make things better, I have a responsibility to try!”

Oboe shut her eyes, stifling a pained laugh. Why had she even asked? Theo was too good to do anything less than everything. She opened her eyes again. He was perfect, and none of them deserved him. Not the Circle, not the Whirlwood, not Laien, and not her. That didn’t change the fact she needed him.

Her lips found his. It felt like a blinding light had erupted out of the dark, warm and overwhelming. A shiver ran through her. She kissed him, feeling a depth of wholeness she never knew. And then it was over. They parted, and Oboe was left in the cold reality she started from. In horror, she realized what she had done.

Theo’s lips moved without speaking. He was stunned. Oboe felt his heart pounding through his padded shirt. Was he frightened, or was he feeling something else? She let go of him.

“Theo,” she said, knowing there was no going back. “I want to be with you, but I can’t stay here. Please.”

“I… can’t.” His face was an unreadable mix of emotion. “Oboe, I can’t leave. I’m sorry.”

The tears ran free. She knew from the start this is how it would go, and she let it happen anyway. Turning, she rushed and fumbled with the door to escape.

“Oboe?” He said. “Oboe don’t go! Wait!”

She couldn’t bear it. She charged down the stairs and ran shoving her way through the tavern and frightening the humans. Sprinting into the evening air, she got away before Theo could follow.

She was gone. Theodore searched for her until it grew too dark to continue. He returned to the inn to lie awake with worry until the first hint of dawn. Breakfast was a stale slice of quiche and a pint of coffee to fortify himself.

Her tree was empty, and there was no one at Thistle’s cave. He scoured the valley trails and asked every creature whether they’d seen Oboe. None of the birds, rabbits, bears, or even any of the skeletons had any idea where she was.

“What’s the situation in the Circle?” A pooka asked him. Her golden, anxious eyes were bright against her pitch-black fur. “Why are you looking for that faun instead of working on that?”

“I am working on it!” Theodore said, trying not to shout. “Please, just tell me, have you seen her?”

“I haven’t.” Her long pointy ears drooped. “Sorry. I know you’re taking care of the Circle, but I’m just worried. My family lives there and…” Her gaze wavered. The worst was flashing before her eyes. “…I’ll keep a look out for Oboe, okay? Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

“Thank you,” Theodore said. He pushed on, feeling heavier. He knew he needed to be training. Tomorrow morning was his last chance to take the test, to become Ranger Deputy again and do something before Conrad dragged him into the Court where he would be useless.

He couldn’t focus. It was worse than when Oboe turned herself into the Circle. It was like she’d taken his mind with her. Dread and worry haunted him, but there was something else as well. The kiss. It lingered in his thoughts.

Theodore had never thought about Oboe in those terms, but then, he had never thought of anyone in those terms. His life was filled with books and work and there was never any time for others until she came into his life. She filled the parts of him he didn’t know were empty and now that she was gone, now that he had told her no, he truly felt the void she left. It was the same feeling he had when she faced execution, but now it was deeper. It had taken root in him. There wasn’t room for anything else.

Oboe wasn’t in danger this time, she was leaving of her own free will, and Theodore knew he could not go with her. Nothing had changed. He still had a duty to perform. What would he even say if he found her? No. It didn’t matter what he said. He was just terrified he might never see her again.

Something lunged out from the brush, a creature striding on long gray legs and parting the branches of trees with spidery fingers. Theodore was so startled he almost lost his balance. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice the entity until it was almost on top of him. It loomed over him, gaunt, staring with a dark crevasse where eyes should’ve been.

“You found him!” A magpie said, swooping to perch in a nearby tree.

“Yes, Pip.” The Tall Man rubbed his featureless face, sounding exasperated. “I explained this to you twice already. The ring he wears binds us. I needed only think of him to sense his location.”

“Wowie!” Pip said. Then added, after a moment to think: “Wow!”

A troll lolloped out of the brush, heaving herself across the clearing to land beside the Tall Man like a boulder. A gnome clambered over her broad shoulders.

“You did it!” The gnome said. Theodore recognized him. It was Lemmy Molehill, the former Redcap he had ‘rescued’ from Silas Jack. The troll was Dina Bonecrunch, another reformed member of the defunct gang. “We shoulda asked you to help in the first place!”

“What’s going on?” Theodore was bewildered to be surrounded by so many familiar faces. “Why are all of you looking for me?”

“There’s trouble,” Dina said. “We need the help of the Ranger Deputy.”

Theodore knew he didn’t have time for this. He was fully booked for disasters. “I’m not the Ranger Deputy anymore,” he said. “They fired me.”

“We are aware of that,” the Tall Man said. “Regardless, the fact remains that you are needed.”

“Yeah! That’s right!!” Pip said. “It’s… what’cha call it. One of those emergency things.”

Lemmy hopped off Dina’s back and scampered up to Theodore, huffing. “Deputy, sir! The other humans aren’t listening to us! They won’t take anything we say seriously. But I know you’re one of the good ones. You’ll help, I know you will!”

Oboe was getting farther away and the world was crumbling around him. Theodore wished he could just let it fall apart. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“A unicorn has been going around, talking to old Red Caps,” Dina said. “She tried to recruit us.”

Theodore did not need to guess who she meant. “Beira Stormbreak.”

“Yeah!!” Pip said. “Did you know? She’s trying to get a whole army together!”

“They’re going to attack North Manor today,” Lemmy said, sucking air through his teeth. “Most of the old Silas Jack gang said no. Not as many people are angry like they used to be, thanks to you, but some said yes.”

“It doesn’t matter how many said yes!” Dina said. “That pointy horse is trying to send a message, but all it’s going to do is piss off the humans!”

“Theodore.” The Tall Man’s calm made every word sound even more grave. “Relations are volatile between humans and fairies, now more than ever. An attack like this could easily spark a war. After what small progress we have achieved, I cannot bear to see my country torn apart. Something must be done.”

This was bad. An attack on the North Manor farming village would mean civilians would be hurt or killed. Silas Jack had organized attacks on humans, but only ever targeted knights. Slaughtering villagers would only inflame anti-creature sentiment, and provoke the capital to bring the full force of its knight orders down on the Fairy Circle.

“Maybe they’ll listen to me,” Theodore said, hoping that was the case. He looked off. North manor, and the capital, were miles away. “I need to get there as soon as possible.”

“I can assist with that,” the Tall Man said. “I have a shadow link nearby that will take us to the city. Come.”

The bogeyman led the group off the trail. They found a copse of trees with their limbs so thick and tangled they cast a dark pool of shade over ground. The ghast reached out and took hold of the gloom, pulling it aside as if it were a curtain, and revealed an inky swirl of smoke and stars beyond.

“Let us make haste.”

Theodore stepped up to the threshold of the magic portal, but paused. He could not ignore this situation, but he had not forgotten why he was out scouring the Whirlwood.

“Pip,” he said. “I need you to find Oboe.”

The magpie threw his wings wide. “You got it, boss! You want me to tell her what’s going on?”

Theodore needed her. There was a chance he couldn’t do this without her but, after what had happened, after everything she had suffered, he knew it wasn’t fair to drag her back into this.

“I want you tell her I’m sorry that I couldn’t go with her,” he said. There was something else. Something he now knew to be true and should have said to her face. “…Tell her I love her.”

Theodore stepped inside the shadow link. As soon as the Tall Man entered after him, the entrance shrank away and both were swallowed.