Oboe fidgeted in her seat in the lobby. Students passed in a hurry, clutching their books tighter as their eyes darted over her. They were so nervous having her here. As much as she liked the city, it ultimately wasn’t that different. She wished she could’ve stayed with Theo so she wouldn’t feel so out of place.

The students in this tower all wore the same color robes, and it made Oboe think they were all part of one human family. She knew that wasn’t how it worked, but the thought made sense to her. No wonder Theo wanted to come to the university so bad. Having a place to belong was worth anything.

She heard Theo coming down the stairs and jumped to her feet.

“What’s wrong?” She said. His brow was pinched like they weren’t done. “How’d it go?”

“I found out why there’s a ban,” Theo said. “There have been fairy attacks in the capital in the past several weeks. They’re making people sick. There’s an entire floor filled with victims up there.”

“They’re enchanting the humans?” Humans had lots of rules about when it was okay to use magic on humans, but wicked creatures didn’t care. “If it’s a magic spell, can’t the wizards here just undo it?”

Theo shook his head. “It’s not an enchantment, exactly. Dr. Stillwell says fairies are draining people of magic.”

“What?” She said. “That’s weird. The valley is overflowing with magic! Why would they steal more from humans?”

“I don’t know. There might be some Red Caps out for revenge, but they’ve been quiet for well over a month.” He started toward the door. “Something about this doesn’t add up. We need to find out more about these alleged attacks.”

“How do we do that?” Oboe said.

“The Watch apparently captured a few of the fairies responsible. I think it’d be best to start there. We should also talk to the duke who ordered the ban and get his side of the story.”

They left the big school with its sprawling campus, and made their way back into the dense and busy parts of the city. Oboe tried to follow Theo’s lead but something was weird. His head swiveled on street corners, he kept doubling back, and every few turns he would pause for a long time.

“What’s wrong?” She said.

“I need to get my bearings,” he said. “I’m not familiar with this part of the city.”

 “I thought you knew everything about the city!” Oboe said.

“Well, I normally take the trolley, but that’s not an option. I’ve never had to come this way before. …I’m lost.”

Oboe gasped and grabbed him. “That’s wonderful!”

“What?” He leaned back. “Why?”

“That means you get to explore!!”

Theo did not seem to be bubbling with the excitement he ought to be. “This investigation is important. We can’t just go wandering around.”

“But we don’t know how to get where we’re going,” Oboe said. “The best way to stop being lost is to explore until you know where everything’s at. That’s how I learned not to be scared of the Whirlwood!”

“I suppose there’s some sense to that,” Theo said. “Still, we shouldn’t get distracted.”

Oboe frowned. “Even though it’s your day off? You should be allowed to have a little fun.”

Theo considered this, relaxing enough to smile. “Okay,” he said. “But only a little.”

She ran ahead, excited. “Let’s try this way!”

“Hold on! Wait for me!”

Theodore tried to keep up with Oboe as she darted ahead. Streets forked in odd directions through unfamiliar neighborhoods. Before he had a chance to agonize over which way to go, she picked a path for him.

The afternoon sun filtered through laundry strung up across apartments overhead, clothes lines looped around old statues and rusted fire escapes. The buildings and roads looked more worn and weathered than the well-funded districts of the city’s center. Theodore worried that they were getting off track, but was also relieved to be moving.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Oboe said. “You got snails for legs?”

“No.” It would be absurd for any part of his body to be a gastropod. “Are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?”

“You said we want to go East, right? This feels like East to me.”

A quick glance at the sun told him something else. “This road is pointing North.”

“Well, it still feels like East,” Oboe said. “Don’t worry about all the little turns. They take you any which way, but they’re part of the big turns that take you the right way. I’ll show you!”

She led him up a winding hill, lined with slanted roofs and faded archways, and then down stairs into a cobblestone tunnel that bent at right angles. After a few dead ends, but before Theodore lost his patience, they found their way out. They had stumbled onto a secluded park. It was enclosed, overgrown with ivy, and decorated with unkempt shrubs, statues, and stone benches. A handful of people were lounging, some reading. An artist worked to set up an easel to paint nearby.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was here??” Oboe said.

“I can’t tell you about something I didn’t know about,” he said. Although he could’ve guessed there might be something like it. City ordinance required a minimum of one place of respite for every square mile. He had to admit it was lovely.

“Who’s this guy?” Oboe said, pointing at a statue of a regal man in ornate armor.

Theodore adjusted his glasses. “The inscription is faded, but there’s three to one odds it’s meant to be the hero Laien.” Tributes to the man were everywhere in the capital. “He ended the war with the Devil King, brokered the peace treaties with the fairies and ghasts, and founded this country. All of which make him a popular subject of public art.”

“I like his beard,” Oboe said.

“There’s no historic consensus that he actually ever had a beard,” Theodore said. “The tribes only had oral histories before he united us, so the details are muddy.”

Oboe frowned. “He should have a beard if it looks cool.”

Theodore supposed that was one way to look at it. She moved on, leading him toward the next diversion.

“Hold on,” he said. She turned back. He thought to steer them back on track, but realized after assessing the skyline that they were already heading East. “Never mind,” he said. They left the park, and found themselves wandering through a shopping arcade. Obscure boutiques lined the way through out to the main roads. It would be easy to navigate from here. Somehow, Oboe had led them where they needed to go.

“Theo, look at all this!” She pressed her face up against the glass of a storefront. The window display was filled with marionettes, dolls and board games. Theodore shouldn’t have been surprised that this caught her attention. He wanted to pull her away, tell them to keep moving, but there was something in her excitement that made it hard. He opened the door instead.

“You want to go inside?” He said. “There might be something you actually want to buy here.”

“Can we?” She said, wide eyed. 

 The shelves were lined with carved figurines in bright paint, wooden swords, ornate doll houses, and every kind of wind up novelty. A plump clerk looked up from his book when they entered.

“Theo! Theo! It’s a train!” Oboe pointed him at an expensive model set. “Just like the one that goes through the Whirlwood!” She removed the roof of one of the train cars with the care of handling a museum artifact. “And there’s tiny wooden people inside!!”

Theodore felt the asking price was a bit high for an unpainted set, but hated to step on her enthusiasm. “Amazing,” he said.

Oboe turned to the clerk. “You made all these things yourself??”

“Most of it is contract work from the wood workers guild,” he said. “I do have imports from the Hook and Red Spire if are looking for hand carved, though.”

Theodore busied himself by examining the workmanship of the chess boards, but doubted he’d get any use out of one.

“This is perfect!” Oboe said, bringing something to the counter. “I’m getting this, please! How much?”

“Fifty thalers,” the clerk said.

Theodore tried to look at what she selected, only for her to push him back. “Don’t look yet!” She said. “It’s a surprise!”

“For who?” He said. “You’re supposed to be finding something for yourself.”

Oboe kept her hands clasped around the item until they were outside the shop, where she revealed her surprise. A little wooden figurine of a knight, with a grim angry face and a sword outstretched. “It looks just like you!” She said. “I want you to have it!”

Theodore said nothing. He stared at the ugly little toy, wondering what about it reminded Oboe of him. Maybe it was the pointed nose, or maybe it was because it was a soldier. A brute knight like the one that harassed them earlier. Like the ones that killed Silas. Like his father. Theodore felt his skin prickle as she tried to put the thing in his hands. He let it fall to the ground.

“I don’t want it,” he said. “You shouldn’t have bought it.”

“Why not?” She picked it back off the ground. “What’s wrong with it?”

“This is what you see when you look at me? An angry little man with a sword?”

She cradled the overpriced garbage. “It’s a knight. You’re a knight too, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am.” Theodore felt a wave of resentment. All his life the world conspired to make sure that was all he would ever be. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I’m sorry,” Oboe said, ears drooping. “I thought it would make you smile. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“It’s not important,” he said, trying to be fine. He knew she didn’t mean any harm, but the sight of the toy made it hard to stay calm. He needed to get away. “I think that’s enough fun for one day. I’m going to go talk to the duke. He’s in the banned district, so go do something else for a while.”

“I thought we were going to do the jail first?” Oboe said.

“I changed my mind,” Theodore said. “I’ll meet you at the park afterwards, alright?” 

Oboe tucked the toy into her pouch, looking sad. “Okay.”

 Theodore stormed off onto the main road. If he had to be a knight, he wanted to get the work over with. Weaving through the crowd, he beat a path toward the estate of the Duke.

The door opened. On the other side was a man dressed like a butler but built like a bouncer. His broad shoulders blocked the width of the door frame. He offered a mute sneer in lieu of a greeting.

“Hello,” Theodore said. “I’m Ranger Deputy Grayweather. I’m here to speak to Duke Ambergrail.”

“Let the man in, Mort,” a voice called from inside. “He’s expected.”

The servant stepped back, allowing Theodore to enter the foyer. It was a well-built manor, but it was very old and smaller than modern ones. Theodore guessed it was made after the Redsea Revolt, when the nobles were more practical and money was tighter. He wanted to call the carpentry beautiful, but every wall, floor and archway was scarred with runes carved deep into them. Glowing glyphs were everywhere, empowered to protect this place from fairies.

Theodore was ushered into a study. The room was cramped with antique furniture, busts, and portraiture of regal old men. Theodore was impressed with the tall and fully loaded bookshelves, until he noticed they were filled with dusty and redundant encyclopedia volumes.

Mort turned a wheelchair toward Theodore. The man seated was far younger than expected, no older than Theodore himself, but the steep nose and light hair matched subjects of nearby paintings.

“You must be the district duke,” Theodore said.

“Felix Ambergrail,” he said. “Sixth one to the name. Probably the last, while we’re at it.” He leered, his skin even more pallid and his eyes more sunken than the victims in the medical ward. “You’re the one they called in to hunt down the fey responsible for this blight? Great. Fantastic. Seems my time would be better spent shopping for a tombstone.”

Theodore paid no attention to the insult. “I’m gathering information about the attacks. Stillwell told me you were the first victim.”

“That’s right. It was about six months back. One of those creatures broke into my home and tried to enchant me. Mort here managed to kill the devil, but it looks like he magicked me first.” He held up a shriveled hand. “Been getting weaker by the day. Doesn’t seem to matter how damn long I spend under those magic lamps. I’m dying.”

“I’m sorry,” Theodore said, but noted the peculiarity. “The creature died, but you believe it is responsible for your illness?”

“The healers say it’s no natural sickness,” the duke said. “I was in perfect health before the bastard broke in. Now I can’t even stand on my own. You can’t tell me that is a coincidence!”

It was still conjecture. “The courts wouldn’t consider an assumption like this evidence. You felt it was basis to ban lawful citizens from an entire district of the city?”

Duke Ambergrail grit his teeth at him. “Did you come here to help people or to question my reasoning? Whatever you think about my decision, it was the right call! Every day more people are getting sick. I don’t want to think about how much worse it would be if I hadn’t taken action when I did.”

Jotting down more notes, Theodore flipped back to review what he’d learned at the university. “Stillwell told me the affliction isn’t any kind of spell. If it were, we could identify its effect and aura. How can we be sure it’s being caused by fairies?”

“The watch has captured more than a couple fey sneaking past the ban, breaking into homes. Not what I would call lawful behavior. Got them caged downtown, if you need to see for yourself.”

Theodore pocketed his pencil. “I’ll make that my next stop. Hopefully one of them will come clean, and then I can get to the bottom of this. Thank you for your time, lordship.”

“Hold a moment, Deputy,” Felix said before Theodore could leave. Mort obstructed the door, being the perfect shape for it. “I’m not sure when knight training got so lax that pointing a finger at beasts is cause to raise your eyebrows at me, so let me set something straight. Fairies are dangerous.”

“They’ve been our allies for hundreds of years,” Theodore said.

“That’s no reason to trust them,” the duke said, tapping the rings on his fingers. “Do you know the first thing about the fey? They’ll say and do anything to use their magic on us. That’s how they survive. Every spell they cast on us gives them Fates. You get that? Doesn’t matter what laws we pass, what treaties they sign. We’re prey to them, and if a man in your profession doesn’t keep that in mind then you’re going to wind up dead!”

“I’ve lived with fairies and ghasts for some time now,” Theodore said. “Maybe some are dangerous, but not all. Not most. I don’t understand where this attitude of yours is coming from.”

Felix clenched the arm of his wheelchair tight. Mort poured the duke a shot of bourbon, which seemed to soothe him. They offered Theodore a glass but he waved it away. Cradling the small, empty cup, the duke tried to find his voice again.

“Six years ago, the fey took my father. …Felix the fifth, if you’re keeping track. I didn’t see it happen, but I heard it. They kidnapped him in the middle of the night.” Mort poured him another glass. “Never found out why. I’m told important people are more valuable to them. They can draw more power out of them. All I know is that I never saw him again, and then I had to grow up fast enough to take his place.”

“That’s terrible,” Theodore said. The pain was clear in the man’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not saying this so you can pity me,” he said. “I’m telling you so you step lightly. The fey are dangerous, Grayweather. Don’t let them take advantage of you.”

Oboe flinched as the iron door shrieked shut behind them. Dim gray hallways lined with barred cells stretched ahead. Here underground, beneath all the fancy buildings in the city center, the humans kept their dungeon. She stood back while Theo did the talking, pointing his badge and explaining why they had come, until the grumpy knights agreed to let them through.

Theo was flustered when he came back from the Duke’s. He wasn’t mad anymore, or maybe he was. There was a thoughtful pause before everything he said, and that made her worry. His voice was pointed when he talked about what the duke had said. Maybe what he was mad at what he’d learned instead.

It was cold in the dungeon, and dank too. There was no sunlight at all, just lamps burning magic. The iron in the walls around them made her head hurt. Oboe wondered if the witch Flip was locked up somewhere nearby, and hoped she wouldn’t see him. Everything about this place was awful. The sooner they left, the better.

“Here we are,” the jail knight said. “Block D6. All the fairies we’ve caught violating the ban.”

Oboe stuck her face between the bars to look, and saw a miserable pack creatures. A pair of gnomes were curled up like porcupines on the floor with tiny fetters on their feet. A ragged looking green nymph sat bow legged next to a leshy with skin furrowed like a walnut tree. There were long-eared pooka rabbits too, but what caught Oboe’s attention more than anything was the familiar looking sylph staring back at her.

“Thistle??” Oboe said, rattling the cell door. “What are you doing here?!”

The bug man groaned, hopping onto his little feet. “Rotting. What does it look like?”

“Are you okay?” She said. It was hard to tell. Thistle always looked beat up. He was old, his exoskeleton was cracked, and he was missing half an antenna. That was all normal for him.

“Oh, never better! Just waiting for my turn at the spa they got in here.” He held up all four of his shackled arms and sneered.  “I’m in a dungeon, nitwit! It’s lousy!”

“This is that sylph we met in the Hollows,” Theo said. “The one that makes nightmares for ghasts.”

“Thistle doesn’t belong in here!” Oboe said. “He’s not wicked! He’s good!”

The sylph scoffed. “Y’know, I tried telling the guard that but I don’t think he believed me.”

Oboe marched up to the knight that had let them in. “What do I have to do so Thistle goes free?”

“Everyone here is charged with unlawful entry and criminal infiltration,” he said. “The bond for those crimes is nine-hundred thalers each. None of them have been able to pay the fine.”

Oboe despaired, until she realized she had a whole bag of money around her neck. “I’ll pay for him!”

“I don’t think that’s wise.” Theo said. “He’s a suspect. What if he’s one of the fairies making people sick?”

Oboe stomped her hoof, angry now. “Thistle is my best friend! He would never hurt anybody!”

“Yeah, you moron! I’m innocent!” Thistle said.

Theo looked down at him. “Are you claiming you didn’t actually violate the fairy ban?”

He stared. “Well, okay. I’m definitely guilty of that,” he said. “But I swear on the Mother of Magic we had a good reason for it! That other stuff you were saying? Making humans sick? I got nothing to do with that. None of us in here do.”

“Okay. Then I want to pay for everyone to go free,” Oboe said.

Theo took her aside. “Are you sure about this? That’s more money than you even have right now. This will wipe you out.”

“Oh.” She opened her pouch and counted out what she had. “Can I borrow the rest from you? I promise I will work it off.”

“I thought you wanted to have a house built?” He said.

Oboe remembered the idea of having her own cottage. That still sounded wonderful, she still wanted it, but it would have to wait. “Thistle is more important. If he says these fairies are good, I believe him.”

“This is dangerous,” Theo said. “I’m not sure I should allow this.”

“Please, Theo.” Just this once, she needed him to listen. “Trust me. I’ve known Thistle since I was a kid. He’s not wicked. I know what I’m doing.”

Theo was silent, weighing her words. There was an intense, shifting look on his face that she did not know how to read. She held her breath while she waited for him to say something.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m trusting you.”

She pulled him into a big awkward hug. “Thank you!”

The guard cleared his throat. “If you’re serious about paying for their release, I’ll need you to fill out some forms.”

Theo turned back toward Thistle. “You said you had a reason for breaking the ban. I want to hear it.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Thistle said. “You get us out of here, and I’ll show you.”

“Have you got moss in your eyes?!” Thistle said, shaking a tiny fist at Theodore. “Did you see the rest of us walk clockwise around that tree?! Imbecile! Go back and do it the other way!”

Theodore stopped and gave Oboe an annoyed glance. He wondered why she trusted this hateful sylph so much. He knew the Whirlwood was tricky to navigate, it looped on itself in strange ways by magic, but Thistle had the patience of an angry wasp. Theodore turned back and marched around the tree as instructed.

“Good,” Thistle said. “Now if you’re done wasting my time, let’s get on with it!”

The whole troop of fairy ex-convicts started moving again, with Thistle leading everyone somewhere that would supposedly explain everything. The trip felt longer than it was because of the bug man’s belligerent attitude.

“What’s Thistle’s problem?” Theodore said to Oboe. “You let him out of jail and he’s acting like we left him to rot.”

“What do you mean?” She said. “He’s in a way better mood than usual! He’s just a prickly pear, that’s all. Sweet on the inside, where it counts.”

Theodore was skeptical. Against the advice of the duke, and against his own better judgment, he’d chosen to trust Oboe on this. There was a chance this was a mistake. He couldn’t rule out the possibility these fairies were the ones responsible for the attacks. There was no knowing, at least not until he had all the information. He decided he owed it to Oboe to take the risk.

After a few more bends in the trail, and a few more tantrums from Thistle, they passed into a wide clearing Theodore had never seen before. A great round stone amphitheater stood there, worn raw from rain and overgrown with ivy and trees. There was a quiet, with the only sound being wind chimes giving voice to the soft breeze blowing from the East. He followed the fairies inside and saw a sprawling bed of white wildflowers filling the center. Shafts of warm green light filtered through the trees. Rising above the blooms was a monument: A thick stone disc held vertical, a circle comprised of concentric circles and interlocking segments. Theodore recognized it. It was the symbol of the church of the Mother of Magic.

The gnomes, pooka and nymph with them broke off from the group and climbed up the steps into the amphitheater seats. There, they joined a handful of other creatures. A werewolf, several leshy, trolls, and even ferals sat with heads bent or hands clasped. Theodore realized this was a place of worship.

“I didn’t know fairies and ghasts believed in the Mother of Magic,” Theodore said.

“Oh yeah?” Thistle aimed a scowl at him. “Just ’cause humans discovered a religion, you think you get dibs on it forever? Typical.” He shrugged. “Come on, I didn’t bring you here to gawk like a bigot. I got someone for you to meet.”

In the bottom front row of seats was a nymph. She was dressed in a flowing, featureless white mantle. Her hair was like long spiky blades of grass braided together. Her fingers were locked together and her eyes shut in deep meditation. Oboe stayed back as they moved closer.

“HEY GARDNER!” Thistle said, and whistled by blowing through his twiggy fingers. “Wake up! Talk to this guy for me!”

She opened her pupilless eyes. “Hello Thistle.” She stood up. “I see you have brought the Ranger Deputy to see me. Greetings, and welcome to our Sanctuary.”

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Theodore said.

“I am Gardner Feather,” she said with a bow. “I serve here as head priestess for the Outer Whirlwood community. I’ve heard good things about you, Sir Grayweather.”

Theodore tried not to cringe at the title. “Are you part of the Laien diocese?”

“Our scriptures differ, but the message is the same. It is written that we are all part of Her. It is no less true even if we are not of the First Born.”

The words were familiar, even if Theodore had never studied any of the holy texts himself. He had tried once, and found the lack of glossary and cross referencing too irritating to proceed. It was all parables instead of direct explanations. Theodore preferred to have his questions answered by academic textbooks for that reason. His father had never asked him to go to the cathedral to stand in the ring of worship. Lance claimed to believe but only got angry whenever the subject of faith came up. Theodore never pressed the matter. It was one of the few things they did not argue about.

“I’m here as part of an investigation,” Theodore said. “Several fairies have violated a ban prohibiting them to enter certain districts in the city, and using magic illegally on humans. Thistle thinks you can tell me why.”

Her eyes faltered. “He was right to bring you here. Yes. Several members of this community volunteered to sneak into the banned sections of the city. It is something I cannot officially endorse, but neither will I condemn it. They have good reason.”

“And what is that reason?”

“This way,” she said before stepping out into the bed of flowers. The plants seemed to bend around her bare feet. Theodore followed her into the poppies and daisies, trying to be careful not to stomp on any of the blossoms. Eyes down, he was startled when he spotted a body lying hidden among the flowers. A faun, like Oboe, wearing a green cloak and lying at his feet. His body was ashen colored, and weak, like the life had been drained out of him. Theodore looked up and saw there was a dozen others in the flowers as well, all different species of fairy. The faun looked up at him with a soft groan. His expression was feeble, vulnerable, exhausted.

“They’re sick,” Theodore said. “Like the people at the university ward.”

Theodore turned back to the priestess Feather. “What is this illness? Are these fairies being drained of magic?”

“We fey are magic made flesh,” she said, mortified. “We would sooner survive if you tore out our blood and bones. No. This is something far simpler. They are all starving for Fates.”

“I don’t understand,” Theodore said. The duke had mentioned the term before. “What do you mean by Fates? That they’re hungry for a future?”

Feather strained to force a smile, which Theodore took to mean he was ignorant of something so basic it was embarrassing. “Let me try to explain. Are you familiar with the story of how the fey were created?”

He stopped himself from launching into a summary of the leading scientific theories. She was talking about the religious story. It took him a moment to dig through his dustier memories to remember.

“Allegedly,” he said. “Sometime before our oldest surviving historical records, humans were able to use magic the way fairies and ghasts can. …We used it to wage wars against one another, which angered the Mother of Magic. So, She came down from the sky and separated our magic from our bodies, and it transformed into all the different lifeforms which use thaumaturgical energy as the basis for their biology. According to the story, fairies and ghasts were created to punish us for our mistakes.”

Feather nodded. “We tell it differently. When the First Born misused their gifts, the Mother’s anger and mercy descended as burning rings of silver and iron. Her anger took the gift of magic from them, but Her mercy decided you were not without hope. She created us, the Second and Third Born, so that we could guide you and other forms of life as well. To ensure we did not stray from our purpose, the Mother made it so each of us had a basic need to use our magic to affect change and growth on the world. When a fairy uses her magic to enchant a human, and the enchantment affects lasting change in the direction of that human’s life, she gains Fates from the human.”

She gestured towards the sick fey lying in the flowerbeds. “We need Fates to sustain us. Magic aches to find purpose, and any fairy that cannot find an expression for her magic will grow weak and die.”

“Why can’t these fairies use their magic?” Theodore said.

“Because of the ban, you idiot!” Thistle came wading out into the flowers, shoving and punching blossoms out of his way. “These saps are dream sowers. It’s their job to plant dreams in human heads to survive, but you lot made it the law that they can only do that in certain parts of the city if they’ve got a special piece of paper.” He glared at Theodore, as if he was personally responsible for this. “Guess what happens when you ban a bunch of fairies from the one place they’re allowed to use their magic!”

This was a major regulatory oversight. “The city wouldn’t make a mistake like this without reason,” Theodore said. “The ban is in effect because of fairy attacks against humans.”

“That’s not fair!” Oboe shouted from outside the flowerbed. “Only wicked fairies use their magic to hurt people! You shouldn’t make the good ones suffer too!”

Feather turned to look at her. She shrank away at the attention, turning into a mouse to hide. This was strange behavior for Oboe. Why was she keeping her distance?

“I cannot speak in defense of all fey,” Feather said to Theodore. “The fact remains that these ones are in pain. They need humans to experience the dreams they make, or else they will perish. Let me confess the truth to you, Deputy. Members of this ring of worship volunteered to sneak past the ban to deliver dreams to humans. Most of them were caught and imprisoned. I did nothing to stop them from breaking these laws, but I promise you they meant no harm to any human.”

“Was that why you were in jail, Thistle?” Theodore said.

The short bug man glowered. “None of your business what I choose to do.”

Theodore looked at the array of afflicted fairies spread out across the flowerbed. He squeezed the ring on his finger, wondering if he was blinding himself again. The laws of the kingdom of Laien brought necessary order, but he knew first hand that they were not always fair. He knew that there was a chance that these fairies could be dangerous, that what they were telling him was a lie, but that’s not what he felt.

“If I dreamed for these fairies, will that cure them?” He said. “Can I help them?”

Feather brought a salver dish filled with a thick amber colored fluid, and bent down carefully beside a sick gnome lying in the flowers. Thistle helped to prop the creature up, holding him as he limped closer. The tiny hedgehog man moved his fingers over the liquid in arcane gestures, until a thin golden bubble rose into the air. Feather took the bubble gently in her palm.

Nervous, Theodore eyed the enchanted bubble and thought about the duke’s warning. He remembered how school children were always warned to beware the enchantments of the fey, how their gifts always came with a cost. If they were deceiving him, he could wind up in the university medical ward himself. Theodore swallowed this anxiety. The creatures here deserved more than the suspicion he’d seen. They needed help.

“A word of warning,” Feather said, stepping nearer to him. “A fairy dream is different than one a human has naturally. It is wild magic touching your mind. The sower can give it shape, but it will still act of its own will. The magic will look inside you, searching for cross roads in your life, and it will try to nudge you in a direction.”

Theodore knew of fairy dreams, though not in this detail. Most of his books considered them a harmless nuisance, but he’d also read about humans falling ill from being exposed to too many of them. “You make it sound benign,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Normally, it is. But we have many sick fairies. If you will bear it, I need to ask you to take several dreams into your mind at once. Each one will latch on to a purpose or buried desire, and will fight to influence you. They cannot harm you …But it will not be pleasant.”

“What do you think, Oboe?” Theodore said, needing reassurance. It unnerved him that she had been so quiet.

Oboe popped back to her full size, looking uncomfortable to have any attention directed at her. “I can’t do dreams,” she said. “But a dream can hurt. Not like your body, but your head and your heart. It could be scary, ’cause you won’t have all your memories, and maybe it will be a nightmare that pushes you really hard. The worst that can happen is you get trapped in the dream, but that won’t happen unless the fairy that makes the dream is wicked.”

The gnome wheezed, seized with a coughing fit. It was enough to firm Theodore’s resolve. They had far more at stake than he did.

“If it helps, I’ll do it.”

 Oboe made a soft happy noise. Everyone looked at her, which seemed to make her nervous. “Th-thank you for doing this, Theo. You’re wonderful!”

Feather made a place for him to lie down among the flowers. It was more comfortable than it looked. She took the bubble between her fingers and pressed it against his forehead. It burst, and his vision filled with a blinding white.

The fog was growing thick. It wafted through the city streets outside the window, and made the neighborhood seem strange and unfamiliar. Theodore was shaken from his daze when he heard shouting coming from downstairs.

“Theo!” The walls shook. Father was stomping through the halls in his heavy boots somewhere below. “Where are you?!”

They had played this game for years now, but somehow Lance did not know the answer. Theodore was in the library, like he always was. He leaned back, shoving his face back in the book he had chosen. The argument was coming. There was no point in getting up when it would come to him. It didn’t matter what he did. It never did.

Lance Grayweather stormed past the door, and for a moment Theodore wondered if his father had missed him. He wasn’t that lucky. The Hero Champion came barreling back into the room in full battle armor. A mountain of a man, with amber skin and dark hair quaffed to look daring. He was everything scrawny young Theodore was not.

“There you are!” Lance said. “What are you doing here?! You were supposed to meet with the Knight Commander two hours ago!”

“Are you surprised?” Theodore did not look up from his book. “I told you I wouldn’t go. Shocking how that turned out.”

Lance buried his face in his palm to stifle a growl. “Son, we’ve talked about this! You can’t throw away an opportunity like this. Do you have any idea how much most men would give up for a chance to join the Knights of the Realm?! Think of your future!”

Theodore stared at the words on the page, unable to read them. The Order of the Realm spent its days traipsing across the countryside looking for bandits to fight and monsters to slay. “I don’t want to be a knight.”

The words stung. It was a moment before Lance opened his eyes again. “Every Grayweather is a knight.” He was straining to stay calm. “Duty and honor are in your blood, whether you like it or not. I’m not going to let you squander your potential like this!”

“I said I don’t want to be a knight!” Theodore slammed his book onto the table. “Why won’t you ever listen to me!? I’m not strong, and I don’t want to fight! I want to go to the university! I want to teach!”

He laughed. “Do you think I’m going to pay for that? Pay for you to throw away your career?!”

“I don’t need your money!” Theodore would rather lose his inheritance than cave in to his father. “I’ll work if I have to! I don’t want your help!”

Lance paced, pounding the floor like a tiger in a cage. “You’re so damn stubborn. Why are you like this? I know you have the knack, if you’d just apply yourself!”

“I’m not like you!” Theodore said. “You’re just a thug! An old killer they dressed up nice! I’d rather kill myself than be like you!”

 Everything stopped. This argument had happened so many times that Theodore had lost track of how often. It was the same every time. Father would plead, wheedle and guilt hoping to convince Theodore to somehow change who he was. Since that never worked, it escalated to screaming and cursing until a door was slammed and both would stew until they could pretend nothing had happened.

This was different. Lance Grayweather, the Hero Champion of Laien, stopped shouting and stared at his son with eyes so full of hurt that it was burned forever into Theodore’s memory. A haunting silence stretched on for what felt like hours.

Lance hung in the doorway, turning away. “I don’t have time for this.” His voice was firm, but hollow. “I have to see to a mission. We’ll talk more when I return.”

Theodore’s throat tightened. This moment, this unbearable scene, had happened before. The anger and sorrow clicked in his mind like a key, and he remembered with crystal certainty that his father would never come home again after walking through that door. Lance was found dead on the trade road a week later, his body brutalized. The funeral flashed in Theodore’s mind like a prophecy. If Lance left home, if Theodore didn’t do something, he was going to die on his mission, and these would be the last words they would share with one another.

“Wait!” He reached out and grabbed his father’s wrist to stop him. It was stiff, and cold to the touch. The room went dark, as if the sun has been snuffed. Lance turned back, his eyes dead, and took Theodore by the arm with a crushing grip.

“You killed me.”

Theodore pulled away. His home warped and melted around him. The rain came pouring down, and he ran.

Oboe hung back, wanting to watch Theo but worried about Gardner Feather. Would she run her off now that Theo wasn’t awake? Oboe’s fur stood on end as the priestess walked closer. She wondered if she ought to run.

“Be at ease,” the Gardner said.

Oboe’s eyes darted around looking to see who Feather was talking to. There was no one else. Feather was talking to her. She wasn’t supposed to do that.

“What?” Oboe said.

The Gardner gestured toward Theo. “I believe you would be happier to be at your friend’s side.”

“…You’re not supposed to be nice to me,” Oboe said.

“You are right,” she said. “But, as you can see, I am very busy tending to the sick. So busy, in fact, I think it will be impossible for me to do anything about your being here. So, I hope that you will leave of your own accord after you have stolen a bit of the solace we have denied you.”

She was speaking in riddles. “You’re breaking the rules,” Oboe said.

Feather bowed. “It is written: ‘All magic, and every creature touched by it, is born with the purpose to do good.’ Remember that the Fairy Circle is not the Mother of Magic. Our people fall short of Her purpose for us every day.” With that, she walked off.

Oboe wasn’t sure what to think. It seemed she got to stay, even if it was against the rules. Feeling a little bolder, she stepped into the blessed flowerbed to sit by Theo. He stirred, restless and silent. There was nothing to do but wait.

She looked around. Her eyes met with those of one of the sick fairies, a faun like her. She froze. He was a buck, about Oboe’s age. It was foolish, but she could not stop herself from pushing her luck.

“Hi,” she said, ready to run.

The faun groaned, struggling to sit up. He had shaggy dark fur and a notched ear. For a moment he didn’t say anything. “Hello.”

“I’m Oboe. …What’s your name?”

“Zither,” he said, looking away.

“I, er…” Oboe felt like an idiot. “I don’t see many other fauns outside the Circle.”

He winced. “Yeah well… I kind of burnt some bridges there. I’m not out here by choice.”

“Oh!” Were they the same? “Me too! I’m a–“

“I know what you are,” Zither said.

Oboe’s heart sank. She reminded herself that it was a waste of time to talk to other fauns. But then, to her surprise, Zither’s face softened.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m taking forever to die and it’s making me grouchy.”

“It’s okay.” She told herself to let it go, and bent down next to him. “Don’t worry! Theo said he’s going to help!”

Zither furrowed his brow. “That guy?” They both glanced at him dreaming among the flowers. “He can dream for us, but in a month’s time we’ll be right back where we started: withering away because the humans won’t let us near them.”

“Well, maybe Theo can fix it! He’s the Ranger Deputy. He can go talk to the humans, make them get rid of the ban. That way we can save all of you!”

He let out a snort. “Humans got us in this mess in the first place. Hateful creatures. We can’t count on them to fix this. All they care about is themselves.”

“Theo’s not like that,” Oboe said. “He’s good.”

“Really?” He said, skeptical. “So he’s perfect? Never done anything wrong? Ever?”

Oboe felt doubt creep in. Theo had captured the Tall Man even though he was innocent. The ghast could’ve been killed, and it would’ve been Theo’s fault. She shook her head. That wasn’t what happened. She had to get loud, but he listened to her, and they made it right together. If what Feather said was true, that fairies could fall short but still have a good purpose, so could humans. “He’s not perfect,” she said. “But he cares about creatures, and he cares about doing the right thing.”

“Well, just ’cause you have one good sprout doesn’t mean the rest of them aren’t weeds,” Zither said. “I’m not counting on him, but maybe I can count on you.”

Oboe caught his eyes drifting over her body. Her heart raced. She saw other fauns so rarely, and they never so much as looked at her. The dread of being alone was a dull ache she was all too familiar with. The way his gaze trailed along her hips and chest made her wonder if the past didn’t matter.

“It seems like you’ve got this humans ear,” Zither said. “If you think you can talk the humans into lifting the ban, maybe you can save us.”

Letting her own eyes wander, Oboe permitted herself the guilty pleasure of taking in the buck in front of her. He had good horns, rounded but a bit battered. The fauns of the Circle were well groomed and trimmed, but Zither was scruffy and rugged. His body was nice and fit, but pot marked by scars. He would be more attractive if he took better care of himself, and maybe if his chin were stronger or his shoulders broader, but Oboe told herself she couldn’t afford to be choosey. If she had a chance at happiness then she needed to take it.

“I’ll talk to Theo,” she said. “We’ll find a way to save you.”

Water rushed down the stairwell of the university. Theodore clung to the hand rail, pushing forward and upwards through the waist high downpour to escape.

Something had happened to the university. A storm was tearing the science tower apart, flooding everything. If he could find somewhere safe, and regroup with the rest of the faculty, they could analyze whatever magic was at work and put a stop to it.

His robes were soaked through as he waded down the hall. He rounded the corner and froze. The specter was waiting for him, standing perfectly still. Father’s eyes were piercing. Theodore told himself it was just a ghast taking human form. It wanted to frighten him, to torment him. No doubt it was part of whatever was causing this disaster. Theodore backed away, determined to find another route.

The creature chased after him, marching through the water as if it was nothing. It wasn’t Lance. It couldn’t be. Theodore slipped, wrestled himself back onto his feet, and slogged as fast as his strength allowed. He glanced back, his heart pounding, the storm raging around him, and saw the monster gaining on him. There was no time to find help. Theodore ducked inside a classroom to take shelter, and pushed the doors shut. Shattering a chair against the wall, he used the wood to brace the door and then piled desks to blockade the entrance.

It did not matter. A gleaming sword stabbed. It was his father’s sword, a claymore bearing the Grayweather family crest. It sliced through the door and adjoining wall without effort, and then Lance knocked aside the desks with a fist sending them splashing into the water. That sword, the sword his father took with him before he died, killed any doubt left in Theodore’s mind. This was his father.

“Why are you here?!” Theodore said.

Lance descended into the auditorium, drawing closer.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?!” Theodore retreated as far as he could. “I’m happy here!” He grabbed a sopping wet stack of ungraded homework off the teacher’s desk. He thrust the limp papers at his father. “This is what I want! Why can’t you accept that?! Why won’t you just let me be what I want to be?!” The rain mingled with his tears.

Lance tore the homework out of Theodore’s hand. “A knight does not sniffle.” He took Theodore by the wrist and pulled him across the classroom. Theodore tried to resist, but he wasn’t strong enough. He was only a child. His father was so much bigger.

“Let go!” Little Theo said, but it was no use. His father never listened.

The floor was gone. They fell together into the dark, air rushing across them, down and down, faster and faster. Theo’s heart shrank as he knew they had gone too far and he would die.

They hit ground. Theo felt the shock of it but no pain, only a daze from which he fought to collect himself. He realized they were in the main square of the Hollows. It was empty, devoid of any life, except for one single ghast. Silas Jack, the leader of the Red Caps, stood in front of them. He watched Theo with pleading eyes.

“Son,” Lance said, and opened Theo’s shaking palm. “This is what you were born to do. Everyone is counting on you. Finish what I started.” He placed the enchanted knife back in Theo’s hand. It was bright with Flip’s magic. “Slay the monster and keep the kingdom safe.”

The blade was heavy, so heavy Theo couldn’t bear to hold onto it. He tried to let go, but he couldn’t. His body lurched forward like a marionette, the knife aimed at Silas Jack’s heart.

Silas stood rigid, his body frozen in place. His lips mouthed the same words over and over. His familiar sneer was gone, replaced with a desperate stare. Theo fought to stop, to slow down. The ghast’s voice rose as Theo drew closer.

“You promised,” he said, then faster. “You promised. You promised. You promised.”

“You feel sorry for this creature?” Lance said. “He tried to kill you! Stop him or people will die! Your country needs you to act like a knight!!”

Theo raised the knife, his arm lifted by chains wrapped tight around his wrist. He saw the same chains shackled around the arms and legs of Silas Jack.

“We need a knight too,” Silas said. “We need a Ranger Deputy.”

Theodore wheeled around and sank the knife into his father’s heart. Lance buckled, the look of betrayal clearer than the look of pain. “Theo…” He said, his last gasp before his father died one more time.