Theodore sat under the garden gazebo, furious. In every direction he was surrounded by flowers kept with immaculate care. Bushes of blue moon roses lined the garden paths, mingled with hanging sprigs of deep-red amaranth. He glared as the Fair Lady poured him a cup of sweet-smelling jasmine tea.

“Your laws are very clear on this matter.” Bassoon shoveled sugar cubes into her own cup. Given her size, it was less a cup and more of a bowl. “No fairy who uses magic on the royal family will be suffered to live.”

“She was pardoned!” Theodore said, planting his palm on the table. “Cleared of all charges!”

“There is the matter of our own tradition.” She sipped with dignity. “It is disgraceful for a fairy to turn against humans. We are loathe to tolerate such brazen wickedness.”

“Oboe is not wicked!” He said. It angered him how often he had to argue something so obvious. “I don’t care what your customs say. As Ranger Deputy, I am ordering you to suspend any and all execution. I want her released into my care.”

The Fair Lady placed her cup down. “Are you certain that’s wise? Let me remind you, she has a record. Something like this might happen again.”

“It won’t,” Theodore said. “I trust her.”

Bassoon leaned forward, cradling her chin with her finger. She studied Theodore in a way that left him feeling naked. After a moment, she stood up with a sigh.

“Very well,” she said. “I will surrender custody to you.”

That was it? “You will?”

She stared out at some distant topiary. “Far be it for the Circle to refuse an order from our lordship.” She twisted to look at him. “If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion, perhaps it would best to linger a while before taking the doeling away. She has been… volatile. I doubt she will cooperate unless she is given time to calm down.”

Theodore supposed this much was true. “That’s… sensible.” He knew Oboe would not be happy when he came to tell her she was free to go.

“In the meantime, please partake of the pleasures of our Court. The servants can see to anything you might need.” Bassoon stepped out into the garden to admire her roses. “If you will excuse me, I need to attend to other important matters.” She smiled. “I hope I can expect a social visit from you in the future, Deputy.”

“I…” He felt disarmed. “Of course. Thank you.”

The Fair Lady strolled away, leaving Theodore to watch as his untouched tea cooled. After so much anxiety, it was strange to have a moment of calm.

He got up. Wandering the gardens, he wondered how angry she would be with him. Maybe it was wrong of him to impose this on her, but he knew she didn’t deserve to die. After all she’d done for him and the Whirlwood, she was a hero in his eyes. There had to be a way to convince her of that. Maybe a commemorative plaque to recognize her service. No. That was insensitive. She didn’t have a proper home in which to hang one.

He skipped a stone across the lake. Whatever. She could be angry. It was better than losing her. He grew tired of waiting. She was up in a tower upset and he was down here mulling around. They needed to talk, hash things out. Maybe then things could get back to normal. He made his way back to the palace.

The Inner Circle was eerie in its stillness. Everything was so clean and well kept, it was hard to believe anyone lived here. Perfect, but empty looking cottages dotted the garden path. Even the wind was absent here. His eyes were drawn to a fury in the sky, the only activity he could see. She dived into a landing at the entrance of the palace, dropping a wriggling pooka onto the ground. Theodore watched from afar.

“He told me he was a dungeon inspector!” The pooka said, popping onto his feet. It was Rupert, the jailer Theodore had met earlier.

Épée swiped at him with her talons. “I don’t want to hear it, worm! You let a captive escape! You are an embarrassment to the troop! A stain on our honor!”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Rupert said. “But, in my defense, he was real convincing. Just ask Benny!”

Épée narrowed her eyes. She pulled out a small pipe whistle off her belt, bit it in her beak, and blew. Three notes like a caterwaul. The shadows against a nearby wall deepened into a dark passage. Rupert bristled at the sight of it.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He held his hands out, eyes wild. “You can’t put me in the labyrinth! It was an honest mistake! I’ll do better! Last one, I promise! Give me another chance!”

The fury punted Rupert through the portal. Theodore gasped. Épée turned as he approached.

“Why did you do that!?” Theodore said. “I’m welcomed here now! You didn’t have to punish him!”

Épée rose to her full height. “Stay out of this, human. This is Circle business.”

“This is my fault, not his.” Theodore said. “I tricked him!”

“Do not tell me how to discipline my men.” She snapped her beak at him. “I don’t care what you think. This is fairy land. We do not tolerate weakness here. Leave. Go cower behind your city walls, where you belong.

Épée took wing, disappearing into a high window of the palace, leaving Theodore beside the gate she had opened. It wasn’t fair that Rupert should be punished because Theodore failed to announce himself properly to the Circle. He needed to set this right before he took Oboe home. Theodore stepped through the dark passageway.

Oboe sobbed into her bedding until she ran out of tears. Why did Theo have to find her? He had looked so worried when she threw him out. She didn’t deserve a friend like him. She was a monster, rotten and wicked. Breaking her promise to grandmother proved it. She lost control of her magic and needed to be punished. She was worse than Silas. She was worse than the grossest, most evil, slime covered slug.

Her misery stiffened into anger. Why hadn’t grandmother killed her yet? It had been days and days, but nothing had happened. Serving sylphs came with trays of sweet cakes, grapes, and sliced mango from across the sea. A cleaning pooka fluffed the pillows and changed the sheets. Not a single executioner had come by to say hello and it was starting to make Oboe mad. How long was she supposed to wait?

She pushed herself off the cushion and kicked the door open. “Oh no!! Looks like I’m escaping! I hope nobody stops me!!”

The fury squatting outside her room didn’t care. He glanced at Oboe, then went back to staring off into space.

 “Hey!!” Oboe said. “Are you going to do something or not?!”

The spriggan shrugged. “My job is to keep this room safe. Do whatever you want.”

Oboe grabbed her mane and screamed with her mouth shut. She stomped down the stairs and began bursting into random doorways, startling maids and Titled fairies, until she found grandmother.

“Why are you torturing me?!” Oboe said. “Just kill me already!!”

Bassoon turned toward Oboe. She was standing in a warm solarium, surrounded by wide windows looking out into the bright green sky. Next to grandmother was a startled human in a funny looking uniform.

“There you are,” grandmother said. “I was wondering when you would come.”

“What is this?” The human said. He had a bushy black mustache and a sword on his hip. “You say we are secret, and others are barging in upon us!”

“Um.” Oboe wasn’t sure what she had walked in on.

Bassoon waved her hand. “This is nothing for you to worry about, Crantor. It is only one of my daughters. Pardon us, would you?”

“Your daughter says such things?” He shook his head. “I am never understanding this country. Yes, as you say. We will speak later.” He pounded his chest with a fist and marched from the room.

The door clicked shut and Oboe was alone with her grandmother. The elder faun stepped closer. She towered over Oboe, seeming somehow even taller than on that day at the Tournament of Titles. Oboe felt shaky standing in front of the Fair Lady after so many years, but she couldn’t let herself be scared. It was time to face reality. Puffing out her chest, she looked her grandmother in the eye.

“I was weak,” she said. “I promised you I would never use my magic on a human, but it happened again. You gave me a second chance, and I blew it. I’m wicked.” Oboe got down on her knees. “Please don’t make me wait any longer. I’m ready to die.”

There was a heavy silence, broken by a weary groan from grandmother.

“Do you think it noble to lie down and die?” Her voice harsher than before. “Pathetic. Get on your hooves, you’re making me sick.”

“…Huh?” Oboe said.

“If I had wanted you dead, you’d be dead. I have lived long enough to know better than to squander talent or opportunity.” She helped Oboe to stand. “You, my child, are worth keeping alive.”

“What are you talking about?” Oboe said.

Grandmother drifted toward one of the many windows and opened it. “I’ve been watching you.” She reached out. A raven appeared and lighted on her wrist. “I must admit that I am impressed.”

She turned. Grandmother and the raven both watched her, their heads tilted at the same angle.

“I stripped you of your name and banished you from the circle. Worse than that, I forbid you to work your magic on pain of death.” She stroked the raven’s head with a finger. “Most in your place choose to kill themselves. You did not.” She drew closer. “Here you are, stunted but grown. A weed thriving. Alive! No, more than that. You made yourself the right hand of the Ranger Deputy. You enchanted the crowned prince and got away with it. You stole my prize out from under me, and I could nothing but watch.”

“What prize?” Oboe shook her head. “I didn’t steal anything!”

Grandmother opened her hand. The raven crawled into her palm, melding into the flesh, joining her body and shrinking away into nothing. She curled her fingers.

“Oh, but you did. I had been working for months to secret Prince Perceval away. Right on the cusp of my victory, you snatched his fates for yourself. You enchanted him, but not only that, he pardoned you for the crime!” She savored a chuckle. “Bravo, my daughter. Bravo.”

Oboe stepped back, her jaw slack. “What?” Were her ears broken? “You were trying to enchant Percy? That’s… No. You’re joking. That can’t be true.”

Bassoon smirked. “And Why not?”

“You aren’t wicked! You’re the Fair Lady! You’re the most important fey creature in Laien! You made me nameless because I hurt a human!!”

“It’s charming you think that,” grandmother said. “But no. I took your name from you because you got caught.”

Oboe stared, dumbstruck. It was a perfect day outside, but her world was crumbling.

Bassoon went on. “Your ‘crime’ was that you failed to cover your tracks. You were sloppy. If your prey had gotten away, knights would have come snooping. You put the Woodwind name at risk and embarrassed us in front of the entire Circle. The magic it took to clean up your mess cost me years of life. That is why you were punished.”

Oboe clenched her teeth. “That’s not right! I broke the law! I hurt somebody! That’s why you should be mad! You’re the Fair Lady!! You’re supposed to punish the wicked!”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, my child.” Grandmother closed the window. “All fairies are wicked. Every last one of us.”

Theodore stumbled into the dark, feeling as if his body had been stretched across the whole Whirlwood. The air stunk of blood and excrement. When his eyes adjusted, he found himself standing in a grimy stone dungeon. The walls radiated a faint plum colored light. Cell lined corridors webbed out in all directions.

He heard crying and followed the sound. He found Rupert, weeping on the floor, his face buried in his hands.

“What? Who’s there?” The pooka peeked through his fingers. “Huh?! You!” Rupert thrust an accusing finger. “You’re that dungeon inspector! But you’re not a dungeon inspector at all! You lied to me!” He threw his arms in the air. “You’re just some huckster office guru! Ugggh!!”

Theodore knelt. “I’m sorry I tricked you, Rupert. I came to the Circle worried a friend might die. In any other situation I would’ve waited out due process like a civilized creature. There’s no good reason for you to be punished because of me.”

Rupert’s frown softened. “Well. At least you’re nice about being a no good, vile, weedling cheat. Suppose I can’t stay mad when Benny was so excited about your ideas.” He shook a floppy ear out of his face. “What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to pull you out of here before the door closed,” Theodore said.

“What door?”

Theodore looked behind him and realized there was no passage back the way he came. “Oh.” He had made a grave miscalculation.

“You didn’t bring a fold-whistle.” Rupert slapped his own forehead. “Nice going, dummy! Now we’re both stuck here!”

A sound echoed off the halls, like groaning steel. Theodore peered down the shadowed corridors and wondered what he had gotten himself into. “Where are we?”

Rupert laughed at him. “The labyrinth! Deepest point in the fold! It’s where the Circle puts you if they really want you to suffer. You want to inspect dungeons? Go nuts!”

Theodore pressed his palm into his face. “Is there a way out?”

“You’re asking me?!” Rupert said. “Really wowing me on this rescue job, boss. How about you try finding the exit yourself and tell me how that works out for you?”

Furrowing his brow, Theodore could think of no reason to argue. He’d learned to navigate the Whirlwood. How much worse could a fairy dungeon be? Rupert followed him with arms crossed as he wandered up and down the maze of corridors. Theodore kept a mental map as they went and groaned as he found himself fed back into the starting chamber again and again.

“It doesn’t make any sense!” Theodore said. It was dawning on him how bad he had screwed up. “There has to be a pattern! A trick! Even the Whirlwood has rules!”

Rupert’s expression was insufferable. “It’s not supposed to have a way out, smart guy. Hallways are rigged to shuffle to keep you lost. Doesn’t matter how clever you are, or how good at lying, nothing short of the right magic is getting us unstuck.”

That was it. Theodore reached into his pocket and pulled out the spool of golden thread Thistle had given him. “This might help.”

Rupert’s eyes lit up. He snatched the thread out of Theodore’s hands. “Where did you get this?!” He sniffed at it in big huffing nostril snorts. “This is alteration magic! Sylph weave? A divining spell! Mother of Magic. Someone gave up a lot of Fates to make this.” He looked up. “Where’s the other end of this?”

“Outside the Circle, near Moss Tub Lake?”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Rupert uncoiled the tail end and gave it a firm yank. The thread went rigid and shot down one of the corridors, the spool spinning in Rupert’s paws. “If it’s even possible to walk out of here, this will show us!” He handed it back to Theodore and together they followed the string through the twisting corridors.

Wrapping the thread back around the spindle as they went, Theodore passed empty cells and hanging gibbets. His skin crawled as they crossed a row of torture devices wrought in iron: A rack lined with pulleys, chairs threaded with straps and chains, breaking wheels, and a hollow bull of scorched brass. Theodore hoped they were as disused as they looked. At least the prison in the capital was kept relatively sanitary. The path ahead grew dim. The enchanted stone in the wall gave off less light. Delving deeper, they found an intersection of hallways.

“I can’t even see the thread!” Rupert said. “Which way?”

Theodore squinted. “It’s… not going down any of them. It’s leading us into this wall.”

“What??” Rupert let out a wail. “No! I actually got my hopes up I was getting out of here!”

“Wait,” Theodore said. He tugged on the thread, and it moved along the surface of the wall like a fishing line over a pond. Reaching out, his hand passed through as if there was nothing there. “It’s an illusion!”

Rupert hopped through the wall. Theodore heard him gasp and went in after him. Inside was a large round chamber darker than the rest.

“Who… who’s there?” A voice called out. Scratchy and labored. “Is someone there…?”

Theodore leaned into the shadows, pulling Rupert in with him. There was no way of knowing if this was friend or foe.

“Hello?? Is anyone there?” The voice sounded desperate. “I need help! Please! I’m begging you!”

Theodore crept closer, peering into the dark. He found a nymph slumped against the far wall. A broken longsword was pierced through his torso. He was alive, emaciated, and propped against a wall. He scanned Theodore with wild eyes. Theodore recognized the sword. The Grayweather family crest was emblazoned on the hilt. That sword belonged to his father.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Oboe said, staring up at Grandmother. “Not all fairies are wicked! That’s terrible! Why would you say that?!”

Bassoon rested a hand on Oboe’s shoulder with a patient smile. “Walk with me.”

The elder faun stepped out into the corridor, taking her answers with her. Oboe followed her into a long steepled hall. The walls were lined with old sylph-weave tapestries. Her memory of school was rusty, but Oboe remembered that these were pictures of important moments in the Circle’s history.

“You enchanted a human.” Bassoon kept her eyes forward. “Why?”

“I…” Oboe’s anger was muddied with her shame. “I lost control. I tried to stop but my body wouldn’t listen.” She held herself, feeling sick again. “I couldn’t stop.”

Bassoon looked back with eyes like ice. “That’s not what I asked you. Why do you think your body didn’t listen?”

Even now it was hard for her to admit it. “…I wanted it. I wanted to use my magic. It had been so long. Saying no hurt so much.” She clenched her eyes shut, hating herself. “It was worse than starving.”

“There.” Bassoon pointed. “That’s the truth of it. How long had it been? Ten? Fifteen years? Your magic was trapped inside you, screaming, fighting for expression. I’m surprised you survived so long.”

Oboe swallowed. “Transforming myself helped. It’s enough.”

“Is it?” Grandmother raised an eyebrow. “You’re cutting your life short. Your body knows it needs Fates to survive. You’ll die without them, no matter how much you shapeshift. Your instincts were trying to save you.”

“No!” Oboe shouted. “Stop! I don’t care what my body says! I’m not going to be wicked!”

She laughed at her. “It’s too late for that, you wretch! You said it yourself!” Bassoon’s smile was excited and wide. “You’re wicked, and nothing can change that.”

Oboe’s heart was pounding. Grandmother grabbed her by the chin, and went on: “But that’s what I want to see. Not this stupid, naïve little doeling. I want the wicked faun buried deep inside you. The instincts that brought you this far. The fairy who enchanted the prince and got away with it. The Oboe who wormed her way into the office of the Ranger Deputy to take control.”

Oboe pulled away, horrified. “I didn’t worm my way into anything! Theo is my friend!”

“Do not lie to yourself,” Bassoon said. “I’ve met the boy. There’s something strange about him. The way he denies his potential, but it’s there despite him. There’s a feast of Fates incubating inside him. Enough to extend a life by decades! Even if you refuse to see it, your body knows. We can both taste it. That’s why you’re at his side.”

“That’s not true!” Oboe said, but the doubt was planted. She had been so desperate to help him, even when he didn’t want her help. Had her motives been pure? She had been nameless for so long, and helping Theo had made the other fairies look at her, listen to her, and even talk to her. “It’s… not true.” She said it again, weaker this time.

They came to the end of the hall, which ended at a wall taken up by a massive tapestry. It showed a scene of rows and rows of humans looking frightened and amazed at a circle inside a circle in the sky above them.

Bassoon squatted down low enough to meet Oboe face to face. “It’s okay.” She wiped the tears out of the corner of Oboe’s eyes. “You can let go. You can be the real you.” Her tone was a mother’s love. “It has been a long time since any of my children have managed to impress me. I damned you to a life of suffering, but you’ve shown the guile needed to live. You’ve proven yourself worthy of my attention.”

She wrapped her arms around Oboe and whispered in her ear. “Oboe Woodwind, my daughter, it’s time to come home. You need only do as I say and I will restore your name. You can return here to the Circle, where you belong.” Oboe was trembling, but Bassoon held her tight. “Serve me, and embrace what you are: My child.”

“You’re… you’re human. That’s perfect.” The nymph’s clothes were rotten, his hair had fallen out. His body was gaunt and shriveled. He strained to push himself against the wall to stand, lacking the strength to support himself. “Pull the sword out! Please! Hurry!”

“That’s not a good idea.” Theodore was no field medic, but he had read enough to know this much. “I won’t be able to stop the bleeding. You need a doctor!”

The nymph choked up a bitter laugh. “Does it look like I’m bleeding?! I’ve been stuck down here for years!”

Rupert was staring, his fur puffed in fright. “That sword. There’s something wrong with it. Something really, really wrong!”

Theodore squatted beside the nymph. The wound was old, the flesh around the sword was petrified like stone. “What happened to you?”

“Assassin…” The nymph groaned, his breath turned ragged. Talking so much seemed to weaken him. “The champion. Tried to stop him. Couldn’t. You have to help me. Please.”

“The Hero Champion?” Theodore’s eyes went wide, he moved closer, eyeing the Grayweather crest on the sword. “You said he was an assassin? Who sent them? Who was he trying to kill?”

The growled in pain, wheezing through his teeth. “Devil damn you! Pull it out! This is torture! I’ll tell you whatever you want, just pull it out! Pull the sword out, damn you! Hurry!!”

Theodore saw the agony in the nymph’s face and felt ashamed for asking so many questions. He set the spool down, wrapped his hands around the hilt the sword, and pulled.

“Wait!” Rupert said.

The nymph’s scream of pain turned to gasps of relief as the sword slid free from his chest.

“Finally,” he said. Tears rolled down his face. “I can die.”

The wound burned, spraying raw stinging magic free of the nymph’s body. Theodore’s was seized by coughing, and watched as the nymph’s convulsed. The color drained away from the fairy’s body, and Theodore watched with horror as the nymph crumbled away to ash at his feet.

“No!” Theodore shouted.

The nymph was gone. Theodore was left standing there holding the sword that killed him. He stared at it, wracked by the sick sensation that he had killed a creature. His hand trembled. The Grayweather crest stared back at him, a thundercloud pierced by a blade. There was no mistake. He recognized the sword. A claymore, the same one his father had taken with him before he died. The same one he had seen in his fairy dreams. It was broken in half at the shaft, and steaming with noxious magic.

“It was keeping him alive,” Rupert said. “He’s dead.”

Theodore forced himself to swallow. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fault. “Do you know something? What just happened?”

“Keep that thing away from me!” Rupert jumped back. “I don’t know, but there’s magic on that sword! Bad magic! Get rid of it!”

No. “I… know this sword. I need to find out what it’s doing here.” He lowered it. “He said something about an assassin.”

Rupert covered his snout, thinking. “I heard a rumor,” he said. “Some palace Spriggan told me about an attack from seven years ago. They said some big deal human went nuts. Snuck into the Inner Circle and started murdering Titled fairies.”

“What?” Theodore’s mouth hung open. “Nobody knew what happened to him. Do you know anything else?”

“Not really.” Rupert sniffed. “Commander Épée was furious when she caught us gossiping about it. Never got to hear the rest of the story, but I bet we had to kill the human. He turned up dead, right? Something like that you got to keep hush hush, otherwise the humans will start a war over it.” He blinked. “Oh, crap. You’re a human! Forget I said any of that!”

“Don’t worry.” Theodore threaded the sword through his belt loop. “I’m not going to do anything stupid, but I do need to get to the bottom of this.” What was his father doing killing fairies with a magic sword? What the hell was he thinking?

“Hey, that’s great and everything, but we’re kind of still stuck in the labyrinth!”

Theodore felt along the ground and found the thread spool again. Escaping would have to come first. He reeled in what had come loose and found the far end of the thread was hanging taut in the air. Not through a wall like before, but caught hanging on nothing.

“Well, I guess we’re dying down here after all,” Rupert said, grumbling.

Theodore tugged on the string. It gave a little. He got a better grip and gave it a firm yank. Thread crisscrossing through the air came undone like stitches. When the last suture snapped, a flame sparked and raced down the thread as if it were soaked in kerosene. A portal roared opened in front of them. Light and fresh air poured through. Rupert squealed with delight. Theodore dropped the spool before it burnt his hand and watched it fade to embers.

“Let’s go!” Rupert said, grabbing Theodore’s hand and pulling him into the tear. The world rippled as they passed through. Theodore felt his stomach. His body snapped like a rubber band and he found himself standing in the palace again.

Rupert leaned out the bedroom to scout the hallway.

“I don’t see anyone,” he said. “I’m gonna make a run for it.”

“Where will you go?” Theodore said.

The pooka shrugged. “I dunno. Can’t stay here. Épée will chop me to bits if she finds out I helped tear a hole in the labyrinth.”

Theodore glanced at the tear in space behind them. The hole had spat them out into a large guest room somewhere in the fairy palace. Theodore wondered if a carefully worded letter of apology would make up for the damage he’d caused.

“Maybe I’ll go to the Korveil Circle,” Rupert said. “Can’t be any worse than here.”

“Good luck. I’m sorry this happened.”

“Hey.” Rupert tugged on Theodore’s pant leg, and he squatted down to his eye level. “I just want you to know that you ruined my entire life and I will always hate you for that. But I guess you had the decency not to let me die in a dungeon, so you’re still better than most humans I’ve met.”

Theodore frowned.

“Anyway, seeya!” Rupert pushed the door open and took off down the hallway. “If anyone asks, I had nothing to do with any of this!!”

Alone, Theodore stood back up. That was one matter taken care of, but there were others. He grabbed the hilt of the sword. There were questions burning in his mind. He wanted to interrogate Épée about his father, maybe find out what the Fair Lady knew. If his father had attacked the Fairy Circle, if he was responsible for that nymph’s suffering, people needed to know about it. There needed to be some kind of justice.

His grip went slack. No. Not yet. Oboe was still in danger. He couldn’t risk the Fair Lady changing her mind because he pushed his luck. Oboe’s safety needed to come first. Once she was home safe, he could do research, talk to his superiors, and come back better prepared. He hurried out into the hall to look for his friend.

The palace felt empty, breathless. The spriggan seemed to have gone elsewhere. He climbed up and down stairs, trying to remember the way to Oboe’s room. Rounding the corner, he spotted a fury blow a fold whistle and disappear into a link to the labyrinth. Had they sensed what he’d done?

He found the right tower. Oboe’s door was unlocked, but there was no one inside.

“Oboe?” He was worried. He raced to check the adjoining rooms. Bassoon wouldn’t change her mind, would she? “Oboe!?”

He barged into a parlor. There was someone there. A faun, standing still, her back to him, peering into a mounted mirror. He came closer.

“Oboe?”

 She looked at him but did not move. It was her. She was wearing an amber colored mantle, draped from shoulder to navel. Stitched on the front was the same symbol he’d seen throughout the Fairy Court: an acorn with a keyhole in it.

Theodore ran up to meet her. “They let you out of your room? Did the Fair Lady let you go? Are you okay?”

She stared at him with tense eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but seemed to think better of the words.

“Yes,” she said finally. “My grandmother said she spoke with you. I’m free to leave.”

Her voice was so wooden. There was something she wasn’t saying. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” He had expected her to be more vocal than this. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but… I couldn’t bear to see you die.”

Oboe struggled to look him in the eye. He had rushed this. She needed more time. As usual, he’d been an idiot. There was an awkward silence.

“…You’re wearing one of those outfits,” Theodore said. “Like the other fairies here.”

Life sparked inside her. She spread her arms to show it off.

“It’s a naming garment.” It was a relief to see her smile again. “It lets others know what family I belong to.”

“It does?” He said. “Thistle told me they took your name away from you.”

Oboe smiled. The warmth returned to her face. “Grandmother is giving me my name back. She’s letting me come back to the Circle!”

“What? Really?” Theodore couldn’t help but laugh with happiness. Without thinking, he hugged her. “That’s wonderful!”

She stood rigid in his arms, hands folded. He released her, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.” He surprised himself. He wasn’t normally the hugging type. “This is good, right? I had no idea before today that you were an exile, but now you’ve been welcomed back.” He searched her expression, wondering how he ought to feel for her. “I can’t imagine what that must be like.”

Oboe’s eyes watered. She clenched her lips and held back a sob. She covered her face as tears rolled down her cheeks. Theodore wanted to comfort her. She stopped him with a hand. After a moment, she wiped her own tears away.

“I’ve wished for this every day since I was little,” She said, sniffling. “This is real, isn’t it?” She looked back into the mirror. “Really real. Not pretend, or a trick. Just… real.”

He fished out his handkerchief and offered it to her. “It feels real to me.”

Oboe blew her nose, and Theodore felt as if he could breathe again.

“I think it’s time to go home.”

Together, they left. The guards threw open the palace doors for them, and a boat was made ready. The journey out of the Circle was so much easier than the journey inside. The residents of the fairy village still eyed Theodore with caution but hurried aside as they passed. Oboe led Theodore down an alleyway. Beneath a stone archway was a portal back to the Whirlwood.

Oboe stopped at the threshold as Theodore stepped through. He looked back.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I…” She hesitated. “I’m going to stay a while. I want to see my family. Grandmother said she’d throw a party. It’s been so long.” Her gaze drifted. “I hope they remember me.”

Theodore felt anxious. “I’m worried. You said you wanted to die. I shouldn’t leave you here alone.”

“I’m not alone anymore,” she said. “I’m home.”

Theodore realized he was being selfish.

“Promise you’ll be okay?” He said.

“I promise,” she said.

“Will you come back to work?”

She nodded. “Tomorrow. First thing.”

He needed to stop. He needed to trust her. “Take as long as you need. It’s your family. I’ll be waiting.”

“Goodbye Theo,” she said, and turned her back on him.