Theodore sulked on a park bench, stewing on the words Oboe had left him with. She was right. He didn’t know what was going through his father’s mind, but what possible justification could there be?

He leered up at the fountain, at that gilded lie of a statue. His father always talked about duty, about how serving the greater good was in their blood. Theodore squirmed in his seat. What was the truth? It was too late to ask Lance himself, but perhaps it was not too late to find out.

When Lance died, he left behind a will dictating one last ultimatum. If Theodore failed to join a knight order by the age of eighteen then the whole of his inheritance would be sold off and donated to charity. Theodore saw no reason to deny orphanages and poorhouses much needed funding. He walked out the door and never looked back. Until now.

A trolley ride and a long walk led him to the doorstep of the Grayweather family estate. It was still standing right where he left it. He knocked. The butler was so befuddled to see a man in uniform that he agreed to fetch the new owner at once.

“Mother’s tits! Who the devil are you?” He was a pudgy, unkempt man, who talked with a cigar clenched in his teeth. It was midday, but he was still in his bed clothes. “This had better be important. I was in the middle of some important business.”

Theodore forced a polite smile. “I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Theodore Grayweather. I lived here a long time ago, and I was hoping you could help me?”

The owner scowled. “I don’t care! I ain’t interested in selling!” He went to slam the door, and Theodore braced it open with his shoulder.

“Wait. I’m not trying to take your home from you!” He said. “I was looking for some things of my father’s. I was hoping they might still be here!”

The owner slacked his pushing. “Oh yeah? I still got some things lying around. What’s it worth to you?”

It took Theodore emptying his wallet for the door to swing open. Theodore would have to walk home, without anything left to pay for a trolley. The scruffy man introduced himself as Bertrand Blackwood.

“Best investment I ever made, this place.” He counted the coins and bills off, chuckling to himself. “Bank sold it for a song, you know. I have an eye for deals. Come along, but let’s make this quick.”

It was surreal for Theodore, walking through his childhood home again after so long. Walls had been knocked down and rebuilt. Familiar furniture was rearranged or replaced. The new wallpaper was eye searing. Tasteless statues and paintings of nude women replaced the family heirlooms. It was his home, but not his home anymore. The feeling bothered him more than he thought it would.

Bertrand lit a lantern, and a fresh cigar while he was at it, and led Theodore down into the cellar.

“Sold most of the good stuff after I bought the place. Made a mint on all the swords and armor. Crammed the junk down here. You’re free to take whatever is left, besides the antiques! I’m keeping the furniture! No refunds!”

The light pooled at the basement floor. Lines of old portraits were stacked against the walls. Theodore stood, surrounded by the painted gaze of his ancestors. Uncle Dirk, great aunt Gwendolyn, great grandfather Gallant, uncle Claymore, Grandmother Marsha: All of them stared at him on the edge of flickering lamplight. A shiver ran down Theodore’s spine.

Bertrand forced the lantern into Theodore’s hands.

“My butler will see you out when you’re done.” He yawned. “I need to back to more important matters.”

“Thank you,” Theodore said. The new owner climbed the creaking stares and left Theodore among the dregs of his heritage.

Apart from family pictures, what was left to search through was a mess. Mementos, old documents, and knickknacks were piled into crates with no rhyme or reason. The new owner could have been humane and categorized the inventory by material at least. Instead Theodore was forced to sift through miscellaneous boxes of broken tea kettles, tax documents, ragged old clothes, and novelty kitchen appliances.

What was he even hoping to find? Everything of value had already been sold off. It wasn’t like Theodore was going to find a signed confession of wrongdoing. His father’s mind would remain a mystery.

He pushed aside another box and a painting clattered onto the floor. He sat it up again, as if it mattered, and paused at the face. A woman. Her posture was proper, hands folded, and no trace of a smile. It was the picture of his mother that his father had painted. A long tear ran down the middle of the canvas now. He remembered hating this portrait. Mother looked so scary, her eyes fierce and intelligent. He wondered how much he took after her.

Theodore never knew his mother. She died from birth complications. Lance always spoke of how wonderful she had been. It made him feel like he should have been the one who died instead.

He pulled the torn vellum from its frame and folded it gently. It seemed wrong to leave it here. Turning back, he continued searching through the junk. He found himself setting aside letters. Things his father had written to his mother and vice versa. Nothing that looked useful, but left him curious. He stuffed what he collected into an old leather potion bag, but cautioned himself not to go overboard. It was a long walk home without any money.

There was an old oak desk in the corner. It was ugly, and not quite level. Lance was a man of many talents, but wood working was not one of them. He must’ve been proud of it, because Theodore remembered his father using it every day. The drawers were empty, except one which was locked. The wood was scratched, like someone had tried and failed to pry it open. A rotating number lock kept it closed.

Theodore ventured a few guesses at what the combination might be. He tried the important dates he could remember. The day his father had become Hero Champion, his mother’s birthday, their marriage anniversary. To his surprise, the lock popped and the drawer slid open when he tried his own birth date.

Inside he found a quart of now aged scotch and a journal bound in drake leather. Theodore’s heart raced. This might be what he was looking for. He set the lantern down on the desk, and pulled the book open to find the pages filled with yellowed investigation notes. He flipped toward the end, and stopped on a detailed sketch of a familiar looking raven. It was one of the last entries. Theodore read on.

Had another run in with this so called ‘Whisper.’ No record in creature archives. I thought I’d killed her already, but this bird was identical. Dealing with a powerful fey. A shapeshifter. I’m certain she’s behind the kidnapped nobles, maybe even the missing ambassadors from last year, but I need evidence before I take this to the King. If my suspicions are right, I have to be careful who I tell.

The last page left Theodore hanging.

Had another argument with Theo. Mother’s mercy, I wish I knew how to talk to him. He has everything it takes to be one of the best, but he won’t listen to me. Devil damn me. He’s probably right. I bet I’m the problem. I wish Margaretta were still here. She’d set me right. She was always smarter than me.

I secured one of Whisper’s feathers. Can’t identify its aura, it’s incomplete. It’s enough to for a tracking spell, though. Took some precautions with father’s sword, just in case. Plan to get in, grab some evidence, and get out.

Reminder: Look into university applications for Theo on return. Mom is going to haunt me, but maybe it’s time. He’s all I have left.

The sword was awful. Every step with it took more effort than the last. The blade sucked away her magic faster than the Whirlwood filled her and left her sluggish and weak. It was hungry, and its aura made her mind feel scratchy. She forced herself to hurry, pushing toward the Circle, wanting to get rid of it.

As she neared a fold curving into the Circle, she heard the shrill calls of ravens overhead. They flashed through the trees, looping overhead, growing in noise and number until she stood before the entrance of the Circle. Dozens of ravens watched her from above, perched among the boughs of the trees.

Oboe’s breathing was ragged. She recognized the raven, but there was so many of them. “Grandmother?”

“Yes child,” one spoke. “You have brought the sword. Sloppy work, but you have done as I commanded. Very good.”

Oboe braced herself against a tree. Her eyes darted between the dozens of ravens in the trees. There was so many of them. How many places could grandmother be in at once?

“Plant the sword in the ground,” grandmother said, and then another continued in the same breath: “You are free to go until I have need of you again.”

The shrieking of birds died down as a troop of spriggan came marching through the gate. Most of them fauns and nymphs armored in bronze. They brought with them a frightened looking leshy. She had hair like willow branches and bare skin like woven twigs. Her family garment was missing.

“What’s going on?” Oboe asked. Something was wrong. The leshy woman’s face was wet with tears.

“None of your concern, my pet.” Bassoon said. “Leave the sword and go. Your work is done.”

Something was wrong. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on!”

The lead spriggan looked toward the nearest Whisper. “Shall we get rid of her, my Lady?”

“A moment, if you would.” She said, and turned her attention back to Oboe. “This is a ritual. A terrible but necessary ritual. You will sleep easier if you do not witness it.”

Oboe stuck the sword in the ground, eyes narrowed. “I want to see it.”

In unison, the ravens began to laugh. Chuckling on all sides, drowning out all other sound. The Whispers took to the air and gathered, piling onto one another in the center of the clearing, morphing together until Bassoon the faun formed out of the shifting mass.

“You do know how to charm me, child.” The Fair Lady smiled, her fingers curling along Oboe’s chin. “Very well. What is life without a bit of blood?” She ripped the sword out from the ground and strolled toward the leshy, who averted her gaze. Grandmother tugged the leshy’s face to meet hers.

“This wretch was, until recently, Camellia of the Bellflower family. She has disgraced her name for crimes against the Circle, and left her children with no way to survive. But I, in my mercy, have offered her a chance at redemption.”

Magic poured out of Basson’s hand, raw as if it were out of the Fount itself, coating the blade of the sword. It was too much for the sword to dispel at once. A noise of color without shape.

“The needs of her children will be met, and she will serve a purpose. The curse on this sword will be satisfied.”

Camellia said nothing. Her eyes were trembling.

“If you are truly my daughter,” The Fair Lady said to Oboe. “You will not look away.”

Rearing back her arm, she plunged the sword deep inside Carmellia’s chest. Her head arched back, her silence broken by an agonized howl of pain. The leshy woman fell to her knees, the wound freezing to stone. Oboe stared, transfixed in horror. A hint of a smile curled on Bassoon’s lips.

Theodore left the Grayweather estate with a heavy satchel of mementos, and a heavier heart. He did not know what to feel.

 A few words on an old note could not erase years of anger so easily. Yet, his grip had loosened and the familiar vitriol was leaking through his fingers. Now he wondered how different things could’ve been. What if his father had lived? Would it be the same old game, or could they have found a way to reconcile? There was no way to know. Lance was dead.

Theodore stopped to rest on a cobblestone wall, slouching, his nose pressed into the journal. It surprised him how often he was mentioned in the notes. Lance seemed to fret often about going too far, about how it might be too late to fix things, about how everything he said made things worse.

The last entry was dated a few days before Lance was found dead. The details of his last mission were never revealed, but this didn’t stop the bards from capitalizing with ballets on how the Hero Champion had given his body for the kingdom. All Theodore knew was that Whisper, the fairy who had conspired to abduct Prince Perceval, was involved somehow. There was a score to settle there.

A detour was in order. He wound his way back to the Bureaucracy Dome.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grayweather.” Ella Greenwood was the House Secretary for the Governor’s office. A non-descript woman whose face was masked by her long white hair and thick bifocals. Theodore always admired the tidiness of her desk, and how well she ironed her suit, but often forgot she existed the moment he stepped out of the office. “Mr. Farbend is in other meetings now. He was rather angry that you left earlier without handing over sensitive evidence. I don’t believe he will be happy to see you unless you have brought the object with you.”

Theodore shook his head. “I don’t want to trouble him. I’ll have the sword brought back, but there’s something I need to investigate first. I was hoping I could review the agent records.”

Ella scowled at him. “Those records are classified. Matter of national security. You need the clearance of at LEAST a Knight Detective to be allowed to read them.”

“I know that.” Theodore wondered what he had expected. “Listen. I’m hoping an exception can be made. It’s about my father.” He showed her the journal, and the sketch of Whisper. “I found this, and I think he might be involved in some sort of conspiracy against the Crown. It doesn’t have to be today, but I’d like to apply for special permission.”

She stared at the journal, lips reading in silence. “The Hero Champion wrote this?” She looked behind her, and got up. “Where did you find this?”

“In a locked drawer among my father’s things.” Theodore said.

“Follow me.”

Ella led Theodore through the office, down into the second basement. A pair of stout royal knights stood guard at a heavy oak door. “No entry!” They said.

Ella glared at them and waved her hand. “Official business,” she said. They stepped aside with a surprising lack of resistance. Theodore was grateful, but appalled by the security risk.

Ella closed the door behind them. “Make this quick.”

The room was a vault of filing cabinets, each set in the wall and emblazoned with the name or code name of the most trusted agents of the crown, and each aglow with enchanted iron and silver. Theodore identified his father’s cabinet and slid a rolling ladder into place to access it. It clunked, locked tight.

“What’s the combination to open this?” Theodore asked.

“You don’t know?!” Ella’s usual patience was replaced with irritation. “Didn’t you find a code or something to find that journal?”

Theodore knew his father wasn’t so stupid as to use a guessable date to lock up state secrets. He plugged his birthday in anyway. The lock sprang open and Theodore slapped his face in embarrassment. Inside was a deposit box of evidence and a box of case files. Confiscated weapons, illicit potions, contraband, among other things. Theodore fished out the most recent case, Lance’s last mission briefing, and brought it over to the reading table.

Lance.

Duke Ambergrail is the most recent to disappear. Family wants it kept under wraps until he’s retrieved, so his seat in parliament isn’t threatened. Like the others, this is a presumed kidnapping but there has yet to be any ransom. His relatives know to expect you and will give you full run of the estate to investigate. Please make this a priority.

Xavier Stonewall

The only piece of hard evidence in the file was wrapped in silk cloth. Theodore lifted it, and a single black raven’s tailfeather fell out.

“This is it.” Theodore turned it between his fingers. “I can use this in an aura tracker to find Whisper.”

Theodore felt Ella’s fingers slide across his shoulders.

“Incredible,” she said. Then, without so much as a grunt, she lifted Theodore off his feet and threw him across the table.

“Gah!!” Theodore landed face first onto the floor, and pushed himself onto his feet in a daze. He staggered back to see Ella smiling. She placed her folded glasses into a pocket as her face and hair melted away. A pallid, blank eyed mannequin stared at him now.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve needed to find that feather.”

“You’re a doppelganger!” Theodore said, circling Ella at a distance.

She looked at her hands in pretend shock. “Really? Wow. They should have made you Knight Detective after all.”

Theodore made a break for the door, and found it locked. “Guards! Help! A fairy has gotten into the vault!”

She laughed at him. “No one can hear you, moron. First thing I did was throw up a silence spell.” She took the locket she wore around her neck and flicked it open. “Mistress, if you’ve a moment, this is Acorn Seven.” A voice answered, too low for Theodore to make out. “…I’ve secured your missing feather. I have the Ranger Deputy cornered. Requesting permission to eliminate.” Another inaudible reply. “Of course. Just have one of the others takes my spot here as Ella so no one suspects anything.”

‘Ella’ closed the locket with a smile. Her face rippled again, taking on a mirror image of Theodore’s own face. She squeezed the nose, frowning.

“Ugh. This is going to take some getting use to.” She said. “Hey, do me a favor and say something. I want to make sure I get your voice right before I kill you.”

“You’re a spy!” Theodore could not believe what he was seeing. “How did this happen? Imitating a public servant is against the law!”

“You’re a spy!” She deepened her voice. “No. Whinier than that.” She coughed and pitched her voice up. “You’re a spy! There. Perfect.”

“I don’t sound anything like that!” Theodore said and dodged out of the way as the doppelganger hurled the reading table at him. She ran towards him, a clone of himself wearing a manic grin. He sprinted away, and she gave chase.

“By all means, make this fun!” She said. “I could use a good fight after years in this boring, awful office job!”

Theodore choked back his disgust. “Working in the Bureaucracy Dome is an honor and privilege!”

She was closing in. There was nowhere to go. He was sealed into a rectangular room lined with vaults.

“We can talk about this!” Theodore shouted. “You don’t have to be wicked!”

She grabbed him by the hand. “Don’t think so. Gonna have too much fun being you.” She yanked him closer, almost off his feet.

There was no reasoning with her. Oboe wasn’t here to save him. He was going to die unless he took action to defend himself. For the first time in his life, he wondered what his father would do.

He already knew what his father would do. How many lessons had his father dragged him into? How many self-defense drills had he tried to forget? Theodore called on just one of them, and took hold of the fairy’s free hand and twisted her fingers and arm back. She let out a scream and released him.

The moment was all he needed. He jumped onto one of the rolling ladders. It slid down the length of the vault and banged into Lance’s open deposit box. He reached in and grabbed a confiscated sword from evidence.

His mind buzzed, trying to remember the rules. If there was one thing he was good at, it was remembering rules. He jumped off the ladder. Feet apart, a narrow stance pointed sideways toward his opponent. She came barreling towards him, enraged by his grappling trick.

“You think you can fight me?!”

Her momentum could be used against her. He stepped aside, kicking the back of her shins. She tripped. Before he realized what he was doing, before he could stop himself, he swung the sword and carved a red tear through the back of his doppelganger.

“Auggh!” She toppled onto the floor, blood running down her back. She turned, glaring at him with his own eyes, her teeth clenched. Something gave. Her face melted back to a blank canvas, and she slumped.

“What’s going on in there?!”

The silence spell must have failed with her defeat. The guards barged in, finding Theodore hyperventilating.

Ella was bleeding out on the floor. Theodore dropped his sword. What had he done?

“Don’t just stand there!” He shouted at them. “Find a medical kit!”

 Fife put a breakfast of breaded fish with grapes in front of Oboe. She felt queasy just looking at it.

“Don’t be shy,” her brother said. “You’re welcome to anything in my home.”

Most of the family had been busy after the reunion. Everyone had jobs or children to worry about. Fife had both, but had gone out of his way to make time for Oboe. They sat together on his patio in a pair of wicker chairs, watching his kids scream and wrestle in the yard.

Oboe forced herself to eat a grape. “You work with grandmother, right? Do you know a lot about her?”

“Less than you’d think.” Fife said. “I am only an envoy. When I do see the Fair Lady, she is aloof. Distant. I count it a blessing. It is dangerous to be close to her.”

Oboe stared at the limbs of the nearby trees. She wondered if any Whispers were nearby. Leaning toward her brother, she spoke in a hush. “I saw her hurt someone.”

Fife did not bat an eye. “Did you.”

“She made me bring her a sword made of suffering,” Oboe said. “She drove it right into a fairy. That poor fairy is going to be in pain every day forever now.”

“I see,” Fife said. “Then the Fair Lady sealed the curse again.”

“Huh?” Oboe stared at him, eyes widening as realization dawned on her. “You knew.”

Fife set his glass down. “Not officially, but it’s easy enough to pick up on these things in middle management. A human assassin came to the Circle years ago, and almost managed to kill Bassoon. She has taken… measures to make sure the spell does not work as intended.”

“You knew!” Oboe said again. “Those fairies are in pain! Why haven’t you done anything?!”

“Sister.” Fife had just the hint of a grimace. “A word of advice. Try not to think about it.”

“Don’t think about it?! What?? How am I supposed to do that?! What grandmother is doing is awful!”

Fife tore a handful of grapes off their stem, and popped one after another into his mouth. “You do not grow as old as the Fair Lady without a silver tongue and iron fangs. Spilt blood is the reality of the Fairy Circle. We must put up with it, or we wind up like father.”

“What do you mean?” Oboe said.

“He never had the teeth to serve Bassoon. He stopped following orders. So, she had him fired from his work. Forbid him from using his magic, left him with no way to gather Fates. …He won’t live much longer.”

Oboe sat up. “That’s why grandmother looks so much younger than him.”

“She has been with us since the War of the Devil King,” Fife said. “It is not natural for a fairy to live that long. I can’t imagine how many Fates she needs to sustain herself.” He rolled the last grape between his fingers, staring. “Enough that she must steer the course of history. She’s… terrifying.” He took a shaky breath. “You’ve really captured her attention. I’m not sure whether to be jealous or afraid for you. This is dangerous work. Keep your head down and do as she says, no matter how bad it gets.”

“Why?” She asked. “Why do you work for her if she scares you? If she makes you do things you don’t like?”

Fife broke eye contact. “I’m not proud of the work I do, but I won’t wind up like dad. I want a good life for me and my girls. I have to do whatever it takes.”

There was a loud crash that made him wince. He jumped to his feet.

“Oboe Diane Tworeed!” He said, raising his voice. “What did I tell you about throwing your sister?!”

The other Oboe stood over her dazed sibling, amid the debris of what used to be a very fancy wooden archway in the garden. “She started it!”

Fife covered his face. “I don’t care who started it! Go to your room!”

Under enormous protest, the children were banished to their respective bedrooms. Oboe helped her brother clean up the mess. She gathered the broken pieces of wood and felt a growing sense of unease. She hoped that seeing her family would make her feel better about what happened, but it was making it worse. “It bothers me that you don’t like what grandmother does, but you don’t want to do anything about it.”

Fife creased his brow. “It’s how things are. We can’t change it. You remember what it’s like to be nameless, don’t you? It’s taken me years to get where I am. Don’t forget what it’s like to have something to lose.”

The argument with Theo ate at the back of Oboe’s mind. He was so upset that his father had done something terrible. He wanted so bad to set things right. Even so, Fife was right. Oboe did have something to lose. The idea of losing her family again made her want to cry, but being told to forget what she had seen made her feel worse.

“Grandmother is wicked,” Oboe said. “We should do something. There should be consequences.”

Fife grabbed her by the shoulders, startling her. “Oboe. Don’t talk like that. Not here, not in front of any of your family. Creatures that cross the Fair Lady disappear! I won’t have you put yourself or any of us at risk, do you understand me?!”

Oboe pulled away. The fear in her brother’s eyes left her scared too. “Then… what am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing,” Fife said. “Do as you’re told. Don’t think about it. Stay safe.”

It was too late to save the doppelganger.

The knights had no idea where the first aid kit was, despite standard training protocol, despite Theodore’s shouting. It fell on him to find it himself. The knights ran off to alert their commander of what happened. By the time Theodore returned, the life had gone out of the creature he had known as Ella.

“A doppelganger? Here!?” Governor Farbend squeezed past the guards to reach the crime scene. “It’s true then. Mother’s mercy.”

Theodore slumped in a chair. There was a blur of knights on the periphery of his vision all moving and working. He watched the pool of blood creep farther and farther across the floor of the vault until sawdust was dumped to absorb it. Questions were asked. Forensics notes were taken. It all felt so distant, like it was happening in some far away country. He was staring at his hands when the governor shook him from his stupor.

“Look at me, lad!” The governor’s familiar calm was gone. “Tell me what happened!”

Theodore tried to speak, to focus, but felt like his mind was wading through molasses. “Your secretary. Ella, she… She was some sort of spy.”

Mr. Farbend looked at the lifeless, faceless body as it was wrapped in canvas and carried away. “I don’t believe this. I’ve known Ella for years.” His slack jaw tightened. “This is a massive security breach. Did it say who it was working for? Feymire? Korveil? What are we up against?!”

“I don’t know.” Theodore’s eyes felt sunken and dry. “I don’t know.”

Gregory Farbend heaved a frustrated sigh. “An easy answer is too much to hope for, I suppose. What happened?”

“I… I asked her to let me look at the records.” A lump choked his throat. “She attacked. I killed her.”

“Fine work. Your father would be proud.” The Governor patted Theodore on the back, crushing him. “Hopefully whatever secrets the creature stole died with it. We cannot allow an intelligence breach of this magnitude to go unchecked.”

Theodore nodded, trying not to break. He wasn’t allowed to sniffle. He pushed those feelings down and straightened his tie. There was a kingdom to think about.

“Ella was using her necklace to communicate with a superior,” Theodore said. “You should examine it.”

One of the knights flipped open the pendent. “Hello?”

The gemstone inside flashed red and exploded in the knight’s hand. He screamed as his arm was scorched black with burns. The man was lucky the medical kit was still at hand.

“You idiot!” Governor Farbend said, wringing his jowls with his hands. He pulled a Knight Captain aside. “I want a full sweep of all government agencies! Check all personnel with adder stones and weed out imposters.”

The Knight Captain grimaced. “We only have a couple of stones on hand.”

“I’ll have my secretary put in an order—” He caught himself. “Devil damn me. I still can’t believe this. No, I’ll draft the work order myself. The University will supply your men with the stones.”

“Yes sir,” the Captain said. “I’ll prepare a squad at once.”

The governor turned back to Theodore. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Grayweather. I’ll expect a full report. We need anything you can tell us about who might be behind this. The safety of Laien may be on the line.”

The feather was still on the reading table. A single black raven’s feather. Whisper’s feather. Theodore pushed himself out of his chair and picked it up, his breathing still shaky.

“I don’t know who’s behind this, but I know how to find out. Get me an aura tracker and I’ll have something major to report.”

Oboe barged through the entrance of Thistle’s cave, crashing and stumbling through and over his piles of collectibles in a rush.

“Thistle!! Are you home?!” An entire heap of pots and pans clattered onto the cave floor. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. Where are you?! Thistle, please! Hello?! Thistle!!”

Flailing her way past the living area, Oboe found him. He stood knee deep in his work pool, shaping dreams, his back to her.

“There you are!” Oboe said. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t look at her. “I heard you.”

“You didn’t answer!”

His little fingers bent in slow but familiar patterns. A delicate dream bubble bloomed out of the shifting raw magic. It balanced on the tip of his pincer. “Should I?” He waded out of the pool, and placed the dream with the others in an old milk crate. “Don’t recall you listening to me. Not sure why I should return the favor.”

Oboe sniffled. “I’m sorry! I just don’t know what to do!”

“Oh yeah?” Thistle turned just enough to peek over his shoulder. “Did you figure it out?”

“I…” She held her breath. “Grandmother stabbed someone through the chest and I’m scared and I knew she was wicked but the magic on that sword is torture and now that leshy has to live in so much pain and I can’t tell Theo because he might do something to Grandmother and grandmother might do something to him and I don’t want to tell Theo I gave away the sword but I don’t like lying to Theo but I have to lie or else I can’t be with my family and I’m supposed to be wicked but I’m not really good at it and I feel so bad I don’t know what to do help me!!”

Thistle faced her. A grimace, with four narrowed eyes. “Yeah. Sounds like the Circle.” He flicked his one good antennae. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know!!” Oboe pulled at her mane. “What should I do?”

He shrugged with all four arms. “That’s none of my business. I tried telling you what I thought, but you didn’t want to hear it.” He pointed. “You’re grownup now. You get to make whatever stupid mistakes you want. You don’t need my permission.”

Oboe didn’t feel like a grownup. She felt smaller and more helpless than ever before. “Grandmother is doing things that scare me. Bad things. And she’s making me do things I don’t like.”

Thistle climbed into an old wooden chair with a groan. “Then why do them?”

She scowled. “I get to be with my family again!”

“Yeah? So what?” He leaned over a junked cuckoo clock, tinkering with the guts. “Way I remember it, they didn’t lift a finger when you lost your name. That fell on me.” He got in there, elbow deep replacing cogs and forcing gears together. “Not going to pretend I did a good job raising you. You had shit luck to get stuck with a roach like me. Surprised you turned out as good as you did.”

Oboe hung her head. “I’m not good. I’m evil.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I enchanted that human when I was a kid. I did it again with the Percy.” Her throat tightened. “And it felt so good both times! I’m wicked! Grandmother saw that. She said that’s just how I am. That I should embrace it.”

Thistle let out a bitter laugh. “Bassoon is a real piece of work. Living for centuries must screw with your head.” He popped across the workshop to grab a spare counterweight. “Let me tell you something about the Fair Lady, kid. She expects the worst in everyone. You could tell her you’d kill all your friends for a favor, and she’d believe it. Wouldn’t even bat an eye. That’s how she sees this world. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”

“But what if she is right?” Oboe said.

Thistle shook his head. “If she was, do you think you’d be asking that question? Do you think Bassoon even stops to wonder whether she’s right anymore? Do you think she cares?”

Oboe stared at him. She tried to imagine grandmother admitting she was wrong, but couldn’t. “…No. She doesn’t.”

Thistle started to wind the clock. “Oboe. Tell me why you came to see me.”

Why? She wished he would stop talking in riddles. “I don’t know!!” She tried to think about it. “Grandmother is doing awful things, but my family won’t do anything about it! I’m scared, but I know you aren’t! You don’t care what the Circle thinks! I want to know the right thing to do!”

“What do you think I’m going to tell you?”

Oboe stomped. “That I shouldn’t be part of this!! That grandmother is wrong and stupid and I don’t have to be like her!”

The clock sprang to life with a chime, and launched its unsecured wooden cuckoo across the room.

“You already knew what I was going to say,” Thistle said. “Not sure why you bothered coming. You don’t need me. I bet you already know what you need to do. Stop wasting time and go do it.”

Oboe wiped the tears from her eyes. Thistle was wrong. She needed him. This is what she needed to hear. She pulled him into a big hug.

“Thank you!” She said.

“Let go of me!” Thistle fought, but not too hard. “Get out of here! I have work to do!”

Furies patrolled overhead, circling in wide arcs over the Inner circle. Oboe scurried along the ground in the shape of the smallest mouse she could manage and hoped no one could tell she was there. She tried her best not to squeak as she climbed the steps into the palace. It was hard. When she reached the top, the spriggans stared past her as she squeezed under the door.

It was dangerous to come here without her mantle, but there is no way they’d let her snoop where she wanted to snoop if she came like normal. Oboe wanted to tell Theo everything, but not yet. She tricked him when she took the sword away. Making this right meant getting it back and helping that leshy. That was the only way to make up for what she’d done.

The entrance hall seemed empty. She scaled a marble column, wondering where to go. The palace was like a big tangled knot. So much space folded back on itself that anywhere could lead anywhere. She ran up and down hallways that looped back on themselves until she got frustrated. She wondered what Theo would do. He was good at puzzles.

The library was simple enough to find. It was impressive enough to put right next to the main hall. Arching book cases, overflowing with tomes, loomed high overhead. She climbed onto a reading table and frowned. This was a bad idea. It would take her thousands of years to read all the books to find a map.

“Who’s that?!” Someone said.

Oboe darted across a reading table to get away. It was too late. Something clamped down around her and everything went dark.

“Got you!” Her captor said. “Guards! Come here! Now!”

Oboe found herself rattling around the inside of a copper goblet as her captor scooped her up, hand clasped over the top.

“No!!” Oboe said, trying to push past their fingers. “Let me out!”

The fingers spread, and Oboe saw her brother Fife staring down at her in the cup.

“Oboe?” His voice dropped to a hush. “What are you doing here?”

He bristled as a nymph in armor stomped into the library. “What do you want, envoy?” She said. “This had better be important.”

“I, er…” Fife’s eyes darted between the cup and the spriggan. He straightened his back. “My work has grown tiresome! Fetch me more apple wine to make it bearable!”

The nymph sneered at him. “Do I look like a drudge? Get it yourself, you worm!”

Fife puffed himself up. “You’ll regret those words when they make me a Duke!”

“Yeah!” She broke into mocking laughter. “Keep dreaming. Call me again and I’ll have you thrown in the labyrinth!” With that, she marched out.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Fife dumped Oboe out onto the table. She popped back to her normal form.

“That was close!” She said. “Thank you!”

“Quiet!” Fife said, glaring. “What are you thinking, sneaking around like this? Where is your mantle? What are you doing here?!”

Oboe crossed her arms. “It bothers me what grandmother is doing. The humans should know she’s wicked.”

Her brother’s eyes went wide. He glanced back around to be sure they were alone. “Have you gone insane? No! You can’t do that! The Fair Lady will have you killed! Or worse!” He thought about it. “Probably worse!”

“So she should get away with it??” Oboe said. “She tried to kidnap the crowned prince! She stabbed a fairy with a sword made of suffering! Are you really okay with that??”

“Yes!” He froze, mouth hanging open. “No.” A twist of pain flickered in his face. “Look. This is how things are in the Circle. You’d know that if you’d grew up here like I did. Even if the higher ups are doing things you don’t like, you keep your mouth shut. Bad things happen if you don’t.”

Theo wouldn’t have been happy with that answer. “That doesn’t make it right. If you don’t like it, you should do something about it.”

“I can’t just do that, Oboe!” He gripped the front of his mantle. “I have children to think about. I have a life here!”

Oboe took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t! I don’t have anything to lose. I can show people what Grandmother is really like.” She turned away, but Fife grabbed her hand.

“No.” He tightened his hold. “We just got you back.” His eyes softened and tears began to form. “I just got you back. Every day that’s gone by, I’ve thought about what happened to you. It was all my fault! I can’t let you throw your life away now!”

Oboe glared. “Are you going to stop me?”

Fife said nothing. She pulled her hand free.

“Somebody has to do it,” she said and made to leave.

“Wait.”

She looked back. Her brother was even more shaken than before.

“Take the third hallway on the left,” he said, walking closer. “Follow the candles to the Arena. There’s something there that you should see, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

Oboe hugged him. He returned the embrace, trembling.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” he said.

Oboe did not like breaking promises. “I’ll try.”

Oboe followed her brother’s instructions, scurrying up and down hallways after the candles. Would this take her to the labyrinth? She should’ve asked him where she was going. The door ahead was flush to the ground, with no room for a mouse to squeeze through. She shifted back to normal when she thought no one was looking.

“You! Satyr! Come here!”

Oboe jolted at being called out. She whipped around and was confused to see a human barreling towards her.

“Yes, you!” He looked important, with loads of medals and badges all jangling off the front of his blue uniform. His mustache was familiar. This was that human Oboe had seen grandmother talking to the other day. He dressed weird for a human. His shoulders and hat were fuzzy, and he had a long skirt. Belts crossed his front with curved daggers in sheathes. “Where is your Fairy Queen? We grow sick of waiting all of the time! Yes, bring her now!”

“Um.” She looked in every direction, worried a guard might be nearby. “I don’t know where she is. Sorry.”

“That is the bull’s droppings!” He rattled a sword in its scabbard. “I know of you! Do not make pretend! Your queen said you are family, remember? Yet when I am asking where she is, you are not knowing, your harpies are not knowing, all of you are of no use! What are we to do, hmm?!”

“Who are you?” Why was there a human in the Circle? “What are you doing here?”

The fancy human sputtered in disbelief, and puffed out his chest. “You insult me, you insult all of Feymire country! I am High Sergeant Crantor of Brigade Five! The most glittering to serve the twin Empresses!”

“Oh!” Oboe said. “You’re from a faraway place. That’s so cool!”

Crantor ran a hand through his thick sideburns. “Yes. It is very cold in my country. I am missing it with all of my heart. Yet I am here, in the rain lands, waiting forever for the war. But why? You promise to take the Laien prince heir away. Yet he returns?!” He spat. “You make fools of us!”

“Wait, war?” This was the first thing Oboe had heard about this. “What are you talking about?”

The human ground his teeth and shook. “Empty headed fairy! I will show your eyes!” He took her by the shoulder and marched her through the door she meant to enter. Oboe wondered whether to run, or fight, but before she could decide she was pushed through an archway outside into the stadium that once held the Tournament of Titles. It was filled with hundreds, no, thousands of humans like Crantor. Humans with strange uniforms, who were sharpening swords and training to fight. Oboe gaped. It was a whole army.

“Ah, you remember now, yes? Seeing helped you. I know these things.” He let out a snort. “We have alliance. You help us to take Laien. Hide the soldiers so King Stonewall does not know until much too late. You take his son, we break his spirit. You magic us inside. Short war, quick. Then Feymire will have all the secrets and riches Laien hides from us, and you will rule here as servant to Empresses.”

Oboe couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “You are going to invade Laien.”

“She is getting it!” Crantor slapped her across the back. “Very good. Maybe you bring Queen Bassoon here, so she also remember? We are all of us sick of the waiting.” He pushed her back out the door. “Fetch her for me, little goat. That is a good child, yes.”