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

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

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

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

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

“Point to Grayweather!” Fullhound said.

“He won?!” Oboe said.

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

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

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

“Begin!”

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

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

“Theo!”

“Point to Whitechain!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Begin!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Point to Whitechain!”

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

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

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

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

“Begin!”

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

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

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

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

“Please,” Theodore said.

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

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

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

“No!!” Oboe said.

“Point to Whitechain!”

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

“Stay back, faun. We aren’t done.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Begin!”

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

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

“Point to Whitechain!”

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

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

“Point to Whitechain!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The grave wasn’t capable of saying anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I’m going to the Circle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Voices rang out. The motion passed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I sit?” She said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oboe?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should leave,” Oboe said.

“What?” He did not understand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let us make haste.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thistle waddled through the junkyard. It was early morning, and there was no wind. Just a stifling quiet and the sharp scent of rust. Thistle looked around at the heaps of human garbage, all tucked away in the dusty foothills of the Upside mountains where it was out of sight. He glowered. You’d think he hated it here, but Oboe knew better. His good antennae twitched, and he scurried after something.

There was a coat hanger poking out from under a big pile of broken bicycles. He grabbed it and pulled, kicking his spindly legs trying to pull it free. It was stuck.

“Oboe!” He yelled. “Give me a hand!”

Oboe moped, sitting on top of a big mound of busted old wagon wheels. Getting up felt like the most difficult thing in the world.

“You want to help or not?!” Thistle said. “Get over here, kid!”

She slid down, curling into a slump at the bottom. Shoving herself onto her hooves, she slouched over to him. She pulled the coat Hanger out with a yank and the whole pile of bicycles came crashing down where they made a huge mess. Oboe didn’t think there was anything she could do to ruin the junkyard, but she was wrong.

“Perfect,” Thistle said. He snatched the coat hanger away and toddled up to his cart where he tucked it into his collection of other treasures.

This was something the old sylph did long before Oboe first met him. He would come out to the outskirts of the capital to pick through the things the humans threw away. He found things he liked, made them useful with magic, and then tried his best to sell them. It was his favorite thing. And, sometimes, when Oboe was upset, or bored, or very, very lonely, he would take her with him.

It stank here. Like rust, and mud, and rotten fruit. It wasn’t a bad smell. It made her feel nostalgic.

“Not that it’s any of my business,” Thistle said as he clambered up onto a mound of scrap metal. “But haven’t you got more important things to do right now?”

“No.” After what had happened, Oboe felt like this was where she belonged. “I’d just make things worse.”

Thistle starting digging through the mess. “Huh.” He said. “Doubt that. Can’t break what’s already broke. I’d rather have you mucking things up than any of those overgrown weeds on the council. At least you care if someone gets hurt.”

Oboe wasn’t sure she did anymore. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “They kicked me out. I went, and I tried, but the Titled are awful and I hate them, and thinking about it hurts so much, and nothing I can do will ever change any of it!!”

“Been saying that for years,” Thistle said. “Can’t say I like hearing it coming out of you. What’re you going to do now, then?”

“I’m not going to do anything!” Oboe said, sick of it being her problem. “They can fall apart for all I care! I’m done. I’m leaving Laien.”

“I see.” Thistle said. He let the moment hang. “So why are you still here?”

Oboe didn’t have an answer. “I just… I wanted to see you. I wanted to say goodbye.”

Thistle seemed to think about this, stuck out his lower lip, and shook his head. “Nope. I don’t buy it. You know better than to stick around for an old roach like me. How many times have I told you to leave? To go find someplace better than this dump? You never listen. Why start now?”

“I’m serious!” Oboe said, annoyed.

Thistle went back to digging. “The only reason you ever come out here with me is so you can talk to someone. If you’re really done, which you aren’t, good. Great. Go! May the Mother’s mercy follow you. But we both know there’s something else. So, start talking already.”

She let her mouth hang open. He was right. More than anything she needed to talk, but when she tried the words felt dry and stick.

“I think…” she said, with great effort. “I think I crossed a line with Theo. …Now I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh yeah?” He said. “You gonna tell me about it, or are you just going to keep dragging your hooves?”

She pinched her fingers. She needed to let it out, but she was terrified of what Thistle would think of her.

“I… kissed him.”

Thistle stopped digging. “You WHAT?” He spun toward her. “Kissed him? That face nuzzling tongue thing you fuzzy fairies do with creatures you want to mate with??”

“…Y-yeah.” Oboe felt hot all of a sudden.

“With HIM?” He squinted at her in disbelief. “Isn’t he kind of a grumpy asshole?”

“He’s not!” Oboe said. “He’s nice, and good, and he came to find me at the Circle! He forgave me when I was stupid and listened to my grandmother. He doesn’t care that I’m nameless, and he believes in me!”

“Okay.” Thistle rolled his eyes. “But he’s a human. That’s gross. Gross and weird.”

“I know that!” Oboe said, pulling at her mane. “He doesn’t have any horns. There’s only hair on his head, and they all smell funny! It’s weird and wrong and every time I look at him I feel warm and good and I want to be with him!”

Thistle went back to digging. “Suppose beggars can’t be choosers. A human, huh. I always hoped there’d be a miracle, and some foreign buck would whisk you away before learning the details. Just proves the Mother’s a real prankster.” He looked up after a moment, mortified. “…HIM?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Oboe said. “Nothing matters. I asked him to leave with me. …He said no.” Her stomach twisted in knots remembering it. “He wants to stay and fight and save everyone, and I don’t. I can’t! I’m not good like him. And now he knows that.”

“Hold on a second.”

Thistle stuck his arm deep into the scrap pile and rooted around. He pulled out a small golden ring, which glinted in the sun. Nodding, he chucked it across the junkyard and it landed in his wagon with a sharp ping. He fluttered down from the pile, brushing his hands off.

“You remember that time you wanted to go to Red Spire?”

“What?” Oboe was bewildered. Annoyed. “What are you talking about? No!”

“It was like a year after they took your name,” Thistle said. “First year was hardest. Or maybe it was just when you threw the most fits. I don’t know. Anyway, I told you we should find you a new Circle to call home, and you got it in your head that the Circle in Red Spire was the one for you.”

“I should’ve gone,” Oboe said, bitter. “Why didn’t I?”

Thistle shrugged. “We packed bags full of everything you’d need. Right when we were about to go, you changed your mind. Told me this was your home. If there was a chance things would change, and I told you there wasn’t, you wanted to stay.”

“I was stupid,” Oboe said.

Thistle glared. “No. Shut up. Just shut up and listen to me.”

Oboe stopped talking. She waited for Thistle to say something else, but he didn’t. He stood there, flexing his twiggy fingers, his mouth opening and closing like he was always half way to starting.

“That was important. …Important to me, anyway.” He stopped looking at her. “You were just this kid. The Circle shat on you. Maybe it would’ve been kinder if they killed you, but they didn’t. They did their worst, but that didn’t matter. You had hope things would get better. …That’s not something you learned from me, and you sure as hell didn’t learn it from them.”

Oboe listened. Thistle struggled to get the rest out.

“…No matter how bad it got, you always had that… hope. That… Seeing that broke me.” He cleared his throat, and focused. “It CHANGED me. Got me to try talking to the Mother again. It was like, no matter what the world was like, I could just look at little Oboe and I’d see hope. It was just inside you, it was PART of you. And… that always kept me going.”

Whatever hope Thistle had seen inside Oboe had dried up. It was dead. Killed by the Circle. She looked at the old bug, feeling like this conversation was another mistake.

“I was a kid and I didn’t know any better,” she said. “Now I do.”

Thistle didn’t say anything.

“Thank you for being there for me,” Oboe said. “I hope we meet again someday.” She turned to leave.

“Hold on!” Thistle said. “Get back here! You aren’t going anywhere!”

Oboe marched away. “Watch me.”

Passing through the shadow link was like walking through a split ore of amethyst. Jagged shapes of lavender glimmered around them, lighting Theodore’s way inside a sea of black. Wisps of vapor churned around them, drifting along forking paths.

“We will arrive in the capital shortly,” the Tall Man said. “Do you have a plan?”

Theodore nodded. “If I can get the city Watch to evacuate North Manor, the villagers will be safe. Then I can find Beira and talk her out of this attack.”

“I see.” The Tall Man leered at him in silence as they walked. “While it is good you have become more… diplomatic since you dealt with me, I fear that talking will not be enough. You need to kill her.”

“No,” Theodore said. His breathing quickened. “Are you insane? There must be a better solution than that!”

“The countess is beyond listening to anyone now,” the ghast said. “Others have tried, but she has only grown more resolute in her madness. She is prepared to sacrifice everything for the independence of fairies.”

They came to a stop in front of long oval of tinted black glass. On the other side, Theodore could make out a city street busy with the traffic of silhouettes.

“This is our fault,” Theodore said. “If the human government would just treat creatures with respect, things like this wouldn’t happen.”

“I will not argue with that,” the Tall Man said. “The cruelties of kings, and dukes, and knights are all poison in the hearts of the Whirlwood creatures. …And to be honest, I still have not forgiven you for what you did to me.”

His mouth dry, Theodore squeezed the ring on his finger.

“However,” The Tall Man went on. “Our ancestors made a promise to one another. My people turned against their king and turned toward yours, because they dreamed of a world where all the Mother’s children might live in peace. It is a dream now worn and frayed, ready to tear, but it is still a dream I wish to believe in.”

“We swore to protect and aid you.” The First Treaty ran through Theodore’s mind. “We haven’t. We’ve ignored you, or worse.” He realized he was shaking. “I don’t want to be like those other knights. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to make things better.”

The bogeyman wrapped his slender fingers around Theodore’s shoulder. “Good,” he said. “Then protect us from Beira. Be our voice and rally your people to stop her. She cannot be allowed to throw everything away in anger.”

“But why does she have to die?!” Theodore said.

“I fear the time to talk has passed. Her mind is set and she will not rest until there is war. Do not forget why we need knights at all. There are times when we must protect the things we care about, and there are times that calls for violence. If you cannot do this, if you cannot slay the Countess and stay the wrathful hand of your people, then she will be proven right: The dream is dead.” His grip tightened. “Kill her and prove her wrong.”

Theodore watched Oboe stab Bassoon again in the theater of his mind, and how he wasn’t strong enough to be the one to do it. “I don’t think I can.”

“I saw your eyes when you chased me with that knife.” The Tall Man let go of him. “I can sense the fear you have of opening yourself to the monster inside you. I know you are fierce enough to do what needs to be done. Do not be afraid.” He reached out and pulled back the curtain of glass to create a door to the city. “Your mercy is still a part of you, just the same. Right now, Beira needs to be stopped, and that means I need you to be the bigger monster.”

The bank teller put a thick envelope of thaler bills down on the counter. Oboe checked that it was money, all the wages she’d earned, then crammed it into her drawstring bag.

Flying away wasn’t enough. The kingdom was large and stretched in all directions, except one. Sea gulls shrieked overhead and a salty breeze blew across the docks and ruffled her fur.

“We don’t take fairy passengers.” The ship captain was round, unshaven, and ragged. He smelled like tar and old fish. “You’re bad luck.”

Oboe opened her purse and made him change his mind. The sailors brought out a bench for her to rest on while the boat was made ready, and men begged to carry luggage she didn’t have.

It was a big wooden ship, old and battered, with an angry engine that could chop through the ocean with propeller blades when there wasn’t wind for the sails. They called her the Grand Mule. Once she was loaded with barrels of magic and goods to trade, she would take Oboe to Red Spire. There, she could start a new life and forget the one she left behind.

“Oboe?”

The hair on her back bristled. She turned her stiff neck and saw her brother Fife, with his thin scruffy beard and curled horns.

“…What are you doing?” He said.

Oboe felt as if the sailors had chained the ship’s anchor to her back. There was a betrayed, scared look in her brother’s eyes.

“I’m leaving,” she said, trying to sound strong. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Thistle told me,” he said. “He was looking for Theo but found me instead.” He glanced up at the Grand Mule and back to her. “It’s true then? You can’t. We need you!”

Oboe felt angry and grateful and tired beyond words. Everything needed to stop, but nothing could be that easy, could it? “I don’t care. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t care what happens, I’m DONE.”

Fife bent down and took her hand. “Sister,” he said. “I just got you back in my life, and I won’t lose you. Not again. Let’s go back to the Circle and talk about this.”

Oboe yanked her hand out of his grasp. “I am not going back there! I hope the humans burn it to the ground!”

Fife winced at those words. “Oboe, please. That’s my home you’re talking about.”

“Not anymore.” She glared, feeling cruel. “They kicked you out, just like they kicked me out. Maybe they’ll take your name too, and then you’ll know what it’s like!”

He tensed, no longer able to look her in the eye. Standing, his arms fell to his sides. “I heard about what happened at the council. …I know you’ve been through more than I can imagine, but please don’t give up on the Circle.”

“Every bad thing that’s ever happened to me is because of the Circle,” she said. “I used to blame myself, but that was just another trick. The Circle is rotten. It deserves whatever happens to it.”

“There is a lot wrong with us,” Fife said. “I know. I worked in the palace and… I let a lot of things happen that I know I shouldn’t have.” His face scrunched, pained. “But not everything in the Circle is broken. There are a lot of good creatures that live there, ones that don’t deserve to suffer because of the Titled. Do you think little Oboe, your niece, my daughter, deserves to get hurt because of where she was born?”

Oboe couldn’t say anything.

“When you came back, you opened my eyes,” he said. “You made me realize what I was tolerating. That’s why we need you.”

“Nobody needs me,” Oboe said.

“You’re exactly what we need!” Fife said, eyes fierce. “You’re one of us, but also aren’t. We all pretend to be good and just and righteous, but you! That’s just how you are! I’ve seen it. You talked to a useless, puffed-up clerk like me, and you convinced me to stand up to the Fair Lady! If you can do that, if you managed to wake me up, then I think you can find the goodness buried in the rest of us and do something with it!”

“There’s nothing good inside the Titled,” she said, but the words were weaker than before.

“Then don’t talk to the Titled.” He planted his hands on her shoulders. “Talk to someone, anyone else. Do something! You’re right, the Circle is rotten, but you came and you changed something, and I’m begging you sis, keep helping us change things so something can get better! We need this, and I need you!”

Oboe looked into her brother’s pleading eyes and felt something. She got up and looked up at the Grand Mule. It was her escape from a life of pain and heart ache. It was her chance at freedom. She imagined her life across the sea, and it tasted as bitter as her years in exile.

Oboe hugged her brother. She was being stupid, but she was lucky to have him, and Thistle, and Theo, and everyone else.

“Thank you,” she said.

Scanning the tree line through binoculars, Theodore saw the creatures gathering. He counted two dozen, but there could be more. Hardly an army, but enough to do some damage. There were a few ghasts, but most were fairies. Their faces were sneering and anxious. Theodore recognized Curdie the goblin and Fern the crone among them.

Watchmen sharpened their swords and loaded crossbows around him inside the manor’s upper floor. With luck, there would be no battle, but preparations were made just the same. Theodore was lent a sword and armor from the battered leftovers of whatever was at hand. A scratched iron cuirass with too-big chainmail and mismatched leather greaves and gloves. It made him look ridiculous, but it would serve.

He moved to another window to spy and caught a glimpse of Beira behind the trees. She was giving an impassioned speech. The scene was too far away to hear, but he could infer the tone. Beira stomped back and forth across the meadow, whipping her tail and throwing her head back with dramatic flourish. Whatever she was saying, it was loud.

“How is the evacuation going?” Theodore said, handing off the binoculars.

Lieutenant Fritz looked harried, like he was still thinking about a long nap he planned to have but would no longer get to take. “We’ve got everyone out and on the way to the city walls.” He fingered the hilt of his sheathed sword. “You think they’ll back off now that we’re onto her plan?”

Theodore shook his head. “It doesn’t look that way.” There was no way Beira was oblivious to the evacuation. Perhaps a real battle was what she was after all along. “If I can’t talk her down, then we’ll have to fight.”

“We don’t have enough men for this!” Fritz said. “Why’d this have to happen when most of the Watch is tied up babysitting the Fairy Circle? It’s going to take hours for the other knight orders to gear up and help us!”

“Lieutenant!” One of the scouts called, still kneeling at the window and keeping watch. “Something’s happening!”

They didn’t need binoculars to see it. Beira came galloping out from the forest, her followers marching after her. She climbed to the top of a hillock and pointed her horn at the village.

“What’s it doing?” Fritz said.

There was a glint of light off her horn. Thick, gray clouds began to form and gather around its point. A wind picked up, growing in speed and rattling the window shutters. Theodore could not believe how fast the clouds were gathering around Beira’s horn, growing so wide and long that her forces could no longer be seen. All at once, the clouds raced forward riding on howling winds. Hunks of hail the size of cannon balls crashed through the walls and windows. Lightning stabbed at the buildings, and a typhoon swirled around them. In only a few moments, the storm engulfed the whole village and blotted out the sky.

“Shit!” Fritz shouted as icy wind blasted through the window. Theodore struggled to keep his balance as frost crept along the walls and floor.

Everyone pulled back, retreating down the stairs to the first floor where the knights who weren’t caught outside were arming themselves. Swords were hooked to belts, helmets strapped, and armor fastened. The storm raged, shaking the walls around them. A barrel was cracked open, filled to bursting with calcified magic shards. The mages scooped the ammunition into holsters, then each snapped the brittle stones in their hands to ready their first spells.

“I told you I want to try talking first!” Theodore said as Fritz shoved a sword into his hands. “There’s a chance we don’t have to fight!”

“Yeah! That worked SO WELL back at the Fount,” Fritz said, sarcastic. “This is a Code Fang! A full blown wicked assault on civilian land! Either help us, or stay out of the way!”

Theodore’s breath could be seen in the now freezing air. He wanted to say something to stop the fighting, but the Lieutenant was right. The attack was already underway. Beira was not going to listen.

“Alright patrol!” The lieutenant’s voice cracked as he addressed the men and women under his command. His aloof tone replaced with panicked leadership. “We’ve only counted 26 of them! Which is… We can handle this! It’s fine! Stick close to your assigned wizards! Keep your swords charged! Silver and iron! We just got to hold out until back up arrives, alright?! Show them why you don’t mess with Laien!”

A cheer went up through the room. The combat mages channeled their spells and threw up translucent pink barriers around their squads. Theodore tried to keep pace as he followed his team out the door and into the raging weather. The spell protected them from the wind and ice, and let them charge out into the manor yard, boots crunching on new fallen snow, as fairies and ghasts tore through the village knocking over carts and smashing windows.

“Kill them!” Someone shouted. Theodore wasn’t sure if it was a knight or a creature. Both sides collided. Claws raked along the ground and tails whipped. Gnomes danced around sword swipes, and a fury pounced on a man to tear at his face with beak and dagger. A magic crossbow bolt zipped through the air to impale the fury, pinning her to the ground screaming. Shining silver swords hacked a werewolf limb from limb, but not before he tore a woman’s head from her shoulders.

After first blood, the forces pulled apart. A rain of crossbow bolts sent the creatures darting behind cover. There, they threw rocks and taunted. Someone gave chase, jumping out of their wizard’s bubble, only to get grabbed from behind and as he rounded the corner.

“Stay in formation!” Fritz yelled over the wind. “Don’t let them draw you out!”

Shield up, one of the soldiers moved to the center of the battlefield. The fury was there, still screaming as blood pooled on the ground. He slit her throat and there was quiet. Theodore’s stomach turned. He looked out to the hillock, at Beira absorbed in concentration conjuring the storm around them. He tightened his grip on his sword. She was the reason this was happening. The Tall Man said he needed to kill her to stop this.

“We need to go after the unicorn!” Theodore said. “She’s distracted with her spell!”

“I don’t care!” Fritz said. The archers worked to reload their enchanted crossbows. “We’re got enough trouble right here! I want everyone to turtle up until our back up gets here!”

“We have a chance to take out their leader!!”

“You’re not in charge here, ‘Deputy!’ We’re not coming after you if you want to make a suicide run!”

Growling, Theodore swung around and pushed his shoulder through the membrane of the barrier. The cold was sharp needles pricking his skin through his armor. A troll crashed out from behind a cottage and tried to grab him. Theodore jumped back and brought his long sword down on the troll’s reaching arm. It chopped deep but did not sever it. The troll howled in pain as Theodore pulled the blade free and ran. Racing against the gale in his face, Theodore tried not to think of the blood racing down the troll’s arm. He tried not to think about sutures or gangrene or whether he’d fractured the bone. He locked his eyes on Beira, his teeth grit, and dashed as fast as he could with hot tears streaming down his face.