Jocelyn’s spirits were high after her encounter with the Karnapinaes. She may have been nothing more than a young, unarmed girl, but she had matched wits with an entire small kingdom of bloodthirsty cannibals and won. Even better, she had done it in her own way.

How surprising to find that Jocelyn’s education at Miss Eliza Crumb-Biddlecomb’s Finishing School for Young Ladies had actually come in useful. Think on that next time you are bemoaning your mathematics homework.

Jocelyn considered her original plan of locating Edgar, trusting that he would be able to secure some kind of help in rescuing her crew. She only hoped she could find her men before the crocodile found her. Though she wasn’t ready to give up on her quest to avenge her father, she did not want to face the monster on her own again. It was ever so much worse than cannibals.

She reached for the compass in her pocket before remembering that it was gone. If only Roger hadn’t chosen to forget her—they could rescue her crew and fight the beast together. But thinking about Roger wasn’t going to solve her problems. She resolved to put him out of her mind and figure out what to do next.

First, Jocelyn wanted her sword. Then she’d go looking for Edgar and find a way to save her men from Captain Krueger. Just thinking about what that horrible man might be doing with her crew made the girl’s head ache with worry—though she knew that fretting wouldn’t solve anything. She squared her shoulders and marched up the trail.

The way back felt longer than she remembered. Hours passed, marked by the constant rumbling of her stomach. This time the island did not offer her mangoes, or anything else. The shade deepened, and even in a tropical jungle the cool snap of autumn hung in the air. The prospect of spending the night alone and unarmed was a bit worrisome.

Finally, Jocelyn returned to the area where she had been captured. In their excitement at taking her prisoner, the Karnapinae warriors had neglected to reset their snare. The net lay in a crumpled heap, clearly marking the spot. To her great relief, she spied a glint of silver in the brush. She picked up her sword, polished it on the ragged hem of her dress, and returned it to its sheath.

A movement in the foliage caught Jocelyn’s eye. For a moment she was unable to puzzle out what had caused it. All that registered was an enormous mass of scales and serpentine muscle.

To refer to the creature as a snake would be a gross understatement. Yet “uncommonly large cylindrical reptile” is such a mouthful, wouldn’t you agree? For the purpose of ease in speaking, I’ll use the more convenient term, but you must promise not to underestimate.

The snake’s length proved impossible to guess, as it lay coiled in a twisting, writhing pile; its girth, however, was easily that of Jocelyn’s leg. It was a murky gray, nearly black, with a sickly green underbelly. If it hadn’t been for that dark coloring, the girl might not have noticed the miniature victim trapped in the snake’s grip. A faint glow shone from a tiny humanlike leg wedged between its clenched coils. Jocelyn gasped.

The only real fairy she had met thus far had not left a good impression. Still, the girl had read enough to be relatively well-informed as to their general character. Sometimes the wee folk were pleasant and good to humans, but usually not. More often they liked to play pranks and wreak havoc. As such, Jocelyn felt that they were kindred spirits. She simply could not let one be killed by a snake.

“Listen to me, you vile beast. I command you to release that poor creature at once.”

The viper bared its fangs and hissed, continuing to squeeze its prey. The fairy’s light was growing dimmer. It did not appear to have much time left. Jocelyn picked up a stick and whacked the reptile across the back. It bounced off with a thud.

“I said, put it down!”

Slowly, but without releasing its captive, the snake stretched toward the girl. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she stood her ground. Coil by coil, it unwound. Jocelyn heard the crackling of fallen leaves as the snake’s heavy body crushed them to powder. A musky odor hung in the air as it pulled back and prepared to strike.

Joceyln blinked, and the serpent’s head was flying through the air, mouth open, razor-sharp fangs coming straight for her face. Jocelyn struck without thinking. She felt the familiar grip of the sword in her hand and wondered how it had gotten there. At her feet lay the headless snake, its cold red blood soaking into the ground.

She stared at the carnage for a few seconds before remembering the fairy. It took her some time to find the tiny being, buried as it was in the still-twitching remains. When at last she located it, the fairy was not moving.

Jocelyn cradled the little creature in her palm, peering closely. It was male, and if her fairy tales had been correct, his faint blue coloring indicated him to be noble—possibly even royal. Things did not look promising. His body was crushed into an unnatural shape, with one fragile wing slightly torn. Worse yet, he lay absolutely still, not appearing to breathe. Even in the deep jungle shade, the fairy’s light was so faint Jocelyn could hardly see it.

Killing the snake had not saved him. Her efforts had made no difference.

The fairy would die.