Chapter Sixteen

 

 

Once the group had exited the tunnels, stepping into sunlight again, James had been quick to grab his notebook from his backpack and begin to jot down everything he could remember about the dwarf and the artifacts it had hoarded.

The sun was warming on his back, even though his eyes stung as they adjusted to the light, and he felt slightly comforted with a notebook in his hands. Thoughts of Commander Walker’s death, Boyd’s threats, and the dull aching of his bruised face were soon eased from his mind as thoughts of ancient weapons and Unseelie creatures leaped from his pen to the crumpled pages, bringing with it the thrill of knowledge.

As he wrote furiously while he walked, hardly aware of where he was stepping, he gripped his notebook tightly like it was the only thing he had left.

An Unseelie dwarf is susceptible to trickery. A victim of its own greed, the creature even grabbed an iron skillet— James frowned at the page. A skillet didn’t sound nearly cool enough. He scratched through it. The creature even grabbed an iron mace that was tossed to him, oblivious to the risk involved.

He thought about adding the part where his brother had slain the dwarf with an axe, but stopped. I mean, anyone could have done that. I could have done that, too, if I’d been given the chance…

He opted instead to write down Alvey’s information on the Seelies and Unseelies switching sides: This information came to me from a… half elf…

James paused, trying to think of a descriptor for her. A know-it-all half elf? A snobby half elf? He found he couldn’t think of anything he liked—most of what he came up with was either inconsequential, mean, or just plain embarrassing, like the fact that she was very capable and just plain pretty.

James began to climb up the embankment with everyone else, giving up for now.

The tunnels had led out into a small ravine and above that, a small grove. He sat on the ground and returned to his notebook, adding a question mark beside his new note about breaking the barrier. He had never heard of anything that could drain magic from a faery or that could break down something as powerful as a magical barrier. It occurred to him then that he would soon see the barrier, and the Summer Court, for himself.

He got chills just thinking about it—being one of the first humans to ever go past the barrier. And yet the thought also made him anxious, knowing that his brother’s reasons for wanting to go there were far different from his own. His brother seemed intent on involving himself in this conflict with their father, the Iron Guard, and the Winter Court.

James wanted nothing to do with that conflict. All he wanted was to find Mum and see as many faery wonders as he could in the process; that was what he and Iain had always talked about doing. And seeing the Summer Court was a wonder he had never even thought possible to dream of.

Maybe Alvey would know more about the Summer Court and the barrier…

He let out a low groan, annoyed at the mere thought of asking her opinion. Then again, he reasoned, she had told him about the warring Courts when he’d asked, so perhaps she would be accommodating again. Determined, he got up and walked over to where Alvey had parked her chair under a shady gathering of trees at the edge of the forest.

James watched her curiously as he neared, finding her heightened senses amazing. When Alvey heard footsteps, she perked up, straightening in her chair and smiling. Then she leaned her head forward and took a sniff of the air.

Then she scowled. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you… Jay— I mean, James.”

James felt his face heat. “How did you know?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. It was both baffling and mortifying that she could smell him.

But I bathed last night!

I guess I was sweating a lot earlier…

Alvey just smirked. “I just know things. All beings such as myself know things.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Additionally, your footfalls are unmistakably light.”

“Right.” James scoffed. “So if you know things, can you tell me what can break down a barrier like the one around the Summer Court?”

“I will answer your questions if you answer mine in return. ’Tis only fair.” Alvey folded her hands in her lap coyly.

James’s mouth stretched into a wide, smug smile. She was asking him questions now. He knew there must be some stuff she didn’t know about. “What questions? I know a lot about—”

“Your brother. I wish to learn about Iain.”

James felt his ego deflate like a sad balloon. “What?”

The half elf’s pale face had gone pink. “He is quite fascinating— I do not have much knowledge on humans, you see. Your brother is a good specimen to study.”

“I’m human—”

“Does he have a courter? A betrothed? A maiden?”

James’s mouth was dry from how long his jaw had been hanging open. “If I answer, will you tell me about the barrier?”

“Indeed.”

“Fine. He doesn’t have a girlfriend currently,” James ground out. “Now answer my question: What could break the barrier around the Summer Court?”

Alvey stiffened. “Methinks no such thing exists. At least nothing that I have ever heard of could do such a thing.”

Well, that was a waste of time…

Sighing, James went to put his notebook away, when he spotted the book on Unseelie faeries inside. A thought occurred to him, and a jolt of excitement shot through him. He fumbled with the book with shaky hands as he retrieved it, forgetting that she would not be able to read it.

“You know a lot about Unseelie faeries, right?” James asked hopefully.

“Aye.”

“Then what kind of faery would live in the moorlands? I have this book, but the pages are torn out, and—”

“Ah, I see. You must be searching for your master.”

James snapped his head up from his book in bewilderment. “My what?” He shook his head, chuckling nervously. “No, no. I’m looking for the creature that has my mum. You see, she—”

“Aha!” Alvey interrupted him, snapping her fingers sharply. “That explains it. Your mother became a thrall in your place, shifting the bond but not the mark. That explains why I can sense the mark on you, yet I can clearly sense you are not fully a thrall.”

The book slipped from James’s fingers and onto the ground. He was barely aware of it, of anything. He saw Alvey’s lips moving, but he could not process anything else she was saying for a long while.

A thrall? What does that mean? Come on! You know this! You know what it means; you remember seeing the term before. Just focus on the knowledge. Forget about everything else. Just think!

“—your father?”

James flinched. “W-what?”

“Do you think it was your father who sold you to this Unseelie creature?” Alvey asked conversationally. “That is the conclusion Deirdre came to. I am curious as to what he got in return for your life.”

The realization hit him, striking truer than Boyd bashing his face against the ground.

James let out a ragged breath. His throat tightened, and when he tried to respond, no words came out.

“Are you going to cry?” Alvey asked, not unkindly. “I can hear it in your throat, like a clicking sound. I suppose that means you were not aware. I have done you a favor by telling you.”

Snatching the book from the ground, James staggered off toward the others numbly. He was not conscious of his anger until he saw his brother standing there, laughing at something Deirdre had said.

He was not aware of whom his anger was directed at until he threw the book at Iain’s head.

The book fell short, arcing through the air and thudding right in front of Iain’s feet, causing him to jump back. Iain looked up in alarm as James charged toward him.

“You’re a liar!” James shouted, unable to stem the flow of the dam breaking in his chest. “You said he was still looking out for us, but you were wrong! You were wrong about everything!”

“James? What are you talking about?” Iain’s expression shifted from annoyance to concern. He held out his hands to calm James, to reason with him, but it only made him more irritated.

Deirdre, wide-eyed, attempted to step in. “You shouldn’t throw things at people,” she scolded unhelpfully, sounding just as much like a mother hen as Iain usually did. “James, we need to talk about your behavior—!”

James ignored her.

“I wanted to leave a long time ago!” he continued, his voice raw, but as long as he kept yelling, he wouldn’t break. “I wanted to leave, and you always said that we would, but you were lying, and you just kept—you just let him push us around and use us, and—”

“James, just calm down, yeah? Take a seat, and we’ll talk about this.”

“I’m done talking, and I’m done listening to you try to defend him. You don’t even know anything about him, do you? Or anyone! I’ve always been able to see it, and you made me feel like I was—like I was wrong for thinking it!” James heard his voice falter, and he paused to steady himself.

“This is about Dad.” Iain reached toward him, but James shrugged his hand away. “Isn’t it?”

“We should have left before any of this happened! Before Elaine happened!” James continued, though he was losing steam each moment his brother stared at him. “We should have gone after Mum when she left! I told you he was a monster, and I knew he hated us, but I didn’t think he would—” James broke off, breathless, all his energy spent. “But you never listened. Not when I asked you to trust Marko and not when I told you Deirdre was safe…”

Sitting down on a nearby log, James hunched over, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

At that point, Alvey strolled up in her chair. James did not know for certain, but he thought he heard her clapping lazily over the roaring of blood rushing in his ears. He stubbornly fought back a wave of embarrassment.

“What a display,” Alvey drawled. “In case you did not grasp what your little brother was screeching about, I merely informed him that his father must have sold him as a thrall to this moorland creature he was going on about and that his mother had, logically, taken his place.”

James glared at the ground, unwilling to see his brother’s dumbstruck expression as he fumbled over his words and asked senseless questions.

“Alvey!” Deirdre shrieked. “I was going to break it to them gently. Gently!”

“Best to rip the bandage off with haste, methinks.”

“What—what’s going on? How did you figure that out?” Iain asked, bewildered.

When James finally looked up, he asked Iain, “What’s a thrall? I remember the word, but I can’t place it. I can’t… think.”

Ignoring James’s question, Iain turned to Alvey, asking firmly, “How do you know he’s a thrall? Are you certain?”

“Aye. I can sense it on him, like a mark. He was a thrall at some point in time, but that title had shifted, I presume, to your mother, whom James said was missing. It was not a difficult conclusion to come to.”

“Marked by dark magic,” James said. “Now we know what that means.”

“We don’t know anything for certain yet.” Iain sat next to him a little ways down the log. “Thralls are rare. Some people don’t even think they exist outside of tales…” He sighed and then said carefully, “But a thrall—a thrall is an indentured servant of a faery.”

James nodded, his head clearing. As the anger faded, slowly being replaced by recollection, he felt himself begin to calm down, though the resentment did not fade. It never did. “Mum used to tell us the story of Rumpelstiltskin. The miller’s daughter made a pact with the faery man if he turned straw to gold in exchange f-for her firstborn.”

Alvey nodded sagely. “Aye, that is one example—though that faery intended to eat the babe, rather than keep it as a thrall. But the point of the tale is that there is always an exchange.”

“Alvey told me that people who make faery deals are well off. They make the exchange for, um, a big favor,” Deirdre cut in, standing in front of them and rocking back on her heels.

“What could Dad have gotten in exchange?” James asked, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “He doesn’t have anything. Only our house—” He startled everyone by letting out a mirthless laugh. “Maybe he sold me for that moldy, run-down house of ours. I would think I’d be worth more than that.”

Iain’s hand was warm against his back. James did not resist.

He knew he was angry with the wrong person. This was Dad’s fault—all of it.

“It doesn’t matter what he got in return,” Iain assured him. “Nothing makes it right. And we’re going to fix this, yeah? I… I promise you, we’ll fix this.”

“We should have left a long time ago,” James whispered bitterly. Repeating it felt almost like doing something about it, like it would change things.

“Where would we have gone? There was nowhere else to go—”

“I-I don’t know. Anywhere else!”

Iain met his gaze. “I messed up a lot, James. But when I wasn’t being an idiot, I was trying to do the best I could, yeah? Leaving… Running away… It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“I know you did your best…”

But it wasn’t enough.

Though he hadn’t spoken that out loud, he could almost see the flicker of Iain’s expression as if he had. His brother looked tired; he was beaten and bloodied, but there was still a spark of determination in his eyes.

“But what could it be? His job?” James asked.

“No.” Iain sighed wearily. “He worked for everything he had.” Then Iain’s eyes lit up, and he said, “That machine. There was something—a weird machine that got rid of the smoke after the attack on the king. I’ve never seen anything like that before—”

“Maybe that’s what he’s planning on using to break the barrier with!” James interjected. Then, less enthusiastically, he added, “Then that’s what Mum’s been paying the price for.”

“She decided to pay it for you, James, because she loves you. That’s why she left.”

The phrase struck him like it was not intended to. Even when he’d read the letters, it hadn’t fully hit him that he was the reason Mum left. Everything had fallen apart when she’d left…

Mumbling some half-hearted excuse to leave, James got up and began to walk away. Before he did, he reached down and snatched what he thought was his pack from the ground.

He hoped to clear his head, maybe process everything that he had learned. Most of all, he wanted to get away from all the staring eyes he felt on him, even as he turned his back to them. He felt the eyes of his brother and his friend and even Alvey’s smug expression.

At any rate, I’m done listening to Iain.

He was finished with all of it. It seemed like no matter how many steps his brother took to better himself, to be better, Iain still ended up letting him down somehow. Iain had promised him Dad was looking out for them; he had promised that he would make things right. But could he really trust anything Iain promised, after what he’d done, good and bad?

He wanted to trust his brother—that was what he wanted more than anything.

“James—” Deirdre called after him.

“Let him go,” Iain suggested. “He just needs some space.”

 

James tromped into the woods, wanting to just keep walking and walking and not stop until he was far away from everything. He’d run away from home, but everything he’d been trying to leave had seemed to follow him out of Neo-London like smog. He was no freer than he had been in that awful house—and his father still controlled everything, even his fate.

Finding a tree stump, James sat down, reaching for his belongings for his notebook. Only it wasn’t his pack—it was Iain’s.

“Damn.” He couldn’t go back so soon after that dramatic exit. It would be too awkward.

Hang on a moment…

He quickly found the radio in Iain’s pack. He tried to switch it on, but the batteries had been taken out. Luckily Iain hadn’t thought to throw the batteries away.

After James placed the batteries back in and turned on the radio, he scanned the channels for the one he wanted—the one that would give him answers.

“Dad?” James pressed the Talk button, speaking quickly, and then released.

His heart quickened. There wasn’t static on the other end or anything indicating that the signal was off or his father was about to speak. He was listening. He had to be listening.

“When did you decide to make your bargain?” James asked, the words clumsy, his tongue feeling too thick for his mouth. “Was it before I was born, or after?”

When had he decided to get rid of him, to sell him, to trade him like he wasn’t a human being? Had it been one moment, one instance that had made up his mind? Had he planned it for a while, or had it been a reckless decision?

Did he think about trading Iain instead of me?

James could see how he would have been chosen instead, how Iain would have been spared. Iain was more like their father than he would ever care to admit—and he had been shaping up to be the good soldier his father always wanted. But James…

Of course it would be me. I didn’t have anything to offer.

“Did you know that Mum’s taken my place?” James demanded. “Do you even care?”

For one brief moment James thought he heard breathing on the other end, like a quick inhale, like his father had pushed the Talk button for just a second before releasing it again—a reflex.

“Hello?” James nearly bellowed, holding the radio up to his mouth and then banging it on the tree stump. “I know you can hear me!”

Then he chucked the radio as hard as he could against the nearest tree. Bits of plastic and buttons popped off, and it went dead.

Something rustled through the leaf litter on the ground to his right. James shot up, looking around, breathing hard. There was something there, and—

It’s watching me.

For the first time, James could sense a presence in the dark, endless woods. Maybe it had always been there, and he’d never realized it until now. James straightened, looking around. He decided he was not afraid of whatever it was.

Whatever creature had claimed him, it was probably the only other being besides his father who knew the answers to all of James’s questions. He would find out what it was, and he would face it himself. He would get answers.

* * *

 

Iain sat there, stricken, stuck between wanting to face what he had learned and wanting to numb himself to it—that impulse was always there, to ignore or mask what he didn’t have the strength or bravery to deal with. It was that very impulse that had led him to Pan.

He decided to fetch the amulet from his pack. He wanted to see if the word he’d seen etched into the surface was still there or if maybe he’d only imagined it. After looking around and discovering his pack was gone, he felt a strange sense of unease and that the amulet wasn’t with him.

James took my pack by mistake…

He’ll probably be back soon once he realizes I don’t carry books with me. That will be awkward.

After he decided to wait for James to return on his own and sat down, Deirdre came up to him, and he forgot all about the missing trinket for a moment.

“Are you okay?” she asked, standing in front of him, absently combing bits of rock dust from her long ginger curls.

“No,” he said honestly, almost too softly to hear. “But I will be, once James is okay.”

His own admission surprised him. His first instinct, like an automatic response, was to insist he was fine, only… he found keeping anything from her pointless. He had nothing to hide from Deirdre. She had already assumed the worst from him, and now that she had forgiven him, he felt like he could talk to her openly.

He’d never really felt that way with anyone else.

“I’ve got no idea what I’m doing,” Iain admitted. He somehow felt better and worse for having said it. “I’ve got no idea what to do about any of this, about James.”

For the first time in a while, he felt like a child. Helpless.

“But you always seem like you know what you’re doing,” Deirdre pointed out brightly.

His mouth twitched at a grateful smile. “That’s good to hear, at least. Maybe if I keep acting like that, I’ll actually fool myself.”

“James really shouldn’t have said all those things,” Deirdre said after a moment. “If you still want me to talk to him, I will.”

She really did care about James. And it was strange, unfamiliar, but nice to be defended.

“I think that’s a good idea. Everything I say seems to make him angry these days.” Iain exhaled softly, looking up and meeting her gaze. “That will really help me out, so thanks.”

Wondering if he would ever get used to saying thank you and realizing how much he had to be thankful for in the first place, Iain reached up absently and rubbed at his face—then he winced as his fingers brushed the gash on his cheek, opening it afresh.

Without a word, Deirdre leaped away and went to her pack, which was sitting on the ground.

Iain looked after her, confused, and not really wanting her to leave.

A moment later she hopped back into his line of sight. “Here!” She thrust something into his face, nearly causing him to fall off the log backward in alarm.

“What—?” Iain leaned back, focusing on the object Deirdre was holding out to him. It was a cloth. A handkerchief. He merely stared at it.

“Take it. For your face.”

Iain held out his hand for it. The cloth was soft and silken, and there was something embroidered into it on the corner. “Did you… make this?” he asked.

“Well, I did the sewing—”

“I can’t take this. I’ll ruin it.”

“Oh, it’s already ruined.” Deirdre waved her hand dismissively. “Just look at the embroidery.”

Iain studied the cloth, looking for a pattern in the mess of too loose or too tight threads. The more he looked, the more desperate he became. He had no idea what it was supposed to look like, and Deirdre was waiting for him to comment on it.

“It’s really nice.” Iain cleared his throat. “Is that… an apple?”

“It’s supposed to be a redbird.”

Iain bit down on the inside of his mouth, willing himself not to crack a smile. He looked up to see Deirdre making the same strained expression.

Without warning, Deirdre burst into laughter, and Iain lost it as well, laughing even louder than her, which was impressive.

He doubled over as his spasms made his bruised ribs ache. “I can’t stop!” He gasped. He hadn’t laughed that hard in a while, and now he felt as if he were making up for lost time.

“I know!” Deirdre giggled. “It really does look like an apple!”

“Or a very, very well-fed bird,” Iain said, letting out a final chuckle.

Deirdre flopped down on the log beside him, breathless. “They tried to teach me to sew at the orphanage, but I never got the hang of it.”

“They taught me to sew during basic training for mending our clothes and stuff,” Iain commented. “I’m actually not too bad at it.”

“Maybe you could teach me!” Deirdre exclaimed.

Iain laughed. “You taught me about magic in the cave, and all I’ve got to teach you is sewing? It hardly seems like a fair trade.”

Deirdre just giggled, still obviously tickled.

“Anyway,” Iain said, holding out the cloth, “I can’t use this. It’s got sentimental value to you. It’s from your… home.”

“Not really. I guess the orphanage was my home, but it isn’t now. I guess they weren’t my real family either.” Deirdre smiled faintly, looking away from him, kicking her feet through the air distractedly. “Keep it. Please.”

“Um, thanks. Yeah.” Iain nodded, appreciating the gesture more than he would have thought possible. He dabbed at the gash on his cheek with the cloth, then absentmindedly tucked the handkerchief into his jacket pocket.

Deirdre hummed under her breath, tapping her fingers rapidly on the log.

They settled into a comfortable silence for a moment; it was not at all awkward like their silences usually were. Iain supposed that was because they had come to an understanding. He had never thought that he might be sitting chatting with a faery like this or that he would consider her a friend.

“Is this what family is really like?” Deirdre asked suddenly.

Iain blinked, turning to see her staring at him. Her pale blue eyes, he noticed for the first time, were nearly purple in color—unlike any eyes he’d seen before. And they were wide and imploring.

“What do you mean?” Iain asked, turning so he was facing her on the log.

“I mean—” Deirdre twisted her hands together, holding them against her chest. “I’ve never had a real family, so I don’t know what it’s like. I don’t know if I’ll have a younger sibling who will throw books at me or an older sibling who will look out for me or”—she took a shaky breath—“a father who’s a monster and maybe just abandoned me for no reason.”

Iain’s chest tightened as he grasped what she was asking, what monster she was referring to. He didn’t exactly know how to answer, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by being too blunt, but he also didn’t want to wave away her concern.

He wasn’t used to thinking this hard before he spoke, not usually caring so much about what he was saying.

Before he could answer, Deirdre spoke up again hoarsely. “You think I’m naïve, don’t you, for looking for my parents? That’s what some of the girls at the orphanage used to call me, among other things. But when I heard the banshee say they were alive, I actually thought they might give me answers. Now I don’t know if I want answers.”

He had thought that, once. He’d thought she was as naïve as he had been when he’d believed the words of a banshee’s fortune years ago, when he’d been a foolish child. But he didn’t see her that way anymore.

“Deirdre,” he said, “you’re not naïve.” As he slowly got out each word, figuring out what he meant as he went along, he gained some clarity. “Hoping they’re alive and will give you answers isn’t naïve. If you feel it in your gut, and if logic’s telling you you’re right, then go with that, yeah?

“It’s when you see all the signs, ignore the warnings, and hope against logic that what you know is wrong…. that’s when it’s a problem.”

“Hmm?” Deirdre tilted her head quizzically.

Iain took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and focusing his gaze on the ground. “It’s like, uh, with my dad…”

“You’re kind of mumbling. I can’t really hear you.”

“With my dad,” Iain continued, clearer this time, “I-I saw what he was really like, and I heard how he talked about faeries, but I didn’t… accept it. I ignored it, because I just wanted to believe what I wanted to believe… that he was looking out for us, that he was good. But it went against my gut, you know? It went against logic to believe that.

“But see, I know my mum’s alive, and I know she left for a good reason, yeah? So I know in my gut that I should find her. And, uh, I knew in my gut and by reasoning that you were innocent even if I didn’t trust your magic at first.”

Iain let out a breath, turning his flushed face away from Deirdre.

“That makes sense!” She sat up straight, her expression lightening. “Like, I feel in my gut that they’ll have answers, and it didn’t feel true or right when James suggested they were some freaky faery cultists!”

Iain just agreed quietly, not really wanting to hear an explanation for faery cultists and how his little brother knew about them.

“But”—she slumped forward again—“what if they’ve abandoned me because they didn’t want me? What if they’re awful and just left me carelessly, thinking I’d just find my way back, like the typical faery parents Alvey mentioned?”

“You can’t know for certain until you find out for yourself,” Iain said. “You’ve got to know. Good or bad, you’ve got to find out who they are, why they left you, no matter what. I don’t think you’ll have peace until you do.”

Deirdre nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

“And”—Iain swallowed hard—“family isn’t all good or all bad, yeah? My mum—she was wonderful. And there were a lot of good times too, despite everything. And…”

He trailed off, something occurring to him. Then he grabbed James’s abandoned pack from the ground and found Marko’s letters inside. Iain held them out to Deirdre to take. “You should read these too. If you’re going to help us find her, then you should know what James and I know, yeah?”

“I thought…” Deirdre looked up at him, puzzled. “I thought you wanted it to be kept between you and James, your family.”

“I gained some clarity about that,” he admitted. “I was… wrong not to trust you with this.”

I’m wrong a lot, aren’t I?

* * *

 

Deirdre began to read the letters silently, every now and then turning to Iain and asking him about unknown names or terms used that she didn’t understand. She laughed out loud at Kallista’s story about James and the bag of flour he’d poured over his head and admired her drawings around the border.

She felt a bit uneasy at first, wondering if Iain was expecting her to find something interesting or important as she read. But when he didn’t pressure her, she relaxed and just enjoyed reading and sharing, even when the letters got distressed and anxious, clearly indicating that Kallista was having a very hard time of it.

We’ve got to find her, she thought, thumbing a cross-hatch-shaded drawing of a bird. We’ve got to find her before anything really bad happens.

When she got to a certain letter, Iain suddenly pointed at a paragraph. “Don’t read that part. There’s… some kind of magic going on there, and it isn’t pleasant.”

“Magic?” Immediately Deirdre read it without thinking, pursing her lips. “I don’t see anything special. She’s saying that a Cait Sidhe has got her.”

“I…” Iain’s eyes shone, and he jabbed his finger at the paper. “You can read that?”

“Yeah.” She frowned, looking at him. “Why?”

“You’re— That’s brilliant!” He shot up from his seat, grinning. “We, James and I, we couldn’t read it. It was enchanted. But it must not affect you! A— What did you say it was? A Cait Sidhe?”

“Yeah! That’s Irish Gaelic, right? Is it some kind of Irish faery?”

“I…” Iain frowned, the excitement disappearing from his face. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know anything about it?” he asked hopefully.

Deirdre just shrugged. “Sorry. It sounds familiar, but…”

Just as she handed the letters back to Iain, Alvey rolled over, asking, “You two have been whispering over here for the past several minutes. What exactly about these letters from his mother is so interesting?”

Deirdre gasped at her, then stood up, scowling. “You shouldn’t listen in to people’s conversations without them knowing, Alvey! It’s really not—” She stopped, raising her eyebrows as a new thought occurred to her. “Hey, how could you hear well enough to eavesdrop, but you didn’t hear Boyd sneaking up on us in the cave?”

“I was distracted then, whereas now I am bored and weary. ’Tis getting late, is it not? Where is that small boy? We should make haste for a campsite.”

“When are we leaving?” James’s voice came from behind. She turned around as James walked over to the three of them, looking quite surly. He didn’t have a bag on him.

“Where’s my pack?” Iain asked, standing up.

“Over with the others.”

“Fine.” He ran a hand over his face, then looked at his brother. “Deirdre was able to read that part in Mum’s letters—about the faery that’s holding her.”

James’s expression immediately lightened, though it wasn’t any happier. “Really? What was it? What’s it called?”

Deirdre began to sway back and forth on her heels. “It just said it was a Cait Sidhe.”

“That means faery cat,” Alvey said. “There are an ample number of those.”

“What about on the moors?” Iain asked, and James nodded in agreement.

“There are several types there, some great, some small.”

“But it’s not necessarily a faery,” James said quickly. “Sometimes, um, it can refer to a witch.”

Iain made a face. “A witch? As in the Scottish play kind of witches?”

“You mean Macbeth?” Deirdre asked; the two boys gave her a look, and she tilted her head, confused. “What’s wrong?”

James ignored her question, going on to say, “Cait Sidhe doesn’t really refer to that type of witches. I don’t think they can predict the future.” James shrugged. “No one really knows much about the ancient witches… only that they could supposedly transform into animals and curse people.”

“It sounded like a faery from how she described it,” Deirdre added.

James frowned, saying flatly, “I guess that explains the banshee’s warning. Cats.”

Letting out a groan of frustration, Iain hid his face in his hands and said, muffled, “Would it have killed her to be a little more specific? I mean, I know we didn’t pay for it, but… if she was trying to be helpful, she kind of botched it.”

“Maybe she only had a vague idea?” James suggested, though he did not address anyone in particular. “Or maybe she thought it was funny and didn’t really care.”

A moment of tense silence followed. Alvey opened her mouth to say something, but Iain smoothly cut her off: “Alvey, let’s get ready to go. We can figure this out later.”

“Very well,” she said with an uncharacteristically warm smile, beginning to roll back toward where she and Deirdre had left their things, with Iain behind her.

James made to follow, but Deirdre reached out for his shoulder. “James, we need to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression a bit colder than she was used to. “About what?”

She took a breath, thought about it for a second, then said, “First I need to apologize; I never should have gone along with that plan to try to rescue Iain and Alvey. I’m older than you, so I should have realized there was no way in the world that plan would have worked.”

James frowned, looking away as he replied, “It would have worked. It almost worked. If I just had more time to figure it out, then—”

“Even then, it would not have worked! We’re just two people, and they were a bunch of armed, trained soldiers! The plan was stupid.” She winced internally; that was definitely the wrong word to use.

James colored, glaring. “What’s your point then? Just to tell me that I’m stupid, that I’m not clever?”

“No! I think you’re very clever, just…” She searched for the right word, carefully sounding out, “inexperienced. You’re just inexperienced.”

“I’m more experienced than you think. Besides, you didn’t even know that those machines were for mining or that those boxes had dynamite in them.”

Deirdre had heard this strain of smarter-than-thou arguments before from younger girls back at the orphanage, so rather than rattle or irritate her, it helped her refocus and say, “The point is, James, you must be more careful in the future! Doing things like that can—will—get you hurt, or killed. We were just really, really lucky. But we both almost died.”

James scoffed, roughly brushing his bloodied forehead as if to push the memory away. “Aside from Boyd grabbing me, which was a… a big fluke, I was fine!”

“You were this time, but there’s no guarantee next time, James! Look…” She unclipped the button at the cuff of her sleeve and rolled it all the way up to her shoulder. Then she turned her arm toward James, showing him a long, ragged scar that was only a year old.

His eyes bulged only slightly at the sight of it. “Deirdre— What—?”

“I got this while I was hiking, just last autumn. I was the most athletic in the whole school, even more so than some of the village boys… so when I was dared to, I thought I could jump over this one gorge just fine.” She grinned. “I didn’t. Though it was kind of worth it to see this one really snooty girl—she’s the one who dared me—faint at the sight of all the blood. And she always said she wasn’t afraid of anything!”

“What’s the point here?” he asked a bit sharply.

“The point,” Deirdre said carefully as she rolled her sleeve back down, “is that no one ever died from being careful. But loads of people do die from overestimating themselves. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

He looked at her squarely in the eye. “It won’t. I promise.”

She reached over and took his hand in both of hers. He jolted in surprise, but she didn’t let go. He looked down at her hands, his glowering expression softening slightly.

“Can you also promise me that if you ever come up with another big plan like that, you’ll talk about it with me and Iain before you do anything?”

He let out a long sigh, clearly not thrilled by the prospect. “I promise…”

“Look me in the eye and say that.”

He did so and said more firmly, “I promise.”

“Good.”