Ten

Fer was asleep in the Lady Tree, which swayed in the wind like a ship at sea.

With a start, she opened her eyes, and a room swooped around her; dizzy, she closed her eyes again. Oh, such a pain in her head, and the floor was awfully cold and hard. “Twig?” she croaked. “Fray?”

Then she remembered the figures in gray—the Forsworn—who had grabbed her at the Lake of All Ways. Her eyes popped open.

Fer was not in the Lady Tree. Holding her head, she sat up. Her stomach lurched at the movement. With her fingers she felt the back of her skull. A tender lump, but no blood. Too bad about cutting off all of her hair; if she’d had her braid, she might not have gotten such a bump. She looked down at herself. She still had her patchwork jacket on, at least. That was something.

She surveyed the room she was in. It was circular, about ten paces across. The floor was made of close-fitted stones. The walls were of the same gray stone with thick layers of mortar in the cracks between each one. Carefully Fer climbed to her feet, looking up. The walls stretched up to a flat ceiling—more stone—way overhead. In the ceiling was an open trapdoor that showed a flat, gray sky.

She was in a tower.

She turned in a circle. The tower only had walls; there was no door, no windows.

The Forsworn ones who’d grabbed her at the Lake of All Ways had put her here, no doubt. It was a prison. They must have lowered her down here from the opening in the ceiling, high above. “Ooookay.” She took a shaky breath. Then another. The air felt strange. Heavy, as if it was weighing her down. And it was cold with the chill of underground caves.

Fer shivered and her head ached, and she sat down with her back against the curving wall. A muffled buzzing sound came from one of her jacket pockets. She opened it up, and her bee bumbled out. It wavered around her head once, then dropped onto her sleeve. She cupped her hand around it, and it buzzed against her palm. It meant she wasn’t completely alone, anyway.

She rubbed her sore head and looked up at the trapdoor. At some point the Forsworn would have to come back, if only to lower her some food and water. Maybe they’d have a bucket on a rope. That would be her chance to escape. Dizzy, she rested her head against her knees and tried to think.

The Forsworn hated change. She was human, and she had the power to change things. The Forsworn had put her here, she guessed, because she was a danger to them.

They were right about that. Her thoughts bumped up against the memory of the Birch-Lady’s death. But she didn’t want to think about that. It led her to Rook and his latest betrayal, and she really didn’t want to think about that. Her chest still ached where she’d broken their shared thread of friendship.

After a long time, she opened her eyes. Overhead, the square of sky framed by the trapdoor had turned dark gray. Evening was coming on. She got to her feet and, keeping one hand on the wall to steady herself, made a circuit of the room. Surely her captors would come soon, to bring her some dinner.

Strange, though. She’d been here for hours, and she didn’t feel the least bit hungry. Or thirsty. Or tired.

Maybe it was because the air here was so heavy. It made her feel slow. She went around the edge of the room again. The air was as thick as honey; she practically had to trudge through it. She couldn’t hear anything from outside the tower either; the silence pressed against her ears.

As the night came on, the tower-room darkened. Fer settled down against the wall again, pulling the patch-jacket tightly around her for warmth. Her bee crawled up to her collar and nestled against her neck; it felt soft and comforting.

Sleep didn’t come. She stared out at nothing. After a while, Fer got up again and, in the darkness, circled the room once more. The stone walls felt rough and slightly damp under her fingers; in the dark, she traced the mortared cracks between each block of stone. Around and around she walked.

Fer hardly noticed the morning coming on, and then she realized that the stone walls had emerged from the darkness, gray and grim. She looked down at her patchwork jacket just to see a splash of color. Even the jacket looked washed-out in the dull light.

Morning. The Forsworn would have to come soon.

It was strange, though. She’d been awake all night, walking around the room, and she wasn’t a bit tired. She wasn’t hungry, either, or thirsty.

She stopped and stared up at the open trapdoor in the ceiling. A few dust motes hung in the morning light that shone in. Dust should float in the air, glinting in the light. These dust motes just hung there. Not moving.

“Oh, no,” she said, and the heavy silence swallowed up her words.

Some kind of spell was on the tower. Time didn’t pass inside these walls; it stood still. Frozen. That meant . . .

She clenched her fists, suddenly frightened. This was the power of the Forsworn, unchanging and uncaring. If time didn’t pass inside the tower, it meant she was stuck in it, like a bee stuck in a jar of honey. She wouldn’t get hungry or thirsty or tired, and no matter how long she was here she would never get any older. She would be like them—never changing.

Her breath came fast. What was she going to do?

Fer felt a flood of despair wash through her. She had really, really messed things up.

And then she had blamed Rook for it. She closed her eyes, remembering his stricken face after she’d broken the thread of their friendship.

But no. Rook had promised to tell her exactly what he was up to, and he hadn’t. He was a troublemaker, and it was his fault, at least partly. And the thing he’d said after she’d broken their heart-thread.

Curse it, Fer, he’d said. That was the third time.

The third time the thread had been broken, he meant, and the pain of it really did have the power of three behind it. He must have broken the thread twice before, then. She wanted to forgive him for that, as she’d forgiven other things he’d done. She wanted to say, Oh, he’s a puck, he plays by different rules. But she couldn’t do it this time. Her heart hardened. He had never truly been her friend.

She sat with her back to the cold stone wall and felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her entire life. Tears streamed down her face, and she put her head down on her knees and cried for a long time. Maybe she did deserve to be here. A Lady was dead, killed because of Rook’s broken promise, but also because of her own carelessness. She was away from her land, which needed her just as much as she needed to be there. Her people would think she’d abandoned them. She was far from Grand-Jane, when she’d promised to visit more often. Weeks would be slipping past in the human world while she was stuck here in this timeless place. Weeks, or months. Or even more.

After a while, she lifted her head. Sniffling, she wiped her eyes. All right. Crying wasn’t getting her anywhere.

She really was going to be alone here forever unless she did something about it. The Summerlands people thought she was at the nathe. The High Ones and Gnar and Lich wouldn’t know to look for her; once they found out about the death of the Birch-Lady, they’d think she’d run away. And Rook—he’d probably gone back to his brothers, and he certainly wouldn’t notice that she was missing.

While she’d been thinking and crying and not doing anything, more time had passed outside. The sky over the trapdoor had darkened and lightened a few times; she’d lost track of how many. Days, maybe. She had all the time in the world, but no time left to waste.

“Fer,” she said aloud just to hear the sound of a voice. “Remember what Grand-Jane said. Don’t forget that you’re human.” She had her own human power, the power to change, to grow, to live. Maybe it would be enough to break the spell the Forsworn had put on this tower.

She got to her feet. “Bee,” she said, and the bee buzzed from her sleeve to land on the finger she held up. Sending it away would leave her more alone, and there wasn’t much chance of it helping, but she had to try. “Go and find my true friends,” she told it. Fray and Twig, she meant, in the Summerlands. “If you can, lead them back here.” She raised her hand, and the bee lifted from her finger. “All right?”

Zmmmmrmmrmmm, the bee answered—yes. It climbed through the heavy air to the trapdoor. Then it was a dark spot against the sky, and then, with a buzz, it was gone.

Fer took a deep breath. Now she had to figure out a way to break the power of the Forsworn and escape.