Like Mist Over the Eyes

by Thea van Diepen

  Loram stiffened. “A friend, and none other. I wish to speak with the monarchs on her behalf—would you three keep her company while I do?”

  The monarchs? Adren hadn’t realized Loram would go to them for help. Was the prison really so well guarded?

  “Thou hast been low on luck of late,” the spirit-like fairy commented. Her intonation held an undercurrent that was far from harmless.

  “Aye, and this one may change it. Wait with her?”

  The three fairies regarded Adren with interest. Oh, saints.

  “Don’t think of playing tricks on me,” Adren said. “I grew up with fairies. I know how you think.”

  “Is that so?” The spirit-like one gave a sly smile.

  “I, at least, shall wait for thee, Loram,” said the tall one with a laugh. “Methinks your friend shall provide excellent entertainment.” Loram nodded, but turned to the spirit-like one for her answer. Adren wondered at the hierarchy between the three. Clearly, both Loram and the man had lower positions than the woman, but exactly how high was her position?

  “And I as well,” said the spirit-like fairy. “Go off on thy business, Loram. Thy friend is welcome.”

  Loram nodded and sped off down the tunnel.

  “Well…” The spirit-like one put a finger to her chin. “Thou’rt not fae.”

  Adren winced. “Please, call me not thou.”

  “Thou’rt not human, either,” said the third fairy, a boy of around Nadin’s age with a Breimic accent. Not older, Adren thought, but no more than two years younger. It must be his first time visiting another mound.

  “Anyone can see that,” the tall one said, chuckling. Heat rose in Adren’s face.

  “I am Adren, and only myself. Please,” she spoke more firmly this time, “call me not thou.”

  “Adren who is neither fae nor human, my name is Barsae.” The tall fairy gave a shallow bow.

  “And I am Iraem,” said the spirit-like one. There was a pause, and they both looked pointedly at the boy, who had been scowling since Barsae’s comment about Adren.

  “What?”

  “Introduce thyself, boy. We have a guest. Don’t be rude.” Barsae gave a significant glance in Adren’s direction.

  “Oh. I… er… I’m Hinor. Call me Hin.” The scowl vanished, replaced with such an air of awkwardness, Adren could have sworn Nadin had escaped prison by himself and entered the fairy mound in disguise.

  “But are you truly no magical being?” asked Iraem. “Your appearance is so unlike humans.”

  “Why can she be rude and I can’t?” Hin asked Barsae.

  Adren laughed. She’d missed fairies. Oh, saints, how she’d missed fairies.

  “Because she’s an adult,” Adren said. “Adults may pick their rules and find an they like what results.”

  Iraem and Barsae nodded, beaming. Hin sulked.

  “Truly, you have lived with fairies,” remarked Iraem.

  “Do you return from a revel? Loram seemed unhappy to be left out.”

  “Of sorts,” said Barsae, grinning. Iraem frowned at him, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have time. Loram stalked in, expression sour, and there was an odd flurry of looks between the fairies that Adren was too surprised to follow.

  “Come,” Loram told Adren. “We will find no help here.” She grabbed Adren by the arm and left the others without another word. Adren turned back for a farewell, but only had the time to catch a glance of Iraem, arm slung over Barsae’s shoulder, whispering something to him that made his smile want to reach his ears. He nodded to her and they went off, Hin trotting along behind. Before they turned the corner, Iraem’s shawl slipped. As she fixed it, Adren caught sight of ridged skin on her back. Was it…? But the shawl was back in place before Adren could be sure.

  They left the mound faster than they had come, and this entirely due to the speed at which Loram pulled Adren along. The tunnels had traffic through them now, but Loram wove through it without hesitation. Some of the fairies they passed communicated their surprise, the majority of which was directed at Adren’s presence rather than Loram’s rudeness.

  When they had arrived back in the forest, Adren wrenched herself free of Loram’s grasp. This wasn’t hard, as Loram had loosened her grip and slowed her pace now that they were above the surface.

  “I take it the monarchs liked not what you had to say.” Adren spoke sharply, annoyed at how Loram had treated her. She rubbed at the soreness of the place where Loram had grabbed her arm.

  “The monarchs like not me, is more to the point,” Loram replied, her back to Adren.

  “Does that stop us from what we intend?”

  Loram sighed. “No. But it would have helped.”

  A call rang out from behind. Adren turned to see Hin running towards them.

  “Loram! The monarchs have reconsidered. They wish to speak with her.”

  Nadin peered through the bars.

  “Well, it’s definitely not Adren,” he commented, eyes following the trails of magic. They weren’t in the prison, but rather somewhere outside it. Like the wall that had slowed Nadin down, their flashing was visible only to those with Nadin’s ability. “Anyone want to guess the odds those fairies are coming to rescue me?” He snorted.

  The magic, though explosive when it had first appeared, had died down by this point. Only a few faint threads had made their way past the prison’s magic, and these faded without doing anything of consequence. One made its way into his cell and left a pink streak on the floor. Nadin shrugged and sat on the cot again. He drummed on his knees.

  “Hey, you awake there?” said one of the guards. Nadin was about to answer when the other guard replied, “I have about had it with these saintsall fairies. We sent her back, didn’t we? Why can’t they just leave us in peace?”

  “That bad this time, huh?”

  “I’d like to punch whoever thought it was a good idea to hire someone to cast a barrier that didn’t keep their spells from knocking everyone unconscious every time they decide to pay a visit. Denyeh’s fees aren’t unreasonable.” Nadin, who had not been knocked unconscious, frowned and inclined his head towards the door.

  “Talk to the captain about it.”

  “He said he couldn’t ‘justify the expense’.”

  “I swear he was dropped on his head when he was a baby. Our old captain had sense.”

  “Poor Denyeh.”

  “Yeah.” The first guard sighed. “I guess this was the best they could do on short notice.”

  The other guard grunted his assent. “Still, would have been nice if she’d been telling the truth about having the Saint’s Gauntlet. If that thing even exists, I’d love to use it to go give those fairies a piece of my mind.”

  “I’d give them more than that.”

  “What’s the Saint’s Gauntlet?” asked Nadin.

  “Shut up,” growled the guard. When the two began talking again, it had nothing to do with armour of any kind.

  Like the tunnels of the fairy mound, roots lined the walls of the throne room. Some also spread across the floor, forming both dais and thrones, upon which sat the monarchs wearing long green robes and crowned with oak leaves. To the king’s left, in a smaller throne and similarly dressed, sat Iraem.

  Ah. That high.

  Loram had been stopped at the door, but another fairy had brought Adren to the edge of the dais, where the monarchs and Iraem appraised her.

  “We hear you have need of our aid,” said the queen.

  “Aye. I seek a cure for madness, after I have freed my…” Friend? Colleague? No, definitely not. “Working partner from prison.”

  “What have you to offer in exchange for these favours?”

  “What wish you to have?”

  The monarchs leaned back, and the queen steepled her fingers. Adren hadn’t meant her question as an open offer—rather, it had been to establish the need they wanted filled. Among the fairies she knew, this would be understood, but these fairies seemed to have understood it the first way. S
he stopped herself just in time from biting her lip. No need to let them know what she was thinking.

  “We are concerned,” the king pronounced, “that aiding you would mean we have allied ourselves with one whose character is suspect. What would you say of our thought that you are the White Changeling?”

  Why would they care? Fairies didn’t involve themselves in human affairs, nor cared about human conceptions of morality. It was humans who had decided Adren was the White Changeling and what that meant. But these were fairy monarchs asking, and it wouldn’t do to be cantankerous with them.

  “I would say you are correct, although I’m not a changeling.”

  The king waved his hand. “No matter. Humans know little of the ways of fairies; we had no opinion either way on the accuracy of the name. What we seek to validate is the accuracy of your reputation.”

  Adren couldn’t help but wonder which part of her reputation he referred to. Did their information come from before or after—?

  “Do you regularly commit thievery and violence upon humans, no matter their stature?” asked the queen.

  “Yes.” After, then.

  “Would you do those things at our request?”

  “To humans?”

  “To humans.”

  “Yes.” They were only humans, after all.

  The queen gestured to a fairy at the back, who opened the door to let Loram in and accompanied her to the dais.

  “We shall give aid in this way,” the king proclaimed. “Loram may work with you. Go to the prison and do what you need, take what you need, and we shall give what we may of what you wish when you return. Be warned: the humans have placed over the prison a barrier which fairies and any of our magic able to take it down cannot cross so, Adren, know that you will have to find some way to undo it before Loram may enter the prison.”

  “That is no aid,” Loram muttered.

  On the contrary, Adren thought that the information about the barrier was useful, as well as an explanation for why all they could do was send one fairy with her.

  “And in return?” Adren asked, head high.

  “This working partner of yours,” said the queen. “We would like him.”

  Adren’s heart thudded. “You want… Nadin?”

  “Aye.”

  The throne room seemed to have gotten smaller around Adren. Give Nadin to them? The fairies she’d lived with hadn’t condoned kidnapping, but she knew other fairies liked to take humans and use them as entertainment or workers. Did that mean he was human? But if he was human, then she had no need to worry. Let them have him; it would be safer for her that way. Unless he wasn’t human.

  No, no, this was silly! Loram had seen Nadin. She knew what he was, and she must have told the monarchs. Which meant that, if he wasn’t human, then they wouldn’t use him. They would treat him as their own. Maybe even help his mother, if they were in the mood. If they could. Magical creatures wouldn’t harm one of their own.

  If he was a human, well. He would get what he deserved, and Adren would finally see the unicorn cured.

  After all those years of searching, the unicorn’s suffering would be over. She could see it already, restored to its senses, in full possession and control of its magic. The journey could find its end at last. Adren and the unicorn both would have peace. Adren wouldn’t have been able to hide her grin even if she wanted to. In the back of her mind, the unicorn’s anxiety ebbed, replaced by a swelling excitement.

  “I accept.”

  At this, the queen smiled. “We thought you might. Loram?”

  “Aye, I accept.” She didn’t look happy about it.

  Chapter Four

  “What if I never get out of here?” Nadin asked the wooden hand. “That’s not just me being dramatic, is it? You would think Adren would have come by now, at least to see what the fairies were up to. Do you think she’d ask fairies for help? Do you think they’d offer any?” He shivered. Straightened. “Why am I talking to a wooden hand, anyways? Come on Nadin, get it together. You haven’t been in here long. No need to worry yet.”

  The wooden hand had nothing to offer in consolation. Neither did the guards, for that matter. They had returned to their table outside his cell and were now engrossed in a game of cards. While the game wasn’t visible from Nadin’s barred window, one who was familiar with its rules would recognize from their talk that they were playing yuker and that they were both probably cheating.

  “I know exactly what Adren will say when she finds me here. ‘You just had to talk to people, didn’t you? I would never get in this situation. I don’t talk to people. People are stupid.’” Nadin stuck out his tongue. “Well, what if I say I can’t help it; I like people? And I was curious.” He then frowned in put-on grumpiness. “‘Oh, fine, be curious. But be smart about it, like me. Don’t be like people. I’m not people, and look at how I turned out.’” With a sigh, he lay back on the cot. “Case in point.”

  Loram kept the two of them unseen and unheard while Adren took stock of the prison. Outer wooden walls surrounded a small yard, with ugly inner stone walls to wrap the squat building. The sloped roof ended in a large overhang, enough that Adren could tell she wouldn’t be able to climb down from it into any windows. Of course, this being a prison, none of the windows would open.

  Guards stood at every possible entrance, all armed, all appearing more or less competent. Using invisibility to get past them might work, but she wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer by the time she got inside. Excellent. A challenge.

  “Where’s the barrier?” Adren asked.

  “It lies a handspan away from the walls and the same above the highest point of the roof. A cheap design, as it would let through the effects of any fairy magic it blocked, but effective. I cannot see any break in it.”

  It may have been more than Adren had asked, but all useful information. Nadin could learn a thing or two from Loram. Perhaps he would.

  “Do you see how it might be taken down?”

  “From the inside of the prison itself. ‘Twould be simple enough for me if I could enter, but I see not how such a feat could be achieved. If I told you the shape of it, would you…?”

  Adren hesitated. She hadn’t done much with her magic since it had revealed itself, in the hopes that it would die down or go away entirely. And while she hadn’t lost control since Watorej, she still found it difficult to make it do what she wanted.

  “I don’t know. How complicated is it?”

  “It isn’t.” Loram paused. “Except you cannot see it, so then it might be for you.”

  “Could you make it visible? Or enough of it visible so I could tear it down?”

  Loram rubbed underneath her chin and stared off into the distance. Adren walked a few steps away to get a different angle of the prison. Perhaps she could use her invisibility, if she had to go all the way inside regardless. That would rely on more than a little luck that she could find a convenient hiding place near the entrance so she could rest a moment before becoming invisible again. But how long would it take to find Nadin? And unlock his door. And get him out and away. Small inanimate objects that fit in her pockets were one thing, but keeping herself and another person invisible took more to sustain and didn’t last as long as a result. If she wasn’t sure about getting herself in, she liked the chances of getting him out even less.

  “Adren!” exclaimed Loram, laughing.

  “What?”

  “I have a marvelous idea.” She gave a quick outline, involving both an illusion for distraction and a small spell to guide Adren to the right place. Adren couldn’t help but grin. Until she thought of the key task she would have to perform.

  “Even if all that worked and I arrived where the enchantment was, are you certain I would be able to end it? A child of your kind could work their magic better than I can work mine.”

  “Working magic isn’t so difficult as you make it seem.”

  “I assure you, it is.”

  “No it isn’t. Watch.” Loram stepped
back and a glowing form unlike anything Adren had ever seen appeared in the air between them. It looked something like a cloud, if a cloud also had rivers. “This is how the enchantment in the prison appears to mine eyes. Cast a stripe of magic of sufficient strength here”—the spot turned blue—“and the enchantment will crumble. Like so.” A line appeared along the blue part as if drawn by an invisible brush, and the form unravelled. After a pause, it reformed itself, complete with the blue patch. “Your turn.”

  Loram didn’t understand. How could she, after playing with magic her whole life? Adren had watched fairy children practise and study the use of magic for years to be able to make full use of their abilities, and they played for years before that to develop the kind of coordination Loram had just displayed. If Adren couldn’t even make light when she wanted, a line was most certainly out of the question. She shook her head.

  “Oh, saints, you’re one of those,” complained Loram.

  “One of what?”

  With a grin, Loram tapped her forehead. “Over-thinkers. Someone told you magic was complicated, and now you seek only ways in which to make it difficult for yourself.”

  Adren tried to give a retort, but no sound came out. Loram’s grin got bigger. She pointed at the spell-form.

  “You may wish to know I have a deft hand with curses.”

  Since Adren could still feel her vocal chords working, she knew her muteness was only an illusion at the moment but, gods in hell, Adren could tell Loram meant it about the curses.

  Adren’s magic flowed beneath her skin, an ever-shifting movement of potential. Of possibility. She reached out, index finger on blue light, and let some of her magic trickle through as she drew her hand across to trace the line Loram had made.

  Nothing happened. The magic stayed at her fingertip. She frowned at it, as if that alone would get it to do what she wanted. Not that she expected it to comply but, gods, life would be so much easier if it would.

  “Loosen your hold some,” Loram advised. “Let it move more freely, and let more of it move.”