by Faith Ellis
They stand a significant distance away, my incredi- ble eyesight the only thing that allows me to see them
at all, and they don't seem to notice my presence. The female is breathtaking. Her long silver hair re- minds me of someone. She laughs heartily and loudly at something the tall male beside her says. They are both dressed in exquisite clothes, looking like a soldier and a princess. His dark hair flows in the breeze, and she's soon spinning around in the grass before he grabs her waist and presses her against him in a deep kiss. My cheeks flush, as I feel as though I am invading in their privacy. My eyes dart back to the horse, but he's no longer there. Scanning the meadow and the trees, he seems to have disappeared.
Scooting my body back from the water, my arms and legs stretch out, warming to the bone under the sunshine. The luxurious heaviness of the heat makes my eyelids droop with a comfortable serenity. Then the intense, putrid scent of rotting flesh wafts through the air, and there’s the skittering of multiple pairs of feet through the grass. My eyes fly open as my body instinctively crouches with the urge to run, only a moment too late. Heavy ropes lace up and down my body, restricting my movement, preventing escape and covering me in unbreakable bindings. Rolling on the ground in an effort to flee them only leads to tangling myself in their stinging grasp.
A spark ignites in my core, and fire dances at my fingertips as a gasp releases from my throat in shock. Magic: I never get over the awe of the magic I feel in my dreams. The fire quickly dies, barely singeing a sin- gle thread. Confusion and fear lap over me at once
as I struggle to pull that fire back, but no longer can I feel that warmth in my belly. Time slows as rough, branch-like segments of rope scrape against my skin, rubbing my neck raw, and that horrible smell clogs my throat, choking me and cutting my scream into more of a wheeze. The stench of decay stings my eyes.
Dozens of redcaps surround me, squatty wicked creatures. Worse than goblins, who are more on the side of troublemakers, redcaps are cold-blooded mur- derers, feasting on living creatures of any kind, killing for sport. As trophies for their achievements, they dip their caps in the blood of their victims, resulting, partly, in the smell of death now surrounding me. The other parts, no doubt, are unwashed bodies and filthy clothes. The sight of them ignites horror in my veins, and bile rises, sour in my throat.
"HELP!" My voice travels over the meadow to any- one, anything nearby, but even the young couple is no longer across the way. The scent causes me to cough and sputter again as I try to bring myself up to my knees. Dozens of caps dripping red litter the beautiful meadow before me. The creatures stop for a moment before laughing hysterically and throwing another rope over my head to pull me back down, closer to their short stature, pinning me to the ground.
The bindings continue to constrict me, and panic fills my chest as I gasp for breath only to fill my senses with that awful raw-flesh stench once again. It plugs my nostrils as a yelp escapes my lips when one of the disgusting creatures puts his fleshy and wet tongue
near the corner of my jaw and runs it up to the corner of my eye. While I earnestly scratch the side of my face against the grass to wipe away the slimy feeling, tears of fear and frustration fill my eyes and threaten to fall. Redcaps revel in their victims’ torture. It is an addition to their fun, and they enjoy the game and watching fear and nervousness form in their victims' features.
Twisting against the blasted ropes that hold firm, I continue to struggle as they cut into my skin and cause blood to swell. My body quickly repairs itself over and over again, sealing and resealing the wounds.
"What do you want?" My shout bounces over the meadow, aiming to draw away their attention while my eyes and hands search for an escape. Failing to draw on that fire from inside once again, frustration and terror claw their way in. The energy I have spent on a fight I am clearly losing leaves me exhausted. Slowly, the crowd of redcaps parts. I crane my neck to look up at a much larger redcap smiling with razor-sharp yellow teeth. Their ringleader.
"My, my boys. Looks like we caught a human." His accent is clipped, and my ears strain to understand every word as the redcap leader comes to stand in front of my face, examining me more closely. "But a pe- culiar one indeed."
His cap drips bloody red streaks down his dirty, pudgy face, pooling below his chubby neck. His brown pants are filthy and patched, as is the vest he wears with nothing beneath. His nose wrinkles as it tilts far-
ther into the air, sniffing loudly. "Smells like a High fae."
The redcap's grin grows as his gang laughs loudly, and I feel my cheeks heat. Clenching my teeth to- gether, I gather my courage and ask the leader, "What is a High fae?" He steps closer, worn boots made of hu- man leather near my nose, the stench of rot stronger now, and for a moment his grin falters before he backs up, something shifting in his yellow eyes.
"My, this might be an even greater treat than I ex- pected." The leader turns to his gang, and I focus back on the rough fastenings. "Boys, I believe we have a very special guest in our hands. This is no ordinary High fae. This one here, if I'm right, is heir to the Erlking." The gang unanimously oohs and ahhs. "I can see it in her eyes," he says thoughtfully, stroking his chubby chin, spreading the bloody streaks with his stubby fingers. He sniffs the air near me. "I can smell it on her skin."
"The what?" Confused, I stop, my neck twisted awk- wardly to get a better look at the leader. "I am not a faery!"
"My dear"—the redcap leader turns back to me, crouching a little lower to my face—"what is your name? Because you definitely have the eyes of the lost princess." My eyes dart around his gang, their faces anxious and waiting, before settling back on him.
With a false sense of bravado, I lift my chin, show- ing my defiance, and ask, "What is yours?" Remember- ing that names have powers in this realm, I need to be careful about with whom and how much information I
share. If a creature has a full name, they can make the fae do anything.
The leader smiles, showing bits of flesh still stuck in his sharp, pointed teeth, before relinquishing. "Very well. I will say mine if you gimme yours." Rapid beating thrums in my chest with uncertainty, but I nod. "They call me Rosco, leader of the Redcap Gang." He mocks a bow.
Rolling my eyes, I grit my teeth. "Some call me An." Offer him just enough for his satisfaction.
Rosco grins that wide smile again and simply replies, "At last," before his gang dives upon me, lifting me onto their backs like little ants carrying their din- ner. Surprised by the sudden movement, I let out a screech as fresh terror fills my chest. My eyes look around wildly as Rosco leads us through the high grass and toward the tree line.
Passing through the trees into the forest, the red- caps carry me with ease. At first, I strain against the ropes, trying once again to light that fire at my fingers, but eventually, I give up. This is a new forest. It doesn't look like the same one I was in moments ago, running from the wolf beast. It is lighter, still dark, but not as wet or dank.
Thoughts run through my mind and tears clog my throat as we scuttle along a wide dirt path curling through the trees. Frantically I search for a way to come free, but every thought leads me to a dead end. There are too many of them, and the rope is too thick and sturdy. Whatever they want with me, it can't be
good, and that causes my teeth to grind tightly, but if there is one thing I have learned here, it is that fear and panic get you into danger, not out of it. So I try to calm myself and keep my mind clear.
Rosco finally tells us to halt among a large boulder and many fallen tree trunks. The foliage on the trees above us is thick and lively with bright green leaves, and flowers bloom out of the ground nearby. The group rolls me off their backs and against one of the logs while they step a few feet away, digging out a small circle. Light peeks through the canopy overhead, il- luminating us in streaks of sunshine. Muttering among themselves, I hear the redcaps ask when they could eat me and mention things they want to do that are so revolting I am not sure I am hearing correctly.
&nb
sp; They start a small fire within the ring on the forest floor. While I am lying a few feet away, shivering from the cool leaves under my body, they began circling the fire, laughing and jumping around like fleas. Scooching around on the ground, I bend my knees slightly and inch my way to an awkward, almost-sitting position.
The hairs on my arms stand on end with an eerie feeling that someone is watching. My eyes search be- yond the trees, but I don't see anything out of the or- dinary trees and brush. Thick bushes and bulky trunks block my vision and provide solid cover for anything to hide in. A loud whinny cuts through the laughter of the evil redcaps. I can feel it behind me, that massive black horse, his looming presence demanding atten- tion. He would crush me. My panicking mind takes
over, imagining this creature of fae first crushing the redcaps and then stomping on me and picking my bones clean. He is a bad omen. Is it truly a myth about how dying in your dreams does not mean you die in re- ality? Will I soon find out?
The redcaps take small steps, backing away. Some hiss and others sputter apologies, but I don't under- stand what they're apologizing for. I want to shut my eyes, but I try to look at the horse still at my back. Small, sharp stones poke through the leaves and dig into my backside painfully. His snort fills my ears, and his hot breath sprays my neck. He whinnies again and rises back on his hind legs, casting a large shadow in front of me. I shut my eyes now and prepare for the impact of those giant hooves against my fragile body. When he crushes my skull, it will cave like a melon. My brains will splatter the forest ground in a sticky red mush. Just as the horse's front feet come back to the ground, there is another shift in the air, and the red- caps bow low as their leader scampers to the front, also taking a knee.
"We meant no harm, Your Highness, we had no idea who she was—what she was—to you, that is." Rosco doesn't look up as I try to reposition myself again to face what is behind me, but I cannot move; the ropes restrict me in my awkward position. A silky voice booms behind me, and a thought conjures in my mind that the black horse has been mysteriously replaced with something—someone—else. His rider, perhaps?
"I find that difficult to believe, redcap, seeing how you keep yourself very well informed." The voice is male, deep, and dangerous, dripping with authority. "I suggest you untie her immediately."
The redcap rushes his gang to undo the ropes bind- ing me, and I sit up fully. Dirt and leaves cling to my clothes, skin, and hair. Still, I do not face the owner of that chillingly beautiful voice as fear grips me tightly. The redcaps straighten and cower behind their leader, snarling with false courage. Rosco glares at the owner of the voice behind me but does not move or shrink away.
Finally, the voice simply and firmly commands: "Leave." The redcaps look to their leader as he cocks his head in a slight bow, turns, and, surprisingly, walks away, disappearing among the thick brush with his gang trails behind, muttering about losing their dinner and fun.
My stomach lurches, and my knees feel too weak to stand with that presence behind me. I try to rally the courage to stand and turn to him as adrenaline courses through me and my palms feel slick with sweat. I clear my throat several times and whisper breathlessly, "Thank you," but get no response. Wait- ing a beat before swiveling , I find nothing, no one, not even a shadow behind me. I pull myself to my feet and look around, turning full circle, but there is nothing among the thick trees in the forest. My voice strength- ens. "Please. Please show yourself."
The sound is strangled, and it crackles in my ears. Clearing my throat, I try again. "I just want to thank you."
Eerie silence answers back. Branches dances as a low breeze runs by, and I huff in annoyance with my hands on my hips. I turn on my heel to walk away and slam right into something solid that sends me stum- bling backward.
"You're here," growls that dark, dangerously beauti- ful voice.
Shaking myself out of the stupor, I realize have run right into the stranger’s solid chest. I blink; my body feels dazed as though he is surreal. I raise my eyes to the imposing stranger in front of me. My throat con- stricts when his eyes meet mine, bright, shining green rimmed with thick, dark lashes, his nearly black hair tied back in a long ponytail. He is dressed head to toe in solid-black formfitting leathers with a strange sword hanging from his hip. It is long and thin, slightly curved at the end. A band of gold embellishes the center of his brow with an emerald in the middle, matching his clear eyes.
My throat goes dry as my heart speeds up, and my skin goes hot. My tongue is thick; it sticks to the roof of my mouth. Something about this man feels famil- iar. But he isn't a man: his ears end in fine points. He is fae. Maybe a type of High fae, by the shimmer of his skin, glittering like fish scales, and his overall ethe- real beauty. I find my voice and stutter, "Wh-who are y-you?"
His expression doesn't change as he continues to look down at me and crosses his arms over his chest. The leather squeaks as it strains with his movements. He says, "Don't stutter, princess, it isn't becoming of you." The corners of his full mouth tug slightly up- ward. He sidesteps me and begins walking in the oppo- site direction the redcaps fled. "We need to go unless you want another run-in with more creatures like the cusith that chased you."
Blinking my eyes, my legs wobble as they pump to- ward him. My pajamas are filthy, and dirt hides under my fingernails. I suddenly feel self-conscious in his presence; his beauty is remarkable. "So it was a cusith? Why was it here?" I have to practically jog to match his long strides and keep up. "Don't they inhabit the rocky mountains?"
"Yes, princess, but everything is hunting you. They can smell you as soon as you cross over." I grab his arm to slow him down and turn him to face me. He stops, staring at my arm relentlessly, shock shadowing his features, but I stand firm and hold on.
"Hey, how'd you know I was chased?" I blink slowly. "And why are they hunting me? I didn't cross over any- thing." A nervous laugh bounces out of my throat, and I throw up my hands. "This isn't real!"
He says simply, "So many questions. First"—he leans in so closely, a strong scent of pine and a whoosh of cold wafts from him—"I follow you. Second, that's a much more complicated answer, and third, technically, this is very real."
My head shakes in disbelief as my jaw falls open. "And you didn't think I could have used a hand?"
He smirks. I can already tell he is going to be ex- tremely aggravating. "With the cusith? You handled it, didn't you?"
"Just barely!"
"Princess, none of the forests in Faery are exactly safe for conversation." He holds out an arm. "Shall we debate this at a later time when we are safely out of here?"
I stomp my foot into the forest dirt. "No, I’m not go- ing with you. I'm not... I don't even know who you are. You could be one of them, hunting me too! You haven't explained a thing to me yet."
"Princess, I promise you—I am not hunting you.
Surely you know fae cannot lie."
I stare at those emerald eyes and fold my arms across my chest.
"I would be happy to explain things, but somewhere safer perhaps?"
My eyes narrow, but he doesn't falter under my stare. "First, tell me why I should trust you."
The stranger straightens and looks at me levelly. "Who are you?"
"I am Prince Aiden, heir to the Second Half Seasons Court. Your betrothed, and I need your help."
My arms fall to my sides. Did I hear anything cor- rectly just now? He is my betrothed? Like, to be mar- ried?
Oh man, wake up! Inside my head, I scream. I pinch the skin of my side, my legs. Meanwhile, the prince, Aiden, looks down at me in confusion, his dark brows drawn together.
"What are you doing?" he drawls.
"Trying to wake myself up." I continue my pinching fest, but it isn't helping. Finally, Aiden grabs my hands to stop my self-inflicted torture. The touch sends lightning bolts up my arms as a flame bursts in my core before sputtering out. "Slap me," I demand.
Aiden sighs, shaking his head. "I will do no such thing, princess. I understand you
are confused. You don't remember anything. That's my fault. Do you re- member anything?" Spreading his arms wide, he ges- tures to the forest around us. "Does this bring back any memories? Any at all?"
My eyes dart back and forth, trying to piece to- gether what he is talking about. I arch an eyebrow and glare at him.
He takes a big breath and runs one of his hands down his face. "Do you remember what the Second Half Seasons Court planned from your birth? Andryad—"
"How do you know my name?"
"I just had to keep you safe. They planned to kill you. They planned to have me kill you."
Chapter 3 Andryad
My lower back pools with sweat when I open my eyes, lying in my own creaky bed on the lumpy mat- tress. Numbly, I finger the opal at my throat that pulses with light and glows brightly. A new warmth ra- diates from it, soothing my skin. Sometimes it does that—glows. I've never been able to determine what triggers it, but it only happens after a dream and inter- action in Faery.
I push back the sheet, revealing my fleece pajama pants, which are no longer covered in the dirt and leaves from the forest. They're clean. Touching a hand to my curls, I notice there are no leaves left behind to create a matted mess. No marks adorn my skin where the ropes bit in from those creepy redcaps.
The Kents' home is quiet. The only sound is Halsey's snoring across from me, filling the tiny bed- room with a steady thrum. The sun peeks through the thin curtains, which means it is almost time for my shift and I will be on the verge of arriving late. The sweat still clings to me, dampening the sheets and