Drifter nods slowly. “I am saying she needs to look inside herself for the answers she seeks. If she does, I believe she will succeed.”

  His admonition is reassuring, but troubling, too. For him to say I am more accomplished than he is seems a misjudgment of the worst sort. I am still too young and inexperienced. “I don’t know if I am up to it.”

  He leans over and hugs me to him. “You are one of the best and bravest people I have ever known, and I have missed you. It is a relief to find you still alive, and still as skillful and capable as ever. I am confident that both will serve you well.”

  He then draws back and looks at me sadly. “But I have been thinking, Auris, and I don’t know that I can stand going back to Viridian Deep. Too many memories. Too much pain. My time in Viridian Deep is over. My place now is here, in my own world, where I see needs that require tending. I believe I can better help you by staying behind. Forgive me.”

  Then he rises and looks down at me. “When this is over—when you are done with the Barghast—come back to me. Come tell me everything that happened, if you can. Will you promise?”

  I don’t know exactly why, but I give him a nod of agreement. Without waiting for anything further, he turns away and walks from the cave and is gone. Riva and I stare after him silently.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Riva says finally.

  I’m still reeling under everything he told me. “Do you believe any of that?” I ask her. “What he said?”

  “Don’t know. He certainly expects a lot of you, doesn’t he?” A long pause. “But he thinks a lot of you, too.”

  “He expects too much,” I whisper in reply.

  She gives me a look and then a bitter smile. “Pfft. I don’t think so. It just seems that way at the moment.”

  Then she, too, rises and wanders off again, presumably to sleep, and I am left alone with a mix of confused feelings about what I have just heard.

  But the effort to concentrate on it is beyond me by now, the stimulant Drifter gave me is wearing off, and in minutes I am asleep.

  I wake sometime around midnight to find Riva by my side, shaking my shoulder. “Time to go.”

  I have slept deeply, and it takes me a few long minutes to shrug off the lethargy and rise. The cave is dark, but I can make out Antrim as he stirs near its back, his huge scaly body working its way forward toward the entrance. Riva is shrugging on her gear and peering out at the darkness. The skies are black; there is no light visible from the moon or stars. Apparently, the cloud cover is thick enough to hide the heavens utterly. It will be good flying for a Dragon and two passengers seeking to escape detection.

  Drifter is gone. I have to accept that he is not coming back.

  I wonder if the Ministry still searches for me. But of course it does. Winton would not have given up so easily. There will be patrols and radar emplacements. And there will be aircraft ready for instant deployment if we are detected.

  I take hold of Riva’s shoulder to gain her attention. “How do we avoid being caught out once we are airborne?”

  “Antrim knows about Human detection machines. As we told you before, Dragons are not detectable by technology. And if we fly south along the edges of the marsh into the wastelands and cross over from there to Viridian, we will not be seen. On a brighter night eyes might spy us, but not tonight.”

  I nod, thinking her right—or hoping so, at least. Riva scrambles up Antrim’s extended wing, fitting herself into the juncture at his neck and shoulders. “Are you coming?”

  Do I have a choice?

  I follow her up, positioning myself just behind her, my body pressed against hers, my hands gripping the heavy leather belt she has rucked up about her muscular midsection. I dig in my fingers to secure a firm hold. “Ready.”

  She leans forward to whisper to Antrim, who moves across the cavern floor to the cave entrance. He edges outside to clear the opening, his body sinking into the tidal waters until they are up to his belly. Then he spreads his wings to catch the wind currents blowing in off the Roughlin, gathers himself, and jumps. Two quick flaps of those great appendages, and we are airborne. Soaring skyward, Antrim banks and levels off not fifty feet above the surface of the marsh, and angles south toward the northern edge of the wastelands. We fly low and swift, and our passage is little more than a silent shadow. I look for evidence of pursuit, but although I search long and hard, I find nothing. We pass into the wastelands, surrounded by darkness and clouds and mist, and nothing intrudes.

  Within an hour, we are flying west across Roughlin Wake and its choppy black waters—a Dragon and two riders alone beneath an empty sky. I hug myself against Riva’s broad back, closing my eyes. Wind whips at me in wild, chilling gusts, and its cold seeps into my bones. I shiver in spite of myself and know it is from more than the cold.

  The night drags on, and my weariness grows more pronounced. I find myself drifting in the quieter moments of our flight, sleep prodding at my consciousness. I blink and shift to fight it off, but it lingers. Ahead of me, Riva sits firm and steady as she holds her position astride Antrim’s neck, now and then leaning forward to say something to him, her words lost in the rush of the wind. Overhead, the clouds part and the moon and stars come into view. But the night continues to pass, with no signs of a lightening in the eastern sky.

  How long has this flight been? How much longer until I am home safe?

  I am still trying to think of a way to save Harrow—to overcome the Barghast’s ability to bend people to his will and make them his puppets. I remember what he did to me when he stole Harrow’s inish. I remember how terrible it felt to be so helpless. I remember how ashamed I felt afterward at how easily my will had been overcome.

  I have power to spare at my command—or will again soon—but how to use it?

  And then I recall Drifter’s words. Drifter thinks I can manage this, that I have a unique magic that will get me through. He believes me capable of doing what he could not do all those years ago. He believes I will find a way. I wish I could believe it as strongly as he does, but the harsh truth is that I cannot. Everything he told me sounded wildly improbable, and therefore unbelievable, and I feel the tightening grip of hopelessness and the inevitable failure it will bring.

  My despair deepens as we fly, and my exhaustion is suddenly overwhelming.

  My eyes close, and I sleep.

  * * *

  —

  When I wake, it is with a stab of fear. In spite of the danger of doing so—in spite of the fact that I promised myself I would not—I have fallen asleep astride Antrim’s broad neck, still pressed up against Riva Tisk, my hands still somehow maintaining their grip on the other woman’s belt. I spy land ahead in the faint glow of the rising sun—the rugged eastern shores of Viridian Deep, behind which lie the ragged peaks of the Skyscrape Mountains and the receding darkness. Home at last. I exhale sharply, and a wave of relief suffuses me at the sight. I am still exhausted and aching from everything I have been though over the past eight days, and my inish is once again gone. How much longer will I have to wait for its return? But I am able to push aside the discomfort its absence creates and embrace what expectations my arrival back home provides. Perhaps it will come back faster in Viridian Deep. But it must, mustn’t it? I only have a scant six days in which to save Harrow.

  The remainder of my journey passes quickly, and I push aside my thoughts of desperation and worry in favor of enjoying the spectacular views of the countryside over which we fly. It is so good to see it all once more, so unexpectedly reassuring. It is almost as if I am being promised a way forward—as if I am being assured that everything is going to work out.

  Almost.

  Less than an hour later, we are on the ground, landing in a field east of the city. I slide down from Antrim’s back along the length of his lowered wing, but no sooner do I reach the ground than my legs threaten to give way. Only through sheer force of will do I manage to stay upright as I watch Riva whispering to Antrim and the Dragon saying something back. Then she is on the ground beside me, pulling me back.

  “Antrim has brought us within walking distance of the city proper,” she says quietly. “Maybe three or four miles of walking and we are there. He chooses to leave us here because he is unwilling to fly closer. Too many people, too many chances of being seen. Most believe the Dragons dead and gone, and he thinks it safer for his people if that belief is maintained, with Dragons far away and out of sight.”

  She pauses. “But he wants to speak with you.”

  I move forward to stand close to Antrim’s huge muzzle as he bends down close. “Home again, Fae girl. Have you your wits and inish about you yet?”

  I smile. “Not all the way. But soon.”

  “When do you wish me back?” His voice is rough and edgy, but the commitment is clearly there.

  “I didn’t think you were coming back. I didn’t think you would want anything more to do with this business.”

  “I want the Barghast dead just as much as you do. Such creatures are a scourge to all of us—and they are as much a threat to my Dragon pride as they are to your family. It thinks itself my equal. It thinks it can take control of me as it has done with other creatures. No, I need to come with you—if only to ensure that you will have sufficient time in which to overcome him.”

  I understand his meaning. If he flies us to the Winglish and back again, we don’t have to travel afoot. It will save an awful lot of time. One in, all in, it appears.

  “You are brave and kind to offer,” I answer. “I would leave now, but I need time to let my inish replenish itself. Give me three days, and I’ll be waiting for you here at dawn. I’ll need you to fly me right into the Aerkling Winglish.”

  “Well and good. Once I have this Barghast before me, I will offer myself as his Dragon—then give him perhaps five seconds to think about what that means before I devour him.”

  Antrim sounds gleeful, but I have to stop this thinking here and now while I still can. “No, Antrim, you cannot speak with the Barghast. You cannot engage with him at all. It is you the Barghast wants, and I will not chance that he might find a way to ensnare you. I will deal with Tonklot myself.”

  The Dragon hisses at me with such ferocity that he nearly knocks me off my feet, snarling and spitting with rage. “I will not be told what I can or cannot do! The terms of my service are my own business.”

  I straighten with some effort. “But Tonklot desires to take control of you, Antrim. He wants you for a reason, to compel you to do something…”

  Antrim’s roars reverberate through the very ground on which I stand, cutting me short. “What that creature wants matters not a whit to me! No one commands a Dragon, Auris. Not even you.”

  Abruptly, he spreads his massive wings and lifts away in a whirlwind of wind and dust, rising in a great swooping circle that leaves me struggling to shelter my eyes as he flies off into the sunrise.

  I watch him go, wondering what I have done. Riva walks over to stand beside me. “I think that could have been handled better.”

  “Probably.”

  “Tell me, do you have any idea at all about how you are going to overcome the Barghast? About how you are going to take him prisoner, haul him back here, and force him to restore Harrow’s inish?”

  I sigh. “Not really.”

  She nods. “So have you considered that maybe Antrim is right, that maybe he can overcome the Barghast?”

  “But what if he can’t? You didn’t feel what that creature could do, Riva. And if Antrim can handle him, why are the Seers so afraid of letting a Dragon anywhere near Tonklot? They must have seen something that we are not privy to.”

  “Perhaps,” she concedes. “Let’s just hope we come up with a better plan in the next three days. Now let’s start walking so we can reach the city before we lose this day as well.”

  And without waiting for an answer, she hikes away and leaves me to follow as best I can.

  * * *

  —

  We walk at a steady pace for a couple of hours and reach the city shortly after midday. We say little to each other during our journey, although I am pretty sure we are both thinking the same thing. I am convinced that Riva intends to come with me to confront the Barghast, and—as with Antrim—I am trying to decide how to prevent this. I am also convinced that Ronden will insist on coming too.

  I cannot keep risking their lives. The burden for saving Harrow has been placed directly on me by the Barghast, and if anything happens to any of them, it will be my fault for including them. Ronden, at least, has a vested interest in her brother, but the other two are doing this for me. It all feels wrong, but I cannot think of a way to stop it from happening.

  When we reach the city proper, Riva suggests we need to find Ronden first. I was thinking that I should go to Harrow instead, but she points out that we told Ronden we would find her as soon as we returned and we should keep that promise. I can’t think of a reason to do anything else, so I agree. Harrow has waited this long; he can wait a bit longer. Besides, Harrow is under the care of the Seers, so when I go to him, I will need to spend some time with them, too. I will need to ask them for help once more, although I haven’t been able to settle yet on exactly what sort of help to ask for. What I need is a way to defeat the Barghast and take him alive, but the sisters, although proficient at recapturing memories, are not able to conjure solutions out of thin air.

  Still, I have to try something.

  I think again of Drifter’s words—that perhaps being a Changeling is not about looks—and again dismiss them.

  Instead, I steer Riva through the city streets and the throngs of people. At her size and with her clear presence, she draws attention, but she seems not to notice. I smile, glad for once not to be the one everyone is sneaking glances at. My transformation from Human to Fae is continuing, but I am close enough to being fully Fae now that I no longer show much evidence of my Human side.

  We climb the tree lane steps closest to Ronden’s. An old familiar dread surfaces, of something bad happening in my absence—that mix of fear and guilt that I cannot manage to banish. I know its origins. I have lost everything in my life before, and now that I am being given a second chance—a wonderful, magical do-over—I cannot bear the thought that I might lose this, too.

  But I tamp down my intrusive, unwelcome worries and think only of reuniting with my family. So much has happened in the last two weeks that it feels as if I’ve been gone for months, and I smile with a mix of relief and expectation as Ancrow’s former home appears ahead. Beyond, the cottage I now share with Harrow is clearly visible in the day’s warm sunlight.

  I slow and turn to Riva. “Are you ready?”

  She blinks. “Are you?”

  A valid question—and one I have no answer to.

  We walk to the front door and I knock. There is a pause, and then the door opens and Ronden is standing there. She startles, then smiles broadly and lunges to embrace us both—which startles Riva in return.

  “I should be furious with you for leaving me behind,” she announces through hugs and tears, “but I am so happy to see you I don’t want to bother wasting time on that.”

  “We’ll tell you everything,” I promise. “For now, it is just good to be home. Is…Is all well here?”

  She takes a deep breath and exhales. “Well…”

  “Harrow?” I ask at once, the blood draining from my face.

  She shakes her head. “Still in the care of the sisters. No, this is something else. You might as well come in and see.”

  She steps aside and allows us to enter. We walk into the living room and I stop in my tracks.

  It seems that I now have the answer to at least one of Winton’s questions.

  “Hello, Auris,” Malik says.

  It is beyond surreal to see this giant faceless figure sitting on a couch in my family’s living room, but stranger still to see him gently bouncing Char on one knee and Ramey on the other. Though all encased in metal and composite, he occupies his seat as if perfectly at ease, comfortable with the two smiling, laughing girls who are entranced by his attention.

  I have encountered more than a few odd sights in my lifetime, and I imagine I will encounter others, but I doubt that anything will be able to top this.

  “Hello, Malik,” I reply, conscious of Riva’s hands on the blades she wears strapped to her sides. “Are you moving in with my family?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Char shouts immediately. “Do it, Malik! Come live with us.”

  I hear Malik chuckle, the sound reverberating from within his helmet. “Can’t do that, Char. I’m just here for a visit.”

  “It doesn’t have to be just a visit,” Ramey declares in her no-nonsense voice. “Isn’t that right, Auris?”

  Char seems to suddenly realize I am there, and before I can reply to Ramey, she leaps off Malik’s leg and rushes over to embrace me. “You’re back!” she exclaims, then her face dims. “Did you find anything to make Harrow better?”

  I hug her to me and ruffle her shaggy green hair. “Maybe. Be patient, and I’ll tell you. But…”

  I look questioningly at Ronden and raise my eyebrows.

  “Malik appeared several nights ago. He arrived very late, because he didn’t want our neighbors to see him and be frightened—though of course he had to reveal himself to me. He came here to find you, but since you were gone, he convinced me he wasn’t here to kidnap anyone or cause trouble, so I invited him in. We had a long talk about the past and some other things, but he can tell you about that himself—if he can ever rid himself of those two leeches clinging to his knees. They seem to have found a new source of amusement, and I can’t pry them off him.”

  Any hesitation I might have experienced on finding him here disappears when I learn that Ronden feels safe. I know Malik’s gentle side from when we were prisoners of the Goblins, and in spite of his size and his formidable look, that gentleness remains.