But Harrow presses on, and soon we are sitting across from Promise Falls, staring over the verdant sweeps of grasses drifting down to the lake and across from there to the silvery sparkle of the falls. I am at peace here. I am able to let go of everything and just breathe in the beauty that surrounds me. I am able to let it work its magic.

  After a time, I say, “I feel so much more complete for having my memory of Drifter restored. I cannot understand how it was lost for so long. It makes me wonder how much else I have lost.”

  Harrow squeezes my hand. “I would feel the same way, if it were me. I would want it all back—everything I had lost—even without knowing what that might reveal. I would not feel complete otherwise.”

  I give him a quick smile. I am so lucky to have him in my life. He sees things so clearly. Those vaunted instincts with which we are both gifted bind us in so many ways, but none are more important than how well we see what we each need from the other. It is a connection that I had never thought to find with anyone, and it defines the nature of our relationship in ways nothing else can.

  “I think I have to know the rest of what happened to me if I am to be whole again,” I tell him quietly. “I think you are right; I may have to go back to the Seers and ask them to help me one final time.”

  He gives me a gentle nudge. “You say that as if you are seeking something you think I might discourage.”

  “I suppose I want your support.”

  “When have you not had it?”

  I nod. “It’s the reassurance that I still have it that matters, I suppose.”

  “And I think you shouldn’t limit this visit to ‘one final time,’ either,” he continues. “None of us know how long this process might take. You suffered a great trauma when you lost your parents and were imprisoned like a criminal, and then lost all your friends while trying to escape. Anyone would require healing after all that. You should not ever apologize for that, or limit what you may need to fully recover.”

  I stare at him, amazed. Oh Fates of Fae and inish, how I love him!

  I lean into him. “What it requires of me right now,” I say quietly, “is you. Can we go home now? I need to have you all to myself, to hold me for a while.”

  His arms come around me, pulling me close. “You’ve had me since the first day we met.”

  I smile inwardly. “That’s some pretty thick syrup you’re pouring, Watcher,” I tease.

  “Want a little more? You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

  Now I am kissing him. Between kisses, I say, “A little proof wouldn’t hurt.”

  We stare at each other a moment longer, and that’s all it takes for me to fall into his amazing eyes the same way I’ve been doing since we met.

  He smiles. “I think we can manage that.”

  We leave the bench and Promise Falls, arms about each other, walk home and hold each other close for the rest of the day.

  Two more days pass, and my life becomes tranquil once more. No further attacks come, despite my fears, and I am given the time I need to rest and recover.

  My sisters Ramey and Char are there to help, but they need me as well. They need the reassurance that family comes first, and that new journeys away will not end for Harrow, Ronden, or myself as they did for Ancrow. Losing a mother is a terrible experience for anyone, and more so for the young. It was bad enough for me at nineteen, but worse for them, as Ancrow was always there. She raised them herself, becoming their rock and their certainty, their safe haven against the world. So her loss was titanic. The pain of having someone so integral stripped away in an instant does not fade quickly. Even two years later, they still miss her badly.

  I miss her, too, but our relationship was so much different. We found each other after years of separation, and with a firm conviction that our mother/daughter reunion was impossible—though our reasons for this were vastly different. She was afraid even to think I could be the daughter she had given up, while I was unaware of her very existence—and both of us were fighting time and circumstance and a raft of warring emotions about what it meant to be brought back together so dramatically. I did not trust or much like my mother once I found her, and a full understanding of what she had been through and what she meant to me was slow in coming. Distrust, dislike, and dismay combined to keep her at arm’s length in the short time we were given.

  But this is not Char’s or Ramey’s reality. For them, Ancrow was always a mother, and they still remember her almost entirely in those terms. They know what she did to me; they understand how wrong and cruel it was. But while they can sympathize with me and feel my pain, they have their own very different memories of how it feels to lose a mother.

  So I remain committed to being their older sister and caregiver in the same way Ronden does, and my time with them is precious. And though other wants and needs press in, demanding my time, I have learned how to keep such intrusions at bay.

  As well, there is my time with Harrow—still so new and so precious. I have found my center, my love; I have good reason to feel happy. But I also cannot simply accept this as settled and think it will always be there, because neither may be true. My bond with Harrow is a gift I cannot take lightly or with some blind expectation that it does not need nurturing. It does. It needs warding; it needs protecting. But my time with him is both healing and reassuring. He gives me strength of spirit and a new sense of emotional stability. I am not entirely over my sojourn in the Goblin prison, and I likely never will be. It is a raw wound on both my soul and my heart, and seeing Malik again has opened it anew. For years I had so little—my former life stripped away and forgotten, and my present life a living hell. But I came through it while my friends did not, and that sort of knowledge works on you like sandpaper on skin. You endure it in whatever way you can, and you live with the knowledge that the memories will never entirely fade.

  So while I spend time with my family doing not much of anything in particular in the days since Char’s abduction, I think often of Malik and wonder if I will ever see him again. To have found him alive when I was so certain he was dead remains a stunning reality I still have trouble reconciling. But as my intuition has told me, I don’t think Malik and I are quite done with each other, for which I am glad.

  As for the rest…Finding Drifter to see if he can tell me anything about my past that might be important in understanding my present—perhaps helping me to discover the name of the enemy who stalks me—can wait. So can asking the Seers to help uncover more memories of my past. Finding a way to help Malik and free him from his bondage—or even his dependence on the medicine that keeps him agony-free—feels more pressing, but at the same time more distant still. Most of what Malik requires I am likely unable to provide, and most of what I want for him is probably a dream that cannot come to pass. Lastly, finding a path forward for myself that does not involve Goblins coming for me in the middle of the night might not be a goal I can achieve. I am Ancrow’s daughter, after all, and the circumstances surrounding my return to Viridian Deep and the extent of the inish I possess seem to have brought danger and enemies both—just as they did for my mother.

  So I prevaricate or delay or resist—or whatever you choose to call it—and embrace my excuses to stay with my family, my friends, my city, and my life as I wish it to be, and I do not leave on any further expeditions.

  Until, three days on, the unthinkable happens.

  I have gone fishing with Harrow and the younger girls. Ronden, to her profound annoyance, is still under observation at the healing center, so she is not with us. But the rest of us travel southeast to Sparla Springs Lake, a two-mile walk to some of the best freshwater fishing in all of Viridian Deep. I have been recently introduced to this particular form of recreation—although, from the way I took to it, I think I might have done this in my early life. But either way, I am quickly entranced. I find it a wonderful way of passing time—more relaxing than I had expected it to be, and just challenging enough to keep things interesting.

  The day is gray with an overcast sky, but warm and pleasant enough otherwise, and it is our plan to fish until late in the afternoon before walking home again with our catch. That we will have caught something is a given. Harrow and the two younger girls are already seasoned practitioners, and assured enough to guarantee we will not go home empty-handed. So my purpose is mostly to spend a day in a lovely place with those I care about most.

  It has been a week since the last attack, and no further bands of Goblins have come for me. In addition to our own ertl, Harrow has procured and begun training another for Ronden and the younger girls. I am beginning to relax again, and so I give myself over to the pleasures of our outing, laughing and smiling and loosening my vigilance.

  So when the Aerklings appear, I am caught off guard completely.

  They materialize without warning, more than a dozen of them surrounding us—dark and winged and looming like wraiths. They have Harrow and me encircled, so that we have no place to flee save into the lake. We hold fishing poles instead of our inish staffs, which are lying close but just out of easy reach. Ramey and Char sit between us but are busy examining their catch and have not yet seen what threatens.

  Yet is this a threat, or simply a visit? I am assuming the former, because in the moment this is how it feels to me. I search the Aerkling faces, but I cannot tell which is their leader or read their expressions—though the set of their bodies and the look in their eyes is not reassuring. They do not hold weapons, but they wear blades strapped about their waists. Nothing about this suggests a mere visit, so I wonder why they are here.

  I risk a quick glance at Harrow, who is aware of them, too, and together we rise. I lean over and quietly tell my sisters not to panic. I know them well enough—seasoned little warriors that they are—to believe they are equal to what is coming.

  How wrong I am.

  A few further moments pass, with all of us frozen in place, then I reach down for my staff and take it in hand. Harrow does the same. Better that they see we are neither cowed nor helpless. If required, we will defend ourselves, for we possess the means to do so. There are too many of them to expect we can prevail—yet we have done so before, and against greater odds.

  The difference this time is that we have two young sisters to protect, as well as ourselves.

  Another Aerkling steps from the shadows of the trees and makes his way forward. He slouches and stumbles as he comes—as if hindered somehow—his gait odd and its movements strangely skewed in a way that is noticeable even beneath his folded wings. Yet in his eyes I can detect a clear hint of what appears to be dislike or even open antagonism. He bears no weapons, but he demonstrates no fear, either. As the light fully reveals his face, I recognize the rebel I saw trying to persuade the Aerklings to overthrow their old leader on the night Char and I escaped from the Winglish. His manner suggests he is the leader of this band, and it is to him we will need to speak.

  “Close enough,” Harrow says as the Aerkling comes to within a dozen feet. “What is it you want?”

  The Aerkling halts obediently. “To talk.”

  It is not what he says that gives me pause. It is how he says it. It is what he might be thinking, and of that I cannot be certain.

  “And merely talking requires so many of you?” Harrow asks, the iron in his voice unmistakable.

  A shrug. “These are dangerous times. It is best to be careful.”

  Harrow nods. “I am called Harrow.” He waits for me to speak, but I say nothing. I am taking the speaker’s measure, my eyes fixed on his. There is something extremely troubling about him—a darkness born from his very presence, one that almost seems more like a memory. Yet I do not know this creature. Harrow speaks for me. “This is Auris.” He gestures toward me and then further. “And these are our sisters Ramey and Char.”

  “I recognize Char,” the Aerkling says. “And Auris.” His eyes shift to meet mine, holding my gaze fast for long moments. “So many years since I’ve seen you last. Look at how you’ve grown. A young woman of capable means. It is a joy to find you so well.” He gives me a small bow. “As it happens, it is to you that I wish to speak.”

  I have no memory of ever meeting this Aerkling face-to-face—no recollection of ever seeing him before that night at the Winglish. How can he speak of me as if I should? But his eyes and voice have a strange effect on me—a deep calming sensation, one that reassures me all is well. His voice is astonishingly beautiful, and I wonder why I ever thought I was in danger. My hand loosens around my inish staff.

  “My name is Tonklot,” he says—the same name I recall Orphren saying in referring to the Aerkling who was threatening her grandfather. “I am not sure you ever knew that, Auris. Currently, I am the newly chosen leader of the Aerkling people.”

  “What of the old leader?” I ask, then finding myself wondering why it matters.

  He smiles, his strange eyes making me feel so warm and welcome. “He is gone from this life. His time has passed, and a new age begins. Much will change for all of us who live atop the cliffs and fly the skies above.”

  “And what has this to do with me?” I ask.

  “Much. We knew each other once, long ago. I merely…seek to renew that connection.”

  His gaze shifts to Harrow, and I feel suddenly bereft. “And you are her partner, are you not? You mean so much to her—so strong and assured, so skilled and talented. Harrow, isn’t it? We must be good friends, you and me. And you and I, also, Auris.”

  Something feels off—but then his gaze shifts again and I find myself basking in his regard. I am barely aware of it when he gestures, but I let my inish staff fall from my fingers and see Harrow drop his as well.

  “Auris,” I hear Ramey whisper urgently—a clear indication that she sees something is wrong—but what can she possibly have to fear?

  “Ah, little ones,” Tonklot whispers, his gaze falling on them. “Do not be frightened. All will be well. No harm will come to you. Children are precious, no matter who they are. Do you not feel safe with me?”

  His gaze fixes on each in turn, and I hear murmured sounds of agreement, but I am having trouble concentrating on much of anything but the soothing sound of Tonklot’s voice and the warm feeling of his eyes as they meet mine once again. I stand there unable to move, to even think. Did he really say those words or am I imagining it? Does it even matter? I wish only to hear him speak more, to look deeper into his eyes. I wish only to be made captive to his wonderful presence, to this sense of peace and comfort that he offers, to the sanctuary I now realize he can provide.

  “Lay down, Harrow, Ramey, Char,” Tonklot says, addressing each of them in turn, making a sweeping gesture to indicate the ground. “On your back, please, arms and legs extended, eyes closed. Your heart will be warmed and you will be assured of my good intentions. Do this now.”

  Harrow and the girls do, lowering themselves, stretching out as bidden, their faces calm and their features settled. It is then—only then—that I sense something is wrong, and I take a step forward to intervene. But Tonklot turns to me instantly, fixing me with those marvelous eyes and humming softly in a way that makes me understand that no danger can come from this.

  He speaks then to his companions. “Help me keep Harrow and the children where they are while I do my work. Hold them fast. And Auris as well.”

  Even though I hear the words clearly, I know what he is saying. Help keep her safe, my friends. And Harrow and the children, too. Let them all feel the light shining through them and the feeling of peace and comfort enveloping them. Do not let them feel abandoned.

  I smile as I feel the Aerklings close about me and gently tighten their hands about my arms and body so that I cannot move, and know that others do the same to Harrow, Ramey, and Char. I should be aware that this is wrong; I should be terrified by what is happening. But I feel only a deep sense of calm and well-being. And so we are all willingly made prisoners.

  Tonklot walks right up to me and touches my face. “I was so surprised to see you in the Aerkling village, so shocked to discover you were even alive. I would have spoken to you then, but the Aerklings would not have allowed it. And then you were gone again. But I have found you, haven’t I? So why don’t we see how much you have changed, eh? For you have changed, haven’t you? You are not as you were before. Do you remember that time?”

  His strange eyes study me as he says this, and I can feel him—or some part of him—working to get inside me. Into my mind and my thoughts. I feel him there, probing for something, and oddly it is a familiar feeling. I know I have experienced something like this before…but how?

  Still, his touch is persuasive, so I want to let him in, to let him discover what he seeks, because how could it be wrong?

  There is a gentle tugging sensation within me, as if he seeks to pull something free—something that will not yield to him. He frowns, and his taloned hands press into me. Now I can feel an intrusion that extends much deeper—as if his efforts have penetrated skin and bone and blood and found the very essence of me—to places not even Harrow has been.

  My body reacts instinctively and violently to this violation, even though I feel no stress or danger. What I do feel is an unmistakable refusal to yield, so powerful it jolts through me and into him with such force that he winces and abruptly withdraws.

  I expect to see disappointment on his face, but instead it looks almost like anger. “Hsssssst! The inish that protects you is still strong—too strong. I thought it might be less of a barrier by now. I thought my own abilities substantially improved, more than capable of overpowering your own. Damn you, girl!” He pauses for a moment, as if considering; then a crafty expression crosses his face. “But perhaps a different approach is required. A locked door simply requires the proper key.” He gestures to his Aerkling companions. “Hold her fast, my brethren. Take hold of the children, too.”