"No need to be. I have a good life in the Faerie Realm."

The words came without thought, but I could tell from Shea's expression that she was feeling the reverberations of my mistake. Not anymore seemed to echo in the air between us.

"We should try to get some sleep," I mumbled, my mood sinking. I no longer wanted to discuss my situation. Things that had been kept locked away for two years could remain unsaid for a while longer.

Shea settled down on her bedroll, while I fought to keep my anxiety in check, reminding myself we'd soon arrive at the capital, where we were bound to find some answers. We'd have to be careful, of course, and avoid the Governor's men, a task that wouldn't necessarily be easy since Tairmor was the seat of his power. I didn't know much about Governor Ivanova, except that he was supposedly pro-Faerie rights, yet Spex was paying off a debt to his regime by helping to identify and abduct Fae. That discrepency, coupled with my aunt's warning that Ivanova did not know he had a grandson and should not be viewed as a resource to us, ensured that I had no intention of going near the man. Not to mention the risk he posed to Shea.

Though finding a comfortable position was difficult, I tried to get some rest, knowing it was essential to regaining my strength. I could not afford to be sick; I could not afford to slow down. My straightforward mission to find Zabriel was becoming complicated, and the complications presented by Illumina and Evangeline were dangerous. I needed to find out who was hunting Faeries almost as much as I needed to bring the Prince of Chrior home. And the longer I delayed, the more Fae would potentially be hurt, and the more in jeopardy the throne would become.

By the next morning, I was fevered, and when we stopped at one of the mining towns, Shea was insistent that we find a doctor. I refused. No one in these parts needed to know that I was-or had been-Fae. The people here spoke in short, lazy sentences, looked at strangers with suspicion, and in general didn't radiate a sense of open-mindedness or caring. No one even paid my obviously severe condition a glance. Instead, we took advantage of a little market and restocked our supplies, including bandages. These would have to see us the rest of the way to Tairmor.

Our dealings completed, we retrieved our horses from the stable where we had left them to be fed and watered. There wasn't much food available for them in the Fere, especially not in the winter. We paid more for their grain than for our own provisions, but we didn't have a choice. We needed the horses to make any sort of time.

We walked our sated animals down the raw, stone street-the only street in the whole place-until we came to the edge of town. A gated tunnel greeted us, guarded by a handful of military men. After exchanging an uneasy glance, Shea and I approached.

"Halt," ordered one of the men, jumping from the outpost beside the gate. "I need to see your papers."

I removed my travel documents from my jerkin, Shea likewise producing hers. Though I noticed a tremor in her hands, the man either didn't see it or chose not to remark upon it. He took our passports and examined them carefully, in particular eyeing the seal in the bottom right corner. Satisfied, he returned them to us, which more or less established the quality of Hastings's work.

"Raise the gate!" he shouted, motioning us ahead.

The gate was so rickety the raising of it could have caused its destruction, and I ducked my head protectively as we rode beneath it. Still, the existence of the obviously hastily constructed checkpoint was bothersome, for it was another sign that things were changing in the Territory.

The horses fussed during the initial minutes of darkness inside the tunnel, reminding me again that I was a nominally proficient rider, but they soon settled down. My eyes also adjusted quickly to the dimness-perhaps I still possessed certain Fae characteristics. Shea, with her human senses, rode behind me, her horse's shoulder to my mount's hip, as though afraid she would get lost.

We camped that night under an open sky. I'd done my best to hide my pain throughout the day, but now my shoulder blades ached with every pulsation of blood that passed through them. The bandages around my chest felt soaked, and I could hardly tolerate a shift in position. Despite my hope that Shea's ministrations would have been enough, I could no longer deny that I needed a doctor.

Though Shea was inclined to backtrack to one of the towns for medical help, I wouldn't entertain the idea. We were closer to Tairmor at this point and traveling downhill. Retreating would mean a more arduous journey for me and the horses, one I wasn't sure I could make. I didn't share this last thought with Shea, however, suspecting it would have made her even more insistent. Instead, I put on a brave face and promised to call for her if my condition worsened. While she wasn't happy about the situation, she mixed some herbs from her medical supplies in a cup of warm water, assuring me it would help me to rest.

I lay on my bedroll, floating between awareness and unconsciousness, between the heat of the sun and the chill of the moon. Faces and shapes kept flashing through my mind, jerking my limbs as though I were a marionette in some lurid puppet show, and each time I moved, my back ached and stung. First there was Zabriel, but his warm, dark eyes had turned pale green and glowed ominously, warning me that he was not the same Prince I had known. Next was Ubiqua, sitting on her throne of twined roots, her hair matted and tangled but long enough to trail across the floor of the Great Redwood. Circles cleaved to her eyes like men aboard a sinking ship, and she gazed through me, begging me to understand. Understand what? That she had sent Illumina to die, she told me, that the sacrifice was necessary. I fled from her in horror.

Then I met my young cousin, her black hair and pale skin unchanged from the way I remembered her. The only difference was that she was happy to see me, and Illumina was rarely happy. Just when she broke into a smile, figures loomed behind her, and a man wrapped his overgrown hand across her mouth.

"Got one," he murmured, and I lurched forward, wanting to save her from the hunters, but she had faded into shadow, intangible and ghostly.

I couldn't breathe. I was hot and cold at once, my body fevered, my lungs screaming for air. It was part of the dream, part of the illness, my mind maintained; then clarity came to me, and my eyes flew open.

I screamed loud and long, though the sound was muffled by luminescent fingers. A pistol went off, but the suffocating grip around my chest and throat only tightened, and I struggled against arms that were at once weightless and as strong as iron. Then my thoughts clicked into place, and I groped at my hip for the Anlace. With my legs threatening to give out, I ripped it from its sheath and struck at my assailant with a blade instead of bare hands.

A spine-tingling screech tore through the darkness, evidence of the effectiveness of my defense. Again I struck, the Anlace sinking deep into flesh and sinew, and the creature released me. I fell to my knees, then scrambled toward Shea, the horrific sounds of my attacker's death throes echoing in the foothills of the Fere. I cowered, feeling like I was still trapped in my nightmares, that any direction I ran, walls of glass would contain me like a figure in an orb.

Shea was suffering no such delusions. Loading and reloading her pistol, she fired a steady chain of shots that hit their mark more than once and eventually forced our enemies to withdraw. When at last the only sounds were the wind and the frantic stamping of horses' hooves, I raised my head and dared to look around.

On the ground near my bedroll lay a corpse-only one, despite the number of bullets Shea had sent flying. But the body was no longer white like the hands that had tried to strangle me; it shimmered green, blue, red, and gold in the manner of Faerie wings. Gradually a black fog corrupted the skin, then dissipated into the air.

"What...?" I stammered, unable to process the sight. "What...?"

"Sepulchres," Shea supplied, kneeling beside me. "There were four of them. They went after you first. But this time, they came at me, too." A shudder passed through her body, perhaps from the memory of those long fingers reaching for her throat. "I-I thought they were going to kill me, but then they backed off. I suppose because I have no magic. When they began to tear through our packs, I drew my gun and started shooting."

She was pale and shaken, and I looked to the Royal Anlace in my fist-the weapon that had killed a once-magical creature when bullets could not. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing that Queen Ubiqua had given it to me. I thought back to Thatcher's assessment that the blade had been imbued with poison, but I couldn't quite embrace that idea. The weapon was a relic, forged by our ancestors, the Old Fae, and using the riches of Nature for dubious purposes like crafting poisons would have been even more proscribed historically than it was now. I had a stronger sense that the Anlace was imbued with an ancient power long since out of my people's reach. Our smiths could craft conduit swords for the Queen's Blades to augment their elemental magic, but making a weapon with independent magical properties was unheard of. Maybe the Old Fae had possessed skills we lacked.

"We've got to get out of here, Anya," Shea urged, rising to her feet. "They could come back, and my gun doesn't do more than scare them."

Too weak to be of much help, I watched my friend haphazardly gather up our things. When she went to get our packs, it became clear the Sepulchers had only gone after mine, for hers was still tied closed. It didn't take long to discover the reason for the creatures' interest.

"What's this?" she asked, holding up a small vial filled with an amber liquid that glistened in the firelight.

"It looks like...the same drink the Sepulchre took from me back in Strong." I doubted Shea knew much about Sale other than that it was a dangerous and illegal substance, and I didn't want to get into a discussion of it now.

"I remember." Shea's face puckered in bewilderment. "Why is it in your pack? I thought that flask was all you had."

I tugged on my hair, trying to sort things out, and the answer hit me with the force of an arrow.

"Hastings," I gasped. "He must have planted it when he was helping saddle our horses. It would have attracted the Sepulchres."

"You mean he sent those creatures after us? On purpose?"

"I've never encountered a Sepulchre in my travels in the Territory before, not even when I had my magic. We know Hastings keeps them-he must have found a way to control them, too. That vial would have left a scent for them to follow."

Shea launched into a string of profanities that would have done a sailor proud, ending with, "I'm going to kill that fat, ugly, balding swine someday!"

I gave the only response that came to my addled brain. "I've never encountered a balding pig in my travels, either."

She gave a short laugh and finished the work, deftly rolling our bedding. After helping me to my feet, she approached the horses intending to saddle them, only to discover that the geldings had fought their ropes during the attack, and one of them had fallen and broken its neck. It was eerie to see an animal so large and powerful motionless, its eyes partially open and glassy with fear. Shea did the only thing we could for it, removing the horse's halter and lead to let it lie upon the ground as it had been born-unbound.

When we were at last ready to go, Shea helped me into the saddle of our remaining mount and climbed up behind me. With the sun just breaking over the horizon at our backs, we continued our journey down the other side of the Fere, believing our destination within reach this day. I clutched in my fist the vial with which Hastings had fortuitously supplied me-Sale was extremely difficult to come by in the Territory, and what he'd stowed in my pack wasn't much. But it might be enough.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

FRIEND OR FOE.

Tairmor was built to make an impression. The capital of the Warckum Territory was a fully walled marvel of a city, with massive stone dams to accommodate the river Kappa at its western and eastern borders. Shea and I followed the path of the river to the solid metal gate, around which curtains of water fell according to the dam's directions. The structure of the city was more than architecture; it was art.

The gate was open, seeming to invite us in, but we were stopped by guards whose demeanors were not entirely friendly. Considering the number of people they had to deal with each day, and the volume of documents they had to examine, their brusqueness was understandable, albeit annoying. It wasn't our fault that the Governor's men had increased security tenfold since the last time I'd been here. Not only were our papers scrutinized, but we were required to record our names and state our business, which we listed as touring, in a massive logbook before being granted passage. Shea had the presence of mind to ask the guards for directions to the nearest doctor's office, while I clung to our horse's mane, letting the blanket that was draped over my quivering form brush against the animal's flanks.

Though the beauty of Tairmor was lost on me at this moment, it had made quite an impression when I'd seen it a couple of months ago. The fountains and snowbirds' nests, which the nonmigratory birds strikingly insulated with dragon's blood sedum flowers, always reminded me of Chrior. The river gorge that cut through the center of the city created a perpetual gentle spray of water, while the falls that fed the Kappa down the side of the chasm were stunning. Of course, the city was still human-clouds of smoke puffed from homes and factories on the horizon, trees were killed and mutilated rather than negotiated with to make dwellings, and the earth's natural ground was paved over for streets. The way humans settled and claimed an area was by erasing what it had originally been, and the Fae in me resented Tairmor for these things, despite its magnificence.

Shea brought our horse to a halt, and I was assisted from the saddle and taken inside one of the buildings. All I felt was heat, despite the unrelenting shake in my bones. Someone removed my travel clothes, peeled away the soiled bandages that clung to my back like drying mud and put pressure on my screaming wounds. I cried out, and that was all it took for me to lose consciousness. My last sight was the silver pistol at Shea's hip, my accompanying thought the meager hope that she would keep up her guard while I was in a hapless state. These were neither familiar surroundings nor familiar people, and the question remained whether we had landed among friend or foe.

I awoke in the same sort of pain I'd been in when I'd opened my eyes at the More house, my body so fussy and restrictive that if I moved the wrong way, I'd damage myself all over again. The best thing I could do was lie still, even though my neck hurt from being craned to the side while I'd slept on my stomach.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember how I had ended up here. Then curiosity got the better of me and I examined the room, or what I could see of it from my position on the bed.

To my left was a curtain, while on my right, set into the brick wall, was a window with brilliantly clean glass. Judging from the voices that floated in the air, there were other people beyond the curtain, and when a woman in a soft blue dress that looked like a uniform came to check my pulse, I caught a glimpse of a row of beds behind her. I was in a human hospital. But where was Shea? Though I longed for an answer, I didn't make inquiries of the hospital staff, desiring no attention beyond what was necessary to care for my back.

As the day went on, restlessness set in, and I pushed myself up to look out the window. A short distance from the pane of glass was a brick wall-the space was hardly large enough to be an alley, though that was its purpose, and snow and leaves were gusted into piles along the ground like whitecaps. My gaze fell on a flyer posted a few yards down from the window, and I stared at it, unsure whether to laugh at the irony or appreciate the sentiment.

"FAE not FOE," it read above a drawing of a winged person with, fittingly enough, the same curly-toed boots we rigorously mocked in Chrior. At the bottom it announced: "Faerie Rights Are Human Rights." I was aware of the Governor's somewhat poetic penchant for slogans around which to rally his people, although I wasn't sure how well they worked. Some even asserted his efforts were child's play, the result of a weakening mind. Nonetheless, the flyer served as confirmation that the official position in Tairmor was staunchly pro-Fae.

It was evening before the curtain that divided my room from the larger hospital ward was pushed aside and Shea blessedly entered, glancing behind her as if to ensure she wasn't being followed. In true fugitive fashion, she'd probably been hiding during daylight hours. She jerked the divider back into place, though the thin fabric couldn't possibly shut out sound.

"Thank God you're awake," she exclaimed, moving to claim the chair at my bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Don't worry. I'll be able to travel tomorrow."

The skeptical lift of Shea's dark eyebrows told me she thought otherwise, and I sat up straighter to demonstrate my strength and stamina. I could tell she was still dubious, but at least she didn't belabor the point.

"Whether you can travel or not, I think we're safe for the time being. It's been three days and no one's recognized me or taken issue with you." Flashing a grin, she leaned closer to me, and it was clear she had also been treated well-her hair was clean and brushed, lying loose about her shoulders, and her clothing had been laundered. "Then again, I haven't left the hospital. I acted like I was starving and won several good meals and quite a bit of sympathy."

I chuckled at her self-satisfied expression, but couldn't share her casual attitude. We'd already lost precious time and I didn't want to lose more.

"I really can travel tomorrow, Shea. They injected me with some medication a while ago, and it's helping. I promise I'll take it easy, but there are a few things we need to accomplish."

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe letting yourself heal ought to be the first thing you do. Look, this hospital has so far been a good place for us. After all, you're not dead, and I haven't been arrested."

"I suppose I can wait and hear what the doctor has to say. But as soon as I'm discharged, we'll nose around the city for Evangeline and try to find out if Zabriel's been here." Diverting my gaze, I added, "I don't think there's much hope for word on Illumina.... I mean, she has no travel papers."

"At least we have a plan," Shea replied, trying to sound upbeat-she understood that my cousin might be dead or injured. "The best thing we can do right now is get a good night's sleep."

"That raises an interesting question. Where exactly have you been sleeping?"

She grinned mischievously. "On a cot in the doctor's lounge. I curl up after I've finished my patient rounds."

Shea ducked out of view around the curtain before I could retort, and I lay down on my side, settling into the comfort of my pillows. As I stared at the lights of the city filtering in through the window, my thoughts traveled to the events leading up to Queen Ubiqua's marriage to William Ivanova. From what I understood, the Governor had desired a lasting peace with the Faerie Realm along with an exchange of information. He understood that there was much to be learned from us, and that our elemental connections could be used to benefit both of our races. But I wondered if, in the aftermath of his son's death, his devotion to the cause was fueled by yet another motivation-to ensure the human world was welcoming to Fae in the hope that his grandchild would eventually cross into the Territory. He had known Ubiqua was pregnant, after all, and perhaps anguished over whether the baby had been born alive after crossing the Road in its mother's womb, whether it was a girl or a boy, and whether he would ever have a chance to get to know his eldest son's offspring.

It was early morning when I was roused by a man softly repeating my name, and I forced my bleary eyes to focus on him. He was gray-haired and bespectacled, with neatly trimmed facial hair. On my other side, Shea was rising from the chair with a tug at her rumpled clothing, flustered that he had come in without her notice. I wondered when she had returned to the room.

"I'm Dr. Nye, and you've been in my care since your arrival," the man said, his watery blue eyes kind. "I'm happy to say the infection in your wounds has dissipated promisingly, and you're doing quite well. We're in need of beds, so I'm willing to discharge you, but you must stay on the medication I've prescribed. And I'd like to recheck your wounds three days hence."

Shea stood and took my hand, laying claim to me for the stranger's benefit.

"So we can leave?"

"Well, you can leave here." He was hedging, and my stomach lurched. Shea let her tension show in her jaw, clenching it so tightly the tendons in her neck stood out. "You see, there's one other matter, Anya. You do realize you were the victim of a crime?"

While I wasn't sure what I had expected-maybe a bill for hospital services or a visit from the director of a children's home-this was not it. Taken aback, I warily nodded. Of course I was a victim, according to the law of the land. But surely it was far too late for me to file a report-I couldn't imagine that an effective investigation was still possible.

"As a medical practitioner, I'm required to report evidence of crimes to the Governor's Constabularies. Please don't let this alarm you. All they want to know is what happened when your wings were removed. We would all like to see the people responsible caught and punished. We don't want them to hurt anyone else."

Shea, looking nauseous, was holding her head in her hands, though thankfully she had faded into the background where Doctor Nye couldn't see her. Something in the man's tone had revealed a terrible truth.

"The Constabularies are here, aren't they?" I inquired.

"They're waiting outside."

Judging from the doctor's apologetic tone, he didn't enjoy entrapping his patients in this way, though he wasn't hesitant enough about the Governor's methods to have given me a ten-minute head start out the door. Bureaucrats. Wasn't it my business whether or not this crime should be recorded, examined, disseminated? Hadn't my experience been amply traumatic? I could have made a thousand political arguments, but my true horror lay in the thought that my own carelessness in tending my wounds during our travels might be responsible for Shea's discovery. Seven years her father owed for his crime. Seven years to repay a debt just like whatever debt Spex was repaying. Who knew what she might be forced to do if she were imprisoned?

Dr. Nye stood and moved to draw back the curtain. Shea's reaction would have been comical, if not for the jeopardy we faced. She stumbled to the corner of the room and out of the light streaming through the window, as though it would burn her. Then, realizing her behavior might draw more attention than it would divert, she plopped into a chair and tried to relax her posture, turning her head to the side and directing her eyes downward.

The men who entered didn't even glance Shea's way. Both wore crisp double-breasted, brass-buttoned red uniforms, and carried two pistols and an assortment of knives around their hips, strapped in their sheaths with leather clasps. Though this armament was in keeping with their jobs, it made me nervous. Judging from the way Shea's hand slipped beneath her coat toward her pistol, it had the same effect on her.

While snowbirds chirped outside, the younger of the men knelt at my bedside, forsaking the chair. He had gray eyes and soft brown hair that reminded me of Davic. My heart lurched, and I swallowed hard, trying to force my promised from my mind.

"It's Anya, right?" queried the gray-eyed officer.

His partner crossed his arms in the background, tapping his foot impatiently. Judging from his insignia, he ranked higher in Tairmor's police force, but he wore a hard, authoritative expression. The Davic look-alike was probably here for his bedside manner. He had the social skills to deal with victims.

At my nod, the younger man continued, "I'm Officer Matlock. You can call me Tom. I'm so sorry for your troubles, Anya. Could you tell me what happened?"

I told him the little I cared to repeat, not wanting to dwell on the details. I'd crossed the Bloody Road and immediately been attacked. Almost as if the hunters had been waiting for me. No, there was no way they could have been expecting me. The trip had been spontaneous. No, I couldn't describe their faces. It had been dark. But they were a group of five men. And there had been a woman with them. In the end, I told him, I was just glad to be alive.

Officer Matlock impelled me with his argent eyes to elaborate, and my throat stung from the effort to hold back tears. For some reason, I wanted to obey those eyes, though there was little else of importance to tell him. He didn't need to know that I was glad to be alive only because I had a purpose to fulfill; that I had to find Zabriel and make sure Illumina and Evangeline were all right, but that beyond that, I wasn't sure I had anything to live for. The blank my mind drew when I tried to imagine life after the completion of my mission was emotionally hollowing, and I hoped the Constabularies would leave before my inner emptiness caused a cave-in.

"Thank you," Tom said when I did not continue. "I can only imagine how difficult this has been for you. You're very brave."

"I'm not," I blurted, unwilling to let him turn my ordeal into a noble act. "I had no choice in the matter. Surviving something that's forced on you doesn't take bravery. It just takes willpower."

A smile briefly flirted with his lips. "Let me apologize for my word choice. You're very strong, Anya. I admire that."

I wished I'd kept my mouth shut-this conversational segue had been unnecessary. I felt the color of my cheeks deepening. He appeared not to notice, or was kind enough not to draw attention to my reaction, simply rising to his feet to let his superior step forward.

"Constable Marcus Farrier," he abruptly introduced himself, not extending a hand or offering a nod. "I'm here with Officer Matlock on the Governor's behalf. Your hospital bill has been paid, and you are owed compensation for your suffering. Dr. Nye says you are well enough to travel, so if you would kindly accompany us, we'll see you to the Governor's manor."

There was no room for refusal-Farrier made his request in such a way that to object would have been uncouth. Besides, who would turn down money? I made the mistake of looking to Shea for help, prompting him to amend his offer out of politesse.

"Of course, your friend is also welcome to come."

My face paled as quickly as it had reddened, but I gave a stiff nod. "Give me a moment and I'll get dressed."

The officers bowed their heads, then went to stand on the other side of the curtain like an armed guard, and Dr. Nye went to obtain my medication. Shea rushed toward the bed from the corner where she had been cowering, mouthing profanities at me.

"How can they force you to do this?" she hissed as I crawled out of bed, woozy from the painkillers I'd been given.

"I don't know. I suppose for most people, this would be a good thing, an honor even, but for us? Nature."

Steadying myself with a hand on the bedpost, I examined the tiny room for an alternate exit. There was none. We could make it out the window, but it was a long drop to the ground. While Shea might stand a chance of escaping that way, I'd be caught before I could make it out of the alley. If the Governor wanted me brought to him like a delinquent under guard, he was going to have his way.