"What are we going to do?" Shea whispered.

"I'll go with them. You find a place around here to hide, and I'll come back for you."

"No! I thought we agreed that we didn't trust Ivanova. You can't go by yourself, and if that means I have to go with you...well, then, I will."

I appreciated her devotion, but shook my head so vigorously I stumbled under the medication's influence.

"The Governor just wants to look at me, moon-eyed and compassionate, and say he wishes things had happened differently. His men have no reason to suspect me of anything. There's no need for you to risk arrest."

"Oh, to hell with that," Shea huffed. She went to the dressing table to retrieve my laundered clothes and hurled them at me. "We're not splitting up. Your logic and reasoning aren't going to comfort me if something happens to you, and I'm sick of hiding. Besides, we've come this far together. If one of us is going down, we both are."

Her loyalty was emboldening, and I grinned. In my heart, however, I knew that the risk we were disregarding was much greater than either of us wanted to admit.

When we were ready, the doctor wished us well, gave me a vial of medicine and saw us to the foyer, where our cloaks and packs were stored in a large closet. Without a word, Officer Matlock hoisted my satchel, letting Shea carry her own things, then he and Constable Farrier escorted us to a fancy carriage parked on the street outside. After assisting us to enter, Matlock tucked fur blankets around my legs, and I felt a flutter in my stomach at his chivalry. With a warm smile that I returned, he settled on the bench opposite me with our packs at his feet, while Shea curled up beside me, taking a tight hold of my hand.

The journey itself was enjoyable. Hidden beneath expensive covers so that not even winter could affect us, we were like queens being transported to our castle, and I imagined the cold was annoyed at not being able to reach us. Shea seemed exhilarated with her decision to accompany me. It was as though she'd spent so much time being afraid that this was the greatest relief of her life. She pointed out landmarks to me, many of which I'd seen in my previous travels. But I let her go on-this was her city, and she hadn't been there in a long time.

We fell silent as we passed the heart of the capital, drawing the concerned gaze of Officer Matlock until he noticed what we were staring at: the beautiful marble bridge spanning the gorge to connect the north and south halves of Tairmor. The bridge commemorated the lives of every human soldier who had died in the battle of the Bloody Road. The Fae had cursed the Road in a desperate attempt to save our city, and in so doing had destroyed beyond recognition or reclamation the bodies of every human soldier in the vicinity. The monument had been painstakingly etched with the names of all who had been found and identified, an overt reminder of why some humans would have sanctioned-even celebrated-the brutal removal of my wings. My eyes did not leave the bridge, which I thought more incredible than anything in existence in the natural world, until we had left it far behind.

By the time we arrived at the Governor's residence, Shea was no longer giddy with daring and our queenly accoutrements had lost their charm. There could be nothing good awaiting us inside that mansion, despite how splendorous it was. Radiant light emanated from every window, while river spray created a pleasant fog. White pillars upheld a second-floor porch, and the overhang housed a front step with cherub statues on either side. Given the Governor's pro-Fae stance, I wondered if this meant he subscribed to the belief that Faeries were descended from higher beings. Human religions often employed winged creatures as messengers of the divine, while Fae believed that all things spiritual resonated from the earth-there was no need for extraworldly beings when every living thing was a component of the Spirit of Nature.

We descended from the carriage to stare up at the high peak of the roof, which seemed to jut at a self-righteous angle. I hesitated, filled with foreboding, afraid that the building's architecture foreshadowed the attitudes of the people we were about to encounter.

The Constabularies ushered us through the front doors of the Governor's mansion and into a cherry-paneled vestibule. Straight ahead, across marble floors, rose an elegant, arching staircase decorated on every step with yellow-and-blue-flowered plants that should not have been alive this time of year. Pine garlands wrapped indoor pillars and an impressive chandelier.

"This way," Constable Farrier decreed, not waiting for a servant. He headed up the stairway and down the left corridor, motioning for Shea and me to follow. More solicitous of my condition than was his counterpart, Officer Matlock offered his arm, guiding me up the steps. Shea stayed at my other side.

"I'll be downstairs when you're finished," he informed us upon reaching the landing.

"Thank you," I murmured, then turned toward Farrier, who stood in front of a door at the end of the corridor, the tapping of his foot revealing his irritation at our snail's pace.

Shea and I approached, and the Constable opened the door, ushering us into a sitting room instead of the office I was expecting. I took several deliberate breaths as I steeled myself to meet the Governor for the first time-this was Zabriel's grandfather, the bane of Shea's existence, a person about whom I'd heard both wonderful things and terrible things, and nothing in between.

The man who awaited us on the other side of the room held a letter in one bejeweled hand, his opposite forming an elegant steeple as it supported his weight on the mahogany desktop. He was younger than Governor Wolfram Ivanova should have been-he looked to be in his forties, whereas the Governor would be nearing seventy, and his dark hair did not even hint at gray. He was fit, clean-shaven, and over his dress tunic were strung thick gold necklaces with apophyllite stones in triangular designs. The stones were a close match to the blue of his eyes, which flicked from object to object and person to person as he sized up the situation in a businesslike manner. Shea glanced at me, and it wasn't difficult to determine the nature of her thoughts. Not only was this one surprise too many this day, but it threw into question the purported reason we were there.

"Thank you, Constable," the man said with a tight-lipped smile, and Farrier took his leave with a smart salute.

"Please, girls, have a seat," our host continued, and the hair on the back of my neck bristled. Yet again, a human was calling me girl, a diminutive that in my estimation implied I had no skill or intelligence worth recognizing. I was royalty in Chrior, yet considered little more than an ingenue in the Warckum Territory. At a nudge from Shea, I sat beside her on an embroidered sofa, while the man settled into an armchair across from us, a narrow table acting as a buffer in between.

"Which of you is Anya?" At my nod, he leaned forward to lift a hefty pouch from the tabletop. "Take this, please, with my apologies."

I accepted the pouch, despite the fact that payment for a part of my body struck me as ghoulish. We could use the money, and whether out of pity or not, anyone who lived in this mansion could afford to spare some funds.

"You told the Constabularies everything about your injury, in detail?" the man continued, astute eyes fixed on me.

"Yes," I said, still trying to figure out his identity. I knew the Governor had a living son, though I had never seen him. Might he be the man sitting across from us? Shea solved the problem in her inimitable fashion.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Our host laughed, an odd yet somehow pleasant cackling sound; then he shook his head at his own thoughtlessness.

"Yet again, I apologize. Allow me to correct my oversight. I am Lieutenant Governor Luka Ivanova, Commissioner of Law Enforcement in the Territory, and the Governor's son, naturally. I'm afraid my father is feeling ill today and is unable to meet with you. Please believe me, Anya, when I say he wanted to be here."

Turning from me, he cast his eyes on Shea. "Since we're sharing identities, who perchance are you?"

Shea tensed as Luka's gaze drifted to her hip. There was no doubt he made out the shape of her pistol, but his expression did not change, nor did his good humor abate, leading me to the conclusion that her armament didn't worry him.

"Mary," Shea offered at last. "Mary Archer."

Luka gave her a sly smile. "An honest enough name, I daresay. Although I must admit, I expected something a bit less common."

It was clear from his tone that he knew Shea was lying to him, yet he didn't pursue the topic. Did he think he had the power to condemn and pardon as he pleased? Or did he know his father's laws weren't always fair, and think it a shame Shea had to use a fake name? Either way, he wasn't interested in causing us trouble. Maybe we were lucky the Governor was sick.

"Now, if it isn't too difficult for you, Anya, I would like to hear the story of your injury myself."

Luka had returned his attention to me, his hands folded neatly together and his expression sympathetic. I shrugged and flatly gave him the same details I'd shared with Officer Matlock and Constable Farrier. Repeating the words wasn't hard as long as I detached my heart from their meanings.

"How did you get to Tairmor?" he pressed when I had finished. "By all accounts, you were injured in the Balsam Forest. Did you travel here wounded? That would have been an extraordinarily difficult trip."

"I allowed myself a little time to recuperate first," I said, squirming inside. He was pulling more information from me than I wanted to reveal.

"Did you come by way of Oaray?"

My mind spun as I tried to determine how to dodge this question. In the end, he spared me the necessity of a response with a wave of his hand.

"No need to worry. I know Fae sometimes shy away from obtaining legitimate papers here in the Warckum Territory. And Oaray is the best place for Fae and human alike to get travel documents with no questions asked. So please, go on. Tell me about your journey to Tairmor."

The Lieutenant Governor was surprisingly astute, for he hadn't examined our passports, and yet knew they were forged. But more importantly, he wasn't interested in arresting us for this offense. On the contrary, he was very understanding, and it was beginning to seem he was as staunchly pro-Fae as his father.

"Well, I thought I was all right, but in the Fere..." I trailed off, uncertain what I wanted to say. Queen Ubiqua had warned against getting involved with Zabriel's human relatives, and if I told Luka about the Faerie-spotting operation I'd started to uncover, I might become entangled in the issue. Fighting the impulse to glance at Shea lest I give away that I was hiding something, I decided to tell him a small piece of the story. "We were attacked by Sepulchres."

Ivanova sat back, the lines on his face deepening into creases. "Sepulchres... But they're legend. I'm sorry, I don't doubt you-but they're only supposed to haunt the Balsam Forest, aren't they?"

"They feed off magic. They could have followed me after I was injured."

"I'll have my men investigate at once."

Luka stood and walked to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of wine, his tall, graceful body obeying his mind's commands with an elegance that was rare. It was an elegance that Zabriel had always possessed. The Lieutenant Governor was his uncle, a member of the side of his family that didn't know for certain whether or not he existed. They ought to be told, I suddenly felt, though I knew better than to blurt out the information. Still, I wondered what it was about this man that made me want to confess my secrets.

After offering a glass of wine to Shea and me, which we declined, Luka returned to the subject of my injury.

"There's a place I'd like you to visit, Anya. We have a shelter here in Tairmor for Fae in your position. It offers a chance to start over, help integrating into human society, that sort of thing. And it would give you lodging while you recuperate. You could stay as long or as short as it suits you, but I think it would be worth a look. I'll have Constable Farrier transport you there."

He strode to a desk in the corner and beckoned me to approach. As I did, he penned a short letter, signing it with a flourish before tucking it into an envelope.

"I'm acquainted with the woman who runs the shelter," he said, extending the envelope to me. "She's a Faerie herself, name of Fi, and this will let her know of my referral. You'll receive the very best treatment-I swear it."

Luka was being extraordinarily kind, but I wasn't paying attention to him any longer. On the wall by his desk hung a board with wanted posters nailed to the wood. Thatcher More's face was on one, sketched crudely in accordance with his importance to lawmakers. But on a much larger poster in meticulous detail was a face I knew well-high cheekbones, slightly upturned eyes, his mother's lips, his uncle's nose.

Zabriel was smirking at me from a wanted poster on Luka Ivanova's wall, and beneath his face were the words: 30,000 gold pieces for information leading to the capture of the pirate, thief and murderer known by the alias William Wolfram Pyrite.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

PYRITE.

I continued to gape, dumbfounded, at the wanted posters, and Luka stepped to my side.

"See anyone you know?" he asked, his tone only half joking.

My laugh was so forced I wanted to slap myself. Scrambling for recovery, I dodged his question by going with the first notion that entered my mind.

"I didn't know you had such handsome criminals in the Territory," I said, pointing to the sketch of Zabriel. I hated myself for embracing the role in which Luka had automatically cast me-that of a young, shallow girl-but I could see no other way out of the situation.

Shea came to join us, her inquisitiveness getting the better of her, and the Governor's son shook his head with the same tight-lipped smile he'd given Farrier. It wasn't disapproval, but it was a close second.

"Don't be led astray by his looks," Luka cautioned. "He's a dangerous sort. Do you know what pyrite is? Fool's gold. Just like the shine this boy has. He appears to be a treasure until you get close and realize he's a worthless criminal, no better than the rest."

"Thirty thousand gold pieces," Shea noted, cocking her head with a smirk. "Sounds like a treasure to me."

Luka laughed, Shea's quip resetting the mood, and I slowly released the breath I'd been holding. I wasn't sure what words might have come forth if our host had pressed me further. Yet again, I was thankful Shea was with me. Though I had been dubious at first, she and I had become more than friends-we were good partners.

"He's rather young, isn't he?" I ventured, hoping to glean a little more information.

"That he is. Young, handsome, daring, some would even say philanthropic-all qualities that capture the imagination of the populace. Sometimes I think he has more admirers than I do." A scowl crossed Luka's face like a twisted cloud, and he stared up at the drawing of my cousin. "Unfortunately, the citizens don't realize the heartlessness of what he really does. They don't see the businesses ruined by his robberies, or pay to repair the vandalism he and his crew perpetrate. They don't have to look upon the bodies of the people who get in Pyrite's way, attend the funerals, or console the families."

As though remembering that he was entertaining guests, Luka gave his head a quick shake, breaking his entranced gaze. But I couldn't shake the chilling realization that catching Pyrite was more than a goal for him-it was an obsession.

"My apologies once more," he said in true gentlemanly fashion. "Where have I left my manners? I do believe I've extended more apologies to you two in the short span of our acquaintance than to most people in my entire lifetime. But please understand, I oversee crime control in the Territory, and I take all of this very personally. Rest assured, we will bring Pyrite to justice."

The Lieutenant Governor took my hand and pressed the envelope containing the letter he had penned against my palm, holding on just a bit longer than was necessary. Becoming aware of my ring, he pulled my hand a little closer to examine it.

"That's an interesting ring you're wearing. Quite stunning." He frowned and rubbed his chin, and it took all my willpower not to pull away. "I've seen one similar to this before, although sadly I can't remember where or when. Not that it matters, I suppose."

My heart thumping against my rib cage, I met his light blue eyes, but did not see any suspicion within their depths. He was a rich man, and it made sense for him to have an interest in beautiful and valuable objects. But I didn't like the notion that if ever he remembered where he'd seen that other ring, he'd realize I was one of the royal Redwood Fae. I didn't want to consider where that road might lead.

"Take care, both of you," he said in dismissal, escorting us to the door. When his gaze fell on Constable Farrier in the corridor, he added, "Send Matlock to me for a moment."

"Yes, sir," the Constable barked, once more snapping a salute.

With a sharp turn on his heel, Farrier shepherded us back to the entry, where his counterpart waited for us. With a jerk of his thumb toward the staircase, he indicated to the younger man that he had been summoned. After paying Shea and me a nod, Officer Matlock jogged up the steps, then continued down the hallway, his pace brisk. Despite the kindness Luka Ivanova had exhibited toward us, I doubted he was someone to keep waiting.

We settled ourselves on a settee, and Shea began to chew on her fingernails. I took her hand to halt the nervous habit; years of royal upbringing had left me with few of my own. When Matlock returned a short while later, he and Farrier escorted us to the carriage. Shea and I didn't speak during the ride, although she was grinning, and for obvious reasons. We'd just walked into enemy territory and come out unscathed. It was nothing short of a miracle: Thatcher's daughter was a wanted person; Ubiqua had warned against having any contact with the Governor and his associates in the search for Zabriel; and our encounter with Spex suggested that someone powerful, perhaps even with influence in the government of the Warckum Territory, was plotting against my people. Yet here we were, alive, well, unshackled, and quite a bit richer than we had been that morning. Even my royal ring had gone unidentified.

I tried to concentrate on thoughts of Zabriel and ignore Shea's impatient fidgeting. She knew me well enough not to have fallen for my remark about Pyrite's good looks and was no doubt dying to ask me what my interest in him was really about. She wouldn't raise the question while Matlock was present, giving me a blessed little time before I would have to clarify. Shea might have already put together the pieces available to her, but there were significant gaps in the picture I had painted her of my family-gaps I would soon need to fill.

Our journey ended in a lower-class district of Tairmor, nowhere near the gorge, which, by all accounts, was the preeminent place in the capital to live. Nonetheless, the rush of the Kappa echoed all around us. I smirked as I stepped down from the carriage-despite the Governor's pro-Fae stance, the wounded of my kind had been stuffed away among the discarded of the human race. There were no riverfront properties or water views in the area to which we had been delivered; rather, we were relegated to the gutter district, where the water and filth ran down from the homes of the wealthy and from Tairmor's major business areas. But at least we had a roof over our heads, and that was sufficient to maintain Ivanova's political reputation.

The Fae-mily Home appeared to be in decent condition, despite its location and its dreadful name. Tom Matlock offered to help us carry our things, but we refused, waving the Constabularies on their way. The carriage clattered down the street, looking like a show horse among oxen.

"Now what?" Shea asked, glancing around as she hoisted both of our packs. "They didn't exactly leave us in tourist territory, did they?"

"Inside, I guess." I motioned to the shelter, and Shea pursed her lips, questioning my judgment. "You just pointed out we're in the middle of nowhere, so I don't think we should start wandering. This looks like a good place to stay the night, maybe even better than most in this neighborhood. Besides, someone here might have information about Evangeline and this Faerie-spotting business. It's worth checking out."

"Are you sure I'll be welcome here?"

I grinned. "Well, you're fae-mily to me."

Shea swung her pack and hit me in the rear end, and I hopped away toward the shelter's entrance. She was quick to follow, despite any lingering reservations.

As Luka had said, the shelter was run by a Faerie named Fi-Fi the Fae, I realized with a twinge of sympathy for the woman. She had both of her vibrant orange-and-yellow wings, which she did not shroud within the Home, telling me she had voluntarily stayed in the human world to establish this place. She read the letter I gave her with wide-set blue-green eyes and an ever-widening smile.

"Luka Ivanova's a good man," she said, laying a hand tenderly on my shoulder, not wanting to irritate my injuries, of which she had already taken stock. "He monies this place almost single-handedly, and he's always sending his officers around to make sure we have what we need. And that takes some doing-donors for a place like this are few in number and generally have bigger hearts than pocketbooks. Please, come in."

We followed Fi past the admissions podium and into a dining area that was filled from wall to wall with wounded Faeries. A lucky number of them were recovering from simple injuries-a broken wing or bone-but an unsettling majority of them were like me, wingless and desolate. They limped and slouched about the tables like bodies without minds. If not for my mission, I would be similarly lost and dispirited, and this shelter would be my best hope for salvation. I scolded myself for my initial cynicism about this place. Fi was saving lives with her Home, however embarrassingly christened it might be.

Shea and I ate until we could hardly move, she enjoying the view of the city out the large window, I perusing faces. I sought out white-blond hair, shimmering blue eyes, any number of smiles that could have been Evangeline's, but there was no sign of my friend. Just as there had been no sign of my cousin Zabriel in that heartless smirk on the wanted poster in Luka Ivanova's meeting room. I frowned, thinking of my father's ambassadors within the city. It was difficult to believe none of them had seen the wanted poster and recognized their Prince-so why hadn't word been sent to Chrior of his infamy in the Territory?

Seemingly reading my thoughts, Shea drew me from my reverie. "So that poster. I'm guessing you're not really out to flirt with William Wolfram Pyrite."

"No," I laughed, deciding to start with the simplest of the revelations to come. "That sketch was of my cousin. Zabriel is a wanted man."

I massaged my temples. I hadn't even begun to ponder the ramifications of this development.

"I'm wanted, too," Shea reminded, poking at me with her soup spoon. "Remember, this government doesn't always have its head on straight."

This was a heartening thought, and for a moment, I considered leaving things there, just finishing the meal and continuing the journey for Zabriel with Shea in the dark, but definitely at my side. I couldn't conceive of the reaction she might have to learning my cousin was an Ivanova, and that I'd been withholding this information from her. But the truth had to come out. If I left it to chance, I had a feeling fate would choose the worst possible moment to unleash the news.

"Shea, listen," I said, going for the guts of the matter. "The name Zabriel's using-"

"I assume it's a joke," she interjected, still in a mood that reflected the day's good fortune. "The pyrite, of course, then Wolfram for the Governor. I'm not sure about the William. Whatever the case, he's mocking the system, and that's fine by me."

"I know why he chose William," I mumbled, half hoping Shea wasn't paying attention. But she was, and the way her eyes skirted the room told me she detected my hesitancy.

"Anya, what is it?"

I wrapped my hands around my mug of cider, clinging to its warmth. Shea had been extremely forthright with me throughout our short friendship, and I feared my coming words would seriously erode her faith in me. Were our positions reversed, I would have been hard-pressed to forgive her or trust her again.

"He's making fun of his lineage, Shea." I stared at the knots in the wood of the tabletop, not quite able to meet her eyes. "Zabriel is the son of William Ivanova. He's probably using the alias as some kind of dare to his mother to try and find him."

When at last I raised my head, Shea was gaping at me, the sudden paling of her skin making her chocolate eyes all the more intense.