Other than collecting the promised map and jerky from Thatcher, I went about my usual business the next day, occasionally ruminating on the best way to find Zabriel. My cousin, according to Queen Ubiqua, had his father's spirit. I'd seen it in him, though I hadn't known the human Prince of the Fae whom some had viewed as an interloper, others as a blessing. Zabriel had always been focused on the next thing, the lands he wanted to travel, the people he would meet or, in the interim, the worlds he invented in his mind. There was always that elusive adventure up ahead. Now I wondered if it had been a way for him to escape his painful present. In any case, the current day had never mattered as much to him as someday.

Ubiqua had been afraid to let Zabriel cross the Bloody Road in the aftermath of her husband's death. Her son had no elemental connection, a deficiency that had been obvious from a young age. Most Fae manifested their element within days of birth and learned to communicate with Nature at the same rate they learned to talk, but young Zabriel had feared water, abhorred the dubious flickering of flames, and been helpless against the cold wind. There had been hope for an Earth connection, since he'd loved the feel of dirt under his nails and the sun on his skin, but an incident with poison berries dashed that hope. Even as toddlers, Earth Fae instinctively knew the difference between kind plants and cruel ones, and Zabriel was oblivious. It was normal in light of the evidence that Ubiqua should fear for her son's life against the curse of the Road. In her zeal to protect him, she'd forbidden him to go near it, and had kept Zabriel's birth a secret from his human relatives. She wanted no incentive for him to leave the Faerie Realm, no eager arms awaiting him on the other side of the boundary. As a result, he'd believed they didn't want him, maybe even that they blamed him for his father's death.

Had Ubiqua suspected Zabriel harbored these fears, she surely would have told him the truth sooner, but she hadn't done so until he was fifteen, at which point chaos had ensued, and her son's reckless abandon had steered him to brave a Crossing of his own accord. When he'd gone missing, the entire Realm had been searched; it was ultimately assumed he'd gone into human lands when not a trace of him was found, even on or near the Bloody Road. No news of him had since reached the Queen or my father's ambassadors in the Warckum Territory.

Would Zabriel have tried to find his father's family? It would have been an easy task considering their prominence, another fact I had not shared with Shea. She didn't need to know of my cousin's connection to the man she viewed as responsible for her family's strife. I ultimately rejected the idea that Zabriel would have sought out the Governor-when he'd abandoned his claim to the throne, he'd been tired of expectations and being defined by the blood in his veins. He had no memories of his father, a fact he never hesitated to share with anyone who happened to ripple the surface of his deep-rooted bitterness toward the human for siring him. I couldn't picture Zabriel pursuing a history and a legacy he did not want.

Where, then, would he have gone? A place where he would blend in, where he would be difficult to track. A large city. The capital? Tairmor was busy, but it was also the seat of the Governor's power, and offered little excitement once one adapted to its curiosities and pace. Sheness, however, brimmed with foreigners, trade, new technologies, and adventure, or so I'd heard, and the port city was as far from the Balsam Forest as the continent allowed. It was more likely Zabriel would have traveled there. After all, he saw himself as an abomination, neither human nor Fae, and one was likely to find many abominations in Sheness.

A shudder passed through me at this thought. Was I now an abomination, too? Shaking off the notion, I forced myself to concentrate only on Zabriel, settling on Sheness for my destination. Two years had passed since his disappearance, and I had to start somewhere.

I waited until evening to tell Shea of my decision to depart, when we were together in her room. A significant part of me wanted to just steal away, avoid goodbyes and potential trouble with Thatcher, but Shea and I had become friends, and I owed her an explanation. She would be lonely without me, and the resulting guilt I felt was more intense than I had anticipated. I was prepared, however, to deal with her disappointment. To my consternation, when I finally forced the confession past my lips, I encountered resolve rather than disappointment, and I realized how well Thatcher understood his daughter.

"I'm going with you," she proclaimed, a stubborn set to her chin.

I shook my head, but Shea wasn't put off.

"What are you going to do, Anya? You have to find a way to live among the humans now. Do you think that's going to be easy? Maybe in your Realm people respect teenage girls, but they don't here. We're bothersome and in the way, too young to be taken seriously and too old to be innocent. The world doesn't want us, and if we don't have each other, we have nothing. I need to leave this place, and you're going to want a friend out there in the Territory. You might even need one."

I rubbed my temple, my feelings aligning with hers-I didn't want to be alone. But how could I say yes when I'd promised Thatcher that I'd turn her down?

"What about your family?"

"They'll be fine without me. I haven't been here in my heart in a long time."

"Your father doesn't want you to leave."

Shea slowly blinked her chocolate-brown eyes, pondering the meaning of my statement.

"Did my father talk to you?" She read the answer in my expression, and her eyes narrowed. "He has no right to forbid you from taking me with you. This isn't his decision, it's mine."

I laughed, impressed by her spunk. "That's exactly what I told him. But there are other things I have to consider."

"Then consider. I'll wait."

I sighed, trying to weigh the complications of having Shea with me against the advantages she might present. I wasn't afraid to leave the Balsam Forest-I'd done it often enough the past couple of years. Still, how many times had I crossed the Bloody Road without incident prior to the loss of my wings? All it took was one time, one unfortunate circumstance. I was less likely to encounter such a circumstance if another person was looking out for me. On the other hand, I'd end up spending part of my time looking out for Shea. She was inexperienced, sheltered, and angry, a surefire formula for trouble. And having her with me would no doubt slow me down, although in truth, so would my sluggish transition to humanity. I wasn't fully healed and wouldn't make exceptional time anyway. And then, of course, there was Thatcher's potential reaction. I was more wary of him than was Shea. To him, I was a meddler, an outsider, someone expendable. Shea was precious to him, while I was a threat.

"All right, you can come," I ultimately concluded, the scales tipping in her favor when I remembered how she had saved my life on the Bloody Road. "But dress warm and pack light-we've got a lot of ground to cover."

Shea grinned, excitement pinking her cheeks. "Thank you, Anya. You won't regret this."

Without another word, she prepared for bed, humming to herself, and I hoped she understood the gravity of our mission. This wasn't a game or a lark. The fate of the Faerie people might very well rest on my shoulders, and as for Shea, she would be risking her freedom every time someone laid eyes on her.

I woke with the sun and roused Shea. Without speaking, we packed the supplies we would need, then dressed in thick leggings and boots, topped by woolen shirts to which I added a jerkin and Shea an overcoat. We grabbed heavy cloaks as our final layer; they would double well as blankets at night. Light snow was falling, and I pondered the murky sky through the window, hoping the snow would stay light. According to Thatcher's map, we were ten miles from the nearest town, a small cattle-ranching community called Strong that was barely considered part of the Warckum Territory. There we would spend the night and arrange for transport to the west.

By the time Shea and I were ready, the rest of the family had awoken. We entered the main room to double takes and falling faces.

"Shea, what...?" Elyse queried from her position at the stove, wooden spoon slipping from her grasp. Thatcher looked up from his seat by the fireplace, setting aside the gun he had been cleaning.

"I'm leaving," Shea told them without any preliminaries.

Elyse blanched, while Thatcher stood, his ominous glower compelling Marissa and Magdalene to sidle closer to their mother.

"No, you're not, Shea," he contradicted, his hands raised as though to catch her if she darted for the door. "You have no idea how dangerous it is out there."

"I'm not stupid, Dad," she said, though a touch of regret prevented the words from being defiant. "I know it's dangerous. But I'm not going to live the rest of my life this way."

Thatcher turned toward me, about to redirect his anger, but Shea stepped between us.

"Don't you dare blame Anya. You asked her to try to discourage me, and she did. This is my choice, understand? But don't worry. I won't put the rest of you in jeopardy. If I'm caught, I'll accept that it's my own fault and serve the sentence."

Their dark eyes met, and Thatcher's shame at seeing bravery in his daughter that he himself did not possess became detectable in the slump of his shoulders. He strode past her down the hall, and Shea's lip trembled in an effort to hold back tears. Then Maggie and Marissa rushed forward and embraced her.

"You'll come back, won't you?" Marissa asked, too young to arrive at the conclusion that was etched on everyone else's face.

"I don't know," Shea whispered. "But I believe I will see you again someday."

Elyse was next, clinging to her daughter until I thought the two of them had melded into a tragic statue. They separated at Thatcher's unexpected return. Embarrassed, Elyse wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Thatcher took Shea's hand, closing her fingers around a leather pouch.

"Get a belt in Strong and set these bullets. I've tucked a bit of money inside for you to use."

At his daughter's nod, he extended a necklace, reaching around her to fasten it underneath her hair. It draped a third of the way down her chest, the gold chain culminating in what appeared to be a small, upside-down looking glass. The necklace was beautiful and no doubt expensive, but obviously meant something more to him than money.

"Wear it always," Thatcher intoned, his voice thick. "Don't ever take it off, not even when you sleep or bathe. It will bring you luck. And if they catch you, tell them where to find me."

Shea dropped her gaze, but he grasped her chin, lifting it to reveal the tears she could no longer restrain.

"Shea, tell them where to find me. Promise you will."

She sniffed and brushed a hand across her cheek. "I won't."

"You must."

"I won't. I'm sorry. I'm not about to put all of you in danger. Besides, you don't deserve that sentence any more than I do. And I don't trust that the Governor's men won't hurt you. That's not a chance I'm willing to take."

Thatcher sighed and shook his head, his disappointment eclipsed by the pride that was written all over his face.

"Stubborn girl," he said, voice husky, then he gave Shea a light embrace. "Take care."

Extending his hand to me, he made a request. "Keep her safe. You have more experience on your own than she does."

"We'll keep each other safe." I met his firm grip with one of my own, feeling the weight of his faith settle on my chest. It was heavy, but within my strength to carry.

We did not spend much longer on goodbyes, for Shea's expression revealed that if she did not leave soon, she might change her mind.

"Let's go," I said, when we stood outside among the trees that cradled the More house.

"And never look back," she responded, sending a prickling sensation down my spine. An image flashed like lightning in my head, an image of Illumina with a small, sharp knife, cutting into the flesh above her right breast, painstakingly carving words of special importance to her: Keep silent your screams and never look back.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

BOYS AND BEASTS.

For miles beyond the border of Strong stretched pastureland occupied by cattle, fuzzy with the cold. Their unique stench rolled over Shea and me as we neared the town proper. It wasn't the kind of scent that made travelers cover their noses, but it wasn't pleasant, either. I could see how someone who had grown up there might remember it fondly, but to foreigners it was less than endearing.

No guard or gate blocked our passage as we crossed a quaint bridge over a frozen lake, so we strolled into town in the late afternoon like invited guests. The cobblestone streets were muddy and hay strewn, but the thatched buildings were well kept. Strong was a ranchers' hub, where folks came for supplies, trade, and company. Of course, at this time of year, most cattle sales had already taken place, so we were likely to encounter only locals. A single inn, the Morrow Bend, offered accommodations to travelers, and I secured a room with the money I'd provisioned myself from previous trips into the human world. After dropping off our packs and cloaks, we settled at a table in the small but welcoming pub that made up the inn's first floor. Snow had dogged our steps the entire day, and a hot meal would help chase the chill from our bones.

"I always thought Fae would be vegetarians," Shea remarked while we sipped steaming mugs of cider, awaiting the food we'd ordered.

I chuckled. "A lot of humans think that. Too many bad fantasy stories, I guess. We need meat as much as you do."

She was no longer listening to me, her eyes instead absorbing the activities of happy drunks, gregarious waitresses and swarthy bartenders like they were a newly discovered species, leaving little doubt she'd never before visited an alehouse. I hadn't thought about how green she was to the world outside her father's hideaway. It was like she'd slept away the past two years.

We settled in to relax, Shea jabbering more than she ever had around me, asking an endless stream of questions until our food arrived and gave her mouth something else to do. To me, this was a good sign; she had more stamina than I had expected.

At a pause in our conversation, I pulled my leather passport folder from inside my jerkin and laid it on the table. Shea opened the flaps and removed the thick, distinctive sheets of paper stored inside. The parchment was made from a combination of unique materials, an inimitable mixture designed to resist replication.

"Travel papers," I explained. "Forged, as your father surmised. We need to obtain some for you if you're to venture into the heart of the Territory. I assume the ones you had prior to the issuance of the arrest warrant for Thatcher are useless."

"Of course." She slid my documents back across the table. "I'm sure my name is on every wanted list at every checkpoint in the Territory."

"Shea, I'm sorry, but we can't fix that. I'm just out to find my cousin and bring him home."

She was nodding like she understood, but her discontent made me nervous. If she decided to try to get back at Governor Ivanova out of spite, there was no way I could protect her. She'd land herself in prison.

"We rest tonight, then go north," I continued, tucking my leather folder back in my jerkin. "The man who supplied me with these works out of Oaray. He'll provide us with what we need."

Shea cast her eyes around the room and red dots appeared in her cheeks. Not sure what had embarrassed her, I glanced over to see a boy at the bar raising his mug to her.

"You'll have to get used to that," I chuckled. Shea was rustic and still a little chubby from childhood, but her large dark eyes were alluring and her wavy brown hair shone. She would draw the attention of men whether she wanted it or not.

She gave me a slight smile and went back to her meal, her heart seeming to fill along with her stomach. Before long, her spirits had recovered and she waved to the boy at the bar. In another minute she was up and talking to him. I clutched my mug of cider and curled into a corner of our booth. Let her have fun for a night; she wouldn't have too many of these opportunities. And I needed to work a few things out in my mind.

Though I'd said nothing specific about our next stop to Shea, my thoughts were now on Oaray, my least favorite of the human cities I'd visited, only because I was aware of its true nature. The smiling faces and respectable businessmen were a front for a town famed for its illegalities. The place teemed with whores, of both the male and female variety, but by day they were delivery persons for the grocery or performers at the local playhouse. Accountants funded the transportation of illegal citizens to and from the big cities by filching a cent here, a dollar there from their clients. Nothing tax officials would notice without scrupulous examination, but everything to a few unlucky souls who needed passage.

Of course, not everyone deserved passage. Sometimes the motivations of Oaray's proprietors were so buried even their cohorts didn't know the full purposes of the businesses. As harmless and kind as Oaray's citizens were to prospective customers, they made possible the breaking of laws both frivolous and imperative. And they were such a cohesive unit, so good at hiding their crimes, that they couldn't be stopped through any sanctioned legal process. Because of all this, Oaray had been nicknamed the City of False Smiles.

Taking a long swill of lukewarm cider, I let my thoughts drift to Illumina. My younger cousin had a good two weeks' head start on me, but she would also have needed travel documents. She would have been sent to Oaray by my father to get a forged passport. Once Shea and I reached the city, we might be able to pick up her trail. I would have less trouble tracking her than Zabriel if it came down to it, and I could revamp my strategy as needed.

Then a new worry arose. What if Zabriel had made sure he could never return? What if he'd removed his wings like he'd tried to once before, and was now as powerless to cross the Road as was I? My dinner threatened to reemerge, and I covered my mouth with my hand, taking several deep breaths. There was no point in dwelling on this possibility. In my mind, he would remain Zabriel, Prince of the Fae, the same person I used to know, unless I found out differently.

Thinking it time to retire, I looked across the pub for Shea. There was no sign of her. Disconcerted, I sat up and surveyed the room more thoroughly. Strong was a border town-there was no reason we should have encountered trouble with the authorities this soon. Nevertheless, she was not in sight. In desperation, I headed to the bar, flagged down the server and described Thatcher More's daughter to him.

"Brown hair and eyes, wearing brown leggings and a blue tunic. Last I saw, she was talking to some boy."

The barkeep nodded and pointed toward the side door of the Morrow Bend. "Saw 'em head out that way. They both had a bit to drink."

I clenched my jaw against the rising irritation in my chest. While there was no reason we should have encountered trouble, I'd apparently released a starving wildcat in the land of plenty. Problem was I couldn't afford to have a starving wildcat along with me on this trip.

Making for the side door, I knew what I would find even before I opened it to the cold wind. A snow-crusted alley stretched left and right, but footprints and laughter brought my attention to where Shea was pressed against the wall by the boy she'd met at the bar. He was kissing her neck, holding her hips, pinning her with his body. Grinning, she opened her mouth to his and pulled him closer.

In two swift strides, I pulled the gent away from her and gave him a shove. Though I hadn't intended for him to land on his rear in the snow, the result was nonetheless satisfying. Shea giggled and covered her mouth. If she was embarrassed, it was only because some fuzzy, faraway recess in her brain told her she ought to be.

Dismayed, I pointed to the door. "We're going inside. Now."

"What if I don' wan' to?" she mumbled in protest, her words slurred.

The young man stumbled to his feet, his coordination poor in his drunken state. He crashed into the opposite alley wall before righting himself, and I cocked an eyebrow, wondering if he'd remember in the morning how he'd gotten his bruises. At last getting his bearings, he lurched forward, his momentum allowing him to push past me and put an arm around the girl he hoped to seduce.

"Who's this bitch, honey? Tellin' you what to do. You wanna stay with me, don'cha? Maybe I should do yah a favor and shut her up."

Shea's eyes widened, perhaps realizing through her inebriation that her partner in lust had more in mind than she did. She tried to remove his arm, but didn't have a good angle or leverage, and ended up feebly swiping at it. Viewing her actions as a request for help, I grabbed him by the collar and slung him once more against the alley wall, hoping he would crack his head on the stone and be incapacitated. But he put his hands out in time to catch himself. He turned around and raised his fists, his manhood apparently challenged. He was broad-shouldered and tall enough that I could have hidden behind him, and a sardonic, fatalistic part of my brain acknowledged that this was going to hurt.

More as a reflex than anything else, I called on my elemental connection to the water to help me, but all I felt was a strange, dilating hollowness in my core-I no longer had the ability to make the wet snow slippery and knock my adversary out cold. Neither could I hover into the air to confuse him or attack from above. I was left with no distinct advantage aside from my sobriety, and his threat suddenly carried more weight. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands, for this sort of weakness was a new feeling, one that made me want to run even though I'd never retreated from a lone combatant before. I detested the boy for making me feel afraid; at the same time, I was too afraid to provoke him.

In the end, only one thing occurred to me. I likewise balled my fists, reluctant to pull and potentially lose possession of the Anlace, and when he was close enough, drilled him in the crotch with one of my boots. He yelped at a soprano pitch and went down faster than anyone I'd ever seen.

"Hurry," I shouted to Shea, snatching her arm and tugging her back inside the pub, letting the door slam behind us.

Though Shea swayed on her feet, I kept her moving, past the bar and tables, and up the staircase to our room, fuming inside. If she hadn't come with me, I would have been tucked away in bed already, warm and sleeping, and not worried about pursuit by a man who I could only hope was still clutching himself between his legs in agony. This was how she thanked me for taking a chance on her?

After forcing all the water I could down Shea's throat to reduce the likelihood of illness in the morning, I cracked open the window, hoping the cool air would help to sober her up. Then I tucked her into bed. She was asleep within fifteen minutes, but the same peace eluded me. Seeing Shea with that boy had reawakened thoughts of Davic. What was he doing in Chrior this night? Cavorting with friends? Visiting his parents and sister on the other side of the city? Or was he reading a book, safe and warm in his alcove? I closed my eyes at that image, aching to be warm in his arms, to lay my head on his shoulder. A lump rose in my throat, and I rubbed my hands over my face, refusing to wallow in longing. It was time I accepted the simple truth. Even if Davic realized something was wrong, convinced Ubiqua and my father and Ione, and they all came looking for me, there was nothing they could do to change my circumstances.

I continued to toss and turn, dozing in and out without really resting. The darkness did not lift, only shifted, and I knew in the morning this night would seem surreal and distant.

Shea was sniffing between her heavy breaths, and though that wasn't the reason I couldn't sleep, the repetitive noise irked me. Worse, now that I'd noticed it, I couldn't get it out of my head. I snugged my pillow against my ears, then sat up and threw it at her, realizing too late that I'd have to get up to retrieve it. With a sigh, I rolled out of bed to snatch it back, and froze.

The wheezing wasn't coming from Shea.

My breath caught, magnifying the earnest beating of my heart. As unobtrusively as I could, I swiveled to check the room, trying not to imagine what might be behind me. The light from a street lamp fought its way through the ratty curtains, casting knotted shadows across the floor. A creature-luminescent yet deathly gray-was slipping from underneath my bed, using the foot post to hoist itself up. It wasn't facing me, and I praised Nature that I'd gotten up. It sniffed at my mattress and groped about with its glowing spearlike fingers, its emaciated body following waiflike behind those strong digits that were slithering up the coverlet. It had neither the size of a human adult nor the smallness of a child, and its legs, if legs they could be called, were bound together by intricate spider webs of skin, stretched to their limit. The lower half of its body was almost useless, but nevertheless the thing moved with a perverse grace.

I shook Shea violently by the shoulder.

"What?" she murmured.