Sindred [https://i.imgur.com/nVpsCtk.png]

The landscape is black with ash, the ruins of a city spread out around me, obscured by sizzling clouds of smoke. I can't breathe without my lungs screaming in protest. The smell of death is overwhelming. Yet I walk forward, undeterred.

Only one tower remains standing, glinting like polished gold, its blue fingers reaching recklessly into the empty sky. At the very top, the queen rests in her glass coffin, the most beautiful woman in all the land, trapped in an endless slumber while her kingdom burns.

The monster circles the tower, a massive beast of searing flame and dark feathers, long body arched predatorily as it digs its talons into bones and rubble. It has its torn and broken wings half-raised as though it still believes it might fly, if it only tries hard enough.

The dragon-like creature swings its neck in my direction, revealing the face of a man, human lips pulled back in a snarl. "HEY. YOU! What do you want?" it snaps at me.

My grip tightens on the hilt of my silver dagger. I step closer. "I know who you are," I tell the beast.

"If you think you do," it says in a gravelly whisper, "you're wrong." Flames lick across the surface of its body. It crouches before me, and in its blue eyes I see a wild, hopeless sort of pain. The kind of pain that fills oceans.

"I know what you're here for," I say. "And I can help you."

It starts to laugh, a sound that builds like cracking thunder. "What could you possibly do to help me? You are no one."

"I am a ghost," I say. "There is no place that I can't go. I will slip into that tower and bring her down to you."

The beast is silent. Its claws scratch against the debris at our feet. A soft wind moans through the sharp remains of a once great city.

"And what would you want from me, in return?" the dragon asks, its voice a low, aching thrum.

I take another step towards the towering creature and raise a crystalline knife, the weapon glowing like a tiny sliver of the moon. "The boy you stole. Give me his heart."

The dragon roars, rearing onto its back legs-

And I'm woken by a shower of dirt falling from the earthen roof of the cave and landing on my face, silty and slightly wet. Something is scritching and skittering right above my head. I jolt upright and yelp when the top of my skull whacks into a low-hanging root.

"Ow!" I mutter a curse, rubbing my head.

I hear a squirrelly cackling and look up to see a small fae creature hanging there, beady black eyes staring at me. In the darkness I can just make out a sort of bulbous humanoid body and long, pointy-nosed face. "Pretty girl," it chitters, reaching a frog-like hand towards my hair.

I duck away from it. "Go away!" I hiss. "Ugh. Can't you see I was trying to sleep?"

It's been difficult, sleeping. I'm not used to lying on the hard ground, tucked against the rocky walls of a cave. Someone is always moving about, messing with the low-lit campfire or coming back from their shift watching the perimeter. Even when my companions are quiet, the forest itself is loud. Birds, insects, the howls of distant wolves. Something is out there making noise at all hours. And now, this thing. One of the recent arrivals to our hide-out. Somehow, these small woodland fae keep finding us, and once they do it's impossible to get rid of them. They seem particularly attached to me, which makes it that much harder to get any sort of peace.

Aisling lifts her head from the crumpled jacket she's using as a makeshift pillow and squints over at me in the dim light. "You alright, kid?" she mumbles.

"Yes, fine," I say to Aisling. I glare at the little beast, waiting for it to slink away. It continues to cackle softly as it goes.

By the time I lie back down, Aisling has already drifted back to sleep. I toss about, trying to get comfortable, but after a few restless minutes, I give up. I sigh and begin to make my way out of the cave, mostly crouched to avoid hitting my head on any more giant roots, careful to avoid the lumpy forms of others sleeping.

The cave entrance is up a slight incline, fairly hidden from view if one is passing by below. A huge tree grows out of the hill right above the hideaway, its roots snaking outward in all directions. I half-crawl down the treacherous terrain, slipping a few times on the layer of rotting leaves that blanket the forest floor.

When I reach level ground, I stand still for a moment, taking in the wall of trunks before me. I've never felt smaller than when standing in a forest at night. I'm mustering the will to venture into the deep shadows of the trees when I notice a soft flickering light to my left. I walk slowly towards it, making as little sound as possible. Is it one of our group? There aren't usually sentries posted this close to the cave. We've set up a fairly large perimeter around the area.

I recognize who it is as I creep closer. Owlodin is perched on a wide, curling tree root, his back to me. Even facing the other direction, I know his tall, narrow form, the graceful curve of his spine, the way his windswept hair sticks up in a sort of endearing mess. The wild strands are reminiscent of the delicate black feathers that trail from the crook of his neck down his arms. I tell myself the reason he's such a familiar figure, even in the dark, is because I've been keeping a careful eye on him these past few weeks, because I don't trust him. Yet the truth is I find myself watching him whenever he's near, and, though I'm reluctant to admit it, I don't think suspicion is the primary reason. There's something beautiful about him, something that makes my heart skip nervously when he looks at me. It's incredibly silly, and I keep waiting for the dreadful feeling to fade away.

He's reading, I realize. Something he does constantly, especially since he joined the University. I can make out the edge of a large book balanced in the bend of his knee, and when I am close enough, I can hear the swishing rustle of pages being turned. The light I saw is coming from him, or from a point right before him. The subtle golden glow creates dancing shadows around us. A small flame, probably cupped in the palm of his left hand, which is tucked near his chest. He doesn't turn, even when I peek over his shoulder to confirm what I've guessed.

I grin. One thing I do like about the woods at night is the opportunities it presents for friendly surprises.

"Keeping watch?" I ask, hoping the sound of my voice right behind him will get a satisfying jump in response.

My grin fades with disappointment when he hardly moves.

"No, but Balsevor is," he says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He gives me a charming smile.

Greetings, my lady, the dragon's says, his voice a deep purr at the edge of my mind. There's a… creature following you, in case you weren't aware.

"Huh?" Somehow it's me who's been startled. "I said go away!" I snap, bristling. But when I look down at my feet I don't find the same long-nosed goblin from before. This faerie is only inches tall, with tiny twig limbs, moth wings and a weaselly face. It is tufted with fine blue fluff and gives off a warm glow.

"Pixie," Owlodin says, glancing up from his book. "Watch out; they bite."

The pixie, hovering near my ankle, giggles sheepishly, clasping it's miniscule hands behind its back in a gesture of innocence. It smiles up at me, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth. "Bite lady? No," it says, its voice a whistley trill. "I like lady."

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Owlodin looks back up, letting out a wry laugh. "They don't usually talk,"he says.

"Why is everyone calling me that?" I ask. "I'm not a lady."

"You mean Balsevor? Because he likes you," Owlodin says. "And Balsevor doesn't like anyone."

Excuse me! Balsevor protests. I… That is not true. I mean… He trails off with a grumbly huff of embarrassment.

A short laugh escapes me. "Well, I suppose I'm flattered," I say, though I'm not so sure.

The pixie flies up until it's level with my face. "Can I kiss the lady?" it chirps.

"Absolutely not," I say, frowning sternly at it. "I'd like to be left alone, thank you. Shoo!"

It gives a little gasp, darting away.

"Did you need me for something?" Owlodin asks. He shifts position, sitting up straighter and partially closing the book. "I don't usually see you at this hour."

I don't even know for sure what hour this is. The canopy hides most of the sky, and the strange gloom of the forest thoroughly ruins my sense of time. I grimace. "My sleep was disturbed by a goblin, unfortunately," I say, sitting down on the tree root beside him. "I was about to go for a walk. Maybe scout around the city. Then I saw you. How's your spell going?"

"It's tricky. I'm trying to use what I know about your glamour to work out a sort of… enhanced stealth spell, but… Ironborn spellbooks make no mention of glamour. Their structure for magic is very counterintuitive. It's still basically gibberish to me." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. The hand that just a moment ago was holding a small ball of fire. A couple stray embers flicker through the strands, but somehow they don't get singed.

He catches me staring and I end up gazing speechlessly into his blue eyes for a moment. I clear my throat, blinking. "Your… The fire. I'm just not used to seeing that, still," I say. "I always expect you to… to burn."

"I am burning," he says softly.

"Yes, but…" I don't know how to finish my thought. We settle into a strangely tense silence. I almost wish Balsevor would make some snippy comment, but, at least to me, he is quiet.

I stand, rather abruptly. "I'll go, then. Leave you to your studies. You'll report if anything changes? That spell is crucial," I say, an unnecessary reminder.

"Of course," he says.

"Can you… Just tell Aisling I'll be back in the morning, if she asks."

He nods.

I smooth out my skirts, careful not to meet his eyes again. "Goodnight, then," I say, and march hurriedly away into the trees.

Farewell, my lady, Balsevor says, his voice tickling against my thoughts as I vanish from their sight.

It isn't until I'm completely certain they can't see me that I start to run. I hold the lifted ends of my dress in a desperately tight grip, dashing between the dark trunks, ducking under low-hanging branches and stumbling through thorny underbrush. Cold wind stings my eyes and whips through my hair.

I stop once I reach the pale stone of the palace wall, leaning against it to catch my breath. "Oh, Sin," I whisper to myself, "what have you gotten yourself into?"

...

Climbing over the wall isn't easy, but I've done it a number of times now and have gotten used to pinching the tips of my fingers into small cracks between the stones, balancing on toes jammed into crevices. By the time I drop down on the other side, the muscles in my legs and forearms are trembling painfully. I shake out my sore limbs and keep moving.

I jog up the hill and through the east courtyard, past the guards' barracks. The kitchen door has been newly outfitted with spikes of iron across its surface, and the once wooden handle has been replaced with a circular ring of cold metal. The message is clear, but I don't let it deter me. I knock against a section of smooth wood, rapping hard with my knuckles so that one of the cooks will be sure to hear it. There is always someone awake in the palace kitchens.

As soon as the door opens I squeeze sideways past the person standing there, leaving them to blink confused out into the night. Seeing no one, they shut the door again, muttering something about the wind. I stand unnoticed in the entryway of the kitchen, surveying those who are working. I see no head of red curls, hear no barks of unabashed laughter. Those who are up shuffle about quietly and speak only in hushed tones. By the dim light of the few burning ovens I notice the glint of wide iron bands around their necks. Though they are technically a badge of superior status, of humanity, I can't help but see them as constraining collars. The type of thing you'd see on a disobedient animal. It might be my imagination, but the servants seem to hold themselves with less dignity than they used to, as though defeated, weighed down.

I push open the door to Bianca's closet sleeping area, closing it as quietly as I can behind me. There is a faint glow of a lantern shining through the tent-like cloth that hangs around her mattress. When I bend down to look through the opening I see her bright hair spread across her pillow.

"Bee?" I say.

She looks up, dazed and half-asleep. "Sindred? Is it really you?"

I smile, and she practically leaps into my arms, squeezing me in a tight embrace.

"I was so worried!" she squeaks. "Oh, Sweetling… Thank the goddess you're alright."

"Can I stay with you?" I ask, my voice muffled against her shoulder. "Just for tonight?"

"You stay as long as you like," she says. "Come on, tell me everything!" She pulls me down into the nest of blankets.

I sit with my knees bent and my back against the wall, savoring the lingering smell of warm bread and firewood. This is what I wanted, what I came here for. This tiny sanctuary where the world outside can't touch us. Me and Bianca, tucked under the covers like children. Safe from the monsters outside our fortress.

I don't want to tell her everything. It would ruin the illusion, the magic of this place. I'm not sure she wants me to, either. "I had to run," I say.

"I know," she says. "The witch… I heard what she did. They have her locked away. But it's okay! I've been wondering, ever since that day… I thought… I really thought… But you're okay."

"I'm okay," I repeat. I smile at her through my curtain of silvery white hair.

"Have you been having grand adventures, out in the world? Please tell me you met a rich man and fell in love."

There is something so refreshing about Bianca's sly, gossip-hungry smile, that dreamy look she gets in her eyes when she talks about boys and romantic liaisons. She makes the world feel a little less serious, like even storybook love is possible. It's naive; I'm sure even she knows that. But at least she pretends to believe.

"I did meet someone," I say. I think part of me says it because I want her to be jealous, but I know she'll think I'm only playing along.

She gasps with delight.

I smile. "A prince under a beastly curse. He's a powerful wizard, but he doesn't have the power to save himself."

"Ooh, how dangerous. Does the curse make him unbearably ugly?"

I consider my answer. "No. But he can't be touched. His skin is like fire."

She leans against my shoulder and giggles. "Can you even imagine?"

"Imagine me in love. And with a man," I say, laughing.

Of course she misunderstands. "It will happen someday, Sweet," she reassures me.

I shrug. I wonder if she notices the way my breath catches when she's close to me, if she has any idea how hyperaware I am of her hand, warm on my arm. How I wish I could reach out and count her freckles by touch in the dim golden light. Instead I close my eyes and let out a shuddering sigh.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," I say, watching her move through the red of my eyelids. "I just haven't been sleeping well. It's nothing."

"Hey, Sweetness," Bianca touches a finger to my chin, gently tilting my head so I'll look at her. "Don’t hide from me. You do that plenty with everyone else."

"There is a man," I manage to say, though the words seem partially stuck in my throat. Why does this simple statement feel like a betrayal? Emotions are always complicating everything. At least Bianca is safe, out of reach. There's no risk in secret longing. But something about Owlodin feels dangerous. I don't even know what I want from him, and I don't have the time to figure out something so trivial and irrelevant. Boys and love are Bianca's territory. That's never been me. And he could never be Bee.

Bianca smiles with glee. "Sindred! Do I detect feelings?"

"I don’t know what I feel, Bee," I say. "I don’t trust... feelings. And he… I don’t know him. I mean, I barely... We barely...” I make a face. I should never have said anything.

"Hmm." I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. So thoughtful and serious. Maybe she notices more than I realized. "Do me one favor, alright?" she asks.

"What?" I try not to narrow my eyes. Of all the people I know, she's the one person I want to trust. I'll happily reserve general suspicion for everyone else, but not her. I want to believe her intentions are pure. That's she's too good for this world, like a character stepped out of a storybook romance. A fair maiden, offering me a daring quest. A true friend in a time of war.

"Don’t squash them. The feelings," she says. "You’re too good at that for your own good. I know, you need to be. I understand that. But maybe this time, don’t. For me?"

It takes me a long time to answer. "I don’t know if I can do that," I say. "Not now. I can't."

"Please?" She gives me her best begging pout, made so easy by her plump bottom lip and those big brown eyes. She’s the only one in the world I would let manipulate me like that. I wonder if she knows it. I watch her blink slowly at me with long lashes: once, twice.

"Alright," I whisper, wondering what inevitable disaster I've just agreed to. It's not the first time I've made a promise I instantly regret.