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

When I wake up, I'm alone in Bianca's small room, though the smell of her still lingers in the air, the soft warmth of freshly baked bread with a hint of sharp spice. It's dark except for a thin line of light coming in from under the doorway, and I can hear voices and the scrapes and clangs of cooking coming from the kitchen on the other side. For some reason, these sounds practically lull me back to sleep, where even the softest whisper back at camp is enough to jolt me wide awake. For the first time in weeks, I slept without being plagued by vivid dreams of monsters and prophecies.

I groggily push myself up, and notice a scrap of paper falls down the blanket as I do. I grab it, and go to slip it into my empty pocket so I can look at it somewhere more brightly lit, but when I do, my fingers brush against something warm and furred. I jerk my hand away with a gasp when I feel it move.

I hear a small squeak. The pixie from the night before pokes its head sheepishly out of the folds of my skirt.

"You!" I hiss. "I told you I want to be left alone!"

"Don't bother lady, no," the pixie chirps, flying up to hover before my face. "I hide!"

"Hiding in my pocket does bother me," I say. "How long have you been there?"

The pixie makes a shrug-like gesture. "Sleeping?" it says ambiguously.

I pace in a tight circle, giving a little huff. I want to shoo the creature away again, but who knows what mischief it will get into within the palace. "Fine!" I say, after a moment. "I don't know what to do with you, so go back in there and stay hidden."

The pixie beams at me before diving back into my pocket, twittering in a way that sounds almost like a tiny bell and trailing tiny tufts of glowing blue substance like dandelion fluff.

I pause before venturing out into the kitchen, looking back at the little tent around Bianca's mattress. Just a season ago I stumbled in here during the darkness of the night, whispering confessions of magic and then stealing them back again, terrified of what I'd just admitted to. But it was not my gift that had ended up dooming us, as I'd so feared. In the end, it was the only reason any of us survived. Aurelius, Aisling… They now look to me for protection and guidance. And Ezebel…

How quickly things have changed. I straighten, lifting my chin as though to brush off the heavy memories. No one looks my way when I step into the morning light of the kitchen. It's later than I thought, based on the sunlight streaming through the windows. After softly closing the door, I glance down at the slip of paper crumpled in my other fist. "Had to run an errand, but I left you something sweet on the back counter! Kisses, Bee."

I wind my way through the kitchen maids bustling about, careful to avoid someone with a teetering pot of boiling water, ducking out of range of a large wooden spoon someone waves aggressively in emphasis of the latest court gossip. I hear more mention of faeries than ever before. Children's stories have come alive in the palace. They're real and they're dangerous. They poisoned the queen; who knows what's next? People are afraid, but everyone's more brave when bathed in the bright glow of morning sunlight, and I hear a note of excitement in their tale-telling.

I search for what Bianca left for me, and eventually I see it pushed to the back of the farthest counter. Behind the mounds of dough put aside to rise is a small bundle wrapped in a napkin and tied with string. Beside it is a note with handwriting that matches the one in my hand: "For Bianca's favorite. Don't touch!"

I step into a shadowy corner of the room to untie the present. Biscuits, still slightly warm from the oven, dripping with gooey chocolate. I breathe in their sweet smell, smiling. There is nothing better than chocolate. I take a tiny bite, catching the crumbs in the napkin as best I can.

"Mmm." I close my eyes as I savor the taste. When I open them, I see a flutter of blue wings in my peripheral vision. The rest of the biscuit I was just eating has disappeared from the top of the stack. My eyes widen, but not with surprise. I tie the string back around the napkin slowly, imagining how satisfying it will be to banish that pixie from my sight forever. Just not here. Later, I promise myself. Later.

I know Aisling is probably worried, but Instead of leaving the palace and heading back to the camp, I find myself striding towards the stairs leading to the second floor. Before I can change my mind, I'm walking right past Ironborn soldiers patrolling the corridors and stopping in front of a familiar door of dark, aged wood. Ezebel's apothecary.

I expect iron bars, wards, something blocking my entry. But it's the same as it always was. Such a plain looking door, right down the hall from the study of the king himself, tucked among richly embroidered tapestries and tall golden vases. So boring it's practically invisible. Almost like this door isn't really part of the palace at all, but from a different world. How I wish I could step through and leave this place behind, with its iron-studded politics and deadly intrigue. But what world would I want instead? No matter how safe and comfortable I'd felt sitting on a stool watching Ezebel sort and crush her meticulously dried herbs, she was not a savior, and her domain was not an escape. As Master of Spies, she was woven into the web of fear and secrecy she seemed to navigate so deftly, and instead of tearing it apart from within, she'd let herself get snagged in it.

I can't let myself make the same mistake. But is it too late for that? "You are my master, now and always. I swear it." The White Witch made me swear an oath when I was just a child, and with those words I'd become tangled in that web, bound against my will. She is no longer giving the orders, but somehow she still holds me fast. Is that why I'm still here? Why I'm standing before this stupid door? This place… This whole kingdom is clutched in an iron grip. Who am I to try and wrest it free? It seems naive to believe that I could change things. Yet some part of me can't let this place go, can't leave behind the only home I'd ever known. Is it my oath to her that traps me here, or is it imagining another little girl like me, born to human parents in this land so poisoned by hatred? If I don't fight for that girl, who will? For her, not for Ezebel, I have to stay, even if by doing so I'm risking everything.

Not for Ezebel. That's what I tell myself as I open the door. "Am I not your family?" My last words to her seem to float through the air as I step into what was once her sanctuary. Now, it feels like a grave, dark and lifeless. The rows of wooden shelves are empty, every single crock and jar shattered in piles on the floor. I cover my nose with my hand to block out the overwhelming smell: a rotting mixture of pooling tinctures and trampled herbs, and, underneath it all, the subtle smoky note of a fire long gone out. They burned her books and papers, every recipe and coded message. Even her clothes, pulled out of the wardrobe and reduced to blackened threads. My eyes sting, and I lean over the counter to open the window.

The wind yanks the shutters from my grasp as soon as I release the wooden latch, banging them against the walls. Sunlight and cool air rush into the room. They should be a welcome relief, but my heart thuds with panic at the noise. A little "Yeep!" comes from the pixie in my pocket. I drop the bundle of cookies on the counter and scramble to stop the clattering shutters, holding my breath in the hope that, somehow, no one heard the sudden burst of sound.

There's a tense moment of silence as I stare at the door and wait for someone to burst through. But no one does. I slowly exhale, relaxing my shoulders, and that's when I hear the footsteps in the corridor. Two sets of clanking armored feet thudding towards the apothecary. I swear under my breath and step behind the door, tucking myself against the shelves. Years of being a ghost, and soldiers with iron swords and explosive spells still fill me with fear. "If you let your fear control you, you are no better than them. You let them win." But isn't it this fear, this instinct to hide, that gave me the power that I have? That made me who I am?

"What's going on?" a familiar voice booms just outside the door. The king has come to see what the commotion is about. I can almost feel the weight of his huge hand on my shoulder, a phantom from a simpler time. "Little lass." He was never one I pictured hiding from.

I can't make out the soldier's low response. The three voices exchange a few unintelligible phrases, and all I catch is "traitor." The word seems to sink into me, heavy, like I'm a boat and my hull has sprung a leak. Is that who she is? Ezebel the traitor. Even if she did not poison the queen, as she's been accused, she was never particularly loyal. Her goals were hidden, personal. We reported to her, and she reported to the king, but what she chose to tell him was what suited her. Yet somehow I knew she'd never harm him. Never betray him. She loved him, in her way, just as she loved the queen. She may have seemed unfeeling and infallible, but it turned out she loved Lady Katalyn so deeply that it broke her.

I just never knew if she loved me.

"Traitor." I clench my jaw, surprised by the tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I work to swallow the lump in my throat as one of the soldiers opens the door, his wand held out before him so it's all I can see when he steps cautiously into the room.

"This room is off limits!" the Ironborn says. "Show yourself!"

I say nothing, staring at the side of his head though the gap between door and frame.

"See, I told you-" the other soldier hisses from behind his partner.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Wait," the first one says, cutting him off. I peer around the edge of the door to see him reach into a large red pouch attached to his belt and pull out a pinch of sparkling blue powder. He tosses it into the air and says, "Screepaht mys!"

Searing blue lightning emerges from the end of the wizard's outstretched wand, the sound of it beginning with a loud pop and then becoming a high, crackling whine deep inside my head. It smells smoky and metallic, almost sour, like fresh blood splashed into a fire. The blue energy shoots left and right, moving somehow too fast to see and also painfully slow. I watch it approach with dread, pressing myself back against the shelves, and it passes right in front of my chest before darting into the wall. Then what was a single line of sizzling light starts to stretch, forming a sort of net that reaches forward into the room, ready to trap anything that may be lurking unseen in the corners.

The web of lightning drapes itself over every surface of the apothecary, its ends disappearing into each of the three far walls. It isn't until it fills the room that the wizard flicks his wand and the whole thing falls away, leaving behind a puff of sparkly blue dust that falls gently down.

"Nothing," the soldier says. "Just the wind."

"Thank you for being so thorough," the king's voice rumbles from behind the others.

The Ironborn turns to go, and I notice that I'm trembling uncontrollably. My fists are clenched, fingernails biting into palms. There is a tight knot between my shoulderblades. As the soldier starts to close the door behind him, I finally dare to breathe. But I act too soon.

He stops, turning around again. "One moment," he says, taking a couple steps into the room, his boots crunching on shattered remnants of Ezebel's medicines and potions. He spins, scanning the area his spell might not have reached. His gaze comes to rest right where I'm standing, and he narrows his eyes.

He doesn't see me. I can tell right away; at this point I've seen that subtle blankness in hundreds of stares, those searching eyes finding nothing to hold on to. I'm a wisp, a trick. Their eyes slide off of my elusive form. I don't exist.

When he's gone, my breath comes out as a sob, air catching in my throat as I try to let it go. I sink against the shelves, my knees buckling. I cover my face with my hands and feel tears.

"Little lass," a deep voice says, coming from just beside me.

My eyes snap open and barely keep myself from screaming, letting out a choked gasp and scrambling upright to face the king.

"You shouldn't be here," he tells me, closing the door behind him as quietly as he opened it.

There's nothing I can say. "Your highness…" Mt voice trails off, a pleading whisper.

"I come here sometimes, to remind myself," the king says, gesturing to the room around us. "You never truly know anyone. Even…" He looks away, a range of emotions flickering across his face. Regret, anger. Shame?

"Ezebel is not a traitor," I say. "Your highness-"

"She was family, you know that?" The king sighs. "Served my father before me. Practically raised me. She treated me as a son after losing one of her own. And my wife… My beautiful wife. She was Katalyn's great aunt. The reason we met. Family." The look he gives me as he repeats the word is almost like pity.

It's like he knows. "Am I not your family?" I can almost feel the stinging of my palm after I slapped her, that day. Hear the way her head thunked against the wall. I was so angry, felt so abandoned. Betrayed. But I hadn't given her the chance to answer the question.

"I swear to you, your highness," I say. "She is not who you think. Please. You can still-"

"Stop," he says, waving a hand in dismissal. "I have all the proof I need right in this room. Standing right before my eyes."

"What?" I ask. He seems so calm. He's made his decision. Even though I know what he's saying, it seems impossible, incomprehensible.

"You," he says. "I know what you are, little lass." The way he says it this time is different. There's a sort of sneer to the phrase, matching his expression. Disgust. "A faer-"

But something happens as he speaks that word. His body lurches, like he was pushed and is then caught in place, held taught. His face slackens, eyes glazing over. They begin to glow, softly at first, and then a bright, ruby red. He starts to laugh, but it's not his laugh. Someone else's voice is escaping from his lips. Rogemere looks down at me from the king's eyes, and before I have any time to react, he lunges towards me and grabs me by the throat.

The king's huge hand wraps easily around my neck, pinching tight against my skin. I struggle reflexively, grabbing his wrist with both of my hands and kicking out at him while trying desperately to breathe. That bruising grip feels like it could easily snap my bones.

"Did you think I'd let you get away from me?" the High Priest says. It seems so wrong to hear that voice coming from the king, grating and unnatural, but I barely notice through the pain that's building. Dark red splotches cloud my vision. Everything seems to grow darker, shadowy edges of the world closing in on me.

He lifts my body and slams it against the shelves, easing the pressure on my throat just enough that I can draw an agonizing breath.

"Lady, no!' the pixie flies from my pocket with a trill and launches itself towards the face of my captor. It zips back and forth, dodging Rogemere's swatting hand.

"Piskueli!" Rogemere says, pointing towards the pixie. A cloud of icy mist shoots from his fingertip and envelops the little creature, who jerks to a stop mid-flight and then falls to the glass-covered ground with a tiny thud-tink.

"I'll deal with that thing later," Rogemere says to me. "We have things to talk about, vermin." He smiles. "You won't be squashed until you tell me where the rest of you are hiding."

Even while choking for air, I manage to glare at him. I kick out again, but even though my foot connects, it does nothing. He just laughs.

"Regor nuahrta," he says, snapping the fingers of his free hand right in front of my face.

Against my will, my body begins to convulse. It feels like bony hands are trailing along my limbs, buried beneath my skin. They move upward, clawing up my sides and along my spine, until they're gripping the insides of my skull. Those invisible hands squeeze, and if I could scream, I would.

"You're mine," Rogemere says softly, pulling me towards him so close that the king's bushy beard tickles against my face. "You don't have to say a word; I will uncover every secret, faerie scum. Everything you hide."

NO! I cry silently, trying to wriggle away from those grasping fingers as they scrape and tug against my mind. I've never felt this kind of pain, like part of me that's buried deep within is being torn out, pulling all the branching roots along with it. It feels like when he's done there will be nothing left of me, just loose tendrils dangling uselessly inside an empty husk.

No… I will not let him break my mind, unravel me at the seams. I will escape, even if it means leaving something vital behind: my body, which jerks and shakes, letting out little gasps as it struggles to breathe. I know that if I let go of it, I have a chance to slip away from this spell. I can sink down where he can't reach, into the currents of swirling magic that are inside my being but somehow far away. If I surrender… If I lose myself, at least he can't have me.

The last time I swam into that cool, dark place disconnected from time, the world, my body… nothing was holding me back. It had felt easy to dive into those waters. Easier than remaining on the surface. This time, it hurts, as if the cord that tethers my mind to my physical self is in the bony clutches of Rogemere's spell, and to get away I have to pull so roughly that it snaps.

I am spinning out of control in the chaos. There is no way to tell which way is up or down; all there is is magic, overwhelming and raw. An endless universe of pure energy, drifting in strange patterns. It had seemed like darkness, before, but now it's like I've opened my eyes, and all around me is flickering light, as though I'm floating in a sky of dancing stars.

"Sindred," a strange voice whispers, a burbling echo coming from everywhere and nowhere. "This is still yours, for now. You'll need it."

Suddenly it's dark again, and though I can still feel the swirling energy around me, it's like my senses have been dulled, or I'm not quite as there as I just was. At the same time, I feel somehow more alone, as though I had been wrapped in an embrace and I've been gently pushed away. Or, rather than one embrace, countless of them, each as warm and loving as the last. Now it's just me, by myself in the cold.

Yet with that feeling of loss comes a realization. The cord I snapped is no longer broken. I can feel my physical body again, just beyond the surface, as alive and pitifully mortal as always.

Who was that voice, and what did it mean? "This is still yours, for now. You'll need it." The words seem to fade from existence even as I remember them, leaving behind a vague emotion in their place. Something like peace, but wilder, more confident. I drink that feeling in, let it soak into every scrap of my essence.

Then, back in the apothecary, I open my eyes. Rogemere still holds me dangling above the ground, the king's fingers tight around my throat. But now, instead of limp and lifeless, I'm glowing with brilliant white light. I see his eyes widen with shock in the split second before I push that wild, buzzing energy from my being, shoving it into the body of the king and driving out the invading mind of the High Priest.

Both of us are physically thrown across the room by the force of the magic. My back slams into the piles of sharp debris layering the floor, knocking what little air is left from my lungs. I lie there, dazed, for a moment, not even noticing the pain of a particularly large shard of glass buried in my skin. Even when I do, I don't give it much thought. There's no time.

The world tilts around me, even as I lay still. There's a throbbing ache in my head and my vision blurs. I push myself unsteadily to my feet, hands slippery with blood from dozens of tiny cuts. Though it's hard to focus, I see the king's body slumped against the wall, unconscious. As much as part of me wants to, I can't check if he's injured. Or worse. I have to go. I lean down on my way out to scoop up the tiny body of the pixie, putting it back into my pocket, where it should have stayed.

And then I run.

I don't know how I make my wobbly legs carry me down the corridor or the stairs. I can barely see where I'm going, stumbling blindly towards freedom as I feel my body rapidly weakening. There are remnants of that buzzing power bouncing around in my mind, making me dizzy. Where is that peaceful confidence now? All I'm left with is a frantic kind of madness, as likely to push me onward as it is to stop me in my tracks. I can't think. I just have to keep moving.

Someone calls my name as I stagger through the kitchen. I push Bianca away. "No, I have to go!" My voice comes out low and panicked.

I think she leads me to the door, turns its iron handle, releasing me into bright daylight. I feel her hands keeping me upright when the world turns sideways and I almost fall, outside in the courtyard. "No! Leave me." I pull away from her. "Go!" I yell, and, reluctantly, she does.

I barely make it to the forest's edge before I collapse, letting hazy darkness swallow me up.