Even with the Dark-Sight Specs on, Frankie could tell there was a change in light as the two of them trooped up the path beside the brook, to the strange veil of grey that heralded the dawn. Textbooks always said time moved in unpredictable ways in Faerieland, especially so in the short nights and long days of summer when it wasn’t entirely clear when one day melded into another. With the Faeriedust gone, the verdant forest around her no longer twisted and writhed, but Frankie could still hear the patter of footsteps in the undergrowth, and the gushing as globules of water rose periodically from the stream for a moment before splashing back into the flow.

It was hard to escape the feeling of being watched.

The cold wind picked at Frankie’s sodden bob as she took the lead, blowing the soaked strands around her face and chilling her to the bone. If the dawn was coming, there wasn’t long to wait until warm sunlight could dry her off, could thaw her icy fingers that rested numbly on the hilt of her sword. And ahead, not more than a couple of hundred metres, was a break in the trees, allowing the last of the pale light before moonset to filter through onto the trail.

The incline of the mulchy soil under their feet stole Frankie’s breath as they climbed, boots sinking into the mud, legs biting with the effort of dragging her upwards. Behind her, she could hear Meg’s gasps as she tried to keep up, the clanking of her sword belt and the thumping of her boots into the forest floor. Frankie’s own belt felt inordinately heavy, as though she was carrying a belt of diving weights instead of a sword and a few necessities, and it drew her backwards, pulling her from the end of the trail ahead even as she tried to inch nearer.

And then she broke through the line of trees. It was bright enough now that it was the Dark-Sight Specs that smeared her vision, so she returned them to their pouch, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the steely blue of the brightening sky.

She stood at the edge of a lake, the waters as smooth as a mirror. The fading stars above dotted its surface like an extravagant diamond rug. Above her were more trees, silhouettes against the brightening eastern sky, their slender branches arching over the waters and shedding something onto the greyscale lake surface. There was no giant stone treasure chest, no neon lights pointing onwards saying Get Your Treasure Here. In fact, there was nothing to suggest that there was anything to be found. Which, Frankie realised with a sinking feeling in her stomach, either meant that there was nothing, or –

Heavy panting told her that Meg had caught up with her. She turned – her friend was just folding her Specs away, face flushed with exertion.

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“Can I see the map?”

Maybe it had more instructions in its peeling gilt font. Meg obligingly pulled it free of her belt and spread it open so the two could see. The path indeed wound through the forest, past the giant oak full of faeries, across the babbling brook, and cut northwards before the path faded into nothingness below the gilt lettering. There were no fresh instructions, nothing to tell them where to look, or what to do…

So they would have to go forwards.

“It must be at the bottom.” Frankie thrust the useless, crinkled paper back at Meg before turning on her heel and ducking back under the forest canopy. Somewhere there had to be a long branch, something she could use to probe the lake floor without angering another water spirit. There had to be something to show for after that disaster of a journey, after Meg’s ring, and she wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers.

Behind her she could hear the rustling of paper. “Uh, Frank.”

“What?” She batted aside ferns in the undergrowth with her sword, squinting in the dim light.

“Well, are we maybe thinking too much like demonhunters?”

That was exactly the kind of philosophical rubbish she should’ve known to expect from Meg. “Well, we are demonhunters, Meg.” She took another couple of steps back down the mulchy trail, the forest closing in once more.

Her best friend’s voice was a little muffled by the trees. “That’s not what I mean. What I guess I’m trying to say is, well, maybe it’s not a physical treasure like we’re thinking. Maybe it’s something the faeries value a lot? That would be a treasure, wouldn’t it?”

Frankie paused for a moment, her heart starting to sink in her chest. It made a degree of sense, more than she’d like to admit, but part of it still didn’t feel quite right. “And why would they draw a treasure map with a trail just for something like that?” She edged a particularly large leaf aside, and below was a length of damp branch that might just do.

Her friend’s voice came again, still muted. “Well, I dunno. It just feels like – look at this place. The stars in Faerieland, they almost look like gems. And this lake –”

Frankie lost her words as she yanked on the branch, sending it crashing through the ferns, and started to heave the mossy, damp length up onto her shoulder. There was a terrible logic to Meg’s words. That vision, that dream from before, of the adulation at Hetchworth – it was slipping away, but she wasn’t letting go just yet. She fumbled to sheathe her sword so both hands were free for the heavy branch threatening to overbalance her.

“Oh, by the – Frank!” Meg’s voice came hissing back into the trees. “Get over here. You need to see this!” There was a certain amount of urgency in her tone, and that made Frankie sigh, drop the branch with a thump, and troop back up the trail towards the ever-growing pre-dawn glow. When she broke the treeline, fingers rapping at her belt with impatience, she found Meg’s tall form silhouetted against the horizon.

The dawn was breaking.