Above them, a riot of colours was spreading across the sky: delicate lavenders, dusty pinks, the hopeful yellows of a clear sunrise, all chasing away the dark greys of night. The lake reflected everything as perfectly as a mirror, the shades swirling about as though they had been placed there by a master painter, except they were ever shifting as the sun continued to edge above the horizon. And around them, as Frankie moved to stand beside her friend, were the trees. Bedecked in dainty blossoms, all white with a gentle touch of pink, the petals caught on the light morning breeze and twirled around them. In the far distance, beyond the perfectly polished silver of the lake, there were more blossoming trees, a splodge of white below the sun’s bright glow.

Frankie couldn’t pull her eyes away. She’d never seen anything like it. And the fresh sunlight was so warm on her face, soothing where the ice-cold stream had soaked her skin.

“I don’t know about you,” came Meg’s murmur on the breeze. “But I’d definitely count this as some sort of treasure.”

She nodded, taking a moment to find her voice. It wasn’t the sort of riches that were paraded around back at school, but somehow that made it all the more incredible. Her throat felt strangely tight as she tried to yank her gaze from the clear waters, unwilling to glance away in case it disappeared. “Yeah. I guess.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’d prefer a whole bunch of faerie gold, but –”

“This’ll do just fine.”

They stood there as the sun inched its way upwards, sending streaks of colour dancing across the sky, breathing in the fresh scent of the blossoms as it wafted over them. Frankie couldn’t bring herself to look away for a moment, each second bringing about a change that was more beautiful than before. How many demonhunters had ever seen this? Faerieland guarded its secrets well, and even though the written reports that made their way into their textbooks described a land of enchanting beauty, her mind’s eye could never have conjured such a thing. Which begged the question, would any demonhunter see this again, or would she and Meg be the only ones? That made it more valuable than any gold, surely. And if any others did come, would it only damage the beautiful sight?

And that brought back to her mind something she knew she had to say. “Uh, Meg.”

“Mmm?”

She wriggled her lips around uncomfortably. “I – uh – I’m sorry about your sigil ring. I know it’s special to you and – and I know this was all my stupid idea. If – if we hadn’t come, you’d still have it.”

A short silence settled between them as the sound of sweet birdsong ebbed over the lake. “Well, maybe, but then we wouldn’t have seen this together.” Well, that was true. Frankie dragged her gaze from the lake to see Meg was looking at her, biting at her lip thoughtfully. “I’m hardly the first demonhunter to lose one. Dad knew that when he gave it to me. And the faeries can muck about with it all they like, a common-sense sigil is hardly going to grant them that much power.”

Frankie’s eyebrows flicked upwards. “You’re taking it well.”

Her friend shrugged. “If I hadn’t come, you’d still be tripping somewhere in the woods from all the Faeriedust you snorted.”

“Hey!”

“Yeah, well, it was right that we came. And maybe it was time for a new ring anyway.” Meg’s lips were curled into a little smirk, but the light didn’t quite reach her eyes.

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Frankie worried at her lip. A couple of blossom petals settled in Meg’s hair, gleaming strands of copper in the sunlight. “Y’know, I could buy you a new one? It was my stupid idea in the first place…”

The smirk tugged up into a gentle smile. “Yeah. That’d be nice.” Her friend glanced back up at the towering blossom trees. “Also, I do just wanna say – I told you so. Where there’s faeries, there’s pranks.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, and questionable substances, apparently.” She held her arms out to Meg. “Friends?”

“We never stopped, you twit.”

Taking that as a yes, Frankie crushed her friend in a bear hug. It was a little awkward, with swords and daggers clattering, and leather patrol armour making them that bit bulkier than they usually were, but Meg tolerated it for a few moments before prying her off and brushing at her shirt, now damper than it had been before. “By the angels, Frank, you are so –”

Something barrelled into the two of them. Frankie’s feet disappeared from under her. For a long moment she was airborne, breath knocked from her chest and arms flailing, and then she slammed into the surface of the water.

It was freezing cold.

All around her was a stream of bubbles. Below, her ankles were snared in some reeds, but above there was dim light diffusing into the water. Frankie kicked for it, arms wheeling through the water, kicking up splashes.

She broke the surface. Meg was beside her, straightening up, her hair plastered to her scalp. Above them, the beautiful blossoms were gone, and on either side they were hemmed in by close, grassy banks. The water was muddy and brown in the morning light. Flies whirled around overhead, buzzing at Frankie’s face, making her duck.

“I think we’re back on the marsh.” Meg was hauling herself out of the narrow cut, water streaming off her clothes. “Though the angels know how.” She dragged herself upwards, gripping tightly to the grasses, and then turned to offer a hand to Frankie.

Frankie spat some marsh water out before grabbing Meg’s hand. “Bloody faeries.” After a short scramble, she was dripping on the grassy bank beside her friend. “I reckon we might have to hand that bloody map in.”

“Maybe.” Meg’s hands were patting her belt down, checking for any stray daggers. “Bloody hell, Frank, I – I think it’s gone?”

“What?”

The two of them glanced down. Indeed, where the map had been rolled up and tucked into Meg’s belt, during the entire trek through the small slice of Faerieland, there was nothing.

“Ah, shit.” The two of them leant over the tiny stream they’d landed in for the scrap of paper. Frankie got a face full of flies, but there was nothing apart from the muddy, idling water and the weeds. She leant back on her heels, batting the insects away, and let out a sigh. Her boots were rubbing, hard on her toes, her damp hair was plastered uncomfortably to her neck, and her eyelids were growing heavier by the moment. She breathed a sigh. “Y’know, I’m wet and tired, I really don’t care that much, I’m just gonna say ‘bloody faeries’ and leave it at that. They probably wanted it back to plant in another stash somewhere.”

Meg shrugged beside her. “You’re probably not wrong.” She started to get to her feet. “We should make tracks. The less time I spend smelling like sluice water and sheep shit, the better.”

Frankie snorted a laugh as she straightened up, brushing blades of grass off her moist leggings. “Agreed. I hope that waterproof coating on your phone has held up or we are lost.”

“Way ahead of you.” The phone had been pulled from one of Meg’s pockets and she was already thumbing her pin in. “By the angels, I need a shower.”

Frankie grinned, and she took off after Meg as her long legs started striding across the sheep-ridden field. The marsh around them had a much duller, more down-to-earth beauty than the extravagant snippet of Faerieland forest, but the daylight would chase any demons away until dusk. The mortal world’s more even keel was welcome, Frankie thought to herself, as they began the long trudge through the fields towards the Dymchurch outpost and its functional shower. She’d been told plenty of times that demonhunting wasn’t glamorous, but now she thought she got it. There was plenty of that night she hoped wouldn’t make it to many ears back in Hetchworth – how many great adventuring demonhunters thought the same? Maybe adventuring in Faerieland wasn’t something to be made a habit of, at least for now. Not until she was ready.

She watched as Meg’s drying plait swayed before her. Next time, after all, the price could be too high to pay.