After a few days of walking with no sign of their horses, Seraiah and Kestrel arrived at the faeries' domain.

The Seelie Court appeared unchanged since Seraiah’s last visit. The abandoned houses around the outskirts still sat empty, and the faint sound of music could be heard from somewhere deep within the Court.

As they approached the city center, Maescia melted out of the shadows. Her diaphanous emerald gown was slightly too long for her and dragged on the ground.

"You've come to play again," she said, twirling a pale green tendril of hair around her finger.

"I'm not here to play. I wish to speak with the Summer King," Seraiah told her. She tried not the look the faery in the eyes for something about their vertical-slit pupils unsettled her.

"But you’re seeking something again, are you not?" Maescia didn't wait for an answer before continuing, "You know the rules, little human. Nothing is given for free."

"I wish to speak with the Summer King," Seraiah repeated.

"Fine," Maescia huffed. She turned her eyes to Kestrel. "And you? You do not wish to be here, and yet here you are because you want something too."

"I seek news of Nyrene," Kestrel said. “I wish to speak with the Summer King.”

"Or perhaps you would like to play a game, instead." Maescia grinned, showing all her pointy teeth.

"No, thank you,” Kestrel said. “I wish to speak with the Summer King."

Maescia's grin morphed into a scowl, but she didn't say anything else. Instead, she turned and flounced off without waiting to see if they followed.

"You don't have to come," Seraiah reminded Kestrel. “I can ask about Nyrene for you. I’ve made it out once before. I’m sure I can do it again.”

"I'm fine. Let's go before we lose her."

Kestrel had refused the first time Seraiah had suggested it too. She snuck a look at her friend as they followed the faery. If Kestrel said she was fine, then Seraiah had to believe her.

Maescia took them to the edge of the ever-present crowd of dancing faeries around the Summer King's throne.

"You," she pointed to Kestrel, "will come with me. And you," now she pointed to Seraiah, "go to the King."

"But, we—" Seraiah protested.

"No arguments. One at a time or not at all." Maescia placed her hands on her hips, trying to appear stern and failing miserably. To Seraiah, the faery girl looked like a petulant child—an emaciated, monstrous child, perhaps—but a child just the same.

"Go," Kestrel said, turning her back to Seraiah and the Summer King's throne.

Maescia's gleeful smile returned as she led Kestrel away, leaving Seraiah to stand by herself at the edge of the faery circle. She watched the two of them go before turning and plunging into the crowd of dancing faeries.

When Seraiah arrived at the foot of the Summer King's throne, he took one look at her and ordered her to sit in the chair next to him. It was the chair she’d remembered Kestrel occupying when Seraiah had returned with the dragon scale.

A different faery with arms like gnarled tree branches offered her a glass of the bubbling golden elixir. She was about to refuse when the Summer King gave her a look that had her hastily accepting.

Seraiah clenched the glass in her hand, refusing to look at it in case she was tempted to drink it. Kestrel's warning from their last visit against accepting any food or drink still rang in her ears.

They sat in silence for many long moments while the Summer King watched the dancers twirl around below them.

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Either this was a test or he was waiting for her to say what she wanted. Seraiah eyed him from the corner of her eye. He’d pulled his copper curls back from his face and secured them with a golden ribbon that matched the piping on his jacket. The jacket itself was a deep red, the color of the summer wine Kai had gifted to Kestrel in Baromund. The way he lounged on his throne with one leg hooked over the arm and his chin resting in his hand made him appear bored. Besides the look he’d given her when she’d been offered a drink, she might as well not have existed.

Seraiah pursed her lips. She did not have time for whatever game this was. If breaking the silence meant she lost, then so be it.

"What is your name?" It wasn't the question she’d intended to ask, but she found herself curious to know the answer anyway.

"Summer King," he responded without looking up.

Seraiah shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Summer King is a title, not a name. You must have a name."

The corners of his mouth turned up. "I know what you mean, seer." He turned his eyes to her, fixing her with his molten stare. "But when you live as long as I have, you tend to forget things. I'm sure I had a name once, but in time, I’ve forgotten what it was. Now, I am simply the Summer King."

Seraiah couldn’t comprehend forgetting your own name, but then what did she know about living forever? Perhaps the madness from her vision would make her forget as well.

"Doesn't it bother you?" she asked. It would bother her. A great deal, she realized.

"Why should it? It doesn't matter. I have my title. I am my title. What use is another name? It doesn't hold the same power."

Seraiah mulled this over.

"I think you’re wrong about that," she told him. "Names do hold power, and they have history. They tell us who we are and where we came from."

The Summer King shrugged and went back to observing the dancing. "I know who I am. None of the rest of it matters. I've lived through plenty of history and watched kingdoms rise and fall. You, my dear, aren't the first to come looking for a way to fix your little problem, and you likely won't be the last."

Seraiah didn't ask how he’d known what she was seeking. It was the statement that she was not the first that got her attention. "Who else has come?"

"Well now, let's see, I believe the last one was named Ashe or something. Pretty, young thing. She looked quite a bit like you—but much farther gone."

Seraiah almost dropped her glass. Ashe had been her mother's name. But no, it couldn't be. Her mother was dead, or so that's what Papa had always told her.

"Did she give any other names? Visrel, maybe?"

"No, that one doesn't sound familiar. Let me think a moment." The Summer King rubbed his temple as though that would help the answer come back to him.

Seraiah shifted in her chair, trying to be patient. While she waited, she tried to recall every detail she could about her mother.

Most of what she knew was information from her father. Now that Seraiah thought about it, they’d never visited her mother's grave. Prior to the fever, they would bury their dead and create little memorials for them. The fever had changed all that, and they’d burned the bodies to keep the disease from spreading. Ashe had died years before the first fever death though, so she should have had a grave.

As Seraiah thought about it more, she remembered Papa always saying they’d lost her mother. It was always lost, never died. When she was older and understood the concept of death, she’d assumed it was something he’d done to protect her.

But what if she’d been wrong?

The Summer King snapped his fingers. "That’s it. It’s Zandion."

Seraiah's blood froze. "You're positive she said Zandion?"

"Of course, I'm positive," he scoffed.

A wave of heat washed over her, and she remembered it wasn't a good idea to question the faery king. He could incinerate her where she sat.

If it were true and this Ashe was her mother, then that would mean Seraiah was related to the previous Elven court seer, but he was old. Old enough to be—

"Oh, gods," she murmured in realization. He was old enough to be her grandfather. In his journal, he’d mentioned a family that had been left behind when he was taken—a daughter.

"What did Ashe say when she came to see you?"

"Oh, the usual. She wanted a way to stop the madness brought on by using her gift."

"And?" Seraiah pressed. "What did you tell her?"

The Summer King grinned. It was the smile Seraiah remembered him giving her right before he proposed they play a game.

She sighed. "What game will you make me play this time?" She didn’t have the time for games, but if she could prevent her madness, she would figure out a way.

His smile grew wider. "None. I don't have what you wish to know. For that, you must seek my sister."

Seraiah blinked at him. There were two of these scheming faeries?

"Where might I find your sister?" she asked, fearing the answer.

"Why, the Unseelie Court, of course! Surely, you have heard of her?"

Seraiah shook her head.

"The Winter Queen?" he prompted.

She still didn't know what he was talking about, but she was sure Kestrel would be able to explain later. "Where can I find this Winter Queen?" She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice. This visit had given her nothing but more questions.

"Where the sun doesn't dare show its face and foul beasts howl at the sky. Where the world has turned to ice and the pretty things," he paused, tracing a finger over one of the flower petals carved on the arm of his throne, "go to die." He looked up to meet her eyes. "That is where you will find my sister."

Wonderful. Some sort of riddle.

"And when I find her, will she have a game for me to play?"

"Unlikely. My sister doesn't enjoy games." The Summer King looked affronted at the notion. "She strikes a different sort of bargain. Good luck, little seer. If you do happen to find her, be sure to tell her I said hello."