“Heroes are often blinded by the very light that they wield. It follows from this truth that partway through the casting of a miracle is the ideal time to strike.”

— Dread Emperor Terribilis I, the Thorough

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Something about the spire’s interior unsettled me.

The puzzle pieces in my mind spun circles while I tried to articulate what.

It wasn’t the two heavenly mattresses shaped from auroras or the dusky duvets woven from dreamless night that my two companions slept on while I kept guard. Nor was it the winter wardrobe. It wasn’t even the veil embroidered from forlorn hope, or the cloak woven from the darkest woe, or even the crystal slippers made from dying anguish that screamed when I touched them hidden away inside.

No.

It was that the spire remained static.

It had been obvious from the moment we’d arrived that the tower was a trap. I’d flared my aura a few times to ensure we weren’t living in dreams. The fact that we were free was a warning. One that after a year of having scribes deconstruct stories for me was challenging to miss. So I read the portent that we’d be coming back and filed it away for later.

The hourglass flipped eight times while Roland and Yvette tossed in their sleep.

I used the time to consider our next move from a starlight chair in the corner of the room.

The original plan had been to enter Winter through Constance’s Scar and earn free passage. We would investigate the war from both sides once finished, then attempt to push them into a final confrontation. I no longer considered that plan adequate. I’d just about made up my mind on what to do when the other two woke up.

Idly, I delved through the wardrobe further while I waited for them to finish taking turns freshening themselves in the adjacent bathroom. I didn’t dig too deep in the closet. The faint possibility existed that I’d end up in another world that way. A tempest sparked as I brushed against a wedding dress of cumulonimbus clouds. I’d find its artistry tempting, if not for the storm goddess it’d turn me into.

The others emerged as Yvette set detection wards, and we discussed our next move

“We’re adapting our old plan,” I paced while I talked. “It won’t work with our new goals. So we change it.”

“I thought you had no trouble with killing fae,” Roland brushed a hand through his curly hair as he replied.

“Not the problem,” I confirmed.

Death was only temporary state of affairs for the fae. They didn’t care about it. They likely didn’t care about torture either. I was far more worried about what killing the fae would teach us about acceptable targets than I was about how the fae received it.

“Throwing out all our preparation sounds like it’ll end wonderfully,” Yvette muttered darkly.

“I don’t throw things out,” I repeated, “I rebuild them better.”

Streaks of Light appeared in the air around us as I painted out what we knew so far. The nascent Court Beyond the Stars, the fact that the fae didn’t know the new stories but could be pulled into them. My growing suspicion that they had some kind of existing compulsion to play out their existing roles.

“I’m thinking a story with one final battle where both sides unite together against an outside threat,” I explained.

Last battles had weight in stories. The kind which could be used to enact major changes. I’d consider it unethical in other circumstances. Here… not so much. I was prepared to blow up all of Arcadia if it got the fae what they wanted. They’d even thank me for it.

“Perhaps your story of the Last Battle where King Tirian and Queen Susan unite in battle against the White Witch,” Roland mused.

“Maybe,” I replied. “We’d probably need to side with the losing side to balance things out. Either way, we need to define the terms of our victory first.”

“This just ends with history repeating,” Yvette protested.

“Not if we’re careful,” I disagreed. “Ideally, we get to define their new restrictions. We want two courts devoted to good that differ only in how they achieve it.”

“Then our next step is to proceed as planned and visit Summer,” Roland smiled as he spoke.

The Summer Fae would be able to detect the lingering trace of Winter from Roland’s bargain. We wanted to leverage their expertise to search for any pitfalls we’d missed.

“Yes,” I agreed. “It also gives us a chance to learn more about their restrictions.”

We continued to finalize our plans before deciding to set out. We soon departed the false sanctuary of the room. The rainbow staircase sparkled beneath our feet as we descended onto the ground floor.

“Ah,” the Prince of Nightfall hummed, then took a pull from a pipe before blowing a ring, “the prodigal heroes awake at last. I trust your dreams were kind?” He stood with his back to us facing the flickering frozen flames and I could still hear the mischievous smile in his voice. “Or perhaps you’ve been dreaming all along.”

I glanced towards Roland. He inclined his head an inch in return.

“We’re awake enough to know when someone’s angling for a repeat performance,” Roland folded his arms and leaned against my shoulder.

Was the rainbow staircase shifting away from us? No, that lacked importance. I didn’t know what story the one-eyed fae attempted to pull us into. Perhaps the myth of Cupid and Psyche? No, I didn’t feel as if it fit. How about the children’s tale of Rapunzel with the tower? That… didn’t quite fit either. No, I shouldn’t dwell on this. We’d bargained for free passage and weeping heavens we’d have it.

“He just misses the audience,” Yvette muttered. “The kind that doesn’t walk out on him.”

Not now, Yvette.

I caught the echo of yesterday’s smile on the creature’s obscured face and grimaced.

“Who knows what might unravel if you aren’t too careful,” I warned. “We bargained for free passage, remember?”

“So soon?” the Prince of Nightfall mused. “You’ve only just woken and already you rush away. It’s almost… tragic.” An icy crackle from the fireplace punctuated his voice as he paused for effect. “Or do you choose to linger, much like a good story? The end of one teases the dawn of another. What’s one more dance between adversaries, hm?”

“We linger because you’re blocking the door,” Roland challenged, “not to stage another performance.”

I ground together my teeth in frustration while I listened to them argue. The danger of allowing this to play out sobered me. The more we bantered, the further he might pull us into a story we couldn’t escape.

“It’s funny how he keeps fighting to have the last word,” Yvette whispered to herself as she surveyed the illusory city. “He’s a bad poet with no sense of pacing.”

I swear I wasn’t this bad as a teenager.

“We’re heading to Summer,” I told the chiselled skinned fae before pointedly ignoring him and facing my companions. “Let’s go.”

“Of course, my dear,” I could hear the villainous smirk from behind me. “The road is long and lonely. Surely you won’t object to my company along the way.”

What? Why would he- No, you know what, no. Don’t follow that line of thought, Taylor. It isn’t worth pursuing.

Engaging in a verbal spar that we hadn’t prepared for with the one-eyed fae had defeat written on both sides of the page. The Prince of Nightfall had an upper hand that only grew more pronounced the longer we traded words. We were deep in Skade. We had prepared for a negotiation with Summer to check for lingering influences. Granted, we hadn’t prepared for one where we had one of Evil’s frozen manifestations hounding us, but… I’d rather improvise with that than walk blindfolded through this minefield.

“Fine,” I breathed out, “It’ll be easier to find another story to be rid of you on the road.”

The others gazed at me as if I’d grown a second head, before Roland’s eyes widened in understanding. The menace in question passed me and through the door, and laughed whimsically as we trailed behind.

“That would be a sight to see,” the Prince of Nightfall drawled, “considering the road bends where I will it to.”

We conducted the trip down to the boat and across the glacial waters in silence. We mounted up and headed out of Skade in the opposite direction from where we entered less than a blink of an eye later. Pandora — the traitor — had been cavorting with an ebony unicorn.

I waved my hand to the side as we stepped beyond the city gates. A ghost disappeared, and a length of wood with a truce banner at the end appeared between my fingertips. My eyes widened as my Name thrummed with life. This was my weapon. It became clear in retrospect, and surprised me that it had taken me so long to realize it. My fingers tightened around the pole instinctively.

A prickle on the back of my neck warned me about danger as we passed through the Twisted Forest again. I furrowed my brow and took note of my surroundings. A stranger followed at the edge of my perception. Somebody who became better at avoiding my notice the longer I tried to focus on them.

Remain calm and don’t give away that you know they’re there.

My attention became diffuse once again. I didn’t know the identity of our stalker or what abilities they had, but they were dangerous enough that they were confident to travel through Arcadia alone. Training them without knowing more about who they were sounded like a phenomenally bad idea.

Time shifted into a dreamlike substance.

Brief moments seemed to stretch on towards infinity.

I had no idea how long we travelled.

The temperature warmed as we passed out of the Twisted Forest.

Dying wood gave way to sickly fields in the distance. Signs of the raging conflict were present all around us. Smouldering craters, a wilting withy of willows, frozen flowers and glassed over patches of soil.

Should we confront our unknown follower? I glanced at the one-eyed monster left of me. He grinned at me from the back of his ebony mount in return. No… I decided reluctantly. Better not to. I didn’t know if it would become violent or how it would end. Being confident in my own survival, didn’t instil the same surety for the survival of anyone else.

Everything is becoming so complicated.

We passed beyond the sickly fields into the ravaged remains of a desert. White powder dusted blackened sands, and every so often the occasional cacti peeked out from between the otherwise glassy dunes.

We spotted a black and white chequered bridge spanning a half frozen river between Summer and Winter in the distance. Frozen cacti lined our side of the divide. They were distorted into strange shapes and cast shadows that reminded me of ravens and crows. I stared upwards. Roiling thunderclouds clashed with an ocean of brilliant flames. I couldn’t spot the faintest trace of sky at all.

Reeds wailed, heralding unwelcome company.

Considerations of our mystery guest faded to smoke as Roland, Yvette and I tensed.

The red pavilion roof was the first sign of the madness that approached.

My aura flared when I saw what arrived next.

An opulent throne loomed from atop a massive dais. Fifty naked slaves carried it on their backs through the Summer wilderness. It peeked through the dying greenery as another ten marching ahead cut the fields of yellow down. Six animated gargoyles swivelled their heads towards us as their party marched onto the road.

It took one glimpse of the Dream of the crippled boy on the golden throne to know that I’d found my first nemesis.

I stared at him

He grinned.

I glared at him.

The grin widened.

All we need now for this to be a Western is for a fucking tumble weed to roll down the-

I cursed under my breath as a snowball rolled past me on my side of the bridge.

I could almost hear the saloon music.

This story did nothing for either me or my Gods.

I needed to change it to something else.

A woman with officer’s stripes on her armour stood on the left of the ornate seat. I spared her only a moment’s consideration before studying the opposite side. The familiar red haired figure of Princess Sulia clenched her fists and scowled from the right of the golden throne. She… had no dream. What did that mean?

I glanced away from the fae princess towards the sickly boy on the throne.

Should I blast him off the chair and sort this all out afterwards? No, not yet. I bottled that up and set it to the side carefully. This slaver appeared confident despite knowing the face of his enemy. Confident enough that he lounged on the throne across the bridge from me without an apparent care in the world. It could be a bluff, but I was the one who would have to deal with the regrets if it wasn’t. Who was he? What made him so brash?

Use your head, Taylor.

“Beho-” the figure’s arms raised in the air.

Don’t let him finish talking. His Gods appreciate this kind of panache, even if mine are indifferent towards it.

“Kairos Theodosian,” I interrupted. “Is this your idea of a last stand, or just an act of vanity?”

It had to be the Tyrant of Helike. He was a villain traipsing through Summer. There were many villains that could fit, but only one I believed had a motive to be here. Summer invaded Helike and here he sat before us.

“So you do know me?” he asked while slouching in his chair and pouting at the interruption. “Your presence wilts flowers. Even puppies cry. It’s impressive.”

“Perhaps you should consider not being Evil if being around me offends you so much,” I commented.

The gargoyles jeered.

“Not even my insufferable nephew had such a bleeding heart,” he derided me. “Well, he didn’t, until I ripped it out.” His eyes fell upon Roland, and he cackled before declaring, “you’ve even found yourself a page of your own.”

“What have you done to Princess Sulia?” Roland demanded angrily.

My focus drifted from their conversation to the fields behind the Tyrant. Slaves and soldiers marched endlessly from the reeds. Their faces were marked by mixed expressions of loyalty and fear. It took conscious effort not to gawk. The sheer madness of it all fed my fury.

Who marches an army into Arcadia? The casualty rate must be catastrophic.

“She’s my wife,” the Tyrant said while drumming the shaking fingers of his one hand against the golden arm of his throne. “We’re happily married.”

The Princess in question snarled at him.

He could’ve at least made the lie believable.

“Those slaves have unusual enchantments on them,” Yvette traced symbols in the air while muttering. “Can’t you feel it,” her fingers twitched of their own accord as she tilted her head towards Roland, “those brands… they do something when exposed to the Light.” Her attention shifted towards the villain on the throne. “This sorcery is awful,” she sounded incensed. “It’s like it was done by a child with finger paints.”

I stared at the slaves again for an instant before focusing on the Tyrant.

“They’re my footmen,” Kairos’s waved an ivory sceptre with a golden dragon’s head before him as he spoke, “you could call this my queen’s gambit.”

A knot of righteous wrath anchored itself within my soul.

I clenched my fingers around the truce banner.

He squeezed the ivory sceptre and cocked his head to one side.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I imagined the faint outline of a Stetson ringing his head.

I conceded to myself that he was exceptional at this.

The monster killed what fun I could’ve had engaging with the theatre. I found myself wondering if this is what Dragon felt when I held a school hostage in Arcadia. Or when I’d pretended Imp had second triggered. Or what she’d felt when… Yeah… I’d been a really shitty teenager. A stab of sympathy, melancholy, and nostalgia for my long lost friend lanced my heart. I hoped that she’d survived the end of the world.

“They’ll die if we attack you,” I voiced my suspicion.

There’s probably something else to it as well. I’d bet you gain something from the sacrifice.

“Quite right,” the madman’s one malevolent red eye twitched as he cackled. “You’re more fun than I believed you’d be to toy with.”

“You’re the kid who never grew up from pulling the wings off insects,” I tapped the side of my leg as I replied from the back of my horse and reflected on what to do.

Should I risk it? Perhaps I could heal them all before the brand killed them? The Tyrant reminded me of Jack Slash in some ways, only he had real charisma. Better to end this now than take the risk. I started to subtly spread out a diffuse cloud of Light.

“You do have a few limbs that need to be plucked,” he retorted while leering at me.

The Angels leaned over my shoulders and warned me then. The brands would boil the slaves alive in under a heartbeat if they were interrupted by the Light. I detested the hollowness that accompanied that discovery. I couldn’t strike him down or free them without killing them as well. Bile tinged the back of my throat as I released the Light. I’d need to find another solution.

“Queen’s gambit declined,” I scowled as I admitted that I wouldn’t take the risk.

Besides, he’d have used the sacrifice to kill either Roland or Yvette. I’m sure of it. I don’t think that he can kill me, but he’s the kind of person who will use his own death as nothing more than an act of spite.

“That’s boring,” he taunted. “Where’s the swords and righteous rage? Come now,” he moaned. “And here I’d just said that you’re fun.”

“You might be the worst person I’ve ever met,” I told the Tyrant.

I’d met a lot of awful people in my time. People so terrible that exceeding their threshold for deplorableness was actually challenging. I suspected that had the potential to outdo all of them.

“And you’re the best person I’ve ever met. It’s nauseating, really,” he leaned forward as he insulted me. “Tell me: Do you have the Book of All Things tattooed on your-”

“Rear so that whoever takes me from behind knows they’re fulfilling scripture?” I interrupted. “You’ll need to find another joke. I’ve heard that one at least five times already.”

The jest didn’t offend me nearly as much as it seemed he hoped it would.

“The people you teleported to must’ve been mortified,” he said while laughing delightedly.

“It’s worse when they’ve hurt themselves in the bedroom,” I countered.

That hadn’t actually happened yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one day it did.

The Tyrant wheezed.

Roland and Yvette were both looking at me as if I’d been replaced by a demon. What? Just because I didn’t banter all the time didn’t mean that I didn’t know how to.

“So,” he paused and leaned forward conspiratorially, “do you?”

Did I what? Oh, that. I was tempted to reply with, ‘on both cheeks’ but thought better of it. I’d bet the Tyrant would insist on checking. Besides, there were more productive uses of my time than to exchange banter with this monster. Especially when I suspected that just being nice to him would be far more effective as a barb.

“Want a hug?” I asked, spreading my arms wide. “Or a prayer?”

The Tyrant of Helike froze for a heartbeat — and smiled after as if he’d never stopped — but a heartbeat was plenty of time for me to notice the glint of fury that my words had evoked.

You’re not so unflappable after all, Kairos Theodosian.

“You’re not as nice as you pretend to be,” he said with poisoned honey.

I flinched.

The Tyrant’s grip on the sceptre loosened as he relaxed on his throne.

“Shall we trade,” I blinked as he continued and changed the subject. “Sulia bores me. I’ll take the Prince of Nightfall.”

My skin crawled at the suggestion. Why did he want this? I narrowed my eyes at the Tyrant in consideration. I sensed something… symbolic to switching partners here. The trouble lay in that I didn’t know what he attempted to achieve. Especially when I suspected that fate considered him my opposite.

“You will burn one day for this, mortal,” Princess Sulia spat at him. “There are devils who offend me less.”

How did he even stop her from roasting him alive? Whatever he’d done disgusted me, but I was still reluctantly impressed. He didn’t have the advantages I did, and he’d still stopped her from rampaging somehow.

“Who am I to deny our dear friend better company?” the Prince of Nightfall puffed at his pipe as he insulted Sulia. “His choice is eminently reasonable.”

Am I against switching partners?

In theory, no. I didn’t want the Prince of Nightfall following me around anyway. I could use this as a shortcut to speaking with the Queen of Summer without proceeding through a much more intricate piece of theatre.

“You are a better match for me,” Kairos agreed and gestured towards the bridge. “I think it’s time for the pieces to return to their rightful place.”

“You amuse me,” the Prince of Nightfall directed an eerie laugh towards the child on the throne. “Do try to survive the game. I’d hate to clean up another King’s mess.”

I considered the one-eyed fae’s words with care, then reflected on everything Kairos had said. It appeared as if they were shifting this into a shatranj metaphor. Something similar to the story of the Chessboard of Fate. Could I use this? No, not this story specifically, but… my heart leaped at the realization.

“I’m not a prissy priest,” Kairos drawled. “The devils always claim the last laugh.”

You can have this win. Your victory here won’t mean much once we set the board ablaze.

I met Roland’s eyes, then glanced towards the Prince of Nightfall. He followed my gaze.

Come on, come on, come on.

Roland stiffened.

“Beware, Tyrant,” Roland declared, “we will free them all from your vile clutches.”

“I’m quaking in my boots,” the youth mimed the act while mocking Roland.

“Nobody shall be left under your spell,” Roland continued, “not even the Prince of Nightfall.”

“Oh no,” Kairos Theodosian drawled with a smile as sharp as a blade, “he’s mine now.”

You’re not as clever as you think you are, Jafar.

I bit down on the smile as triumph surged through me.

“The first game is yours,” the words tasted like ash as I conceded the fight.

Both of my companions appeared as upset as I felt.

“Oh, Taylor,” he tutted. “The first game hasn’t started,” he sniffed and waved his now steady hand disdainfully at me. “In fact, we’ve yet to play the first move. Now: Scuttle off the road, will you?” he cocked his head and giggled again. “Unless you’d prefer for them to die from exposure?”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t applaud your retreat,” I retorted.

“Oh, but you will,” his voice took on an ominous edge, “everyone will applaud when the curtain falls,” there was a thunderclap as he waved his sceptre, “whether they want to or not.”

Our party grudgingly moved to the side of the road while the Tyrant and his entourage crossed over the bridge. The gargoyles blew raspberries as they passed. I forced myself to meet the hollowed out slaves in the eyes as they departed. To see the face of the monster I fought. It was nothing that hadn’t already existed on Earth, but my instincts screamed that the Tyrant only needed the opportunity. I’d known at the back of my mind that there were shades of Evil in Calernia up there with the worst I’d seen on my old world. I wasn’t sure if the Tyrant had done anything that atrocious yet, but I knew that he would do worse if nobody brought him to task.

This isn’t the end. I’ll free you and stop him.

A justifiably angry Princess Sulia dressed in nothing more than vines and flames flew over to us, while the Prince of Nightfall took her place.

“You will be spared the wrath of Summer if you swear yourself into our service, mortals,” Princess Sulia’s lips curled into a sneer as she tried to assert ownership of my friends.

She didn’t even glance my way.

“We come under a flag of truce,” Roland argued.

“I can sense the taint of Winter upon you, pest,” she slandered my friend in a haughty voice, “be thankful that I even offer you this much.”

“The Winter fae tricked me into a bargain,” Roland lied. “I seek the guidance of Summer in escaping it.”

Sulia’s lips parted. I decided to insert myself into their discussion. I had a hunch. An unsubstantiated feeling that I bet would ease our progress. I wouldn’t normally upset an existing plan, but this called for an exception.

“They are under my aegis as part of my court,” I told her.

The fae looked as if she’d swallowed a whole bag of lemons.

“Why do you bargain with those abominations?” she inquired. “Their touch should offend you as much as it does us.”

“It does,” I agreed. “That is why we have come to your borders to negotiate.”

The Princess of High Noon’s body language fluctuated between furious, confused, and relaxed for a few moments. It took effort to mask my mirth. I nodded to Roland. He stepped forward and began to negotiate with her. Part of my regard remained fixated on their back and forth, while the rest remained fixated on the army.

There were… thousands of men and women marching through Arcadia. Not just soldiers, but also slaves and camp followers. I stared as madness reared its ugly head. Complete and utter madness. The fervour in their eyes stoked the fires of my anger more than anything else. These people were devoted to this monster.

They shared the same devotion I possessed for the Gods Above.

Roland’s attempt to placate Princess Sulia proceeded far smoother than I expected now that I’d intervened. Her apparent absence of narrative awareness surprised me. Roland sold the story of the poor hero taken advantage of by the Prince of Nightfall with minimal fuss. I felt metaphoric pain seeing how easily Roland could soothe her wounded ego.

She was eager to assert her superiority and tell him about the details of the agreement.

… I hoped that the Queen of Summer didn’t consider it rude when we asked for a second opinion.

We crossed the bridge behind the Princess as the last of the Tyrant’s army disappeared into Winter.

The ice faded away.

Winter dissolved into a fragile mirage behind us.

A heightened awkwardness stole over the journey. Princess Sulia tried to engage me in conversation a few times. She ignored the existence of everyone else. I did my best to listen but cared little for what she said. She only spoke about war. War, war, and more war. It took what must’ve been hours of navigating that swamp of zombies before she abandoned the topic.

I’d never met such a poor conversationalist.

I wasn’t even that bad after my mother died or after Emma had broken me down.

Desolate plains gave way to lush fields.

My thoughts turned towards both Kairos Theodosian and our concealed follower once again. Both of them had added themselves to the fragmented enigma I assembled in my mind. The follower had no hostility towards us. I was certain of it. However, they were using us as some kind of… keystone to search for somebody else. Determining how to account for them would likely prove pivotal.

Fields became orchards.

Our stalker disappeared when I tried to approach.

Not hostile, but not friendly either.

It left me uneasy and I dropped further attempts. They were dangerous. I wouldn’t be providing them with the opportunity to learn how to avoid the Light unless I knew they were on my side.

The Tyrant presented a much thornier problem. I suspected that he attempted to run a scheme with the fae contrary to my own. He’d be in bed with the King of Winter as soon as I’d arrived at Aine. It shouldn’t have surprised me that I couldn’t have a goal with no clear antagonist. It still felt akin to having a wet blanket being tossed over the fires of my ambitions.

Not knowing what his Sins were didn’t help me at all. He was a Tyrant, so he’d have something like Rule, or Coerce, or Manipulate. He was also my opposition, which meant… maybe he had a twisted version of Dream? Could Nightmare be a Sin? I’d need to think on it. I had no idea what his third Sin would be. The thought of seeing any of them filled me with dread.

My mind returned to our plans. Some adjustments would be need to be made to our existing fallbacks. The second contingency wouldn’t function in its current form and would need to be adjusted. Blowing up Arcadia when there were who knows how many thousands of living people traipsing through the countryside wasn’t acceptable. The first contingency would probably need to be used, and I hoped we didn’t go past two because then we were in uncharted territory.

A welcoming city beckoned to us in the distance.

It surprised me to discover that the Summer fae were not experimenting with their cage. What made them different from Winter? It appeared as if they only played out the tales they already knew all the steps for. They flocked and frolicked and danced to a frenetic beat beyond the realm of my hearing.

Joy.

Frenzy.

Complete and utter madness.

I ignored the rhythm and instead paid attention to the fae themselves. There were no dreams. None at all. I travelled through an entire society where every single person had given up hope. Profound unease ate at me. They were a people who reminded me of a book with no pages, a house with no people, or a blade with no edge.

I hadn’t believed that I’d see something worse than Winter.

I imagined that existing as a fae was equivalent to living alone in a hyperborean hell with nothing more than a candle to survive with.

Summer had snuffed the candle out.

We passed beneath verdant walls manned my creatures clad in silk and steel who stood beneath red pennants trailing in an immaterial wind. I drank in the sight of the surrounding city. It lacked the both the coldness and intricacy of Winter, but just as beautiful despite its absence. I bitter smile graced my lips as I examined the spires of wood and leaves reaching towards the fiery heavens.

Soon I lost interest in examining my surroundings for anything more than their narrative weight.

Arcadia is an entire realm spun from the threads of tragedy.

We were guided into a private garden housing flowers, shrubs, and trees of every variety imaginable. Firs grew beside Acacias grew beside Jacarandas. No rhyme and reason governed what we saw. I could find no hint to explain their arrangement.

Then the flora switched from realistic to downright bizarre. Poppies that sang lullabies, trees dripping in golden sunlight and fungal abominations that changed shape whenever I looked away. It reminded me of Alice in Wonderland, but I doubted we’d be playing into that story. Not unless Summer started experimenting beyond their past.

Has all the strangeness I’ve already seen inured me to this novelty?

Princess Sulia left us waiting at a wooden table that looked grown out of the earth itself. A wooden teapot and cups sat atop the surface. None of us dared to pour ourselves something to drink.

“Remember the plan,” I whispered to the others.

Both of them nodded.

“This place is so beautiful,” Yvette breathed out.

“It is,” I agreed.

“Don’t let the scenery cloud your senses,” Roland warned.

“We won’t,” Yvette assuaged his fears. “Do you think we could paint a picture of it later?”

“We can,” I confirmed.

We lapsed into an easy silence.

Now came the risky part. Running a scheme akin to the Fox and the Grapes on the Queen of Summer wouldn’t be easy, but we had to at least make the attempt.

“Much has changed,” a soft voice said, “and yet the underlying nature of the Garden remains the same.”

My fingers tightened around the truce banner. A young girl with tanned skin and loose golden curls appeared before us out of nowhere. She had broad shoulders and couldn’t be older than fourteen. Her hands had the lines and calluses of a farmer.

There was nothing remarkable about her.

“I greet you, Queen of Summer,” I inclined my head.

She has no Dream, either.

That terrified me more than anything else.

Two more voices echoed my own.

“I bid you welcome to Aine,” the Queen of Summer greeted us, “may Summer grant you repose from whatever troubles lie beyond our mighty walls.”

Her voice carried a gentle tone — a hymn composed by the rustling of leaves in the wind or the breaking of twigs underfoot — that sounded utterly terrifying in its simplicity. The underlying presence of it hinted at the futility of fighting. It felt as if the entire world had been squeezed into a straw and fought to force its way back out. Or like a steady mountain waiting to crush us under the weight of time alone.

“The Garden is an exquisite tapestry,” Roland remarked. “Time may unravel it, and yet a new tapestry may always be woven.”

“What’s moving?” Yvette muttered under her breath. “The pattern’s moving,” Her head jerked around as she examined something that I couldn’t see, “or am I moving? No, definitely the pattern. Oh! Maybe if I adjust the fifth and the third sigil of the-” her voice cut off as I laid a palm on her leg.

Now isn’t the time to experiment.

“I see the shape of the tale you weave,” brown eyes met my own as she whispered to us, “the story will correct itself.”

She was humouring us. She was actually humouring us! My heart jumped into my mouth for a few heartbeats. It’d taken little observation to realize that she didn’t need to play along with us. That she could find a way out of any story we wove if she was inclined to, and squish us like bugs underfoot.

“The tangled patterns of old vines may yet be woven into something new,” Roland replied.

“Arcadia is nothing more than a complicated spell,” Yvette interjected. “I might not know how to repurpose this one, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be done.”

“Defter hands than yours have tried,” the Queen of Summer commiserated.

I almost made a costly mistake when she plucked a rose from somewhere and set it into Yvette’s golden locks.

It isn’t a threat. She’s nice. She’s nice. She’s nice. Just terrifying as well.

“Every story begins with a new page,” Roland pressed, “allow us to plant seeds where none thought they could grow.”

I swallowed my smile when I noticed the faint outlines of a Dream blossom within the Queen of Summer. She must’ve been right on the edge of believing. Close enough that only a small push provided the momentum she required to find hope.

“Sorcery that doesn’t adapt fades away with time,” Yvette muttered, “the same is true with the changing of seasons. Summer doesn’t need to stay the same. Why, we could-”

“Perhaps,” the Queen of Summer interjected. “There is little to be lost in the trying.” Her eyes sparkled. “You wanted something to remember this place, little one?” she asked Yvette.

All three of our faces drained of colour.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m fine,” Yvette stammered.

We’re fine. We’re fine. We’re fine.

I squeezed her hand gently.

“You ask me to gamble on this folly,” our host’s voice rustled through the garden as she focused on me. “Let us discuss the terms.”

Careful, Taylor.

The adjustments we’d made to our plan involved taking on a quest.

One that wouldn’t be easy to fulfil.

“We seek three boons in exchange for retrieving Summer’s Sun,” I declared.

I raised my index finger.

“The first is a key that has always existed and will always exist, forged from the flames of Summer,” I almost stammered as I began speaking, “and infused with the memories of Summer’s victories from years long past.”

I raised my middle finger.

“The second is knowledge of both your restrictions and duties,” I continued.

I raised my ring finger.

“The third is your aid in drafting and clarifying terms that satisfy my sensibilities, which will dictate the future existence of two new fae courts,” I finished.

An oppressive silence descended upon the otherwise tranquil garden. I held my breath and examined the brown eyes of the absolute terror I negotiated with. She clasped her hands before her on the wooden table and blinked.

Then, she spoke again.

My mood soared.

“Bargain struck,” the Queen of Summer agreed, “but should the flames consume more than they create, it will not be my hand that quenches them.”