“Because my mother died during childbirth. Because King Torsuld disappeared. Because the silver king came into power. Because of the Grievous Fires that swept through the townships.”
Her expression riffles through questions and curiosity.
“After the fire destroyed nearly everything in its path, there was little in the way of establishing my identity. My father and I didn’t even look alike. There was no way to prove I was his—” I draw a steadying breath against the bitterness of my status. “There was no way to prove that my mother was my mother because she was gone. I was lumped into the undesirable category. Under the silver king’s reign, if you’re not him, you’re guilty of something: treason being at the top of the list. He’s punished poets, healers, craftspeople, laborers, orphans, all for,” I throw my hands into the air, “existing.”
Her mouth forms a downturned crescent as she tries to understand this.
“If I had better sense, I’d tell you to make your own way because every day I have to ask is it worth it?” I rake my hand through my hair.
“Does that mean you’re willing to help me?” she asks.
I don’t answer.
“My mother used to always say that we have to stick together like the snow, ‘the closer we are, the stronger we become.’” Her face falls slack with sadness.
My response is a hesitant whisper, “I hope that’s true for us someday too, united, but as it is, we’re worse than divided.”
“But king—”
I hold my hand up for her to stop, shaking my head furiously as I anticipate the burn of ink on my skin. “Never speak his name. I’ve already said too much. The silver king is exceedingly skilled at picking out the words spoken by the disloyal.” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.
“But I’m not loyal to him,” she responds sharply. “I told you. I’m from New York, New York, USA. We have a mayor and a governor and a president. Listen, I don’t know why or how I’m here, but only know that I’m supposed to do something to save the realm.”
“Help is futile.” I lower my voice to a whisper and lean closer to her, breathing in her fresh wintery scent. “Up there in the hills and out here on the breakwater, our thoughts are nearly our own, but not entirely. Best be careful.”
“They’re always your own,” she counters with ice in her voice.
I shake my head. “Sadly, no. Not in Raven’s Landing. Your words aren’t free.”
She gets to her feet. “I don’t accept that.”
“It’s not a choice.”
Her eyes flash cold this time, the glitter beneath them fearsome rather than lovely. “What does the Shadow Army mean to you because it sounds pretty nasty.”
I actually do a double-take. “What did you say?” This time the force of my words seems to shake her.
She drops to sit and leans close. “I got a note from this demon dude. Believe me, I’ve seen enough madness in my city with the demons running amok to know that they’re bad news.” She tells me about the note she received that her mother confirmed while she was in a strange, cold, and icy place.
She pulls a slip of paper from her pocket. The written word is a rare sight in Raven’s Landing. “Tell me what you make of this. ‘Demons shadow thieve, while the fae court grieve. Four sisters to find. One compass to bind. Four crowns to take. One curse to break. Before twelve moons turn, else the realm will burn.’”
Chills work their way across my skin. “The demons steal fae shadows. There used to be numerous fae courts, but they were either disbanded and destroyed or went underground after the Wicked War. Twelve moons equal a year,” I say. Simple enough.
“The compass? The curse?”
“The ink curse probably,” I say.
“But you said that the wolf shifters were also cursed. I can’t believe I just said that like it’s normal.”
I ignore the jittering in my leg over the rumors I’ve heard slipping between the narrow buildings in Raven’s Landing about a Shadow Army. But I cannot ignore the weight of history.
“Have you ever heard of the Wicked War?” I ask.
“World War?”
I shake my head. “No, the Wicked War. Led by Count Anton Bortimal. He was bent on separating the fae from their shadows. Dirty business. The Borea realm had been rid of him, but if there’s a Shadow Army in the making, maybe someone is out to finish what the count started.”
“Can’t something be done about it? Like, talk to your military or—?”
“We’ve tried to change things, trust me. There are only the king and his guards.”
“I take it they’re not the good guys.” Her shoulders rise and fall as though with defeat.
“What should I call you?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“You can’t tell me your name?” My eyes widen. It sounds like a fae thing to me. “Can I guess?”
She snorts a laugh. “Good luck.”
I cast my fishing line into the water and my mood loosens with the prospect of a meal. “I’m not sure what I think of luck,” I mutter. “Okay, how about Astrid?”
“Nope. Cold.”
“Erika?”
“Colder.” She shakes her head.
“Let me think. You seem like you could be called Sylvi?”
“Not even slightly warm. Even if you guess, I won’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because my mother said not to ever tell anyone my name.”
Then she must be fae because of the true name law. Their names are secret and using them can leave them vulnerable to grim mage magic. I feel a tug on the fishing line and pull it in.
She snorts a laugh. “You can stop trying to guess though. My friends call me Kiki.”
“Are we friends?” I ask.
She raises an eyebrow. “Now, tell me what
