Blue nodded to the flinty soldier. The spriggan’s eyes looked sharp enough to cut glass. “We are with you,” he said in Pixie. “And with us is the whole of the Wild Wood.”
Blue looked from her swarm back to the spriggan. “We wish,” she stammered, “to do harm to humans.”
Flinty smiled coldly. “Some wishes can be granted.”
“You will help us?”
A nod.
Blue bowed her head. “What can our humble ring offer your colony to help make the humans pay for a grave injustice?”
“You have already given us the only thing we need,” Flinty crooned. His eyes flashed silver in the light that filtered down through the leaves.
Blue’s heart beat fast against her chest. “What have we given you?” she asked.
“A reason,” he said.
“Mr. Hill, you must end this madness,” Annie called, keeping pace with the mob as they plowed forward up the serpentine road. The hum and buzz of the forest around them was growing louder with every step.
“I fully intend to, madam,” Hill replied. He pressed forward, using his iron rod like a walking stick. “It’s high time somebody did.”
Annie shook her head, turning to her neighbors as they soldiered past. “Helen, stop. Amos, this isn’t the way! Jim, you’re going to get people killed.”
“Doing nothing is going to get people killed,” Old Jim said gruffly, shouldering his rifle. His resolve softened for a fraction of a moment as he caught her eyes. “He was a good man, Annie. Didn’t deserve to get took.”
“Don’t you dare make this absurd crusade about my family,” Annie hissed.
Jim shook his head and turned back to the road. “Stand with us or stand aside.”
Evie hurried up the road after her great uncle. “Uncle Jim, wait!” she called.
“No. Go back home and tend to your daddy like I told you.”
“But—”
“Now, Evelyn!”
Evie shuffled to a halt on the side of the road, looking utterly lost. Tinn and Cole gave up their own efforts and joined her.
“They aren’t listening,” Fable growled. “I think these are the bad men my mama taught me about.”
“They’re not bad,” Evie said, miserably. “They’re just . . . scared.”
“If they’re not scared, they should be,” said Tinn. “Things are going to get scary real fast if they start attacking the forest.”
The kids watched wretchedly as a parade of townspeople marched past.
Fable shook her head. “I need to warn them.”
“Warn who?” said Tinn.
“Them,” said Fable. “My them, the oddlings and the forest folk. They need to run before the humans show up with their axes and their guns.”
“And what if they don’t run?” said Tinn.
“I don’t know!” Fable moaned. “I don’t know what I’m doing—I never know what I’m doing! But I have to do something!” And with that she spun away from the road and began to wade into the bracken.
“Wait!” yelled Cole.
Fable paused. She looked like she wanted to cry. “I have to go,” she said. “Mama was right. I should never have come here. Those are not my people.”
“But we are,” said Cole.
Fable glanced up. Her eyes were heavy with shadows.
“We’re coming with you.” Cole looked imploringly at Tinn and Evie. “Right?” They both nodded.
“We’re in this together,” said Tinn.
“This isn’t your forest.” Fable shook her head. “The oddlings aren’t your people. None of this is your responsibility. Just go home.”
“Of course it isn’t our forest,” said Evie, crossing over the tall grass that lined the road. “But it’s your forest. And we’re your friends. Like it or not, we’re not letting you deal with this alone.”
Fable managed a weak smile. “You would make a fierce princess,” she told Evie. “Predator for sure.”
“Let’s go,” said Tinn. He and Cole bounded into the underbrush together. “And this time how about we don’t split up?”
The queen ran, the forest flowing past her with every step. She did not vault over troublesome rocks or duck awkwardly under branches. It had been many years since she had found the need to do anything like that. The forest moved for her—with her. They had come to know each other like limbs on the same body. If she ever stumbled, the forest would catch her on instinct, and if the forest ever needed her, she would be its hands. At least, that was how it used to be.
She had long since lost sight of the glimmering pixies, but she trusted the pull of the Wild Wood to guide her. She could no longer hear Chief Nudd or his scouts scrabbling along in her wake, but they would not be far behind. Goblins were nothing if not resourceful.
There were other movements in the underbrush. The queen could feel creatures all around her. Now and then she caught a flutter of wings or a furry flank sliding between the bushes. The forest was always teeming with wildlife—but not like this. The whole forest hummed with an electric energy, like the air before a lightning strike.
She was not far from the human village when she drew to a halt. Muffled voices echoed through the trees ahead. She tensed.
“If Mr. Hill wants to find a monster, he should look in a mirror,” grumbled a familiar voice. “At least the monsters in the forest don’t spend all their time pretending to be nice and then suddenly turn out to be horrible.”
It was Fable. The queen’s heart ached. The last time they had spoken, she had told her daughter that she had no friends. She winced at the memory. Of course, Fable was with them now.
“What about kelpies?” asked another voice. One of the twins.
“Well. I mean, sure. There’s kelpies,” conceded Fable. “Pretending to be nice and then being horrible is basically all kelpies do, yeah. But that’s why nobody likes kelpies.”
The queen suppressed a smile. Her daughter had listened to a lesson or two after all. She veered toward the voices.
“And changelings?” sighed another voice. “Pretending to be human so my kind could steal babies is apparently what I was
