A midday sun assaulted my eyes, the cold air making it painful to breathe, and the ground lay covered in glittering frost. Everything was so deceptively peaceful, mocking my grief and Sinéad’s absence. Nothing had the right to be beautiful when she was gone.

  But like falling into a frozen lake, I needed to push through the shock and terror and swim out onto land. Thrashing about and panicking would only drain my energy, and it’d be moments before I drowned. So I inhaled sharply, held my breath, then exhaled. I repeated this a dozen times until I could finally put myself together.

  Sinéad was gone. A winged Lord Thorne had taken her north, and he’d done something to make sure nobody but me could remember her. Or rather, he’d tried to make me forget, and failed. That’s what the headache must’ve been. The blood on my upper lip had already dried and become scratchy around my nostrils.

  I swallowed bile as a small part of me wished I’d forgotten her, too. So I wouldn’t have to bear the shame and sorrow on my own. So I wouldn’t have to face the things lurking beyond the Choke.

  I’d be walking to my death, but without Sinéad, what purpose did my life have? Did I even deserve to live it? First, I’d failed her by letting her get taken. By not going to rescue her, I’d fail her again …

  No one could deserve a good life after allowing their sister to suffer at the hands of a monster.

  “Sidra?”

  Grandmother didn’t touch me this time, but she put a coat around my shoulders when I turned to face her. I couldn’t look her in the eye.

  “Let’s take a walk,” she said, her face stern to dissuade any protest. “And you will tell me everything that happened last night.”

  A sliver of hope sparked in my chest. She didn’t remember Sinéad, but she knew about the strange and unknown. If she could make sense of this … If there was a way to get Sinéad back …

  I wrapped myself into the coat and followed her silently up the hill, through the same frozen fields where I’d first lost Sinéad. There was no trace of them left. Not even trampled grass.

  Grandmother walked with an unusual force, slamming her cane into the earth, more out of anger than need. Once we were far enough away from our home, she turned to me with her mouth set in a stiff line.

  “I don’t remember Sinéad — but I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course.”

  I waited for more, but she only grimaced as if recalling something painful and turned away.

  “There was a man,” I said slowly. “He called himself Lord Thorne. Sinéad said they’d met two weeks ago, and she’d promised to be his forever.”

  Grandmother made a short, pained noise, somewhere between a sob and a groan, before spitting what sounded like a trail of curses in her native language.

  “Stupid, stupid girl!”

  “She was in love!” I protested. “Or at least thought she was. It’s possible he might’ve influenced her …”

  “No doubt he did. What else?”

  I told her everything I could remember, struggling not to choke on my guilt. Grandmother’s expression went from fury, to determination, to sadness, and finally to pitying acceptance as I finished my story.

  Seeing her like this hurt. She, like Sinéad, would sooner be caught dead than hopeless. Whatever she knew about this sapped her optimism like a leech.

  She cleared her throat, and there were tears at the corners of her eyes, “First of all: this isn’t your fault, dear. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded just to get her to move on. She could say whatever she wanted, but no words would take the guilt away. Only action could lighten that burden, and even then I knew I’d never be rid of it.

  Grandmother stopped, knotty hands balanced at the top of her cane as she looked out over the landscape.

  “Do you know why that wall is there, Sidra?” she said.

  “To protect us.”

  “Protect us from what?” Her black eyes met mine. For a moment, I saw my mother’s features in hers, and my chest tightened.

  I’d missed her always, the pain hanging from my heart like an iron noose, but now I feared I’d shatter unless Mother took me into her arms and told me this was all a bad dream.

  But Mother was dead. I couldn’t save her. If I let Sinéad slip from my grasp like I had Mother, she’d be just as lost to me.

  “The fae,” I replied.

  Even speaking of them was bad luck, some said. The wall could only do so much, and should you invite misfortune by mentioning their kind, they’d find a way around it. That superstition didn’t matter anymore.

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  “Iron is their only weakness,” Grandmother said. “It’s the only way for a human to destroy a fae.”

  “I have to get to him first.”

  She nodded with a heavy sigh, the corner of her lip twisting as she held back tears.

  “How do I do that?” I pressed.

  “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” she murmured. “But I’ve always known something would pull you there sooner or later, whether it’d be circumstance or your nature.”

  What on earth was she talking about? And why did she think it mattered more than telling me how to find Sinéad?

  Before I could ask, Grandmother’s grip closed around my upper arm and her stare turned grave.

  “Your grandfather was a fae. Adhara was half-fae, and you only a quarter. But it’s enough to make you different among humans, isn’t it?”

  I swallowed what felt like a handful of sand.

  Grandmother had always talked about the fae like she knew them, but I never could’ve imagined this, that it was possible to breed with them. In my mind, I’d always pictured them as wicked beasts wearing human forms to deceive us, illusions they would shed the moment they thought they had the upper hand.

  But this changed and explained nothing. If it didn’t help me find Sinéad, it didn’t matter. I had neither time nor headspace to worry about my ancestry.

  “How do I find Sinéad?”

  “You don’t want to know about your grandfather?”

  “Once Sinéad is safe, I’ll ask you.”

  Grandmother’s surprise turned into something that almost looked like disappointment. She’d been sitting on this secret of hers for decades, no doubt (unless Mother had also known), and wanted me to marvel at this revelation.

  Telling me this now, when it mattered the least, and expecting me to gossip about her ancient love life when my little sister was gone and I was about to leave and probably never come back? For a moment I nearly resented her for it.

  “Very well,” Grandmother said with a curt nod. “I will tell you what you need to know, tonight. Nobody can know you’re leaving. Finnegan and that Brennan boy have already discussed how to keep you away from the woods from now on.”

  “They can try.”

  “They care about you, silly girl. So do I. But I know the only way I can protect you is to make sure you know how to protect yourself.”

  I tried to ignore the shame in my chest and fill it with courage instead. All I wanted to do was to let Reese and my father lock me up in the house, to let them force me into safety. I wished they had a way to convince me not to go.

  But I knew they couldn’t. It was my fault Sinéad was gone.

  It was my duty to bring her back.

  Night couldn’t come soon enough. I despised the way everyone hovered around me, eyes full of questions but lips tight in hesitation.

  Father didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He kept wringing his hands, drawing heavy sighs, forgetting what he was doing and mumbling to himself as he passed my room in the hallway.

  Clara had left in a carriage to fetch a doctor from a larger neighboring town further south. She’d been all awkward smiles before she’d left, told me everything would be alright once I’d gotten some proper medicine and care.

  Grandmother busied herself with lording over our handful of servants, filled with a sudden vitality. She avoided talking directly to me, but kept bringing me tea and biscuits, as if that would help alleviate the pain of her silence.

  Finally, there was Reese. I’d begged him to please leave me alone and let me rest — I had to pack for my journey north — but he was stubborn. He refused to let me move out of the bed and sat by my side while rambling about worthless nonsense, like his drunken brother-in-law, or the latest town gossip. He was trying to convince me everything was exactly like it had been before. But he was a poor performer; he looked at me as if afraid his gaze might break me if it grew too intense.

  While he was telling me about his pregnant sister’s tempestuous moods, I couldn’t do much but stare past his face and out the window, wondering where Sinéad was, and whether she was in pain. '

  After what felt like hours of empty talk, Reese finally realized his words were barely getting through to me.

  “Sidra? How are you feeling?”

  He glanced toward the open door to make sure nobody was in the hallway before leaning closer, eyes searching mine, and put his hand against my cheek. Did he want the truth? And would giving it to him be worth anything at all?

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little tired.”

  His hand dropped to mine and laced our fingers together. I wanted to find comfort in the gesture, but it felt hollow.

  “You’re a terrible liar, you know?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “What happened? They told me you ran out for no reason. Tell me the truth, please.”

  I’d already tried, and he’d responded with a pitying look and a soft, if condescending, request that I relax and get some rest. So I shook my head and pretended not to remember anything.

  “Something happened to me in the forest. Grandmother thinks it might’ve been our friendly neighbors on the other side of the wall.”

  “I didn’t think you, of all people, would believe in their existence.”

  “I believed, just not everything people said. But something happened, something I can’t explain. That’s all I know.”

  Of course, this statement didn’t match my earlier begging for everyone to remember Sinéad, so the doubt nestled in Reese’s frown wasn’t surprising. Still, he didn’t press the issue.

  “Your father graciously offered to let me stay the night in the guest room.” Reese searched my eyes for a reaction.

  “Do as you wish. Just don’t get any ideas, the walls are thin.”

  Reese chuckled, “I didn’t even consider that before you mentioned it. Figured you wouldn’t be in the mood.”

  My words had been intended as a precaution, not a joke, but now I felt guilty for assuming Reese would even attempt to sleep with me while I was in this state. Perhaps, once I’d left, he’d find someone more worthy of his affection, more appreciative of his thoughtfulness.

  “Reese, I … I need to tell you something.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  I’d spent most of the day trying to plan for my journey into the north, but only now did I realize I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to anyone but Grandmother.

  I would die out there. They would never know what had happened to me.

  “I want you to know I’m grateful for the time we’ve spent together.”

  “Don’t like the sound of that,” Reese said, eyes narrowing. “You better not be planning something rash.”

  “Of course not. I only realized I’m lucky to have you.”

  He didn’t look fully convinced, but smiled anyway, “You’d be even luckier if you married me.”

  This again?

  “Do you really want to marry the madwoman of the town?” I scoffed.

  “If your strangeness repulsed me, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  It took every ounce of willpower left not to roll my eyes, and now all I wanted was to turn my back to him and sleep, to get away from that unspoken pressure. Just thinking about marriage made me sick to my stomach.

  He checked the doorway again, then leaned forward to kiss my forehead. He said something about how he of course wanted to marry me despite my oddities, how we’d have strange little children and teach them how to climb trees and hunt deer. I tried to find comfort in his warmth and the sound of his voice, tried to enjoy this closeness to its fullest extent one final time.

  But all I could think about was the cold of the north, the hole in my heart where Sinéad had been, and the way I’d choke the air out of Lord Thorne until his throat collapsed between my fingers.