“I didn’t hear you — good. A skill you’ll have much use of in the coming days.”

Even her hushed whisper was enough to make me sick with fear. I tried not to think of said coming days and focused on the large wooden box sitting on one of the side tables. It was the same box she’d kept under her bed for as long as I could remember.

Perhaps I should’ve pried, after all.

“What’s this?” I whispered, tip-toeing closer.

Reese had left earlier, and while Father was a heavy sleeper, I worried he might come running if he realized what I was planning.

“Open it.” Grandmother nodded toward the box. More specifically, toward the iron lock into which she’d already inserted an old key.

I twisted it slowly to muffle the clicking of the mechanism. Inside, nestled in red velvet, was a beautiful dagger, with an intricate golden handle and a shining ruby at the pommel. It looked brand new, which was strange, since the blade was made of steel. Grandmother must’ve taken good care of it. On the inside of the lid was the equally lavish scabbard for the blade.

Before I could ask, Grandmother shook her head with a grim look on her face, standing up.

“Take it. Take everything I packed for you, as well. I’ll be outside.”

She moved swiftly out of the room. I’d never seen her in such a strange mood before.

I took the dagger and its scabbard out of the box and put the weapon into my bag. Beside the doorway stood a large knapsack I’d never seen before with what looked like a bedroll strapped on top of it. It wasn’t particularly heavy, at least not yet. I’d still have to visit my home in the woods to grab some other necessities.

I blew out the candle. Standing there, in the darkness, I wanted to take a moment to say a quiet goodbye, to take it all in one final time.

But there was nothing to say goodbye to. My only home was gone.

So I left without another thought, burdened by guilt, empowered by grief.

Everything was covered in a thin sheet of frost, but the first snow had yet to fall. Our boots crushed frozen leaves against the hard earth, filling the silence as we walked. My breath was barely visible in the darkness. I focused on the lantern Grandmother carried to prevent my eyes from seeing things that weren’t there.

The door was already open when Grandmother and I arrived at the wall. As we passed through it, she finally spoke.

“His name was Gaetan.” Grandmother slammed her walking stick harder against the ground. “I was your age, but dumber. Sheltered. Easy prey. I fell in love with him as quickly as Sinéad did with Lord Thorne, but he didn’t have to use magic. They usually don’t. Sinéad put up a fight, so he had to alter her thoughts.”

I followed Grandmother patiently, waiting for her to start making sense of her memories, and trying to stay within the reach of the light.

“Fae men prey on human women quite frequently, you see. They’re easy to seduce, and they’re easy to impregnate.”

“Impregnate?”

“Yes. The high fae can barely reproduce, and the process itself is difficult. But a fae man and a human woman can have children like any human couple, so whenever a fae man wants to see what it’s like to have children, he seduces a human girl, has her give birth, and then leaves her and the child once he gets bored.”

The edge to her voice was unmistakable. I kept quiet, wondering if Mother had known about this, wondering why she hadn’t told me if she did, or why Grandmother hadn’t told her if she didn’t.

“I’ll get to him before he gets to her,” I said, willing it into reality.

Grandmother gave me a stern look, “And how will you do that?”

“I’ll kill him.”

She nodded, “Iron cuts off their magic, stops them from healing themselves. It spreads from the wound like a disease, and a deep or large enough cut can kill them, but only if the iron reaches their chest. It’s therefore best to strike directly at their hearts, or at least close to it so that the iron spreads faster than their magic heals.”

Part of me wondered how she knew that. Part of me didn’t want to know. The latter won and I remained silent.

“Also, don’t eat anything there if it withers and rots when iron touches it.”

“Because it might be magic?”

Grandmother smiled for the first time this evening, “Sharp as a whip.”

I only lifted a corner of my mouth, not feeling particularly receptive to compliments at the moment. Every crack of a branch made me jump like a frightened rabbit, and I doubted my “sharpness” would be enough to keep me alive.

“Once you’ve crossed into fae territory, you must be cautious. Sleep during the day; stay vigilant and moving during the night. The fae lands are always dangerous, but at night you’ll be more vulnerable.”

“Where exactly should I be heading?” I asked.

“North. At least until you find civilization. You’ll likely encounter creatures who might help you find a high fae, but the lesser fae are weak and might not be as receptive to making deals with humans, so don’t rely on them.”

“Why do I need to find a high fae? What even are they?”

Grandmother took a deep breath, her jaw clenched, and steeled herself for yet another onslaught of memories.

“Lord Thorne was likely one. They are the most powerful type of fae. They look similar to humans, but always uncanny, unsettling. Maybe their skin will be too smooth, or their teeth too sharp. As beautiful as they are heartless, and as heartless as they are deadly.”

She still hadn’t told me why I needed the help of a high fae when one of them was the one who had caused all this. I nodded for her to continue.

“A high fae will know how to oppose or bargain with another of its kind. Alone, you won’t stand a chance against Lord Thorne. Or maybe you will, I don’t know. But if you bind a high fae to you through a promise, or a bet, or a pact, they will be forced to help you.”

“But I’ll have to give something in exchange.”

Grandmother nodded grimly, “Be careful and be clever. Never give something you couldn’t stand to lose, but don’t offer them something that has no value to you; they’ll punish you if they find out they got something worthless in return for their help. And remember, they aren’t forced to tell the truth just because they can’t lie.”

I chewed on my lip long enough to draw blood before I spoke again, “What other weaknesses do they have?”

“None that I know of, I’m afraid. They’re proud and vain to a fault. If you flatter them, or do something for them, they might like you. But their opinion of you is mercurial and can change on a whim, at the slightest offense. Watch your manners when you speak to them. And never, ever thank them, no matter what they do for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is both an insult and a submission. First, it implies they did something for a lowly human out of kindness or generosity, that they lost something they can never get back, rather than it being an exchange between equals. Second, it confirms that you owe them. It is you saying they have done something worth rewarding, and they will demand their reward until they’ve decided you’ve shown the true extent of your gratitude. Whatever you do, do not give them that power over you, Sidra. Ever.”

Grandmother’s eyes bore into me and she squeezed my hand as if hoping to press this knowledge into my skin.

She continued telling me various things about the fae and how I could keep myself safe, and I tried to listen and remember every careful detail, but the fear had already taken root in my chest and gnawed at the back of my mind like an undercurrent.

A familiar feeling emerged, one I hadn’t felt in years and thought I’d grown out of: that quiet, heavy dread of facing the unknown.

Moonlight filled the large clearing where my mother and I had built our home. It was only a simple wooden cottage, but when I was young, it had felt like my own castle. Fourteen years of building, expanding, repairing — wasted.

I tried not to picture it rotting and abandoned as I opened the front door. The house was so far into the woods that nobody dared go near it, so it was never locked. Grandmother followed me silently, her lantern lighting up the largest room inside, making deep red shadows dance across the wooden walls. There was my bed beside my mother’s, and the cold fireplace we’d built together only a few months before her death …

I looked away toward the chest of drawers on the other side of the room.

“This is nice,” Grandmother said quietly as I packed my winter clothes and tried to ignore the tears burning against my eyes. “It’s been some time since I visited, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

I couldn’t remember the last time she was here. All I could think of was my mother, how much I missed her, how much I needed her guidance and help. She’d know what to do, she always did. If nothing else, I knew she would’ve come with me and helped me find Sinéad. We’d be unstoppable together.

“You should invite me more often! How about a little picnic with you and Sinéad when you come back, hmm?”

Grandmother was trying to lighten the mood. Knowing that didn’t help make her words real, though. They were flat, empty platitudes wearing the face of comfort.

Shoving the mittens Grandmother had knitted for me into the backpack, I turned around to face her and hoped the light was dim enough to hide my tears.

“Deal,” I said.

If Grandmother noticed the wet lines across my cheeks, she didn’t acknowledge them, and instead walked over to my bed and sat down. She patted the quilt next to her.

“Come. Sit with me.”

I did.

We sat in silence, listening to each other’s breathing and the settling of the wood around us.

This was farewell. The tears I’d shed were drying, and no new ones came. I just sat there, knowing I had to feel something, say something, but too hollow to do either. My eyes followed the veins in the wooden floor without seeing.

“I’m proud of you. You know that?” Grandmother said.

“Why?”

She laughed and nudged me with her elbow, “Because you’re my granddaughter, silly!”

I hadn’t done anything else worth being proud of, but even that was a low bar. Appropriate, I supposed.

“I won’t lie to you; this will be hard, and dangerous. But I know you can do it. You hear me?”

If she knew that, then why had she started crying? Why was she hugging me like it was the last time?

I held her quietly as she sobbed. She said something about bravery, and selflessness, and Adhara, but her voice was muffled and I listened with only half an ear, too busy staring at the wall behind her.

She let me go, “I think I’ll … stay here for a night, if you don’t mind. Or else my knees might kill me. And Finnegan will kill me in the morning, so I’d like to spend a few extra hours among the living.”

I managed a smile and a nod before standing up. She might as well stay here, since I’d have no use for this house anymore.

Grandmother’s eyes glistened, dark and wide, filled with pride and pain and fear. I wished I could comfort her, but I wasn’t one to lie. Perhaps it was my fae ancestry.

She wiped her tears and gave me a stern look.

“You come back, you hear?” she demanded. “If you’re too scared, or too weak, come back. There is no shame in admitting defeat.”

There was something close to relief in hearing those words, which was strange considering I’d never heed them.

Grandmother stood up and handed me her lantern. She hugged me again. My chest hurt like something wanted out, but I only smiled and let go before stepping out the door. I said goodbye. Asked her to hug Father for me, and apologize that I’d never been a good daughter. Grandmother’s face twisted with sorrow now, but she nodded and promised she’d prepare a feast for when I returned.

I headed north, staring blindly into the darkness in front of me. Grandmother’s sobs soon became hysterical weeping that nearly broke my heart, growing quieter and quieter as I walked.

She’d already lost her daughter. And now, I’d be gone, too.

When the sounds of her crying died out, I stopped to turn around. Of course, I couldn’t see her or the house. The distance, more than the darkness, obscured it.

It was then that my knees buckled beneath me and I fell apart. Pain and shame and fear drowned my lungs and made my hiccups wet and pathetic. I sobbed quietly into the earth, feeling smaller than I ever had, wishing someone, anyone, would come and pull me into their arms and tell me I was safe. But I was alone.

There was only the woods, the dark, and the silence.