I had nightmares about something large and feathered hunting me through a maze of thorny corridors. My movements were heavy and slow, like I was running along the bottom of a lake. The scraping of the creature’s talons and quick shuffling of its wings crawled like spiders along my neck. It came closer and closer, unbelievably fast. Blue light shone behind me and lit up my way, making my shadow look long and crooked on the broken wooden floor. 

I woke up with a racing heart, soaked in cold sweat. Morning had come and gone, leaving behind a bright midday sun that made the too-large room feel cool and empty. 

I reached for Sinéad’s letter and unfolded it with care, afraid one wrong move might tear it. I’d read it dozens of times already, but did so again, trying to imagine what she’d looked like when she wrote it, to figure out whether each symbol hid a secret meaning or a hint about her wellbeing. 

Would I have to tell Valerien about it? The thought of meeting him unsettled me. I almost wished it had all been a bad dream. 

Sighing, I put the letter back under my pillow and decided to take a quick bath. If I were to attempt to speak to Valerien, I’d have to pretend to put in the effort. 

Nobody came to me while I bathed, but a new set of clothes appeared mysteriously in place of the ones I’d taken off, so they knew I was awake. 

I realized I had always worked on the assumption that Lin would fail to contact her, that this would just be a pointless secret about a doomed plan. But having it now could change things. He needed to understand the urgency. And even if I didn’t tell him, he’d have questions about Lin’s new dagger. It would be better if he found out from me rather than them. That didn’t mean I wanted to tell him.

On my way back from my bath, I passed the dining room and heard footsteps coming from inside. Though nobody was present when I entered, a meal had been prepared at “my” end of the table. Thankful for the distraction and excuse to put off the unavoidable for a little longer, I sat down to eat. 

No one came to check on me. I heard no servants moving around the house. The room felt too big, while the quiet made every sound I made too loud. I felt watched. 

After finishing my meal, I swirled the teaspoon in my cup and watched the leaves dance in a tiny storm, as though they would arrange themselves into some sensible advice. How long would I sit here, prolonging the inevitable?

Not long, it turned out. Briar came into the room to interrupt my moping. 

Our eyes met. Hers were stern, then softened, then became stern again.

“Valerien wants to see you,” she finally managed. 

My heart fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird. I nodded and stood up, “Where is he?”

“In the parlor.” 

Briar watched me walk to the door but didn’t move away, blocking my path. She looked like she had something to say. 

“You …” She closed her eyes. “Don’t. Just don’t, alright?”

“What?”

“I don’t want to have to stop you from tearing each other apart. And you have this knack for bringing out the worst in him. Especially now that he’s so … fragile. I don’t want you making it worse.” 

He was the one who’d thrown me against a wall yesterday. She was demanding I bend myself to his whims when he never did the same for me, to take his feelings into consideration when he never considered mine.

Briar saw the defiance in my eyes and replied with her own, daring me to disobey. 

“I will speak as I see fit,” I said. “But I’ll try to keep his condition in mind.” 

Again, her gaze softened. I thought she’d say something comforting with how almost motherly her face looked. She inhaled to speak, then decided against it, biting her lip before stepping aside to let me out. 

I made my way to the parlor and stood outside the closed door for a few moments. 

I’d be alone against him in there. Nobody would protect me, nobody would come to my aid if I were to anger him. Maybe I should fetch my hatchet …

The idea made me pause. 

He was suffering. He was dangerous, obviously, but bringing a weapon would mean I was ready to execute him. Kill him for something out of his control. Was that who I was?

“Sidra.” 

The voice was garbled, had an alien echo to it, but undoubtedly his. He hadn’t sounded angry, or hurt, or demanding. He’d simply acknowledged my presence, making it hard for me to remain standing outside. 

I swallowed my doubts and stepped in. 

I knew immediately whatever had happened to him yesterday hadn’t fully gone away. Black feathers lay strewn across the floor, some floating through the air after the opening door disturbed them, others stuck and drowned in strange, greenish-black ooze. The odd liquid seeped off the misshapen form sitting in the armchair where Valerien had first struck his deal with me, large droplets sloughing off the wings that stuck out in odd angles from behind the backrest. 

His body was mostly back to normal. I saw legs, naked feet, blackened hands with long, sharp fingers shaped like talons. His arms hung lifelessly off the armrests as fat beads of the mysterious discharge gathered on his skin, slowly dripping into the sea of it on the floor. 

I didn’t dare say anything. His slow, labored breathing smothered the room. I inched closer, careful not to step in any of the pools of the liquid or touch his wings. 

When I finally saw his face, my chest heaved with guilt. He was covered, head to toe, in that translucent ooze. His eyes were glowing bright blue under their eyelids, revealing tiny veins in the skin. Black feathers sprouted across his cheekbones with each inhale, then shrunk back into the raw and reddened skin with each exhale.

It hurt to look at him. I wondered, for a moment, if death might’ve been a mercy.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. My hands gripped the back of the sofa like a barrier between us, though I doubted he’d be able to do much even if he wanted to. I was surprised he’d been able to speak at all.

He took a deep breath. A large drop of whatever it was that covered him fell from the tip of his nose and onto his chest. He breathed out. Then, his voice came from somewhere near him, but his face didn’t move a muscle.

“Are you …” Inhale. “… hurt?” Exhale. 

“You mean from yesterday?” No response. “No, I’m not hurt.”

A little sore, but I’d had worse.

Valerien’s head tipped back ever so slightly before dipping forward again. 

“Good.” 

His left wing — the one sticking out higher and at a more awkward angle — twitched, and a few feathers fell from it. 

“I … know this was not your fault.” Even though he was not actually speaking, the effort clearly took a toll on him. “I was thinking of you when it happened. I was … not ready.” The left wing lifted, then sank. “It was unfair. I am sorry.” 

His foot moved, toes curling inward. Even though he looked more human — or fae — now, his open shirt revealed a chest covered in iridescent black feathers growing all the way to his neck. With each moment, each breath, they faded more and more, grew paler and smaller. His talons shrank slowly, too, regaining their normal color. 

He was recovering. At least I assumed, hoped he was.

“Sidra?” 

His voice came from somewhere outside of him still, but he managed to part his lips and breathe in. He’d sounded almost desperate.

“I forgive you.” 

He drew a sigh of relief. The feathers around his eyes pulsated once, twice, shrinking with each exhale, until they were no more. The skin where they’d been looked sore and a little swollen, as if he was healing from a black eye. I hoped he wasn’t in too much pain. 

“I forgive you, Valerien, but that doesn’t mean I will forget. What happened last night can’t happen again.”

“I know. It won’t.” 

While the quick obedience was a welcome surprise, it seemed to have startled him as much as myself, because we remained in awkward silence for several moments. When he “spoke” again, his voice was even and calm.

“Your good heart becomes you. Anyone else would have made me grovel.”

My cheeks warmed inexplicably.

“Are you in any condition to grovel?” I said sharply. “If you’re offering, I would appreciate some humility.” 

“Remind me when I’m better.” Was that a tiny smile on his lips, or the dripping liquid playing tricks on me? “Still. I have done nothing to deserve your kindness. I am grateful.” 

My grip tightened around the sofa cushion. It would be cruel to use his gratitude against him like this, but I had no choice. 

“I received a letter from Sinéad.” 

The tiny smile had indeed been there, made obvious by its absence when a frown replaced it. 

“Lin informed me.”

“Oh.” Of course they had. I never made them swear secrecy. “I … Right.” I’d nearly started to apologize. I felt like I should, but given what happened yesterday, I figured we were even.

“I do not appreciate you acting behind my back, Sidra.” 

I didn’t reply. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. Telling him his methods were unsatisfactory would’ve felt a little cruel in these circumstances. 

Valerien sighed deeply like a disappointed parent, “However, I am in no position to lecture you at the moment.” 

“You’re in no position to lecture me at all, actually.”

A light rain had started halfway through our conversation. Pale clouds hung low in the sky, robbing it of what little daylight it had left. But this was no storm. Despite the cold, the scent of rain was quite welcome, and the quiet pattering of raindrops made me happy to be indoors. 

Finally, he actually opened his mouth and spoke, his voice hushed yet steady: 

“I suppose we will agree to disagree.”

“I suppose so.” 

Something wet seeped through the tip of my right slipper. The puddle growing under the sofa had finally reached me, and I took a cautious step back. 

“What exactly is this stuff?”

“Ichor. The remains of a magic gone mad. It is harmless, and will evaporate soon.” 

I watched his still figure as more of the ichor dripped down his face, covering it in a thick, glossy layer that looked uncomfortable to be under.

“Does it hurt?”

“Hmm. Only my dignity.”

“Good thing you didn’t have much to begin with.”

“Ha!”

I snorted despite myself. There had been a welcome breeziness in his tone, despite his state. 

Besides, why’d he invite me in if he didn’t want me to see him like this? To garner sympathy, or instill guilt? Strange man.

“So you’ll be alright?” I asked as softly as I could. 

The silence was short, but heavy. 

“Physically, yes. For now.” 

“Right. That’s good. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, then?” 

I made for the door with a quiet sigh.

“Sidra.” 

“Yes?” 

“How is your sister?” 

What little relief I’d felt before evaporated as dread and guilt weighed heavy in my lungs. I worried my lip, and decided it would be better to admit the truth, no matter how much it hurt. He had to know how important it was for us to succeed.

“Not well, Valerien,” I murmured. “But I appreciate your asking.”