“You have to use magic?”
“Of course.” Foxglove scoffs. “We must have the option to bypass the axis and proceed the long way, must we not? So, to communicate our intentions with the axis, we must have a sort of key.”
“A key.”
“That’s what you can imagine the magic we use to utilize the axis is.”
I blink at him a few times, wishing I could make logical sense of his words. I’ve come to allow some suspension of disbelief when it comes to the fae and their magic. Before I came to Faerwyvae, I would have laughed at such a notion. Now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen, done what I’ve done...I admit there are things far beyond rational explanation. Yet, it still doesn’t stop me from seeking to understand it.
“How do you use thismagic key?Do you say some sort of incantation?”
Foxglove and Lorelei exchange a look, one that tells me they think my line of questioning is quite simpleminded. “I merely use it, my dear,” Foxglove says. “It is more about intent than it is about tangible action. All magic is.”
I lean back in my seat, brows furrowed as I try to pair his words with reason.
Lorelei seems entertained by my obvious struggle, lips tight to suppress a grin. “Didn’t you learn about magic in the Twelfth Court?”
“I wouldn’t say I learned anything,” I say. Sure, it opened my mind to new possibilities, made me feel like I was drunk on honey pyrus. But if my journey to the All of All is supposed to be any indication of how magic works, I have no hope of making sense of it any time soon.
“We’re entering the axis,” Foxglove says.
I return to looking out the window, trying to discern any change, any flicker of magic. The forest looks the same as it did the last time I looked out at the scenery. More oaks, maples. More red leaves. I continue watching as the carriage rolls along, but there’s no change.
My attention then shifts back to Foxglove. I study his face, his eyes. “Are you using your magic right now?”
He lets out a light giggle. “When am I not using my magic?”
“Are you using it for the axis?”
“I already have. We’re on the other side now, nearing the wall.”
I look back out the window. Still, nothing has changed. Another magical occurrence I can’t decipher. It is both a frustration and an invigorating challenge to be so utterly perplexed. I shake my head, about to retreat to my seat once again, when movement catches my eye. There in the distance between the trees is a dark shape, hidden in shadows. A hulking creature with massive antlers.
My breath hitches as I study the silhouette, seeking recognition. I’ve seen Aspen in his stag form before. Could this be...
I can’t let myself wonder. I can’t.
I watch the figure until it’s lost from view, swallowed by shadows beneath the setting sun. Only then do I question whether I saw the stag at all.
6
The fog that envelops the carriage tells me we’re approaching the wall. We’ve already traveled through the Autumn and Summer axes, and when we reached Spring, the carriage turned south. Now the towering stones of the faewall emerge from the fog. We pass between two stones into a familiar forest.
Unlike the smooth transition from Autumn to its axis, the shift from Faerwyvae to Eisleigh is jarring. Night has fallen as it had over Spring, but there’s a dullness to the light of the moon. The leaves don’t shimmer as they drop from the trees, and unlike the Autumn Court, fall has already stripped half the branches bare. Gone are the nectar-like aromas wafting through the air, replaced with the pungent smell of decay. The sound of the wheels rolling over brown, mushy leaves brings an odd sense of nostalgia mixed with a sinking feeling.
Home. I’m home.
Less comforting thoughts chase away any sense of relief, reminding me of the confrontation I’m approaching. I don’t know what to expect from my meeting with the mayor. A minuscule spark of hope whispers the possibility that I’ll arrive, state my case, solve this outrageous misunderstanding, and set everything to rights. The mayor will order my mother released and I’ll secure the treaty with my marriage to Aspen.
If that hope has any chance of coming about, then why does my stomach plummet when I entertain it? Because it hurts too much to hope? Or because deep down I know the hope is futile?
I grit my teeth as we continue the journey in silence.
When the carriage rolls to a stop, my heart leaps into my throat.
“We’ve arrived at the mayor’s house,” Foxglove says. His expression reflects the anxiety I feel. He opens the carriage door but hesitates, his gaze falling on Lorelei. “I think you should wait here while Evelyn and I speak with the mayor.”
She meets his eyes, something like relief flickering over her face as she nods.
