“Ivy?” I hear my sister call a few moments later, but I’m so annoyed with her, I stomp off in the opposite direction without answering.
I’ll win this trial for my friends and lose the rest. Lydia can be queen for all I care. I’ll rot in some backwater country estate with no one but sheep for company. Forgotten, as I was always meant to be.
But you love her. You’ll miss her.
Hot tears burn my eyes. I keep walking.
I don’t know much about tracking animals, let alone magic ones, so I wander, mostly aimlessly, through the thick forest.
I remember, vaguely, a scene from a book where a girl followed broken branches to a water source where animals gathered, though for all I know animals in the Otherworld may not even need water. Maybe their rivers flow with something else, like champagne or blood.
But it seems as good a plan as any, so I turn my eyes to the ground and begin scanning for anything that looks out of place. It’s difficult to discern because everything in this forest is one shade off from normal. The acorns scattering the brush are as large as two-pound coins, their caps shining gold. The leaves have pointed tips like tiny daggers, and in the treetops above me, birdsong rings out in a sharp, minor key.
Eventually, I find a gentle slope and follow it downward. My arms are burning with the effort of carrying my sword and I feel sick as the image of Emmett plays in my head in an awful loop. His eyes were so soft as he looked at my sister. There was so much kindness in the way he saidGoodluck.
He kissed me, that must mean something; but he left me, too. The sides of my hands are bruised from where I pounded on his door until the sleeping draught took me under. My ribs still ache from where he cut me out of my corset. I’m too wrung out to go over it again and again.
It feels like I’ve been walking for ages when I finally hear the gentle babble of a stream.
I collapse to my knees in front of it and cup my hands to take a drink. It’s not champagne, just plain, cool water. It’s probably unwise of me, but I fear I won’t be able to go on much farther if I don’t have something in my stomach. I’m ravenously, bone-achingly hungry. I don’t remember the last time I had a full meal. It was back in Bath, but England feels so far away now, and time is so slippery here.
The water tastes normal enough, perhaps a little sulfuric.
I take a deep breath but can’t stop tears of frustration from spilling down my face. They land on the rippling surface of the clear water and slip under instantly, like they never existed at all.
Suddenly, there’s an odd clicking sound. Smooth river stones moving against each other.
There’s a splash and something hops out of the brook onto the grassy riverbank.
At first, I think it’s a fish—it’s about the same size, no larger than the silk slipper on my foot, and it glimmers an iridescent fish-scale silver when the sun hits it.
I shriek and move back, then pick up my sword on instinct.
“Thank you,” a high-pitched voice chirps, and I scream again.
The fish, which is distinctlynota fish, has moved to stand on two feet. They’re difficult to look at straight on, like my mind doesn’t know how to process something so far from human. They’ve got the general shape of a person—two arms, two legs, a head—but they’re wearing an outfit like armor constructed of fish scales, including a pointy hat made of a fin.
Their eyes are overlarge for their small face, silvery-blue all theway through, no whites at all, and wet like they’ve been crying. The rest of the face is greenish white, like the waterlogged belly of a dead fish.
I scan quickly for Bram’s royal seal but see nothing. I don’t think this is the creature I’m meant to slay.
“I’m just going.” I turn on my heel to leave. If four months in Bram’s court have taught me anything, it’s to regard everything from the Otherworld with caution and suspicion.
There’s a tug on the hem of my dress and I turn to see the creature looking up at me. They stick a long, webbed finger in their mouth and close their eyes.
“Umm,” I hesitate.
“Thank you for the tears.” The creature’s voice is the same pitch as the babbling water.
I hesitate. “Oh... you’re welcome.”
“What can I do for you?” Their teeth are long and pointed, like a fish’s.
“Nothing, thank you.” I step to go, but they cling to my hem.
“No, please!” They sound distressed now. “You gave me something, now I give you something.”
“Why?”
