“It is the way of things!” the creature exclaims. With one of their long hands, they pull off their hat, revealing two sharp little horns.
“What are you?” I can’t help but ask, even though I’m afraid the question may be impolite.
If it is, the creature doesn’t seem to mind. Their small mouth curls up into a grin. “I am Duddon. Sprite of this spring.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
Duddon bows. “It’s been a long time since I met a human. Your tears were delicious.”
“Consider them a gift,” I reply, though in my experience faeries don’t have a great grasp of sarcasm. “I’m sorry, I really must be going.”
“Not a gift! It won’t do! Where are you going?”
I gesture to my sword. “There is a creature I must slay.”
Duddon nods enthusiastically. “The Questing Beast?”
“Um—I’m not sure. Something with King Bram’s seal on its haunches.”
Duddon does a full-body shudder at Bram’s name. “Oh, yes. The creature you’re looking for lies in the meadow beyond. I will show you the way. I saw the guards catch it and brand it this morning. It wailed so loudly all the forest folk heard. There were tears then, too, but not as tasty as yours.”
“I’m sure I can find it myself,” but even as I say it, Duddon bounds back to the water’s edge and pulls out a smooth river rock nearly as big as they are.
Duddon traces the surface with the pointed tip of a green finger, leaving chalk-white markings on the stone.
“Follow the stream down, but you must be sure to avoid the brambles at the center of the forest,” Duddon mutters as they sketch over the stone. “It is where the merchants harvest their fruit for the night markets and they are very foul indeed.” Duddon’s mouth turns into a pout. “They play awful games and kick us around like balls. We sprites stay away from them if we can.”
“Thank you for the advice,” I say earnestly.
Duddon preens a little, then hands me the rock, upon which they have drawn a crude but legible map.
I consider it for a moment. “How do I know this is not a trick?”
“A trick?” Duddon responds, horrified. “You gave me your tears. I gave you a map. It is a fair bargain.”
As far as faerie logic goes, it’s solid enough. “Then I thank you.”
Duddon nods, their fin hat back on and bobbing wildly. “Please come back and see me again, my lady. Whenever you need to cry, I am here.” With that, Duddon curtsies and swan dives back into the river, disappearing beneath the surface of the water.
The stone is cool and heavy in my hand as I follow its crude marking down the riverbank, eventually entering a wide, lush meadow where a path snakes lazily through the tall grass.
I cut through a ring of trees and then through a clearing of standing stones. I see bone-white cliffs in the distance, a sign that I am getting close to the largeXmarked on Duddon’s map.
A high-pitched scream pierces the meadow.
I take off running, kicking off my useless slippers as I go, grateful I’m no longer wearing a corset. “Lydia, I’m coming!”
Brambles and rocks and who knows what else slice my feet as I sprint across the clearing, cutting left into another circle of trees.
Standing in the middle, dappled light pouring over her, is my sister. She looks like a warrior from heaven with her blond curls tumbling over her shoulders, her sword held aloft above her head.
She lowers it as soon as she sees me and lets out a breath of relief. “You shouldn’t be here,” she says.
“Because you want to win?” I reply sarcastically.
She doesn’t respond. I follow her gaze to the edge of the tree line, where something moves in the shadows.
I think of my friends locked away in the dungeons, and I lunge, sword in hand.
