“If this is how I die, then I’ll go happily,” I cried from beneath the deluge of slobbery kisses and fur. Sissi wouldn’t allow any animals at Locksley, save for our flock of chickens and a small colony of feral mousing cats, but I’d always dreamt of having a pet. Will’s family kept a pack of hunting dogs, and he had snuck me into the kennels several times to meet new litters of pups. A three-headed monster hound was, frankly, my dream come true. When I finally extricated myself from the creature’s affections and stood up, it sat obediently at my feet, tail joyfully smacking against the floor and pink tongues lolling from all three open mouths.
Oberon smiled and scratched the ears of the nearest head. “I am glad to see you getting along, since hedoestechnically belong to you.”
“To me?” I gasped.
“Lyric gifted him to Henry when he was just a pup, but naturally, he had to stay in the Arden when they left. A faithful companion, if a bit of a menace. Your father named him…Sir Toby Belch.” He paused and grimaced. “And he will not respond to anything else.”
“He is perfect,” I laughed, bending down to kiss all three of his noses, “and so is his name. We’ll be the best of friends, won’t we, Sir Toby?”
“It seems you’ve taken quite well to the Arden,” said Antenor, who was leaning on a table nearby with an amused smile. I couldn’t help still feeling wary of him, even though he had pledged himself to me back in the Hollow, but I tried to respond gently.
“It is easy to do when you are greeted with open arms.”
“Well, I do hope to see more of you. When we were children, Lyric and I used to go—”
Oberon cleared his throat. “Another report in two days, Captain. Thank you.”
Antenor just responded with a good-natured shrug, bowed to us both, then strode out to the balcony and took flight.
“I love the boy like my own,” said Oberon, “but he does enjoy the sound of his own voice.” Absentmindedly playing with Sir Toby’s collection of long, floppy ears, I burst out with the question I’d been holding back.
“Do I have my own wings?”
Oberon gave me a patient smile. “I think it likely, yes, but fay children are not born with them, so I cannot say what form they might take. When I glamoured you as a baby, I locked away the parts of you that would make them grow naturally.”
“Well, how do I…make them appear?”
“Slow down, Marina,” he laughed. “We have not even released the most basic parts of your magyk yet. Being able to disguise your true form, pull parts of yourself in and bring them out, will require more practice, and we cannot rush the process.”
I let out a small groan of frustration, then sighed and looked around the room. “Is this your personal library?”
“It is open to anyone, although the folk here are not incredibly inclined toward the written word. We mostly collect historical records of the Arden Court, memoirs and poetry collections and treatises on magyk. Simeon and I believe it is important to preserve our history, our culture.” He tipped his chin to one wall, where I saw a hollowed-out space between shelves. An unnaturally large horned owl perched there on a branch, sleeping soundly.
“That’s…Simeon?” I whispered.
“He is blessed with the ability to shift,” Oberon murmured. “But unfortunately, has been forced to adopt the sleeping schedule of his animal form. Rather inconvenient.” The owl opened a single eye and glared at us for a moment, then ruffled his feathers and turned around on the perch. I stifled a laugh as I followed Oberon out of the library and down the stairs. Sir Toby stayed right on my heels, his clawsclickety-clackingon the wooden steps.
After another brief walk through the Arden, we came to a grove of rowan trees surrounded by tall oaks, which gave it the pleasant, enclosed warmth of a greenhouse. Sunshine filtered through their autumn leaves, patching the ground and glinting off the blood-red berries. Toby made himself comfortable quickly, stretching out in one of the sun patches with a loud sigh. I remembered Antenor’s story about how Devil had been created, and assumed that this was the sacred rowan grove he’d been referring to. But Oberon gave me no confirmation of the fact, just shed his billowing outer robe and turned to face me wearing a plain, black tunic, jerkin, and trousers. As he rolled up his sleeves, I saw jagged, silvery designs—reminiscent of mountain peaks—tattooed on his obsidian skin.
“You were not born in the Arden,” I said softly.
“No,” he answered with a gentle smile. “I came here long ago, as an emissary for my cousin, Lord Mariaat, and I simply…never left.” He finished with his sleeves and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. I did not ask any of the other thousand questions burning in my chest, but watched in silence as he gathered his own power. The shadows seeped from his body, dropping like a heavy fog before curling up his ankles and calves, wrapping themselves around his ropes of white hair, and then twining around his chest and shoulders. They solidified behind him into a pair of mighty bat wings, capped with their deadly talons. From his head grew the pair of silvery-gray ram’s horns. Now he truly looked every inch the faerie king, and my excitement melted into nerves.
“What will happen?” I asked in a voice far more shrill than I would have liked.
“I do not want to overwhelm you too quickly,” Oberon said, walking in a circle around me. “I had to place many different types of barriers, in varying degrees of strength, to ensure that your magyk would be suppressed no matter what. Removing them slowly, cautiously, will allow you to adjust to your power in small increments. But you must tell me exactly what you are feeling.”
He led me to the center of the grove, where I knelt on a cushion of moss and grass. The anxious pounding in my ears made sitting still difficult, even as I did my best to relax my body. Oberon stood behind me and placed the tips of his fingers lightly on my head and at the base of my skull. I cracked my eyes open just enough to see his shadows swirling around me, brushing over my arms, chest, and shoulders. It was a strange sensation, but not unpleasant—like being wrapped in light strips of linen cloth. They tightened and, for a moment, it was uncomfortable, before the air around me snapped.
I was flooded.
Spinning out of control.
I pitched forward and flung out my hands, digging my fingers into the grass as I gasped for air. Ice water rushed through my veins, tearing and pushing its way from my head to my feet. Behind it came a wave of sleep-inducing warmth. In the center of my chest, the two met and exploded outward. I was driven to my feet, staggering a few paces until Oberon caught my upper arm.
“Marina! What do you feel?”
But I simply did not have the words to answer him.
