“It’s nothing,” I said, waving it off. “I was just...thinking of someone, that’s all.” She blinked, puzzled, and I turned away. “It’s a human thing—you wouldn’t understand.”
“You were thinking about your sister,” Annwyl said and offered a faint smile when I turned on her, frowning.“I have been around a long time, Ethan Chase,” she said, and her voice wasn’t smug or proud or unkind; it was just a statement. “I may not be human, but I have observed them throughout the years. I have seen them born, and I have watched them live, and love, and die. It does not matter the age or the time or the season—human emotions have remained ever the same. And in the past, your particular glamour aura only shifts that way when you have spoken about the Iron Queen.” She blinked again, tilting her head, looking genuinely puzzled now. “You...miss her, then?”
I wanted to snap that it was none of her business but caught myself. It wasn’t Annwyl’s fault that I was so transparent, though she had surprised me again with how insightful she really was. It was hard to see slight, beautiful Annwyl as some ancient, all-knowing sidhe, though with the fey, looks were forever deceiving. For all I knew, she could be as old as Titania.
She was still watching me, her head cocked like she was trying to understand. “Don’t worry about it, Annwyl,” I said, not wanting to talk about Meghan, especially not with a faery. “We’re not here for me.”
She nodded and let the subject drop, which surprised me a bit. Maybe I’d been around Kenzie too long; I was used to her not letting anything go. But we’d reached the center of a cluster of huge oak trees, swathes of Spanish moss dangling from the branches like lace, and I could suddenly feel eyes on me. A blanket of mist hung in the air and pooled between tree roots, and the air beneath the canopy was damp and still.
Movement caught my attention. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a face, young and solemn, watching me from the center of one of the gnarled trunks, but when I turned my head, it was gone.
“Annwyl,” I whispered, knowing we were being watched from every angle. “Dryads are part of the Summer Court, right? How do you get them to talk to you?”
Annwyl gave me a puzzled look, as if the question was ridiculous. “It isn’t difficult,” she replied, perfectly at ease in the center of the tree stand. “You just ask.”
“Politely, if possible,” said a new voice, as a slender, bark-covered figure melted halfway out of the trunk, regarding me with dark, beady eyes. “We’re usually very reasonable, Ethan Chase.”
“Oh, great,” I remarked as two more dryads slipped from the oaks to stare at me. They were very tall, their limbs long and graceful, with hair like the ribbons of Spanish moss hanging from the trees. “You already know who I am.”
“The wind told us you were coming, mortal,” said the dryad who had first spoken. “Years ago, your sister came to the Elder Dryad for help. To rescue you and to save the Nevernever from the Iron King. We will do the same for any of her kin, and we will ask for no price in return.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised. First time for everything, I guess. “That’s...good, then.”
The dyrads continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “We have heard whispers of your plight against the Fading Ones,” the second dryad said. “Rumors circling the wind. Of you, and the Iron Prince, and the shadows creeping ever closer. The wind is full of dark tidings these days.”
I gave a start at the mention of the Iron Prince, and Annwyl gasped.
“Keirran?” I asked, stepping forward. “Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?”
“No.” The dryad shook her head, and a large green beetle buzzed out of her hair, landing on the trunk. “There have been...snatches of where he is, where he’s been,” the faery continued. “Brief glimpses. Then he is simply not there anymore. And not even the wind knows where he has gone.”
Annwyl’s shoulders drooped, and I gave her a reassuring glance. “But he’s out there,” I told her. “He’s still out there, Annwyl. We’ll catch up to him eventually.” She nodded, and I turned back to the dryad. “Speaking of Keirran,” I went on, “we think he might show up at this month’s goblin market. Do you know where it’s being held?”
The dryad inclined her head. “I do,” she replied, and I stifled a sigh of relief. “The goblin market will be where it has always been, on Bourbon Street.”
“Really?” I raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Bourbon Street. The most famous street in New Orleans. I find that a little hard to picture, what with all the tourists and cars and drunk people wandering around. Are you sure that’s where it is?”
“Yes.” The dryad’s expression didn’t change. “The entrance to the market is hidden to mortals, but the Summer girl will be able to get you through. After midnight, go to a place called Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. Enter the building through the door on the left, close your eyes and turn thrice widdershins. Exit through the door on the right, and you will find yourself in the goblin market. Where you go from there is up to you.”
“Sounds easy enough.” I glanced at Annwyl. “You’ll be able to get us through, right?”
She nodded. “Yes. If you can remember how to enter the market for me, I’ll do the rest.”
A sudden wind rattled the branches of the oaks, making the dryads jerk their heads up. Glaring around, I noticed the mist had thickened and was coiling like a blanket of white around the trunks, muffling the rest of the world. The space between the oaks and the faint light filtering through the branches dimmed rapidly, plunging the grove into shadow. I tensed, and the dryads drew back, melting into their trees.
“Hey!” I called, turning to the one who had spoken to me. She was halfway into the trunk now, just her face and one arm showing through the bark, glittering black eyes fixed on me. “Wait a second. You can’t just disappear on us now. What’s going on?”
“They are coming,” the dryad whispered as her arm and shoulder vanished, sucked back into the tree. Now only her face showed through the bark. “Run, Ethan Chase.” And she was gone, leaving me staring at a faceless tree trunk. The mist surrounding us coiled tighter, shutting out the rest of the light.
“Ethan,” Annwyl whispered in a choked voice, gazing wide-eyed at something behind me. I spun...
...and came face-to-face with an eyeless hag, floating at the edge of the mist.
“Are you crazy?” I said, tearing my shirt from her grasp. She gazed back at me, wide-eyed and pleading, and I groaned. “Fine. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but...do you think you can distract them long enough for me to get her away?”
The Summer girl nodded. I sighed, turned to the indistinguishable blot of darkness in the center of the grove and raised my stick. “Right. Rescuing creepy faeries who tried to kill me, again. Why not?”
As I lunged toward the fight, the trees above me groaned. Ancient oak branches swept down, sweeping away dark creatures like a broom, flinging them back. Vines erupted from the ground, coiling around the creatures’ legs and arms, pulling them away. The mass of darkness was peeled aside, and I could see a pile of dirty rags crumpled on the ground.
Darting in, I slammed into a cloud of frigid cold that nearly took my breath away. My skin prickled, and my breath billowed in front of me as I reached down and grabbed a limp, shriveled arm among the pile of rags.
“No!” The arm came to life, bony fingers clamping on to my wrist, startling me. I jerked, failing to free my arm, and looked down. The Oracle’s withered, eyeless face peered up at me from the ground, mouth gaping open. Around us, the shadow beings fought the vines holding them back, slithering through the coils like snakes, their chill coating everything with frost.