I hate this place, Balsevor says.

I roll my eyes, but I can't say I disagree. There's something off-putting about being underground, earth and tree-roots and solid rock layered above you. It feels like being smothered by heavy blankets. Maybe I've been stuck in a body with a sun dragon for too long, but I much prefer the open sky.

"You shouldn't be here," a hushed voice says. A tall young man steps from the shadows, dressed in courtly garb, gold embroidery glinting in the dimly lit tunnel. The sidhe never seem to belong among the rocks and dirt; they're too shiny, polished. Perhaps they prefer the contrast, gleaming gemstones nestled in a pile of debris. Or maybe they see a beauty in their underground corridors that I simply don't. There's definitely no artistry to these outer caverns. They look like they were dug out by giant moles clawing blindly.

"Cassian," I say, recognizing him. A faerie prince, coming out to greet a human at the edge of Underhill? What have I gotten myself into?

He puts a finger in front of his lips. When he shakes his head, golden locks of hair fall in front of his eyes, and he flicks them back into place with an expert tilt of his head. "Korrigan told of your coming," he whispers. "You won't be welcomed. You must go."

"What sway does Korrigan have over the queen and her court?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Very little, but it's not difficult to turn a flock of fae against a human man."

"Why warn me if I'm walking into a trap? You owe me no debts." I am always suspicious of acts of kindness from a courtly fae. They make it so easy to fall into unpleasant deals and bindings. Led away from one trap and into another.

He smiles, a flash of pointed teeth. "I like you, Wizard," he says. "You wouldn't have survived this long in The Wood if you weren't clever." He pauses. "And maybe I like to see my mother disappointed."

Ask him, Balsevor says. He seems less vile than the rest. Or, better yet, forget this awful notion about glamour and follow his advice. Leave.

"I'd like to make a deal," I say, after a moment of thought.

"I don't want to play games with you, Wizard," Cassian says, rolling his eyes. "I have plenty of that with my own kind."

"I require the power of glamour. I am willing to pay with information or a blood debt to one who would teach me."

Balsevor hisses at that, obviously appalled.

Cassian studies me, eyes narrowed. "Impossible."

"Try me," I say, with confidence I have no right to have. I have no idea if I'm capable of glamour. Humans generally aren't, but I'm not quite human anymore.

"You want a trinket that'll disguise your appearance? Some twinkly bauble to hang around your neck and make you look prettier, or taller, or thinner? I have a few in my jewelry box." Another eyeroll. "But true glamour? I can smell the human in you. Quite…" He sniffs. "Pungent. You might as well try to light fire to the sea."

"If that's what it will take, watch the waves burst into flame," I say, and the feathers along my arms flicker and spark, fluttering in a non-existent wind. I'm getting frustrated with everyone telling me what I can and can't do.

Hmm, doable, but you'd have to- Balsevor starts. He seems to reconsider the usefulness of his input when I let out a low snarl.

Cassian watches me spin on my heel and stalk back the way I came, his head tilted in puzzlement. As soon as I reach the surface, I leap into the air. I leave a trail of smoke across the sky.

I land on my mountain peak with a satisfying thud. Loose stones clatter and the earth rumbles beneath my feet. In the back of my mind I consider Gulver and his tunnels, and hope I haven't caused any cave-ins with my temper-tantrum.

When I walk into my house, a small bird darts in after me and perches on a windowsill. It looks like a swallow, but I eye it suspiciously. There is an unnatural sort of gleam to its blue feathers, and a luminous golden tint to it's tawny underbelly. In Cassian's voice, it says, "Fine. Glamour lessons begin tomorrow at dawn. Meet me in Moonhollow." The bird flaps its wings rapidly and vanishes with nothing but a subtle shift of light.

It's my turn to roll my eyes.

…

Moonhollow is in what used to be the Winter Court's territory, before the war. Before the fae came together to defeat my human ancestors and failed. I can tell I'm nearly there because the rosy pre-dawn glow begins to soften and shift into the shadowy blue hues of twilight. In Moonhollow it is always night. The trees start to thin out, and the narrow birches that remain have a silvery tint to their bark. The silver leaves beneath my feet crunch like I'm stepping on tiny bones.

"Do you hear that?" I ask under my breath.

Hear what? Balsevor says.

"The music. I just want to make sure my subconscious isn't making it up to fit the mood."

Oh, that. I hear it. The dragon chuckles. But I can hear your thoughts, so that doesn't exclude your other theory.

"Fantastic," I say with a wry smile. Going mad would honestly be the least of my worries at this point. I start to hum along with the lilting melody, smiling wider when Balsevor groans in dismay. The music sounds like dozens of inhuman voices singing from far away, accompanied by the bright whistle and gliding thrum of strange instruments. I ignore the way the song pulls at my emotions, fairly adept at handling the effects of faerie charms. Singing along helps, especially if done badly. It adds a bit of humanity to an ethereal enchantment, like a spoke in a wheel.

It might be my imagination, but the melody becomes more frantic as I add my voice in terrible harmony. There is a pained note to it that wasn't there before, a melancholic wail. I wince, but keep humming along cheerfully.

I step through the last of the thin birch trees. The bone-like silver leaves blanketing the ground give way to a rocky beach. No, wait, those aren't rocks. Bones. Of course. Actual bones this time, all shapes and sizes, bathed in the soft light of an ever-present blue moon. In the center of the dell, glowing with reflected light, is a perfectly round pond. The water is still, but shapes of shining turquoise dart beneath the surface. I would say they were simply reflections, shooting stars perhaps, except similar bright forms dance on the shore, clearly humanoid. I can see them only out of the corners of my eyes, a flutter of movement I can't quite focus on.

Cassian sits at the shore of the pond, cross-legged, hands resting lightly on his knees. The blue light of the moon seems to slip off his body, as though repelled by the soft golden glow he emanates. He's like the warm light of a candle on an eerie night. I glance down at my arms, at the flickering fire barely contained beneath my skin. If Cassian's a candle-flame, Balsevor is a bonfire. The thought is weirdly comforting, and I smile. "You picked an odd place for a lesson," I say to the back of the prince's head.

"The moon is a close companion of glamour," the prince says quietly. His eyes are closed, his body still.

"This moon?" I ask, making a face at the celestial form hanging heavy and overly ripe in the starry sky. "The real moon isn't even full right now, let alone out to greet the dawn. This place is clearly illusory."

Cassian gives a short laugh under his breath. "You live in The Wood, Wizard, and you still haven't grasped the thin veil between reality and illusion? I told you this lesson was pointless."

I sigh, folding my legs to sit beside him. Sharp shards of bone poke into my legs, tearing little holes in my trousers. I shift my weight and try to ignore them. "Alright, I'm listening. The moon is tied to glamour."

He opens his eyes and looks at me. For a moment he says nothing, just stares at me the way a hawk stares at its prey. I stare back into inhuman brown eyes, gold-flecked and softly luminous, hoping he can see in mine that I'm no mouse.

"Glamour is not a simple illusion. I'm sure even you can make one thing appear as something else, conjure a familiar sound or smell. That's just an easily-accepted suggestion for a gullible mind. A trick. Glamour comes from something deeper. Fae who have mastered glamour are not easily suggestible, are able to see through surface illusions. You can draw in a flock of pixies with a luring song, fool a faun with an enchantment of beauty, but you don't play those games with a seer or one of the sidhe."

I nod to show I'm following, but he only rolls his eyes. "Humans can't learn glamour, because they believe," he says. "They are ridiculously convinced that their perception is reality, that they are too smart to be wrong. They're so blind it's boring. Before the war, we'd play with them like an infant plays with rock sprites, toss them aside when their fragile little minds cracked and they could no longer dance for our entertainment. Most of the courts kept them as slaves, because we could easily bend their perception and they'd work to death happily, their bodies tortured while their minds were convinced they were living a life of endless bliss. You know this, Wizard." He laughs, but it is joyless, almost sad.

"If they were happy…" I say, but then I grimace. "It doesn't matter. It's in the past. The war is over."

"It does matter," Cassian says. He looks disappointed in my response. "I was young, and did nothing to stop it then, but just because someone is born in chains doesn't mean they deserve to live in them. It is wrong to exploit the weaknesses of others for one's own gain, especially if the reward is something as insignificant as subservience. Our lives are barely altered by the lifetime of a mortal, yet we'd sacrifice theirs for a mere moment of smug enjoyment? We are better than that. The fae are born free from the limitations of your mortal realities. Though we create our own chains, bind our souls to rules and oaths to maintain some form of order, our powerful minds bend and adapt where yours would break. The more we master glamour, the more easily we step between realities. If we're truly superior, we have no business meddling with the lives of mortals, yet we played our games, taunted and poked, laughing at them the way you'd laugh at a beast in a cage. And we could not even defend ourselves when our little toys struck back."

My jaw drops open. I don't know whether to be offended or grateful for this description of events.

"My mother would rather die than admit it, but the rulers of the fae doomed us all with their pride," he says. "Everyone has weaknesses. Our bodies may not wither with time, but they are still vulnerable. Iron sears our skin and boils our blood. Our wings can be torn, our bones broken. Even our minds are nothing when thrown roughly in the river of chaos. It's rather easy to think you're in control, only to swim too deep and get lost in the space between realities. In some ways, I envy humans," Cassian says, sighing. "Their lives are simpler. Their words and actions matter far less. I've always wondered what it must be like to lie, to utter falsehood without consequence. The fae cling to the word of truth like a log in the roaring current, while humans have built a dam of their stubborn belief. They can say whatever they please, and their ignorance keeps them on solid ground. Boring, but safe."

I tilt my head, thinking.

Cassian grins.

"I'm sorry," I say, "you lost me. I'm actually not sure-"

Cassian waves his hand. "Forget it. I'll begin the lesson again."

Fae, Balsevor says, with a noise of disgust. The arrogance. All magic - all life - is born of chaos. Their pretty mind games are not special. I'd like to see them 'step between realities' when faced with the burning fires of my home world. They are stuck within their limited form of existence just like everyone else. Only death truly frees any of us.

I blink. "Are you saying that glamour is…" I take a deep breath. "Dismissing perceived reality in favor of… a river of chaos."

"It's…" He chuckles. "Well, that is what I said, I suppose. Metaphor can get the better of me sometimes. I do not lie, but I do tend to wax poetic."

"Faeries, always tying the truth in cryptic knots. Looking for loopholes in their own rules." I smirk. "Don't worry, I'm used to it."

"Let me try to simplify," Cassian says, grimacing. "The way I think of it, the river of chaos is always there, flowing in and around everything that is, and we… living creatures, humans included - can control that force to varying degrees, and in various different ways. Everything except the chaos is, in a sense, an illusion. Glamour is using our minds, our force of will, to replace one illusion with another."

Balsevor lets out a short burst of laughter. He sounds surprised by Cassian's description. That is the first thing he's said that actually makes sense!

"And the reason you're so convinced humans can't do such a thing is because we're naturally…" I pause.

"Obstinate," he says.

"Stupid," I finish, at the same time.

He laughs, and I can't help a smile.

I'd like to point out that you're ALL idiots, Balsevor says. Sometimes I wish I could embrace the burning power of chaos and burst out of your weak, fleshy form. I don't belong in this pathetic place! I am of the SUN! His voice rises in volume as he exclaims this, echoing against my skull. I wince. He coughs softly, as though clearing his throat. Sorry.

I sigh. "So the moon. This place. You brought me here for this lesson because it is easier to comprehend the illusory nature of my surroundings when it's already so…" I glance around me. "Obvious?"

"Huh." Cassian frowns. "Yes, I suppose. But glamour isn't, primarily, about your surroundings. It's about your identity. You must come to the realization that who you are is illusory. The reason we fae are so protective of our true name is that it is locked to our true identity. It is as much a life line as it is a trap, for we become no one… in order to become anyone."

"So glamour is purposefully letting go of your sense of self in order to control it. You alter reality by rejecting its existence." I laugh. "No wonder so many fae have lost their minds."

Cassian looks startled by my laughter, but after a moment I see his lips twitch upwards. "Yes. That's it. Your way of putting things into words is really…"

"Succinct?" I suggest.

"Human." He chuckles. "But… in a good way. You surprise me, Wizard," he says.

"Owlodin," I say, grinning.

"Owlodin," he repeats. He smiles back at me, showing a row of sharply pointed teeth. For the first time, the expression doesn't look sarcastic.