Someone is shaking me, but sleep still clings to my body, holding me fast. I groan, rolling away from the disruptive hands on my shoulders and sinking back into my dreams.

"Sindred! Wake up." Aisling jerks me more sharply this time. "It's him! Sin, it's definitely him. Get up!"

I blink groggily up at her in the dimly lit room. "Wha-? Where…?"

I'm in a strange bed with a lumpy mattress and very rough sheets. I don't remember falling asleep in this sparsely furnished room, and realize with an ache of embarrassment that Aisling must have tucked me into bed after I passed out in the back room of the tavern, lulled by the warm, heavy fog that was the gift of mead. I find out now just how terrible the price of such a gift is, as I try to sit up and my head explodes with sharp pain.

"Come on, kid," Aisling says, giving me a pitying smile. "You gotta get back to the palace. Aurelius is waiting right outside. Come on, up!"

It's before dawn, I notice. Outside of the small bedroom window I can see the sky starting to lighten into a deep gray-blue above the city rooftops. I keep one hand pressed firmly into my pounding skull as I follow Aisling out of the room.

"I can't believe it's actually him, Sin!" she says excitedly, but I'm still too dazed to form a response.

She gives me a hunk of bread to eat, and I nibble at it gratefully as we go down two narrow flights of stairs and end up back in the empty meeting room. There are four large, unstoppered clay jugs on the round table along with our two small cups. No wonder my head hurts with such fury.

The main room of the tavern is also mostly uninhabited at this hour. A few slumped forms are sleeping in corners or bent forward in their chairs. I hear sporadic, grumbling snores. From here, I know the way out back out of the tavern.

"I can't go with you," Aisling says. "Too much to do here. Aurelius will fill you in on what you've missed, and I'll stop by with a new report as soon as I can."

I nod, words continuing to evade me.

"Oh, and, kid? Sneak into the apothecary and make yourself one of Ezebel's green drinks. Extra goblin root. That's the best trick for this kind of thing."

"Thanks," I say, my voice coming out a husky whisper.

She smiles and waves to me as I carefully make my way down another dark flight of stairs, feeling oafish and clumsy from the swirling headache and lingering heaviness of sleep.

Aurelius is standing in the alleyway, leaning awkwardly against the damp stone wall. He jumps into an upright posture as I step outside, straightening his coat.

"Sindred! Good. We can go," he says, a note of impatience in his tone.

"You have news?" I ask, trying not to show any signs of my current state. The wind is bitingly cold, and I savor the rush of clarity it provides.

He gestures for me to follow him. "I'll explain, but come. We must be cautious. There are Ironborn patrols all over the city."

"What?" A jolt of fear runs through me, and my entire body tenses. "Who are they looking for?"

"Someone broke into the queen's chambers. Aisling told me you'd know who it likely was. The Ironborn are searching for the trespasser." Aurelius gives me a pained look. "They claim it was a faerie assassin."

"Faerie?" I ask, my voice suddenly tiny and high-pitched.

"We must be vigilant, but we have to hurry. The king needs us."

We keep to the darker alleys, winding our way through the city towards the kitchen gates of the palace. I glance up at the sky periodically, looking for the glint of the Ironborn's gold plated armor as they fly by.

When we have to cross a wide street without much cover, Aurelius puts out an arm to stop me. "Wait," he says. "I hear something."

A woman walks into view carrying a large basket of freshly baked rolls. She is humming a jaunty tune under her breath. Her iron bracelets jangle against each other as she bounces along.

I sigh with relief, and as soon as she is out of earshot we dart across the cobbled road.

"Who is the target that Aisling is tracking? The intruder," Aurelius asks me, growing bolder as we reach the more familiar area close to the palace walls. "She seemed… excited. I don't understand."

I jog up behind him, my body protesting every small movement, my head in thunderous agony. I start to answer his question, then stop myself. If the prince is truly back in Ylvemore, and is now on the run from Rogemere and his wizards, any information we have must be protected at all costs. We don't know what his intentions are, or the extent of his power. Under the control of the wrong people, his very existence could put us all in danger. That means the fewer who know, the better.

"Aisling's suspicions are unconfirmed," I say. "But if she's right, we'll all know soon enough."

Aurelius narrows his eyes, pondering my vague answer. I know him well enough to know he won't press further. He's always preferred safety over knowledge, learning only what he has to for Ezebel's assignments, and otherwise keeping his head down. After a moment of consideration, he simply nods, and we continue on our way.

The guards at the kitchen gate know us both, and let us in without question. Dressed as royal servants and moving about palace grounds, we have no reason to draw suspicion here, but my eyes still scan the early morning sky nervously as we cross the open space between the palace walls and the side entrance.

The kitchen is already bustling with activity at this hour. The smell of sweet custard setting on the counter and meat slow-roasting in the oven overwhelms my senses as soon as we walk inside. But instead of making me hungry, my stomach churns with nausea. It's so stiflingly warm in here. I lean on the wall just inside the door, tucking my head down, as the room spins around me.

"Sin?" Bianca notices me from her station and rushes over, stepping in front of Aurelius. "Are you alright, Sweet? What happened? You look dreadful."

Bianca puts her hands on either side of my face, and I squint up at her for a moment before squeezing my eyes back shut. I feel too sick to truly appreciate my friend's concern, or wonder whether beneath her sympathetic frown she is still mad at me. "I'm just… I had a bit too much mead," I mumble.

She pulls away, and I open my eyes to see a smile growing on her face. She starts to giggle. "Sweetling!" she says, chortling. "You went out! Oh, I wish you'd taken me with you! But I'm so glad…" She trails off, laughing even harder as I open my eyes to glare at her.

"Sindred," Aurelius interrupts, his voice stiff. "The king."

I push myself up and take a slow breath in, holding it for a moment before I exhale. "Let's go," I say.

Bianca steps out of the way, sensing the urgency of the situation, and I give her a strained smile before following Aurelius through the crowded kitchen and down winding palace corridors to the queen's chambers. The whole time, I have to concentrate on keeping down the contents of my stomach.

When we arrive, the first thing I notice is the cold. The fire has died down to embers on the hearth. Wind whistles through the room. One of the windows has been smashed open, tiny shards of multicolored glass blanketing the floor. Did the prince do this? Images of that small, flaming form exploding from the tower flash through my head. Why shatter the window when right next to it there's a door? That's something a beast would do, not a human.

The only person in the room with us is the king. His royal highness has thrown himself across his wife's bed face first, and every so often lifts his arm to punch the mattress beside him. As we get closer I hear him sobbing intermittently.

Lady Katalyn is gone.

My heart sinks as I stare at the indent in the soft pillow where the queen's head used to be nestled. Aurelius seems just as stunned by her absence. She can't be dead. No.

"Your highness," I say, leaning down to try and meet the king's eyes. "What happened?"

"Kat…" the man blubbers. "My beautiful Katalyn."

"Please, your highness," I say, wincing, "tell us what happened."

"They've taken her away," he says, and I let out a breath of relief that the queen is still alive. The king lifts his gaze to stare longingly at her vacant pillow. He continues to babble absently, as though speaking to himself. "They have to protect her. It isn't safe. We're all in danger. The kingdom… I failed. I failed them all." He buries his head back into the blankets, weeping.

"You have to help him," Aurelius says, his voice a cautious whisper so the king won't overhear. "The way you did before. He's not himself." I notice that the normally poised man is wringing his hands and shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"I can't." My voice comes out a thin whine. I remember how drained and wobbly I'd been after using my power to soothe the king before. I don't have it in me, now. I'm too weak. My head pounds, my body feels weighted. It's all I can do not to vomit.

"Try," Aurelius pleads. I notice the fear in his voice, and I realize it isn't just concern for the king's health and dignity that made Aurelius seek me out in the city this morning. He's scared. Without Ezebel's protection, all he has is his good standing as the king's manservant. He needs this grieving mess of a man to be the strong, commanding monarch he once was. He needs someone steadfast to give the orders. Aurelius is lost without a master. Part of me feels the same, so I don't blame him.

Or maybe I do. Aurelius was once my teacher, a mentor. Now he's relying on my power to fix the broken man who is meant to be our ruler. For what? The king owes us nothing. He might call me "little lass," but I'm no one to him, and Aurelius is just the man who cleans his shoes. I feel that wave of frustration and disappointment that emerged when I confronted Ezebel rising in me again. In the end, I never mattered to The White Witch, even though all I ever wanted was her love. The ones who were supposed to lead us, protect us, turned out to be the weakest ones of all. We placed our trust in them, and they made fools of us.

Aurelius is still staring at me, begging with his eyes. The king seems barely aware of our presence at all.

"Fine," I say.

Aurelius looks relieved.

"On one condition," I add, grimacing. "Go to the apothecary and make me Ezebel's green drink, extra goblin root. Can you do that?"

Aurelius hesitates for a moment. Then he nods. "I'll do my best," he says.

When he's gone, I turn and put both hands on the edge of the bed, beside the king. I lean my head down between my arms. Come on, I say to myself. You can do this.

The king raises his head to look at me. His eyes widen. "Little lass," he says, his voice hoarse, "you look terrible. Are you ill, too?"

"No, your highness," I assure him, "I just had a bit too much to drink. I'm fine." I imagine my already pale skin has a grayish cast, if not outright green, and the dark circles beneath my eyes must be absolutely haunting.

"Be careful," he says to me, voice quiet and desperate. "There are traitors amongst us. Faeries. They poisoned my wife." His eyes well up with tears, but beneath his bushy beard I see his face twist into a sneer of disgust. "The kingdom is infected with demons, right before my eyes, and I didn't see them. I didn't protect her. You can't trust anyone. Do you hear me? No one."

Was the queen truly poisoned by the fae? Were the Ironborn able to trace her mysterious symptoms back to otherwordly magics? Or is this just another act of war against the faerie folk? Whether there is evidence or not, the king has been convinced by the Ironborn that fae are to blame for his wife's sickness. They will hunt us down with renewed fervor, starting with those like me, Aurelius, Aisling. Faerie-touched. Human born, but not human enough. Imposters.

I know the king's warning should terrify me, chill me to the core. Yet somehow, when my tired, woozy mind finally processes everything I'm hearing, it strikes me as unbelievably funny. The king looks straight at me and doesn't see that the demon he's so afraid of is the sickly-looking girl right in front of him. I'm barely able to suppress a manic laugh. Does this foolish, gullible man truly have the right to rule this kingdom?

Maybe, with a little push, maybe I can help him be the king I once believed him to be. I close my eyes and concentrate. The crashing waves of anger that were building in me settle into a tranquil pool, hidden currents swirling beneath the surface. I try to summon the unearned confidence of a man born knowing he'd one day be a king. I conjure up echoes of that loud, booming voice not used to being questioned. I dive down, down into those waters within… until I feel calm, sure. Determined.

But when I try to push the feeling out, give it like a gift to the grief-stricken king, my aching body screams in protest. Knives of pain slice through me and my stomach heaves. My forehead grows damp with sweat, strands of hair sticking to my downturned face. Gritting my teeth, I retreat back into the cool darkness, shifting my focus to my breath. In, out…

The sharpness of the headache eases as I drift down along the currents of magic flowing inside of me. I become oddly detached from my physical body, and a small part of me hates that, wants to struggle back to the surface and regain some feeling of control. But if I surrender, I don't feel any pain. So I float deeper.

I don't know how long I'm in that state. I don't hear the king, don't know if he's pulled himself together or if he still dwells in sobbing misery. Perhaps it's only been a few minutes, and Aurelius is on his way back from the apothecary. But for all I know, it's been hours. I feel so far away from the queen's chambers and my small, hunched body. Yet I can still sense it, tethered to me like a leash. Mortal. Drained. Weak, like Ezebel, giving up when faced with her own failure. Like the king, huddled in the bed beside me. Like the Ironborn, kneeling in their circles and chanting incantations. Bound by bothersome limitations.

But I don't have to be. No matter how insurmountable the odds may seem, I'm going to keep fighting. Not for them, but for me. For the scared little girl inside of me who has been waiting for her parents, for anyone, to swoop in and rescue her all these years. Because it's clear, now, no one is coming.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I let my awareness drift back to my physical form. I wiggle my fingers, lift my chin, stretch my neck. Somehow, nothing hurts. I inhale deeply and open my eyes. The world looks clearer, colors more vivid. My body seems to hum with energy.

The king is sitting, squinting at me like I'm shining too brightly to look at. I notice the glow emanating from my being and I smile.

"Your highness," I say, placing a hand on his shoulder, "it's time to get up. Your people need you." As I touch him, white light flows from me and seeps into him, until he, too, is glowing. He gasps, and his breath emerges a luminous mist.

The door slams open, and I spin around to see Aurelius shoved roughly through the opening. Rogemere steps into the room after him, iron links clinking as his robes flap in the wind.

"My king!" the high priest says, voice booming across the room. He spreads his arms wide, staff held aloft in one hand. "You will be glad to hear the traitor has been discovered and is in captivity!"

The king pushes himself to his feet. He no longer shines with light, but his skin does have a blush of healthy color, and he stands with a strength I haven't seen in him for weeks. "Explain," he says, gesturing to Aurelius sprawled prone on the floor before him. His voice is gruff and commanding. "Why is my manservant being treated like some animal?"

"Because he is, sire!" Rogemere smiles widely. "See?" The wizard reaches down and brushes his long, iron-covered sleeve against Aurelius' cheek. Aurelius doesn't cry out, but he flinches as his bare skin sizzles and burns.

Despite my quiet hiss of sympathy, Rogemere has yet to notice the pale ghost who stands behind the king.

"That is enough," the king says, clearly appalled by what he's seeing.

Rogemere steps away with a smirk. "You see, my lord? He is in league with the witch who poisoned your beloved queen. One of her many… vermin."

I can't look away from the terror in Aurelius' eyes, the searing red blister forming across his face. I will not leave him to die beneath Rogemere's feet. I will not simply watch and do nothing.

A sense of certainty flows through me. Time still seems to be moving differently. As far as Rogemere is concerned, I'm just a strange flicker of light you only see out of the corner of your eye. Hard to focus on, even harder to explain. Maybe if this mighty high priest was not so dismissive of superstitious druid-lore, like Bastian's secret charm of four-leaf-clovers, inspired by tales told by an old grandmother, Rogemere might have a chance of seeing, remembering. But he is vain, and has spent a lifetime underestimating little wisps like me.

To Rogemere and the king, it must feel as though they look away from the pitiful creature disguising itself as a servant for but a moment, exchange a aggressive glance so the other does not forget who has authority, stare briefly into the distance while deliberating on the proper way to execute the faerie vermin. I wait, time my swooping movements with unearthly precision. When they look back, Aurelius has vanished. My spindly limbs are splayed across his body like a protective web, softly glowing. I whisper into his ear, "When I say, we run."

Somehow I know that even thrumming with newly-tapped-into power, I don't possess enough control to drape a ghostly glamour fully over Aurelius. I wear mine with years of subconscious practice, the deep conviction of my own irrelevance I'm only just learning to shrug out of. I can share a glimmer of my gift with him, but he will not cease to exist in their minds entirely. They will forget to see him only while I concentrate. Maybe the king will be truly convinced of Aurelius' non-existence, but Rogemere will not easily give up the memories of his most recent conquest in the war with faerie. We have to move fast, before the wizard casts some spell to trap or squash the elusive pest he'd just been torturing.

"Your highness, we must-" Rogemere stops. He narrows his eyes and scans the room. "Where is he?" he snaps.

The king looks at the wizard as though he's grown multiple heads. "Where is who?"

Rogemere throws up a hand dismissively and begins to prowl the room, face pulled into an impatient snarl. He strides over to the window and peers menacingly into the gardens outside.

"Now," I say.

We take off like two larks with a falcon on our tails, flying from the room, past lines Ironborn soldiers in shining gold plate. With Rogemere screaming orders right behind us, we make our escape, dashing unseen down palace corridors and cobblestone streets, two ghosts disappearing into the pale morning light.