Kaye floated from unconsciousness to pain. Her back was a forest fire, shifting in intensity from one spot to the next. The pressure on her wrists was gone, replaced by a dull ache that spread through her fingers. She was so exhausted her eyes wouldn’t open. Even her jaw hurt, although she didn’t remember injuring it.

Two low voices echoed around her—a man and woman. They spoke Aledan with a slight accent, but it took her a long time to understand them.

“Do you know her?” The woman asked.

“No. She’s too young,” the man replied.

Over their voices was a muffled roar that must be the blood rushing through Kaye’s head. It sounded like the warrior’s training in summer; the constant clash of spears as the trainees went through their repetitions.

“Does Timin know?” The man.

“He thinks she’s a silkie. I sent him out as soon as I saw her wings.”

A long pause and the roar continued steadily.

“She was bound by the wrists. Look.”

A warm, gentle hand touched Kaye’s wrist and she groaned in pain. It didn’t take long for a cool cloth to touch her forehead and the woman spoke as she would to a frightened child. “It’s okay, dear. No one’s going to hurt you here.”

Kaye’s eyelids cracked open. The blurry face before her was decked in black hair, and the terror of the Obsidians rose with the bile in her stomach. The woman had just enough time to grab an empty bowl before Kaye vomited the foul water she’d drank over the edge of the cot. She heaved until her throat was sore and her stomach empty.

“That’s good,” the woman cooed and pushed Kaye’s hair back. “Get it all out.”

Kaye lay back and closed her eyes. That had taken all her energy.

“Here.” The woman pressed a cup to her lips and wet them. The water was clean and cool, and Kaye opened her eyes again and pushed herself onto a sore elbow to drink. She gulped it down, relishing the feeling, until the woman pulled it gently away. “Not too much or you’ll be sick again.”

Kaye finally glanced at her surroundings. The woman had dark hair and blue eyes—such a strange color that she couldn’t be an Obsidian. She was plump, with a kindness in her energy that Kaye could feel through her pain and exhaustion.

The man stood beyond her. He looked like a Faye-blooded Aledan, but there was a coldness to him that made Kaye uncomfortable.

The room itself was set up much like her tent at home, but the walls had a texture she couldn’t identify until she reached out to touch it. It was hardened mud—tiny pieces flaked off at her touch.

“What’s your name, dear?”

“Kaye.” She swallowed and spoke again, louder.

“I’m Abigail Breen of the Penguin Clan, and this is my husband, Gabe Breen.”

He nodded, but his arms were crossed and his face perfectly blank. It looked like something he’d practiced for a long time.

“Where am I?” Kaye could hardly keep her eyes open. The dull crashing in her ears wouldn’t stop.

“This is Gaerlom,” the woman—Abigail—said. “Our son found you trying to drink ocean water and you passed out.”

Their son. His eyes had been the same color as the toxic water, although they were kinder than the drink.

The man spoke for the first time since she’d opened her eyes. “Where are you from?”

“Fie Eoin.” Kaye didn’t expect them to know it, but his eyes widened before falling back into the studied blankness from before.

“Are you named for your mother?” He asked.

“My mother is Loria Odion.” Above the noise in her ears came the memory of Loria’s cut-off scream and Kaye covered her face. She’d forgotten for a moment.

“Oh dear,” Abigail cooed and fused about Kaye with the cool cloth. “Can you tell us what happened?”

It took some time, but Kaye managed to get a short version of the events out. The Breens were silent for a long moment, but Abigail spoke first.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.” She wiped Kaye’s forehead again with the cloth. “You’re safe now. The Gaerloms think you’re a silkie, and we’ll keep it that way.”

“What’s a silkie?”

“A sacred creature. They wouldn’t dare harm one.”

It made Kaye wonder what they would do to a Faye. Even thinking about her wings hurt. She reached up to untie her cloak, but it was stuck with mud and her fingers were too sore to break it. Abigail undid it for her and helped remove the cloak, which was stuck to Kaye’s wings with dried blood. The pain was horrendous.

Kaye took a deep breath, opened her wings, and gasped at the fresh pain that spread through her. Abigail stepped back, but Gabe didn’t so much as flinch. Kaye had never met anyone who didn’t react at the sight of her wings.

And the sight was truly awful. Large holes had been torn in both wings, and the right flapped over itself halfway up, completely broken. There was nothing she could do to fix it. She lowered them against her back and covered her face to cry.

“Oh, there now, dear. It’s not so bad.” Abigail wiped her hair back with the cloth—it seemed to be the only part of Kaye she wasn’t afraid to touch. “We’ll clean you up and you’ll feel much better in the morning.”

Kaye doubted the morning would stop the fear, or the pain, or the echo of her mother’s last scream. As a priestess it was the same thing she would have said though, so she nodded.

“Do you think you can walk?”

Her legs were sore from the climb, and Kaye was exhausted, but she pushed herself up with help. Abigail placed the cloak back over Kaye’s wings and she whimpered, but the steady weight was comforting. The woman grabbed a few things while Gabe held Kaye’s elbow so she wouldn’t fall, and they stepped out the door.

Kaye froze. There was a forest of dark-haired people outside, and just like in Fie Obsid they looked at her as if she was some strange creature. She began to shake. The only thing keeping her upright was Gabe’s arm shifting to her waist.

“Is that the silkie?” Someone asked.

“What happened to it?”

“Who did this?”

“Is this why they haven’t returned?”

The crowd began talking at once and pressed closer to get a better look.

“Timin,” Abigail said, and the sandy-haired young man with blue eyes stepped out from the front of the group. He stared at Kaye, but was silent. “Come with us. I need to help her wash, and you and your father will need to keep them away.”

The little group walked into the forest as Timin subdued the crowd with promises that they would be able to speak to the silkie later. Gabe turned his back on the river as Kaye eased herself into the water. It was cold and the current pulled on the broken flap, making her nauseous.

Abigail cleaned Kaye’s clothes and helped wash the mud from her hair. When they emerged from the water she frowned. “You’re bleeding again.”

The current had torn the broken wing further and it hung by a small flap of tissue. Thin rivulets of red ran down the translucent wing and dripped steadily on the ground.

“We’ll bandage it when we return,” Abigail said and held out an oversized dress that would fit over Kaye’s wings.

“Do you have mother’s heart? Or burnet?”

“The latter, yes.”

“Poplar?”

“Some. And willow bark when that runs out.”

Kaye shifted the shoulders of the dress, but no matter how she adjusted it the pain continued. Abigail held her dripping clothes and they followed Gabe back to the village. Before they could get inside the crowd pressed in again.

“Who did this to you?”

“Why haven’t the silkies returned?”

“Are you really a silkie?”

“What if she’s Faye?”

Kaye’s heart pounded. “Stop!” To her surprise every single person in the crowd hushed and looked at her expectantly. She’d had a small amount of power as an apprentice priestess, but never before had she quieted a mob with a single word. That was something only the High Priestess could do.

“Please,” she said, and the crowd strained to hear her. “I need to rest and bandage my wounds. I’ll answer your questions soon.”

The crowd began to speak all at once again and Gabe hurried her into the hut. Kaye sat on the cot and clasped her hands together to keep from shaking. This place was barely safer than Fie Obsid.

Abigail put a hand over hers. “Forgive them, dear. They’re excited. They won’t hurt you.”

Kaye nodded and watched Abigail build the fire and put water on to boil. She dug poplar and burnet from a basket and made a cup of tea to ease the pain and bleeding. Kaye accepted it gratefully.

When the tea started to take effect, Gabe went outside to make sure no one entered the tent and Abigail put a strong smelling ointment on Kaye’s wrists, hands, and wings. The pain wasn’t as intense as before, but tears rolled down her face nonetheless. Abigail bound the wings and retrieved a second oversized dress for Kaye. They pulled it gently over her wings and Abigail poured more tea.

“Thank you,” Kaye said softly. Her body hurt less than before, but her heart was shattered, and she wanted only to sleep and wake in Fie Eoin with Kindra next to her.

“You should eat,” Abigail said and grabbed something that smelled strongly of smoke and the foul water in the river. Kaye’s stomach turned despite the fact she hadn’t had anything substantial in days.

“No thank you. I’m too tired to eat.”

“You must have something. It will help you feel better.”

Kaye eyed the ‘food’—she knew eating something would make her feel better, but not that. “Do you have venison?”

Abigail frowned. “Deer rarely travel this close to the coast. I may have rabbit, but we mostly eat what comes from the ocean.”

“Is that what you call the big river?”

Abigail dug around in the stores of food and found a strip of jerky that Kaye hoped didn’t come from the ocean river.

“It’s not a river,” the older woman explained as she handed over the jerky. “It’s more like a very large lake. It goes on forever, and large creatures inhabit it.”

Kaye sniffed the jerky, but it smelled normal. She took a small bite and was pleased to find it was indeed rabbit. She ate in silence as she listened to Abigail talk about whales, sharks and dolphins. By the time Kaye was finished the tea had done its work and she fell into a dreamless sleep.