The day was warm and breezy; Midge heard comments from passing villagers that it was too warm, but not for her taste. She loved it, felt as if she expanded in it, like that deep, cold part of her that had always been there was fading away. 

She inhaled the passing breeze, and felt with it the soft warning of approaching danger. Her fingertips lifted to toy with the green gemstone dangling at her earlobe; a gift from Rubius that would summon Emory instantly to her side. But she did not call him. Not yet.

Her eyes narrowed and she began to look around the village, biting her lower lip as she surveyed the people who had grown so familiar to her in these past weeks. Sometimes the new relationships she was forming made her feel guilty, as if she'd abandoned Cricket, Flea, and her other grey folk friends. But everything she felt here, in this world, was so much more than it had ever been in the Faewild. She already felt as if she loved Rita and knew her more deeply than she had ever known Cricket, a fae she had worked with for nearly eighty years.

Even the sensation of danger was exciting, a frisson of fear and anticipation shivering up Midge's spine as she let her leg fall into the water and idly began to kick and splash with her toes in the sparkling swimming pool. The soft turquoise began to creep up her leg, filling her with that sensation of growing power.

Randolph and his granddaughter were harvesting vegetables in the little garden outside their cottage. Ulviir was just outside the village, the sounds and smells of her hide-tanning work an unpleasant herald of her activities. Midge perched alone upon the decorative stone at the side of the pool and watched all their quiet and not-so-quiet movement, and wondered at the tingle in her spine, the adrenaline that flexed her fingers.

Rita had decided to go on a walk to check in on one of the older druids who lived outside the village, isolated hermits by choice. She ought to be returning soon. Perhaps she would come with news of danger. Midge glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, there was Rita's tiny furred figure, her hand curled in that of a much taller, cloaked druid of stooped stature. The pair of them made their way slowly but surely up the path through the center of the village.

Midge blinked, rubbing her eyes and squinting harder at the tall figure. There was some sort of shimmer, a haze around the top of the figure, that seemed to almost flicker in the pure sunshine. As soon as she turned her gaze down to Rita, she could see through the haze in her peripheral vision, to the heart of the illusion magic that shrouded the tall, cloaked figure.

It was the Shadowfae.

The Queen's Blade.

The Hand of Chaos.

Her heart raced and she picked her feet up out of the water, smoothing her rustling skirts down about her ankles. Though her body readied to flee or fight, a strange sense of calm washed over her, and she knew the danger had arrived. It was here, and it was holding her Rita's hand.

Midge straightened to her full height and walked across the warm stone edges of the pool, ignoring her sandals where they lay near the steps and ascending to the soft grass, then the dirt road itself. Once she neared Rita and her companion she stopped, smiling in welcome.

"Rita, I've been looking for you. I need to speak with you about something privately, if you don't mind. Right now." She sent Rita an insistent look, stepping back a bit more as the Shadowfae's form stepped forward, and the cloak lifted enough to expose more of the wavering illusion that must have been fooling everyone else. A gentle, elderly woman who smiled benevolently from beneath her green hood.

Midge's eyes, however, found the truth in the hidden form of the Shadowfae. His build was slender, his skin pale and his long mane of black hair fell in slick waves down his back, from a receding hairline that exposed too much of his manically grinning face. Long, knife-like ears rose straight up from the sides of his head, and they were punched with a myriad of rings and studs that lined all the way from stretched earlobes to the pointed tips. His eyes burned bright blue with menacing delight, and he stared right at Midge while his illusion face spoke in a husky woman's voice.

"Now, Midge, dear Rita is going to help me with some aches in my bones. Surely your discussion can wait, newcomer? Unless you would like to join us in Rita's cottage."

"No," she said. She could not allow herself or her friends to be alone with him, not before knowing what he wanted. It seemed inconceivable that he could really be here to kill her, but that was his function in the Queen's court. "It can't wait, I'm afraid. Come, Rita."

Rita glanced between them, looking mystified. "All right, Midge, no problem... Just give me a moment, Dreldar, if you do not mind."

"Ah, but I do." The Shadowfae's real face held a hint of mocking pity in it. His right hand snapped out from his body and swept through the air, a thin line of darkness curling behind his palm before thickening, billowing, and his fingers wrapped around it, plucking a gleaming black dagger from the shadows. The illusion of his form vanished in a moment and Rita cried out in shock, struggling to release her tiny hand from his cruel grip.

Midge could sense his intent even before the knife began to drive down towards Rita's neck, and she cried out, thrusting both hands forward. A tingle zipped up from her toes, through her body and into her fingertips, and a stream of concentrated water blasted forth from her hands, spraying over the Shadowfae's pale features.

He spluttered, releasing Rita and stumbling back, his knife dissipating into harmless shadow before reforming in his hand once more. Snarling, he gritted his teeth and fell into a fighting crouch, his left hand now free to stir through the shadows near his form and draw forth a long, silky-smooth whip, snapping it through the air with a loud crack.

Midge was no fighter, but she knew someone who was. Reaching for her earring, she tugged on it and sent a message to Emory while at the same time raising her voice to reach Ulviir. "Help! Enemies in the village!"

The sound of Ulviir's work halted and Midge darted forward, snatching up the shocked Rita and bundling her back away from that dangerous, shadowy whip. Her eyes darted this way and that, seeking safety, and fell upon the edge of the village, where a thick tangle of thorny brambles seemed to call her name. She began to run, half-dragging, half-pushing the little faun, knowing she could seek safety in the nurturing realm of the island's greenery.

Glancing over her shoulder, Midge winced at the sight of the Shadowfae; his grinning face flickered, moving as if in a blink from one shadow to the next, toying with her, making it clear he could catch her at any time. Midge closed her eyes and willed the island to help, to rise up, but with no focus to her energy, she did not know what to command the power that swam in her veins, that rose up through her bare feet and filled her body.

Then, with a flash of arcane fire, another pale form appeared between Midge and the Shadowfae. It was Emory, wearing only a soft pair of black pants and clutching a long, ornate dagger in each hand. His eyes glinted, terrifying in his tattooed face, and the sun gleamed over the top of his bald scalp. He flinched in the direct sunlight and cast himself to one side, tumbling into the shadows of a nearby house just in time to avoid the sweeping whip of the Shadowfae.

The Shadowfae turned to face the new arrival, his weapons wavering in the light, and a gleaming smile split his face in two. "Ah, Emory... to see your face again... and at such a time as this. Now I see why the Queen chose me."

Emory glanced back at Midge, panting and placing his back against the house. "You won't have Midge." Dropping into a ready stance, he spun his knives in his fingers and waited for the Shadowfae's attack.

Midge noticed in the breathless pause that Emory's pale skin was already pink and burning from his brief stint in the sun. The Shadowfae had the most power in the shadow; Emory needed to be in the sun to have a chance.

The power that hummed within her now found a purchase, an idea in her mind it could bring to fruition, and the same flowing power that created a splash of water now wound its way invisible through the air to lash around Emory's form, settling around him and pulling tight, a protective tether binding him to Midge.

An arrow whined through the air from down the street, the Shadowfae barely flickering back into the shadow next to Emory in time to avoid it, and Midge glanced up to see Ulviir ducking back to nock another arrow to her bow. Good. The more the merrier.

Emory panted, still unwilling to leave the shadow of the house, but with the Shadowfae at his side he raised one dagger and brought it slamming down, straight to the heart of the fae's form. Instead, with another flicker of a thought, the Shadowfae appeared on Emory's other side, and lifted his whip to lash it around Emory's neck.

Gritting his teeth, Emory yanked at his knife where it was embedded in the wall of the house, twisting and tugging until it pulled free, just in time to sweep around and block a deadly strike from the Shadowfae's own dark dagger.

The force of the blow sent Emory stumbling back out into the sun, where he hunched his shoulders and cringed, clearly waiting for the burn. Midge sank deeper into her meditative state, ignoring the panicked noises from Rita at her side, and just concentrated on protecting Emory, on strengthening the web of power that coated his skin.

The burn never came. Emory had no time to do anything but glance up at the sun, astonished, before the Shadowfae leaped toward him, again narrowly avoiding an arrow from Ulviir, and slashed his dagger through the air. Emory was too quick, spinning and sliding out one leg to attempt to trip the Shadowfae.

The creature stumbled, but did not fall, seeming to anticipate such a move and using it to his advantage, clamping one hand down upon Emory's shoulder and sending a rush of shadow up from the sleeve of his dark cloak to wrap around Emory's neck, reinforcing it with the curl of his living shadow-whip, tightening his grip around Emory.

Two more arrows darted in close succession, and the Shadowfae attempted to twist Emory around to block them, but encumbered by Emory's struggling, it was too late. The arrows slammed home between the Shadowfae's shoulder blades and a surprised grunt escaped him, his grip loosening upon Emory just enough.

Vaulting free, Emory spun his blades in his hands and sliced forward, once across the belly, once across the chest, wrists twisting and moving with incredible speed and delicacy. The Shadowfae's dark, formal attire fell away from his skin in tatters, revealing more white skin covered in somehow familiar tattoos, and long, shallow cuts that did not bleed, merely seeped wisps of smoke from the skin.

Panting, Emory pressed his advantage and swept the Shadowfae's legs from beneath him in another practiced kick, slamming the attacker down onto his back and sending the two arrows deeper into his spine.

A choked gurgle emerged from the fae as Emory twisted up both daggers to his neck and pinned his wrist with one foot, causing his fingers to clench and then release, the dark dagger swirling and disappearing into mist.

His bright blue eyes turned up to Emory, and a low cackle emerged from his stretched throat. Air rattled in his lunge, and Midge dared to draw closer in order to catch his words, still keeping herself between the Shadowfae and Rita.

"I'm still glad... I came," he rasped, and his body began to melt around the edges, bleeding into the very earth itself with drips of dark smoke.

Emory stared at him, eyes wide, hands trembling even as they gripped the daggers at the Shadowfae's throat. "It can't be..."

"Don't worry, Emory... You haven't killed me," the Shadowfae snarled, straining up against the daggers, allowing their edges to dig deep into his pale skin. "The Queen... will hear of... this..."

Then the rest of his form melted away, dripping down through the earth, and Midge felt a shudder go through her as the Shadowfae dissipated into her island. She grimaced, watching those blue, burning eyes fade at last.

Emory still remained, nerveless fingers gripping the hilts of his daggers, staring at the space where the Shadowfae had been. Only one word emerged from his lips. "Calum?"