'And may you need never to banish misfortuneMay you find kindness in all that you meet'

Sleepsong - Secret Garden

AUTHOR NOTE: Super quick. SO sorry for the delay but this chapter ended up being soooo big, and I could have cut it up, but I just liked the flow. Forgive me? More words to read though, right? And ... more Naisi.

Huge thank you to everyone  reading and commenting. You guys are awesome. You've no idea how thrilling it is to get this reception for an original work. I am so grateful.

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"Does your land not have laces?"

I glare over my shoulder at Ardan, his lips pursing in a pitiful attempt at disguising his glee. These clothes are ... complicated. Layers and ties and buckles. I'm presently locked in a battle of wills with a suede jacket that laces at the sides, and those laces are besting me.

"Yes," I snap and let out loud curse when I lose the loop of thin fabric. "But, this is excessive. Don't you people have dresses, or something? A pullover at least?"

"Dresses in the wilds? Yes, that sounds entirely appropriate." He sniggers and stretches out of his pose which has been languishing in utter boredom up against the centre pole. Apparently I take too long to dress, and after a gruelling few minutes he entered the tent—on my permission—concerned I'd been swallowed alive by the fabric. "May I assist?"

"No." I snort and shrink back a little from his approach. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"Clara, I am the captain of our armies and a decorated warrior, not some ill-reared youth who can't control himself. I believe I've enough wit to tie up a jerkin. You'd not be the first lady I've helped."

Cocky Fae-ish man. Fair point. These aren't pretty clothes. These are fighting garb, sturdy and probably the only thing spare around this camp.

"It's at a weird angle." I moan. "And, my side still hurts."

"Here," he says with only the slightest ghost of an amused smirk. I relent and let him fix my clothing with little more than a hesitant sidelong glance as permission. "It's too small," he tells me when his fingers dig into the botched lace-up and gives it some leverage. "The females in our clans would not be as ... proportioned."

"Are you calling me fat?" I twist away, mouth agape.

"Not fat." He raises an eyebrow. "Well-proportioned ... or, is it endowed?"

Something like a strangled gasp leaves me and I snap my mouth shut. Heat prickles along my neck and chest. "Good god, I assumed you folk to be blindly arrogant, but the rudeness is staggering."

"Sounded more like a compliment in my head." He shrugs, utterly unconcerned, and finishes tying up the suede jacket. "I have a friend of a friend that works in the palaces, she can furnish you with better fitting clothes, but for the meantime you'll have to make do."

"I don't know what is more shocking. That you have a friend, or that you think making statements about a lady's bust size is appropriate?" I take a full step back and cross my arms about my chest to prove a valid point. I do notice the smug lowering of his eyes. I clear my throat and that gaze snaps straight back up. "Hilarious. Honestly, I can barely contain my laughter."

He actually laughs, leans forward and scoops up a dark brown cape from the bed and throws it at me. "She's walking, and talking back, gods above it's a miracle. They should hire me as a healer. I've missed my calling."

Every part of me wants to hit back with a response but on quick reflection, Ardan's borderline offensive banter has kept me alert these past few hours. And, that's when the similarity seems obvious. Naisi goaded me, roared in my head, fought and threatened me to keep my senses alert. To keep my focus and drive back the panic, because it's there. The little niggle that if left alone I might just fall apart. I'd been ready too in Ardan's tent. I'd been ready to curl into a ball and never open eyes again when I fell in the camp. As much as I loathe their behaviour, it's a fighter's talk. It's not the time for softness yet. There's a mission at hand, and a boy to find.

"You need help putting that on too?" Ardan remarks and my brief pause. I shake my head and toss the cape around my shoulders. "Good. It's an hour or so before dawn. We've a trickle of light. Can you ride?"

"A horse?" It's my turn to smirk, and he rolls his eyes, but I don't miss the mirth there.

"No. An elk." Is his deadpan reply. "Horses are for valley folk. More refined. They can't handle it a little rough." He outstretches his hand and that smile turns almost feral. "The wild frightens them."

"Duly noted." I take his hand and raise both my brows. "Frankly, I'm not schooled in either, I didn't have need for it. I've more advanced methods."

He laughs, ducking his chin and pulling me toward the door. "Well, maybe you can share those advanced methods with me someday."

"Wouldn't you be so lucky." I snort and hobble to keep up with him. He slows the pace and I note his concerned glance at my foot, which is now well bandaged and snugly wrapped in woolly socks and protected by sturdy leather boots. It still hurts. Every step causing a sharp pain all the way to my hip.

"You'll ride with me then," his voice losses it's teasing edge. "We don't have time to mess around. I want Oisín safely within this camp by noon, so we can make for home. The wilds are too dark, and too dangerous to be freely roaming."

I don't argue with him, I've no cause to, but there is a sense of dread. I'm assuming once Oisín is found I'll be carted back to their home. That brings with it a tidal wave of questions, and that looming deadline of silence. At some point I'm going have to face up to things. I died, but lived, and apparently alive as some kind of Fae supernatural entity. Something ancient, and something clearly not liked by the majority. Things are complicated, and they're about to get way more difficult if I can't get this Ardan to give me answers.

The camp isn't awake. Only a handful of other warriors stand guard. We pass them without so much as acknowledgement, though they do stand to command for their captain, but he waves them off to return to their duties. Or, to mind their own business. At the fringe of the camp one of those majestic creatures stands, fully tacked, and ready to rock. A younger looking warrior hands off the creature to Ardan. They share a brief nod and he returns to the camp without a word. No one challenges him.

Ardan helps me up onto the beast and he slides in behind me. One strong arm sliding around my waist and the other taking reins to guide his mount. Mercifully, he doesn't let the animal charge off, just a gentle a trot, and it's about as much as I can manage without shrieking in panic. Although, I do sit rigid trying my best to use my legs to stay on the elk.

"Relax," Ardan says, tapping my side with his finger. "You'll make him skittish."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I hiss from behind gritted teeth. "It's not like I regularly ride extinct animals through an entirely made up place."

"See that's your problem," Ardan replies and I swear he urges the animal on a little faster. "You humans forget the world we made, the gifts my people shared with yours. I suppose it's not your fault. Your lives are so fleeting."

"Yes, so fleeting that we thankfully forgot our supernatural overlords."

That comment earns a jerk of the reins that has the animal jumping over a raised root. The yelp I give is embarrassing and it amuses Ardan to no end. Once he stops sniggering, and I rectify my balance, regrettably with help from his steadying arm, I twist my head to peek over my shoulder.

"Your men don't question you." I lower my eyes, being careful of the words I pick. "We walked right out of that camp. No one questioned me, or my existence. Will that change after this?"

"You mean; do I hold sway enough to keep you safe outside of my own legion?" Ardan waits for me to confirm the question with a nod. He breathes in and the sudden tense pose of his shoulders makes me nervous about his answer. "I have sway enough, at least with the common folk, and few lords who still remember their king. You won't ever be safe, Clara. I will not make you promises I can't keep."

"That's fair," I say, swallow, and turn my head to face the forest. "You don't owe me anything."

"I owe you a great deal," he answers, voice quiet. "Even more if you deliver Oisín safely. I won't forget the kindness, neither will my legion." He pauses for a moment and then adds. "Nor Naisi, I'd wager."

"Don't talk about him." I scowl into the greyscale of the forest, the paling of the sky muting the colours and leaving a drowsy, forgotten feel to the landscape.

"You're right, he's probably listening." Ardan tsks. "Do you hear that, old friend?" He calls into the wild. "It's rude to eavesdrop. You might hear things you don't like."

"Is he listening?" I stiffen at the thought, making doubly sure to clear my mind and conjure up all those murderous thoughts I'm saving specifically for him.

Ardan shrugs. "Like I said, if he is he might not like what he hears."

"Hmm." I lift my chin and scour the forest in front. There is plenty of shadows, any one of them might be him. "So what exactly is his story? Why did he abandon his son? Abandon you all?"

"Oh, he really pissed you off, didn't he?" Ardan gives a throaty chuckle. "I'm not bothering to ask for forgiveness," he calls into the nothingness. "You wanted her alive."

I tense at the insinuation and also because this Fae male is talking to thin air, or potentially a crazed ghost. It's even more alarming that I'm worried that ghost is listening.

"First off," Ardan says, in a smooth tone, utterly casual. "He abandoned no one. There is a strict and ancient law regarding the fitness of rulers in our world. He no longer meets that law."

"What law?"

"A ruler of the people cannot be marred in any way, either physically or mentally," Ardan continues, though I detect a roughness in his answer. "As you can clearly tell, Naisi is both."

"A ruler can't be ... blind?" I crane around in the saddle, eyebrows halfway up my head to the point it hurts. "Are you kidding? That's...that's... the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. It's barbaric. Backward. So, what? You just toss him out? In the streets?"

"No, that was his choice," Ardan replies and glares at the trees. "And, not that I'm questioning your sanity, but Clara, blindness is probably the least of his issues."

My neck hurts from craning so far around, but I'm determined to keep an infuriated scowl aimed straight at the captain. "Oh, so, a few scars and suddenly we aren't pretty enough for the throne? Gods, no wonder his mental state is messed up. You people are cruel."

"A few scars?" It's Ardan's turn to raise his brows. "You must have a strong constitution because the sight of my dearest friend, when we finally retrieved him from the enemy, it nearly broke me. He was barely recognisable."

"Alright." I sigh, learning forward again and shaking my head. "That was insensitive. I saw him. But ... it's just skin. Wouldn't any of you learn accept that?"

"Of course." Ardan stops the elk, and grips my shoulder to peel me around again. His gaze glistens, and his face appears pale—or, paler—I'd swear he's more luminous than me. "There's no question. With me, and his people, he'd always have a home, but I don't control the ancient laws. And, a displaced prince is a target within their own realm—surely even humans understand that?"

"I do," I reply with a solemn nod. I can imagine that there would always be a cut throat line for a throne. "So he left his innocent child defenceless against anyone who might try and claim that throne?"

"You don't miss a beat, do you?" Ardan chuckles and shakes his head. "No, Clara, I can promise you Naisi never left that boy on purpose. I'd wager it's one of things that drives him mad, and the one thing that keeps him tethered to this world. There's another story." He pauses to look back and blows out a sigh. The vapours of his breath swirling in the cool dawn air. "I don't know if it is truly my story to tell. It's his. It hurts me even to recall, and I can only imagine that it tortures him."

"Then I don't need to know," I reply and turn away from the captain to stare into the forest, again. "If you say he has a reason, then he has a reason, but I don't believe there's any reason good enough to abandon your child."

"You won't drop the abandoned narrative then?" He says and starts to urge to elk on. "Despite my plea."

"No." I shake my head. "That child is in a life-threatening position looking for his father. If Naisi can hear me then maybe he might consider the stakes."

"Maybe he will." Ardan urges the elk on a little faster, so much so that I fist the fur of it's neck and try with every muscle to keep upright. Ardan doesn't seem all that concerned and carries on despite my difficulties. "However, there are greater stakes. Did you ever stop to consider that being in the child's life might put him at even higher risk?"

Damnit. I didn't think if that. "Okay, touché, but did anyone ask Oisín?"

Silence. Ah, I might have struck a nerve.

"There is a greater evil at work in this world, not seen since the ancient days, and Naisi got a little too ... involved with it." Ardan says instead. "It was because of that closeness that he unravelled the deception before any of the other powerful and enlightened lords. But, by the time he'd enough proof it was too late. We fought alone, and because he knew our enemy intimately he attempted to reason, except there's no reasoning with madness."

"And, what's this got to do with Oisín?" There's a queasy flutter in my gut that makes me think I already know the answer.

"Because that enemy is his mother." Ardan spits and a sound that I might construe as a growl escapes him. "Though a mother is too generous of a title for that witch. She gave him life, not for any purpose but to create a deadly weapon. She deduced that Naisi's seed would create a better experiment. There was no love in her. When he realised the extent of her deception, the extent of her warped plans, he took the boy not long after his birth and brought him home. To us. To his people. He lay claim to his son. Our King recognised him as heir. Naisi and his father put everything in place to protect that boy. She could not take him, if she did, she'd ignite a war that would end both our clans."

For the longest moment I sit in silence. My mind churns over what fragments of memories I have of Naisi from that meeting. Suddenly his threats make a little sense. Keeping me in the dark, scaring me off, but weighing up my intentions with Oisín ... I mean for all he knows I'm an agent of his crazy ex. Although, that still doesn't get him off the hook entirely. His well laid plans just led his little son out into the wild where anyone might take him.

"I assume Naisi paid for his insolence?" I ask, because if she can't have her war she can at least hurt a kingdom. "I assume she mightn't have been able to touch Oisín, but she could touch his guardians."

"Very perceptive, Clara," he says like he's actually impressed. Rude. "Yes, in a way, but there is more to her deception that goes beyond a personal vendetta. She evoked a dark magic, and times have become dangerous. The sacrifices of both our King and Naisi have subdued the evil, but I fear only for a short time. That is why an ever-light showing up when she did, is a little more than coincidence. And, why you, Clara, are not safe."

"You think I've something to do with this?" I balk, a cold sweat gathering at my neck and temples. A familiar ache starts in the back of my head and my stomach churns. The old man by the tree. The car. The water. I shut my eyes and draw in a gasp of air. "I'm no one Ardan. I've literally no skills. I'm just a human woman."

"Sshh." He clamps a hand around my mouth, drawing his mount to a stop. "You do not speak of any that. You do not know who listens. Besides, what you were is immaterial. It's what you may yet be that is the question."

He drops his hand and swiftly dismounts, helping me off the beast with a serious frown etched into that perfect alabaster skin. I can't keep his gaze. I don't know what to say, though evidently I can't say anything. All I'm certain of is the brewing panic in the depths of my mind that's getting louder by the minute. What happened to me?

"We're at the glade."

Ardan interrupt my swimming thoughts to point out the obvious, and the fact that in my inner crisis I didn't realise that I'm standing in the field that only a few hours ago was covered in starlit flowers. They've disappeared, and in the greying light there's no evidence of them. Just the tree and the breeze that softly sweeps through the grass creating swirls and whirls.

"Yes," I nod, my fingers interlocking and wringing together in my nervousness. "I ... he ... brought me from that direction." I point out a north-easterly path.

"Good." He nods and gestures for me to lead the way. "After you."

* * *

It took almost two hours, and a few misadventures, until I found the river and then tracked the path back to the tree. I insisted Ardan stay out of sight and let me approach Oisín myself. He's hiding for a reason and I'm not quite sure how he'll react. I'm not certain how I'll react if Ardan doesn't keep his word.

I barely enter the vicinity of large tree, with it's wide trunk and sprawling branches that twist and bend like tangled yarn, when I catch the movement of shadows halfway up. I reach the base and place my fingers on the smooth bark, a little damp from the morning dew, and strain my neck back.

"Oisín," I whisper, glancing at the nearest branches and wondering if I could haul myself up. "Oisín, it's me. Are you there?"

"Clara?" The little voice calls from high in the branches. "I'm here."

"Oh thank god." I rest my head against the bark and breathe out a heavy sigh. It's only then that I realise the pain in my chest lessens. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he replies, his voice a little closer. "Are you hurt?"

"No." I shake my head. Though, I'm stupid and neither is the child, he's clocked the change of clothes and I'm sure his quick mind has sussed out the scenario. "I found help. A friend of yours, I think?"

"Who?" He doesn't sound entirely pleased with my revelation. I don't blame him.

"Ardan."

There's silence, and then ... rustling. His small face comes into view in the lower branches as he lowers down and rests on a curve in particularly thick bough. He clings to the trunk, brows furrowed, lips a tight line.

"Just Ardan?" He asks.

I nod. "He and his legion found me in the woods. He's been looking for you."

"I don't want to go back." Oisín pulls himself up another few branches. "I'm going to find Papa."

"Oisín." I clamp a hand on the closest bough and find a footing, pulling myself up onto the lower branches. "Please listen. I saw your Papa."

He freezes mid scramble and slowly eases back down onto the curved bough. He's so close I could touch him, but I don't. His trust has been violated far too much for me to become yet another person he needs to be wary of. He watches me with narrowed eyes, not quite believing, but curious enough to consider the possibility.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" He tilts his head. "You could be making it all up."

"Ask me then." I suggest. "Ask me something about your Papa that only someone whi has met him would know."

Oisín takes a long time to think about this. I watch his eyes dart from side-to-side as he conjures up decent questions. Part of me realises that maybe I won't be able to answer them, the Naisi I saw probably doesn't resemble the memory Oisín has, but it's the only arsenal I've got.

"How tall is he?" Oisín finally blurts the question, I almost wilt with relief.

"Very tall." I say. "Taller than Ardan."

"Taller than that tree?" He points to a sapling near the river.

I consider the young tree and shake my head. "No, about an inch shorter."

Oisín's frown deepens. "What were his eyes like?"

Oh crap. "Um?" I pause and consider how do I tell him his eyes were blind, they probably aren't the same shade. Oisín looks a little crestfallen, hope evaporating as his shoulders sag. Until, I realise he asked me what were his eyes like, not what colour, and I remember the frozen sky. "The twilight sky was in his eyes," I reply. "I saw stars there, and they were both light and dark. Just like the forest right before the sunsets and rises."

The answer startles me a little. Not because I knew it, but because that's exactly how I'd paint those eyes, though I doubt I ever could. They were beautiful, and wild, yet peaceful. I traded so many comparisons but none of them fit. It isn't until Oisín slides down to perch on the branch beside me that I register he is staring up at me with tear-filled eyes of his own.

"You saw Papa? He is alive." Oisín breathes the words, his voice catching on a sob. "Can you take me to him? Where is he?"

"I don't know if I can take you to him." I press a hand to his, watching the tears begin to track his cheeks. "He's ... well ... he isn't well yet. But, maybe now he's a little better he can send a message?" I seriously hope that Naisi is listening and watching the hurt in this boy, my hearts already aching at the sight of those tears. "Maybe if you ask Ardan, he can help?"

Oisín nods and pulls in a rattling breath, before wiping his eyes with his sleeves. "Why did he speak to you but not me? Does he not want me anymore?"

"No." I catch his little face in my hands and tilt it up so he must look at me. "I don't know why he spoke to me. I don't think he meant too. He's very sick, but he did say he would keep safe." Not a lie but not exactly loving sentiment. "But, I'm going to promise that if I ever speak to him again, that I'll tell him he has to see you."

"You would do that?" He sniffs, unable to hold back yet more tears.

"I absolutely promise. You deserve that."

And with that, Oisín collapses into my arms and starts to cry. Heavy, exhausted sobs, and I just hold him. In the midst of his tears I glare into the woods, my mind wrapping around those thoughts of Naisi; those memories and that voice. There's no reply. No indication he even heard or watched the pain he's causing. So, I stroke Oisín's hair and let him cry until he's tuckered out and practically asleep in my arms. I take a hold of him and drop down onto the ground. He helpfully wraps his little legs around my waist and buries his head in my neck, arms tightly locked as we walk toward Ardan, he makes himself visible from just behind some thick brush.

"Thank you," he practically gasps as he staggers forward and places a hand on the boy's back. Oisín's grip tightens on me. "Is he hurt?"

"No." I shake my head and hoist him a higher into my arms. "But he's terrified, and exhausted."

Ardan nods, but peeks around my shoulder to speak with Oisín his hand cupping his head. "It's alright, it's just me." He smiles and Oisín lifts his chin a little. "I've missed you."

Oisín drags in a sob and buries his face again. "Go away. I don't you. I don't want to go home. I want Papa."

"I know. I know you do." There are real tears glistening in Ardan's eyes as he keeps a hand on the child, and I can tell by the way he twitches he'd prefer to rip him out of my arms and run, but there's abused trust there, and clearly Oisín has decided I'm on his side. "Hey, aren't going to tell me who your new friend is?"

"You already know," he muffles back and curls tighter into me.

"I know her name, but how do you know her?" Ardan pushes and Oisín lifts his sleepy head to scowl.

"I saved her in the caves, she's my friend now, and we're going to find Papa together."

Well, shit. Not entirely the line of thought I wanted to imply. Ardan looks positively pissed off and I cringe. "That's not exactly what I said."

Oisín shoves back and daggers me with such betrayed eyes. His little bottom lip trembling. "But you promised."

"I said I'd speak to him, if I see him." I remind him and lean awkwardly away from Ardan's impatient scowl. "But, I'm sure there's something we can do in the meantime. Maybe leave him a message? Letters even?" I peek again at Ardan and watch his features soften. "Mayhe, back at home, we can find his favourite things and Ardan can bring them to him."

"Really? Can you do that?" Oisín eyeballs Ardan, sucking in his lip and sniffing back tears.

Ardan narrows his eyes at me and flusters over the words, and the devastated look of a forlorn little boy who break anyone's heart in two. Anyone but his father's—or mother's—by the sound of silence.

"Oisín ..." Ardan trails off, scratching the back of his head and frowning at the ground. "Your papa he's, sick, and I don't rightly know if he's well enough to receive correspondence."

I scowl at the formal explanation. He's baby not a politician.

"Please," Oisín begs, then curls back into me, his head resting just under my chin and yawns. "I promise I'll go home if you let Clara and I send letters to Papa."

"You're a tougher negotiator than your papa, little one." Ardan sighs and ruffles his blond curls earning him a tired, but charming little grin. "Alright, but you must promise you'll never run away again. You scared me half to death."

"You're never scared," Oisín mutters, still peeking up the captain through his snug position, safely stowed in my arms. I can't help but think that so long as I'm holding this little lamb I might just be safe. Or, at least safe from judgement.

"You'd be surprised." Ardan rolls his eyes and moves to wrap his hands around the child. Oisín stiffens, almost sensing the impending removal. "Come, we'll get you warmed up and some food in your belly back at camp."

"No." He clings to my shoulders, little fingers dig tight, and part of me feels the intense urge to not let him go either. "I'm staying with Clara. I want Clara to come with me."

"Of course," Ardan mew softly and retracts his hands. I notice a hurt flash across his features, like the rejection stung more than his willing to let on. "But, do I not even get a hug, little one? I thought we were brothers." Ardan tries to pout, to make light of the moment, but Oisín simply gives a strangled sob and buries himself further into my embrace. "Alright ... it's okay ... Clara stays."

And, with that he withdraws. I stare after him, a little confused at the exchange but not all that surprised. He's just a child, barely more than an infant, and he's lost everything and their talking to him like he should understand. Honestly, for the first time in this very surreal situation, it feels as though Oisín and I are on the same wavelength. These people are eejits, and we're scared, and nobody has any answers.

"He's exhausted," I say to Ardan, only because the hurt he wears so freely is hard to swallow. I do think he cares for the child, he's just heavy handed. "Let's get him back to the camp. Some food and comfort, and he'll come right around. You'll see."

Ardan nods. A smile ghosts his lips for the briefest of moments as he watches the two of us, before he tramps to the nearest tree and untethers the elk.

"Both of you need some sleep and some good food," he says and motions for me to approach so he can help us up onto the animal. "A few mouthfuls of stew hours ago isn't enough, Clara. And, I think you've both earned a day's reprieve with the healers."

"I thought you said you wanted to be headed for home as soon as possible?" I query, while helping Oisín atop the beast, and Ardan gives me a leg up so I can sit behind him. He's barely awake and immediately drops back against my chest, head lolling.

"Yes, but he's wrecked," Ardan says and shakes head, bracing himself against the elk's shoulders. "And, maybe there is no harm in giving him another day's grace."

"I think he'll be very grateful for that," I reply and offer a small smile. Ardan returns it.

"Right, onward we go." He takes the reins and leads us forward on foot.

* * *

Time floats in a strange bubble. Parts of time seem too bright, and others warped. A kind of weightless pull that keeps me bobbing along.

I know we made it back to the camp, and I remember both Oisín and I sat curled by the fire in the healer's tent sharing rabbit stew and buttered bread. I don't even remember how it tasted, it only felt warm. The healers examined us. Oisín refused to leave my side and we shared a cot. Then, Ardan took us back to his tent. One look at the warm furs and the near wobble of our tired legs, and Oisín and I curled up on the bed and the world went quiet.

My dreams were odd, too bright, and just flashes of pictures and faces. Sometimes I didn't dream at all, and then others were tinged with fear. Choking on water. The roar of waves. The high keen of metal buckling. A punch to the gut.

It's the waves. The cold roll of the salt water and the slow descent into a bottomless gloom. No matter how hard I kick. No matter how hard I thrash and strive to break the surface the pull drags me under. The pressure slithering up my limbs, tightening my chest, and snapping around my neck. The last gargle of a scream and everything is consumed by black.

My eyes fly open and I clutch my throat.

Doused in sweat I roll onto my back, gasping, before swatting back the furs and sitting bolt upright. After a moment of gathering my breath and registering I'm still in Ardan's tent, still in this surreal world, and still lost, I remember the sleeping soul by my side. Oisín hasn't moved. His cheeks still flushed a rose-petal pink and he snores ever so softly, his little mouth popped open. I wrap my arms around my knees and sigh. He's okay. He's safe. Can't say the same for me.

Drawing my knees closer to my chest, I rest my chin on knobbly, bruised kneecaps and peer at the doorway. It's a little past twilight, there's a thread of light still left but the stars and moon are rising, I can tell by the pale glow beginning to creep across room from the gap above the fire. The camp is quiet, only soft murmurs and the odd crunch of boots as they walk by. No sign of the captain and there's nothing to indicate he's been around. None of his weapons or armour is visible, so I assume he's either busy or he's surrendered his tent to our use. Something tells me he's keeping his distance.

Maybe distance from the ticking time bomb that is me. Maybe keeping distance from the thing that can cause a truckload of trouble by just existing. I start to rock a little, rolling the heels of my feet onto the balls and back, and hugging myself even tighter. I bury my lips tight against my kneecaps and squint against the tears. I won't scream. Or, cry. I can't. If they do they'll say I've lost it and lock me up and take me away from Oisín. And, as selfish as it sounds, the kid is the only thing keeping me sane and safe. If he needs me then I've something to do. A purpose at least. He's a prince after all, and perhaps it's insanity to place your fate in the hands of a child, but that's the only option I've got. This terrifies me.

It terrifies me enough that I can't sit still a moment longer. I launch from the furs and begin to pace the tent that suddenly seems small and the fabric walls too close, too opaque. The tightness in my chest starts to build. I can't get air in no matter how deep I breathe. I count the bottles on the trestle again, and again, and again. Though it hardly matters I can't remember the total. I hold onto the centre pole, close to fire, and try to focus on the wood and the tangy taste of smoke on my tongue, but it's not enough. The smoke starts to choke me. The pole seems more like a stake and I rip away from all of it, staggering out of the tent and into the night.

I draw in sweet air, fresh and cool, and slam my hands onto buckling knees. Someone's voice mutters and fingers clutch my shoulder. I lurch away.

"Are you alright?" The guard, the one from before, narrows his brows and studies my expression.

"F-fine." I shudder and swallow. "I just feel a little light-headed. Um, c-can I take a walk by the trees. Relieve myself. Please?"

The guard nods and points out a path to the treeline. "The perimeter is safe, but I can escort you if you wish?"

"No." I cringe and back away slowly. "I promise I'm not going anywhere. I've nowhere to go. I w-won't be long ... I just ... I mean ...I need air."

"That's alright," the guard murmurs, his hand outstretched as he steps away from me. "You don't need to explain, we've all seen terrible things, we all need a bit of air from time to time. You're not a prisoner, miss. You're refugee. You're free to move around."

"Th-thanks." I clutch my head and nod a few jerky movements. "Oisín ... I mean the prince ... please watch him. If he wakes tell him I will be back very soon."

"Of course," the guard says and gives a little bow of his head. "Please don't worry miss. You're safe now. I will be waiting right here. If you need me just call."

I just about manage a parting upturned grimace. He's a sweet soul, that's the second time he's helped me. Ardan must've constructed a good story that has them believing I'm one of their own. But, I'm not, and I wonder if he knew what I was would he be so sweet. At least that's what I know of Fae, except what I know and what is seems to be backward, mixed-up, and everything's wrong.

The walk to the tree line feels like a dazed tunnel. The world unfolding around me but I'm in slow motion, unable to grasp or keep up with reality. Makes sense considering I might've just tore reality open.

The forest beyond the camp is quiet. There's nothing but the crunch of falling leaves under my boots and the odd disgruntled twitter from disturbed birds. Mercifully, my high school camping excursions pay-off. Who would have thought having to makeshift a toilet in the wild would ever be anything I'd be repeating in adulthood?

It doesn't take me long to find a brook and I shuck cold water over my hands and face. The surprise of ice-cold is wonderful. It centres my spinning head and it feels like I can breathe again. So, I decide to steal a few extra moments to myself, slumped over a tiny brook, clasping icy water to the back of my neck and watching the stars begin to wink alive overhead.

The breeze sways the tree boughs above, the leaves scattering in the winds, and I'm mesmerized by the dance they do. It's in their spritely movement that I imagine a song. A strange melody that has no human voice but hums, deepening or becoming breathy, dictated by the energy of the air. The electricity in the wood. Before I know it I'm on my feet and moving with it, pushing through branches, and footsteps quickening to its beat.

My directionless path stops at the quietening of the melody, and though I strain to catch the fading notes I notice something. The shadows narrow across the ground and under my feet—a trail of those little, white, starlit flowers bloom. My stomach falls and all the air vanishes from my lungs. A trap.

And, I fell for it.

"I know it's you," I call into the nothing. My fingers dig into the bark of the closest tree. "Skulking the shadows."

The air goes silent, deathly so, and I assume he did not like that comparison.

"You know, villains lure innocent ladies to their demise," I mutter, though cleave my spine straight against the tree and swallow. "Is that what we're doing? I'd prefer not to drag this out. So if you wouldn't mind getting to the punchline ...Naisi."

There's a rustle behind the tree. I hold my breath, my head snapping to the side, my body slowly following the sound. I peek around and see the shadow cast across the roots. Like a polar opposite to mine.

"You have a poor opinion of me ... Clara." His voice is not as strong as I remember, it's croaked and weary, like it's a struggle to form the words. "You're alive because of me."

I snort, my head lolling back on the trunk. "Alive?" I swallow the lump that wedges in my throat. "This isn't alive. This is insanity."

He laughs. It's a broken sound. "It is. But it's what we get."

"You don't know anything about me," I hiss, and twist around the trunk. Naisi senses the movement and moves too, remaining just out of sight. "You don't know anything and yet here we are, in the woods again, and you're speaking nonsense and I'm in the dark."

"You're in the dark?" He outright laughs this time. "You've no idea what darkness is?"

"I assume it's a little like abandonment," I growl, my fingers clawing into fists. "I assume it's a little like being left alone with no explanations. I assume it's like a child lost and looking for his father who prefers to hide away and ignore his suffering."

There's a whine and crack. The tree shudders and flinch back from it.

"You have no right."

Eyes. Frozen as the twilight sky pierce mine when I turn to my left. The ice in them splinters. I barely let out a breathless yelp. His torn and monstrous face, about an inch from mine, as he prowls the trunk. Sliding closer to me. I stumble on a root and grip the tree with both hands to stay upright.

"Do you know what I am?" The roots move under my foot and every branch above our heads begins to sway and groan under a weight as the shadows on the floor encroach and darken. "You should be on your knees begging ..."

I duck my chin against the pressure, the lack of air, but I don't cower. I keep my feet and anchor myself with the tree, then, drawing every angry, frustrated, and confused thought I have to the surface and fling them at him. I don't know what magic he has or how he communicates, but I narrow that lens he seems to have inadvertently taught me. He doesn't miss the unexpected blow. I can tell because he takes a step back. When I lift my gaze again, turning my face upward to his, I see the blows like punches as those unseeing eyes widen.

"I know what you are." I say and steady my shoulders. "A Fae lord, a bully, using strength to get his way." I take a step forward and he continues to move back with every little inch I claim back. "Using his pain and his hurt to justify destroying the lives of everyone around him. Because he can. Because no one challenges it. Because they pity you. I pity you." His shoulders buckle and his head dips, hands rising to block my approach his pulls himself away, but I'm not finished. "You don't deserve love, but you get it anyway, from a child who was ready to put his life on the line to find you. And a people who remember. Still defend you, and I've no idea why? And here you are, telling me that I should be grateful? That I should bow before a wretch that doesn't have the damn decency to speak or approach me like I'm a person."

"Clara?" He shakes his head and I see his knee buckle a little. "Stop."

"Stop what? The truth?" I shake my head, too angry to check my words now. If I'm going down I'm taking him with me. "You think you can scare me? I've lived my life at the other end of a coward's fist. I didn't have a choice. But, I do now ... and you mean nothing to me ... and I don't care what you do to me. I've been through worse. Trust me."

I didn't ever expect to hear myself say those truths aloud. Then again I never imagined a scenario where those truths would not be my reality. It's only now that I register the tears that stream my cheeks and the salt that pools my lips. It's only now that I register that Naisi is on both knees and breath ragged. His features gripped in some kind of agony. One hand still shielding his eyes.

"Naisi, are—" I relax my quivering stance; fisted hands and lunged forward like I could take a swipe. It's a laughable notion. I can barely beat my way out of a paper bag. "Are you okay?"

"No." He shakes his head, and it's about the only word he can get out between breaths. Awful, wet coughs prevent him from saying anything else.

"I'm sorry." I swiftly move to his side and kneel down. What was I thinking? He's injured, horrifically injured, and I'm bawling at him like a banshee. He's in pain. "I didn't realise ... oh my god ... can you stand?"

He shakes his head again, just glaring at the ground. I place a hand on his shoulder but he shirks it off.

Fine.

"Do you just want to lie there? Cough up a lung?" I snap and grab his arm without his consent, he doesn't even have the strength to fight me off, though kudos, he does try. "Stop being a jackass and let me help."

"Why help me?" He roars at the ground and I swear it trembles a little. He takes in a deep breath and then another. "If you hate me so."

"I said I pity you," I say and tilt my head into his. "I don't hate anyone. Besides, I don't have to like you to help you. Come on." I wrap his arm around mine, and wedge into his side, taking his waist and most of his weight. "Good grief, you weigh a ton."

"At least I'm not a heifer," he bites and gives a lopsided wicked grin.

"Thought you were blind." I purposefully yank him all the harder. He launches into a tirade of curses. His features scrunching into something between resentment and agony. "You brought that on yourself." I smirk and he growls unintelligible words, but at least we're standing upright now. "So, m'lord, we've a few options. One, you sit your sorry ass down and speak to me civilly. Or, you continue to insult me, and I'll not think twice about dropping you in a heap on the ground. And going back to camp. Where's the heat. And food. And your son."

"You wouldn't dare?" His statement is definitely tinged with uncertainty. Not so brave now are we?

"Oh, just try me." I sniff and stare at him through half-lidded, unimpressed eyes.

"I am Lord of this land," he snarls again, twisting to glare at the ground, eyebrows bunched. "You are alive because of me."

"No. I'm alive because of your son," I respond and that pulls him up short. He straightens and breathes in. "Ah, so you do remember you have one?" He doesn't answer, his head just twists away from me. I try another angle. "He saved me ... and for some reason you kept me alive knowing I could protect him. Yes or no?"

He exhales slowly and drops his head. "Yes."

"Was that so hard?" I tut, and drag his more compliant ass to the nearest tree stump. "Being honest, I mean."

He winces where I may have let him drop a little too hard on the wood. "I had my reasons."

"So I heard." I roll my eyes and cross my arms. "None of them I particularly agree with." He smirks and leans his forearms into his knees, working on drawing steadier breaths. His lack of regard grinds me. "You think it's funny? To scare me half to death? To leave staked to a tree thinking some monster was going to devour a helpless little boy, when all this time you were protecting him!"

"So you agree," he mutters.

"What?"

"You agree I was protecting him."

I stare silently at Naisi, chewing the inside of my cheek. Damn it, he caught me there.

"Do you have water?" He changes the subject, and strains to pull his back straight.

"No," I reply and catalogue the devastating injuries across his face. They stretch to his arms and chest, but there's fresh wounds. Cuts and bruises to his face and neck, and a frailness about him, like he's wasting away. His hair is brittle and his fingers black, I note one or two don't have nails and I swallow. "Where are you sleeping?"

"A place," he says and lowers his head again. His brow almost touching his knees.

"Can you walk a little bit?" I ask and the question is automatically met with a sharp inhale.

"I won't go to the camp," he spits and throws out a hand. "I can't."

"Wasn't even going to suggest it," I say and take a few tentative steps forward. "But there's a brook a short walk from here. I can clean those fresh wounds. Get you something to drink?"

He stares into nothing for a long minute, so long in fact I'm not sure if he's lost consciousness. Just when I'm about to shake his shoulder, or slap him, he grunts out an agreement. I take his hand in mine and help haul him to his feet, and we walk the few short minutes to the brook that leads back to the camp. The walk seems to zap what is left of Naisi, because he drops down on the banks with a sort of weighted thud and just stares blankly. It's then that I imagine how dark his world is. How maybe he's right, I've no idea what true darkness is, or at least what it feels like.

"Here," I whisper softly, cupping his hands together with my own.

I guide them down to the water. He doesn't fight the help, and lets my hands lead his. With his clawed hands, I fill them with the fresh water and scoop it up to his lips. He clumsily sups, coughing a little at the cold contact and his rasping. We silently repeat the movements and I don't comment as a tear drips the length of his face, tracking a clean line against the dirt and falling from his chin to splash against my skin. I swallow the hard lump in my throat at the recognition. Shame. He's ashamed and lost, and I'd probably hate everything too if I were in his shoes.

Once Naisi appears to have grasped how to find the water and drink it—albeit messily—himself, I rip a length of the too long vest I've been loaned. Separating it into a few scraps, I dip one in the water and crouch beside this fallen prince.

"You're hands and fingers are badly roughed up, can I see?"

He outstretches his palms to me and I bite my lip. The left has terrible welts and the skin is mottled from the old burns. The right has raised welts and is covered in cuts, some minor, some razor sharp, deep rips, these are new. So, I start here first. Dunking his right hand in and out of the water and carefully using the scrap of fabric to remove the build up of dirt and grit. Naisi doesn't speak, he just gives the odd hiss or twitch. I'm sure it's far more painful that he's prepared to admit, especially when I twist his hand around and cleanse those filthy fingers—his ring and little finger missing nails. I repeat the process with his other hand, and unravel clean and completely unnecessary extra bandage from my foot that travels half way up my calf.

"Thank you," he murmurs after a pat dry his hands and start wrapping the worst of his left hand.

"No problem," I reply, sitting as close to him as this work dictates. "I guess I kinda owe you." He doesn't answer so I refresh his memory. "For cleaning me up in the forest before you left me to the wolves."

He chuckles. "I suppose you might call Ardan a wolf."

"He's certainly a force to be reckoned with." I nod and finish securing the bandage. "Did you know he would help me?"

"He knows how to read my signs," he replies and ducks his chin. "My people won't hurt you, or at least those loyal to Ardan and my father's rule can be trusted. I can't speak for all the aristocracy."

"Is that why Oisín ran away?" I hold his left hand a little longer, it feels cold and lifeless to the touch.

"You know why he ran," Naisi says and snaps his hand from mine. "You should leave. They'll be looking for you soon."

"He came looking for you," I push, furious at his dismissiveness. "But something must have drove him."

"Clara ..." he breathes out my name and shakes his head, hugging his hand to his chest as he tries to rise. I snap fingers around his elbow, his head moves to the gesture, those unseeing eyes slam shut and his face contorts. "I can't help him ... or you. You'll be safer in the city. I have left word for Ardan. You'll be his nursemaid."

"What?" I don't let go if his arm, instead my fingers tighten. "You spoke with Ardan?"

"Yes." He keeps his eyes trained to the water. "And the strength it requires just to hold a conversation is tearing me apart," he grinds the last of the sentence through gritted teeth. "So, can you please just accept what very little I can give and assume I'm not being purposefully difficult."

My fingers unfurl from his elbow and I retract my hand. "Sorry. I didn't realise." I look away and frown at our reflections in the water. The solid shadow of mine and the almost ghost-like haze to his own, like if I blink he might disappear. Ardan said there was some magic tethering him here when it shouldn't. "But ... why are you helping me?"

He stares at my reflection in the water just like I do his. I wonder if he even knows he is watching me, how could he? Those eyes are so lost. I study the slow close of his eyelids, and the weary fold of his head. His lips part and a huff of air escapes him. He can't be a ghost, can't be a shell of anything, if life still swirls inside him. Still gives him breath.

"Because ... you were determined to live," he says in a voice that is feather light and hoarse. "And, why shouldn't you?"

"Do you believe what Ardan says I am?" I carefully hedge around the word. Not wanting to risk saying it out loud, either because I still don't believe it, or I believe it too much.

"If you are," he says quietly, his shoulders buckling under some kind of tremendous hidden weight, so much so that I consider offering my hand again but he seems to steady himself. "Then even more reason to stay hidden." He swallows, a horrible thick sound and clutches his throat. "The darkness in this world has a tendency to consume any flicker of light. You don't stand a chance."

And with that he rises to his feet and turns his back on me. I'm stunned by his words but not so much that I don't drag myself onto shaky legs and take a step after him.

"So why save me?" I know there's more. He just won't say it.

He glances back over his shoulder. "I didn't save you ... Oisín did."

Well, he isn't wrong but he knows what I meant. Bloody Fae and their twisted answers "Then why offer me asylum?"

"Take the offer Clara." He sighs, his head tilting skyward as he breathes in. "Or don't, but you won't survive a minute beyond my borders. I assume you've seen enough of this world to know that to be true?" My silence seems to give his retreat pause and he does slowly turn, at least enough that he angles his body sideways toward mine. "It's a good offer; employment, food, shelter, and a new identity. A way to start over."

"What do you want in return?" I twist my fingers together in front of me, realising it is a good offer, and Fae offers do not come without a hefty price.

He closes his eyes again and drops his chin to his chest. "Protect my boy in the places I can't go. There are monsters greater than those in the wild."

"What makes you think I can protect him from corrupt politicians and Faerie court?" I tilt my head and cross my arms. "Wouldn't you be more equipped for that?"

"Trust me. I'm doing everything I can but I can't enter that Palace," he seethes and I watch his breath grow ragged and pained again. "And call it a hunch, but you seem a quick judge of character."

To this I splutter a laugh, but nod despite the uncertainty gnawing at my gut. "Alright, I'll accept the offer but, only if you give me the right to speak with you regarding matters of your son's welfare." He seems to weigh the bargain up a little, then nods. "That means anything," I clarify, "and you must make yourself available to speak with me."

"Fine," he mutters. "But I told you, I can't enter the Palace."

"But the city?" I offer, not really sure if there's a city or what kind of home he comes from, he doesn't correct me though, only bobs his head.

"If you need me you are aware how to reach me," he says.

"The thoughts," I reply and tap my head. "How does that work?"

"Do you always have so many questions?" he rises his brows but his shoulders sag all the further. Right. He's struggling to keep this going.

"Sorry," I mutter and hug my arms around my waist. "But you promise?"

"You have my word." He bows his head.

"Then it's a bargain."

He straightens his neck and I watch the frown etch in his brow when he realises that he too is trapped in this little deal of his. It's Faerie bargains, if they agree they can't break it. And, I admit, I might've taken advantage of Naisi's vulnerability and exhaustion, but it's not like he didn't deserve it.

"You little vixen." He laughs—not the reaction I expected but at least not rage. "Well done."

I smirk and hold myself a little straighter. "We shall speak again, Naisi."

"Evidently so." He groans, but it sounds playful a spark of something like amusement ghosts his lips as he turns toward the woodland and limps away.

I watch his heavy gait, study it, wondering if I should offer to help him back to wherever he's sleeping rough. But, in one swift gust of wind, kicking up a swirl of fallen leaves that dusts across his shoulders, he disappears. I let out a shocked gasp, startled by the action. I blink once, twice, but he's definitely gone.

Then, like a whisper, a breeze caresses my ear.

'Til next we meet, Ever-light.

And with that he leaves, and right by my foot that little white flower bursts from the earth and blooms. A promise.