“The world turns differently for each of us, and we have no choice but to turn with it, to take its hand and dance the next set of steps.”

  Those were the words Argyllis had lived by, and by those words he had died. I stared down at his body, and thought what a liar he had been. We always have a choice of what to dance when the world’s rhythm plays. We don’t have to dance the way it demands. We can dance a counterpoint and not let our steps be chosen for us.

  Argyllis had known that. He had merely hidden behind his words of false wisdom so he had an excuse for what he did. I looked around at the burning warehouse.

  Well, he has no excuse for this.

  I looked down at his body, and all I felt was numb. Around me, the pixies swarmed and flew, flitting through falling cinders to makes sure no one had been left behind.

  The elves had taken their dogs clear of the fire, and the unicorns trotted down each burning aisle to make sure they’d found each and every smuggler that had been involved. I just stood, staring at the burning equipment they’d used to turn the pixies into dust, Argyllis’s body at my feet.

  All I felt was hollow.

  He’d been going to gift me to the trolls.

  I was frozen by the thought of it, stunned beyond terror, held in thrall by disbelief. The hand that curled around my bicep and pulled me away from the blaze should have come as a surprise, but I felt nothing.

  At least the voice was gentle.

  “Come on.”

  I was aware of the warehouse gradually emptying, of the unicorns gathering around me, and the pixies forming a protective shell around us. I didn’t resist as my escort took me past the police cordon, accepting a blanket from one of the paramedics as we left. We kept moving as he draped that blanket around my shoulders, and then tucked an arm across my back.

  It was like moving through a dream. Surrounded by unicorns and pixies, my uniform holed by embers, my hands… I looked down, and then I remembered how to feel, and stopped dead.

  “Shades of the Luca,” my escort swore, when he heard me gasp.

  “Don’t look,” he added, as I started to raise my hands so I could see them better.

  Of course, I ignored him, and only the arm he had around my shoulders, and the hasty grip on my wrists stopped me crumbling. I could see… I could see burnt flesh…and…and bone. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to run, and leave my hands far, far behind. I wanted… I didn’t know what I wanted.

  “You got them out of the vat,” he said, holding me tight. “You saved them all.”

  I wasn’t sure that would be compensation enough for losing both my hands.

  “The druids can help you,” he said, and I wanted to laugh, managed it, too, if that tiny, broken sound could be counted as a laugh.

  We kept moving, walking further from the warehouse, and entering the trees at the edge of the park, and then walking through them, and beyond. I wasn’t even aware we’d crossed the barrier between worlds, until the druid stepped into our path.

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  With snorting whickers of anxiety, the unicorns nudged me forward, buffeting my escort as well. He didn’t protest their rough handling, nor complain about being smeared by the blood on their muzzles, or the gore dripping from their horns, but he kept his arm tight across my shoulders, and his hand around my wrists.

  “Help with what?” the druid wanted to know, and then he saw my hands.

  I caught the horrified look he cast my escort, and watched him glare at the gathered unicorns and pixie swarm, and then he looked into my face, and down at my hands.

  I followed his gaze, and wondered if I should hurt more, if it was normal to feel so cold, and so empty, or if I should be worried that, despite his presence, I felt so very, very alone.

  “Who did this to you?” the druid asked, looking back to my face and snaring my eyes with his own. “Who?”

  And I knew he did not mean who had hurt my hands or caused the multiple burns all over my body, but who it was that had ravaged my soul.

  “Argyllis,” I said, and fell, knowing I was lifted, before I hit the ground.

  * * *

  The first time I woke, I did not care. The trees arched overhead, and the warm bulk of a unicorn nestled against my back. A small flock of pixies kept watch from the edge of the blanket, waving as my eyes fluttered open, and then closed again.

  The second time I woke, the pixies were gone, and I was alone in my blankets. I wondered where the unicorn was, and then wondered why I cared. The pixie that landed on the edge of my bed made me smile. I knew him, even though I did not know his name.

  “You made it,” I said, surprised to find my voice no more than a whisper, as if I had worn it out with shouting.

  I felt sadness and relief, when the pixie sat down by my head and laid a gentle hand in my hair.

  “Thank you,” he said, as my eyes closed, again.

  The third time I woke, the pixie was gone, and his absence brought tears. I closed my eyes, and fell asleep to the sound of quiet hoof steps, and soft whickering, wondering where the pixies were, and why the unicorns sounded so far away. I had the feeling something terrible had happened, but didn’t know what.

  The fourth time I woke, it was to the roar of a troll, and I rolled out of bed and had my back against the far wall o before I was fully awake. I was looking for a weapon, any weapon, but I couldn’t see one, and my hands were bandaged and sore. I probably couldn’t have held a weapon if I’d tried.

  When the troll roared again, there was agony in its voice, and I saw the first golden beams of sunrise touching the leaves above. Knowing I was safe, I sat down on the edge of the bed, contenting myself with just staring at the dawn.

  I lay down and slept, as the first pixies flitted in out of the sunlight. They were still there when I woke again, but I heard no trolls. I sat up and watched the pixies spiral skyward, rejoicing in the day’s arrival, and slowly realized I was looking out at the forest from the heights of a tree.

  “Nice,” I murmured, understanding why I hadn’t woken up beside another unicorn.

  Footsteps echoed over the wooden floor, and I turned toward them, realizing there was a balcony beyond my window. A familiar shape moved across one of the windows, and stopped outside the door.

  There was no knock, just the door swinging open, and the elf coming through.

  “Are you ready to return to your world?” he asked, and I saw no compassion in his beautiful face.

  “It wasn’t a dream?” I asked, and he shook his head, making the memories that had haunted my sleep become all too real. “I… Please, just…”

  And I buried my face in my hands, blocking out the sight of him, and the sight of pixies dancing in the sunbeams beyond.

  “Just what?” he asked, when I’d sat, too quiet for too long.

  “Just go,” I said, not daring to look at him.

  One does not tell the fey to go away, and especially not when they are guests in the fey realm itself. Even I knew that.

  Of course, he did not go. He did not move. He just stood there, until I lifted my head out of my hands to look at him.

  “You’re still here,” I said, before he could say a word.

  “And you need to leave,” he said. “You’ve been here far too long.”

  I looked down at my hands. They looked the same as they always had—well, as they always had, except for that one time when I’d seen them after the warehouse fire. I stared at my palms, trying to work out how long I had to have slept for the flesh to have grown back, and the pain to have gone, and then I looked up at his face.

  “How—” I began, but he cut me off.

  “The druids!” And his tone was sharp.

  I stared.

  “They’ve exacted their price.” From the sound of it, that topic was closed, but still I asked.

  “What do I owe…” My voice dried in my throat, at the look on his face.

  “It is paid,” he said, “And for your service, we exact no cost.”