I have to get out of here.

​

Fleeing down the cliffside streets of Greymerrow, I urge my dragon-like wings to quicken through the thick smog. Bladesmiths stoke their forges with early morning fire. Loud hammering and the whine of a sharpening wheel thrums through my body. My eyes sting from the smoke, but at least no one can see I’ve already rubbed them raw.

​

Blasted tears.

​

As a red sun rises, my vision blurs, and I crash into a display of swords. They clatter to the ground. Berating voices call after me for my carelessness. But I don’t stop, speeding toward the beach below the mountain. The more the tears fall, the faster I fly as the Gwyllion mantra I claimed just the night before rings in my mind. Taunting me.

​

Gwyllions are strong as steel. They do not yield. ​

Magic is a crutch.

Laughter is frailty.

Tears are poison. 

​​

Collapsing on the beach, I cast my dagger into the sand, wrap my wings around me, and breathe in the cool, salty air. Steadily, the crashing waves drown out my raging thoughts and soothe the growing heat in my chest. The Silver Sea has always been my haven from the dreary, suffocating cliffs of Greymerrow. Out on the wide-open beach, I can finally breathe.

​

As the sun continues to rise, merchant ships come in and out of port, and it takes all my strength not to climb aboard one and never look back. To travel the rest of Faylan and find out if there’s anywhere else in the five provinces I belong. I would even join the pirates if no other faerie clan would take me. A smile creeps onto my face as I imagine what it might be like to stow away on one of the Pirate Lord’s ships, traveling Faylan’s seas as part of his crew, far away from here.

​

“Quinn!”

​

My twin brother’s voice brings me back. Gaius’ training armor clangs as he lands in the sand beside me, stretching his own dragon-like wings. Catching his breath, he runs a hand through his distinct white hair, highly unusual for a youngling of only thirteen.

​

Though Gaius is too kind to scold me for my tears, I rush to erase any evidence of them on my sleeve. Any evidence of weakness.

​

Still, I’m sure I’m a frightening sight: eyes ringed red, my brown nest of odd waves and curls in disarray. Never mind how my tears mix with the caked mud on my face from last night’s battle sessions.

​

The sessions that decided our ranking in the Gwyllion Guard.

​

Gaius’ pointed ears perk up as he turns to me. “Thought I’d find you here.” He bumps me with his elbow. “You know, if we don’t go back soon, we’ll never be ready for the ceremony in time.” 

​

“You don’t think I look presentable?” I try to joke, bumping him back.

​

It’s not that I hate dressing up. In fact, I love it. I’ve always been theatrical, something our father never fails to reprimand me for. I just can’t stand our clan’s unimaginative affinity for furs with muted leathers and hide skins. Perfect for the cold mountain climate. Terribly dull on the eyes. I’m also not looking forward to being whispered about behind my back when everyone hears the news.

​

My smile falters. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going.” 

​

“Why not?” Gaius’ tone drops, but I keep my gaze out to sea. It’s always hard to deny him when the concern in his eyes tells me he’s just trying to help. “Come on, you’ve become one of the most skilled among us. I know they didn’t call your name first, but your ranking can’t be that bad.”

​

If only he knew.

​

Being selected for the Guard is a Gwyllion’s highest honor. The ultimate sign of what our clan values most: strength. With our mountains surrounding all of Faylan, the Guard is its protector, defending its borders from invading giants and raiding dragons. Even against our traitorous brethren, the magic-wielding Mystics.

 

As Gwyllion Lord and general of our army, the ever-stoic Lord Feyden has overseen the training of all youngling aged fae for months. And after last night’s exhausting duels and practice raids, he ushered in the new day by announcing to all recruits which of us made the cut.

​

Feyden has always favored Gaius, who is annoyingly good at everything he puts his hand to. But I’ve trained hard for a position too, quickly climbing the ranks, and I have the scars to prove it. Or so I thought.

​

“I wasn’t chosen, Gaius. At all.” 

​

There, I said it. 

​

Unsurprisingly, Gaius’ name had been read first. The spot usually reserved for the youngling with the most promise. The one that would be trained to someday lead the entire Gwyllion army. Once they read his name, the Guard celebrated him with thundering stomps of their feet as Lord Feyden escorted him into the Victor’s Hall.

I anxiously awaited my own moment as name after name sounded through the courtyard.

​

But that moment never came. 

​

Later today, Lord Feyden himself will ceremonially present those that were selected for the Guard to the entire city. All will know of my failure.

​

With a sigh, Gaius puts a hand on my shoulder, and I allow my brother’s attempt at comfort. If we weren’t out in the open, he might have even put an arm around me. But we both know pity is not the Gwyllion way.

​

“It doesn’t make sense.” I hold back the quiver in my voice, trying to think of what I could have done wrong. “I mean, I know I have a different way of doing things…”

​

Gaius stifles a good-humored laugh. “You mean like barely ever listening to direction? Going off with your own plans, trying to wrangle the stragglers to join in your shenanigans?”

​

“Hey, that maneuver worked last night, didn’t it?” I push back.

​

“I didn’t say it was a bad idea,” Gaius hedges. “Different isn’t always bad.”

​

I huff. “Well, I guess it doesn’t work out for everyone, does it? Just look at what happened to the Mystics.” 

 

Banishment. That’s what happened.

​

I swallow hard. “Maybe I’m just too different.”

​

I run my fingers over the pattern of scars on my arms. No matter how sharp my blade, how hard I battle for the position, how skilled I become, it will never matter. Whatever the reason, I’ll always be a weak little sprite in the Gwyllion Lord’s eyes. Never strong enough.

​

Gaius sighs once more, heavy and reproachful. “Quinn…”

​

I shake my head. “If you want me there, you’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming.”

​

Gaius stays quiet as a warm breeze blows over the beach. While words usually pour from my mouth before I even know I’m thinking them, constantly getting me in trouble, Gaius always thinks carefully before he speaks.

​

“You know,” he says finally, looking out to the sea. “I’ve seen you sneaking into the dungeons to hear stories from that pirate pixie. I bet you’d rather be out on the sea with her, having adventures.”

​

I raise a brow. I shouldn’t be surprised. Though we barely look like it, we are twins after all. Still, it’s scary how well he knows me. Like he’s inside my head, hearing my every thought.

​

He takes a slow breath, and I brace myself for the lecture I know is coming. “You can’t just run away when things get hard, you know? You have to be—” 

​

“Strong?” I cut him off with a huff. “Well, I guess I’m just not as strong as you are.”

​

Gaius smiles. “Maybe not. But sometimes strength can be weakness, and weakness can be strength. You have a different kind of strength, I know it. Someday, you will too.” 

​

Frustrated by his riddles, I’m about to demand what in Faylan he’s talking about when he unsheathes the dagger at his side and grabs mine from where I’d cast it into the sand. Putting the two mirrored halves together, they fit perfectly to form one blade. Our mother had commissioned the original weapon before we were born. Before she knew she was having twins. Before her death.

​

At our birth, she had it split in two, one for each of us. Our dual daggers. The first weapons we ever handled and used to train. Forever a reminder of our connection. Two edges of the same blade.

​

After swinging it through the air, Gaius splits the halves apart again. “I’m going to need that strength of yours, Quinn,” he says gently, handing me my weapon. “I don’t think I’d be as strong as I am if you weren’t with me.”

 

Holding the dagger, all my sharp edges soften.

​

“I’d never leave you,” I promise, mustering an earnest smile. His face brightens, and he goes to speak again. This time, I’m the one who knows what he’s thinking. “I’m still not going to the ceremony.”

​

Gaius’ shoulders slump, then shrug. “Can’t say I didn’t try.” He stands, sighing dramatically. “I guess I’ll just have to feast all by myself. Helene’s been busy in the kitchen all night. I think she’s even made a whole batch of lily tarts.” 

 

My head snaps up. “A whole batch?”

​

His eyes gleam. “Maybe even two.”

​

He’s not playing fair. If I had to live on only one food for the rest of my life, it would be Helene’s lily tarts. My stomach grumbles, scolding me for even thinking about missing huge helpings of my favorite dessert. 

​

I shoot to my feet. “You won’t have anything left to eat if I beat you there!” Releasing my wings, I take off before he can respond.

​

“Ha!” Gaius lets out a short laugh and shoots into the air, following close behind. 

​

As usual, Gaius gets what he wants. I make an appearance at the ceremony. But just long enough to sneak my way into the kitchen, snatch a whole plate of lily tarts, and take the servant’s passageway down to the dungeons. At least the whispers of the other recruits can’t reach me down here.

​

As always, a large tapestry greets me in the torchlight. It depicts a Gwyllion soldier viciously slaying a fire breathing dragon. The sudden sight of the dragon always sets me on edge. I shudder and quickly rush down the stairs.

​

“Another food delivery?” A guard meets me at the bottom and sniffs at my covered dish. “They sure keep you busy.”

​

“All in a day’s work.” I hope he can’t tell what deliciousness is hidden inside this time.

​

He narrows his eyes, but lets me pass. Breathing a sigh of relief, I make my way to where my pixie pirate friend is kept.

​

“Aren’t you supposed to be at some party?” Whit’s feathered wings flex as she stirs in her cell, her horns glinting in the torchlight. Catching sight of the open platter in my hands, her mouth drops. “How did you get those?”

​

“I know my way around the kitchen. They’re too busy flitting around up there to notice one platter missing.” I bite into the warm pastry, and Whit licks her lips. I hold out the treats to her. “Trade you for the end of that story you started the other night?”

​

“You mean the one where we went pillaging in the Kobold tunnels and barely made it out alive?”

​

“Yes! And then Pirate Lord Maverick flew in at the last minute with the rest of the fleet.”

​

“Ah, yes.” Whit eyes my platter again, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “You pay so well. How can I refuse?”

​

As Whit spins her tales between bites of tart, I marvel at each of her stories. Though she isn’t much older than me, she’s already seen and done so much.

​

With the dessert platter licked clean and my head full of seafaring adventures, I realize I’ve lost track of time. Regretfully, I bid Whit farewell and climb back up the winding passageway, weighed down by a full stomach and a longing for more stories.

​

But opening the door to the kitchen, I come face to face with a very unhappy Gaius. It’s so rare to see him with such a frown, I almost don’t recognize him.

​

“Of course you’re here. Have you been down there all this time?” he whispers crossly. Nudging me back into the stairway, he closes the door, cutting us off from the staff and hundreds of Gwyllion folk in the next room before anyone can notice us. 

​

I sigh. He’s only a minute older than me, yet he still acts like years separate us instead of seconds. “I was just visiting Whit,” I try to defend myself. “She’s all alone down there with all those criminals.”

​

“She’s a criminal, Quinn.”

​

“She stole because she was hungry, Gaius. Not because she’s some diabolical lowlife.”

​

“She’s a pirate,” he says firmly, struggling to keep the annoyance from his voice. “And while you’ve been off listening to stories, I’ve been making excuses for you for over an hour. Come on, I don’t want you going down there anymore.” He reaches for my hand.

​

“I’m not going.” I pull away. I don’t want to go anywhere with him while he’s acting like this.

​

“Quinn, sometimes we have a responsibility to do things we don’t want to do.” He folds his arms, his tone threatening to rise. 

​

“No.” I grit my teeth, my fists growing clammy and hot. “You’re the one with the responsibility. You’re the one who’s going to make something of himself, not me. Feyden has made that very clear.” 

​

“Quinn, stop it. You’re not being fair.”

​

“Fair?” My voice rises, echoing off the stone walls. “I’ll tell you what’s not fair.” My blood blazes under my skin as I picture Lord Feyden’s solemn face. “I’m not even worthy enough to be a guard in his ranks, Gaius. And you know why? Because I’m a screw-up! I know it. He knows it. But I won’t give him the pleasure of seeing my face as he announces it to the world.”

​

“Quinn.” Gaius glances back at the door. “Keep your voice down. You don’t understand.”

​

“No, you don’t understand!” I shriek, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. “No one understands!”

​

Gaius’ face softens. He reaches toward me again, probably to extend an arm of comfort. 

​

But I push him away, all the anguish in my heart rushing through my chest to my arms.

​

My hands are… burning.

​

I cry out in pain as a flash of heat and light release from them, a torrent of orange and red.

​​

I reel back, watching in horror as flames shoot from my hands and fling Gaius back, his head smacking against the wall with a sickening crack. Just as quickly as the flames explode, they extinguish, and Gaius’ body collapses to the ground. Smoke rises from his clothes and skin.

​

“Gaius!” I rush to his side. I reach out but pull my hands back, terrified of hurting him again. What in Faylan just happened? I rock back and forth, wrapping my hands around my body instead. “Gaius, please.” My voice trembles and breaks. 

​

His eyes don’t open. He isn’t moving. This isn’t happening.

​

“Help! Somebody, help!”

​

In moments, the dungeon guard emerges from the stairway, and another appears from the kitchen. “What happened?” barks one, while the other stands with his mouth agape. 

​

Before I can answer, Lord Feyden barges through the door. “What’s going on here? How dare you leave your posts when I specifically commanded—”

​

His broad arms push the guards aside as if they’re rag dolls, but the sight of Gaius on the ground silences him. His dark eyes ignite, the muscles in his neck straining with a panic I’ve never seen before. Turning to me, his ever-stern mouth opens, then twists with fury under his beard.

​

“I-I found him like this… just a moment ago,” I stammer. But my youngling tongue has not yet mastered the art of lying. I try again. “I swear. I don’t know what happened, Father!”

​

I shut my mouth. The general never likes when Gaius or I call him Father. Especially not in front of the other troops. But I don’t need a general or the Gwyllion Lord right now. I need my father.

​

Feyden’s eyes narrow, but not at the paternal title I’ve carelessly used.

​

They focus downward.

​

He’s staring at my hands.

​

He can’t know… can he?

​

He turns to the guards. “Don’t just stand there. Get the prince to the infirmary!”

​

They spring into action, lifting Gaius’ limp body just as he stirs and grabs for my arm. Relief washes over me, though the potent smell of smoke and the sight of his burns tell me it’s going to be a long recovery. 

​

“Quinn, it’s okay… don’t…” Gaius’ voice is hoarse as he tries to speak. But as quickly as his eyes opened, they roll back into his head.

​

“Now!” Lord Feyden demands. “And send someone back who will guard their posts properly!”

​

They rush through the door, but my father remains, his face now blank.

​

I take a breath, ready to defend myself again, but no words come.

​

Feyden takes one last look at my hands. “I’ll deal with you later,” he snarls, then storms out the stone door, letting it slam.

​

Alone, I run my fingers over my palms. They’re cool to the touch, not a singed spot on them. Though the pain was excruciating, the flames didn’t leave a mark, as if it was… 

​

Magic.

​

All the stories told to me as a little sprite about the magic-loving Mystics come rushing back. Stories of their ability to produce fire out of thin air, like the dragons they believed all Gwyllions to be descendants from. 

​

I thought the tales were only myths, but my brother’s burns are not my imagination.

​

My mind races. 

​

What if Feyden knew I had this ability all along? Could that be why he rejected me from the Gwyllion Guard? Why I’ve been stifled all my life?

​

Maybe he wasn’t trying to protect his daughter from the dangers of the world. He was trying to protect the world from me. To protect himself.

​

I’m not only a screw-up, and a continual disappointment. I’m dangerous. 

​

I look at my hands. No wonder our clan hates magic. I hurt my own brother with it. The future captain of the Gwyllion army. The next Gwyllion Lord.

​

Who knows what Feyden will do to me now?

​

I curse. I can’t go back to the celebration, and I can’t stay here. Even if I somehow have the Mystics’ fire abilities, the Mystics are long gone. And if it isn’t that, what else can it be?

​

I look back at the stairway, and before I know it, I’m running. I run to the cell keys that always dangle on the far wall. It won’t be long until a guard returns to the dungeon post.

​

“Back so soon? I hope you brought more food. These stories aren’t cheap,” Whit begins before she catches sight of my face. “What’s wrong?”

​

“You still want to get out of here?” I whisper.

​

Whit lifts a brow. “Obviously. I’d also love to be the faerie queen, but that’s never gonna happen—”

​

I jingle the keys in front of her. “Wanna bet?”

​

Whit’s eyes widen, then narrow. “And how do you expect to get me out of here with the entire city gathered upstairs?”

​

I snort. “Look, I know this fortress like the back of my hand. There’s a hidden passage through the kitchen that keeps the servants out of sight. We’ll be on the other side of these walls and down to the beach before they even realize you’re gone.”

​

“Hidden passageways?” She crosses her arms. “You mean I’ve been down here for nearly two weeks and you knew this whole—”

​

“Whit! There isn’t time,” I cut her off. “Here’s the deal. If I release you, you take me to your ship, and you don’t tell anyone who I am.”

​

Slowly, a grin tugs at her lips. “Are you sure? Once you turn pirate, there’s no going back.”

​

I give her the best smile I can muster despite the turmoil coiling in my chest. “That’s exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

​

Before stepping toward the cell, I touch the dagger at my side. This will break Gaius’ heart, but he’s better off without me. Besides, I’m not who he thinks I am. I never really belonged. It’s time to disappear and become someone new. Something new. 

​

Wiping any last trace of tears from my face, I put the key into the lock and turn hard. 

​

I am changed. 

​

There are no tears left.