Tinder’s eyes widen. “Shhh,” she says, looking around. “Talamh kin will not tolerate anyone doubting the Forever King’s goodness.”

That is how tyrants are made.

“Surely people have questioned him before?” Croi raises her eyebrows.

Tinder shakes her head. “Everybody knows that the Forever King was good and Lugid, bad.”

“Doesn’t that seem strange to you?” Croi asks. The pixie doesn’t respond. “Several things don’t add up. The catkin said the Redcaps were taking the kidnapped kin to work in the mines at Areed. To replace the blue-horned fauns who all died suddenly.” Croi rubs her forehead. “You and I both know that isn’t true. The village is empty, and I didn’t see any signs of an active mine. Did you?”

Tinder shakes her head. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a mine.”

“Where would the mine be if not in the place we saw?” Croi counters. “What is the Robber Queen doing with all the kidnapped kin if they’re not being used to mine? Look at these rebel soldiers. Doesn’t it strike you odd that they are all so young? How did they come to be rebels? What led them to become soldiers? Have you asked?”

Tinder’s magick is dyed in the blue of anxiety, and she flies up. “I’m going to talk to Ceara!”

She flies off in a blur, and Croi draws her knees to her chest, hugging them. She is so exhausted that even breathing feels like a chore. She rests her head on her knees and closes her eyes. A little bit of peace returns to her, but it is fated to be short-lived as footsteps sound behind her.

Croi turns to see the one person she had hoped she never would again. Caolan.

“Can we talk?” Clad in the colors of the night, the catkin presents himself to Croi in the same way a criminal would to his executioner.

“Do we still have something left to discuss?” It’s not a question, though Croi dresses it up as one.

“Please?” The catkin seems determined.

“If I ignore him, will he go away?” Croi asks her inner self.

Smelly things tend to linger.

Caolan doesn’t move, nor do his eyes shift from Croi’s figure.

The quiet between them is dissonant.

“The crickets are loud tonight,” Croi says, turning to look into the depths of the forest, startling a pair of eyes blinking back at her.

“I’m sorry.” Caolan makes his apology from a distance.

“Are you? Really?” Croi looks at him. “What are you sorry for?”

He doesn’t reply, so she decides to help him.

“Are you sorry you pushed me? No, you’d do the exact same thing if something like that happened again. Hmm. Perhaps you are sorry for the situation that led you to decide that my existence is less important than your brother’s?” Croi’s face clears when Caolan flinches. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I won’t make any excuses,” Caolan says.

“If you won’t make excuses, why are you here?” Croi frowns, annoyed by the situation. “Let me guess—you want to appease your conscience? You think yourself a good person, so your actions, your ruthlessness, make you feel uncomfortable? To make yourself feel better, you came to seek my forgiveness?”