Slowly, I stand up and listen. I hear the gurgle of a stream in the distance and the tweet of a bird here and there. A dragonfly, larger than my hand and in every color of the rainbow, flits past me with a soft buzz.

Off in the distance, I think I hear soft voices mingling in the cadence of numerous conversations. Slowly, I put one foot in front of the other until I reach a line of hedges, again all perfectly made like I’m inside a child’s dollhouse. The voices grow louder, and it almost sounds like a party. The clink of glasses is backdropped against gentle music and floating laughter.

“Oh, hello,” a voice says, and I turn to find a stunning High Fae female watching me. She’s wearing a loose grey silk dress, has deep brown skin and long silver hair, and looks like she must hail from Tor. If I’m not mistaken, she’s actually the spitting image of Queen Bronte.

“Are you new here?” she scans me from head to toe. “You seem a little young.”

I open my mouth, unable to respond, as she steps closer and peers at me. “You must be Garnet’s son,” she says, her eyes growing wide.

Garnet. The name stills the blood in my veins.

My grandfather’s name was Garnet, but . . . surely not. She thinks I’m my father.

“You really don’t look old enough, though.” She’s still studying me. “Nevertheless, you’ll probably want to see him. Come on. We didn’t know you were coming, but sometimes that happens. One of you just drops in.” She searches behind me, and I turn around to see what she’s looking for. “Where is your bonded?”

“I . . . was just looking for her,” I say. That causes a wrinkle to form between her eyes before it softens away.

“Oh, I suppose it’s possible she ended up somewhere else, but that is unusual. No worries, she’ll make her way here eventually.”

I’m not sure why I lie about who I really am other than if someone discovers I’m not supposed to be here, they’ll throw me out. And I suddenly have a strange, bone-deep urge to see the man I know only from stories and paintings.

“Will you take me to see my . . . father?” I ask, and I don’t have to fake the ballooning emotion that swells in my chest.

“Sure. Come this way,” she says brightly, leading me towards a gap in the hedges framed by a marble arch.

“What were you doing out there looking for me?” I ask.

“Oh, I heard you fall,” she says. “I always like to be the first to greet our newcomers. It can be quite disorienting.”

“Thank you,” I say, because after that shitshow with Zerra, encountering someone kind feels like a cool breath on a hot day.

“What’s your name?” I ask.