I flinch away from her touch. At least, I try. My body doesn’t move. The icy fear and revulsion makes me lose focus, lose the little grip I have left on my mind.

I have to hold on. I have to fight back.

Now that I’m the one who’s trapped, ensnared by enchantment in my own mind, my connection with Gossamer is stronger than before. I wonder if this was how he felt. Getting lost in my emotions, in fear, will make me slip away.

But I’m not the only one in here who can feel fear.

Gossamer meets the faerie’s eyes—my mother’s eyes. Hard and unblinking, long enough to make me feel unbalanced and queasy.

Our lips twitch, still baring our teeth. I try to swallow the words back, but they come anyway. “I’m not too weak to admit my mistakes, Briar. But don’t worry yourself over me. I never repeat them.”

But under the calm surface, our stomach is turning with the effort it takes Gossamer to hold me back.

“Of course not,” Briar says, unaware of the struggle being fought inches away from her. She leans back, giving me space to breathe. “I doubt you’ll live long enough to get the chance. The whole Court’s after you, Gossamer. From the moment you arrived, we could smell your magic, smell the mortal stink you brought with you. Whoever brings you in is in for quite the reward, it seems. And once that’s done, we’re going to tear you apart. But this time, you won’t have your army of traitors to save you.”

That seems to hit Gossamer hard. The sudden realization of how defenseless he is right now sinks like a stone through him, churning up anger and grief in its wake. Just long enough for me to gasp—a breath that’s ragged and fully my own.

Cold claws dig into my mind, forcing me back under the surface. I struggle against them, but Briar’s enchantment is still on Gossamer’s side.

As long as it lasts, I won’t be able to overpower him.

Briar’s face splits into a grin, and her hungry eyes sweep over us like we’re a puzzle she’d like to take apart. “Giving you a fight, is she? What an exquisite specimen.”

Pain stabs through our chest as Gossamer fights to regain his composure, to maintain a conversation while also struggling against my clawing, screaming efforts to take back my mind and body. “One of yours?” he asks mildly. A grunt of pain manages to break the surface, and he holds our hand tight to our ribs, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together.

Briar smiles politely, watching us like someone might watch the twitching limbs of a drowning fly. “Not my style,” she says. “The other one, though...”

“Other—” I gasp, regaining control of our mouth even as our hand, still under Gossamer’s influence, claws at our throat “—one?”

Mist swirls around Briar. Her form flickers and changes, like paint bleeding into water. It’s hard to make out her new face in the dappled shadows, but I know it anyway.