I sat at the water's edge with my hands clutching a bouquet of lilacs and my voice hoarse from pleading. Scattered around me, trinkets lifted from my father's study and other places in the house lay sparkling and spread about the grass. My knees had long since gone numb from my kneeling, and though it was a warm, sunny day as many of the days in Ecrivenia often are, goosebumps covered my arms.

"Please, if you bring her back, I'll give you each of these items," I plead, for likely the hundredth time.

I held up a book on cooking, having once heard that the fae and their lesser counter-parts, brownies, were intrigued by the human way of baking and cooking. I picked up a jeweled bracelet of rubies and garnets, gifted to my mother on the occasion of her tenth anniversary to my father. It had rarely left her wrist, except of course, now. The only thing to answer me, just like all the other times, is the gurgling of the river mere feet from my seat and the whistle of the wind through the trees.

I'd spent the night rifling through my mother's collection of books on the fae, including children's tales and more speculative works of fiction and non-fiction. I'd found a curious tome, The Ways of the Northern Fae, sitting pretty beside Lures and Likenesses: How to Lure a Fae in my father's study and had poured over both with the dedication I imagined most devoted to religious texts or letters sent by a lover. Having neither of either, I could only guess at what others would think of my findings, and when I was done, I'd stuffed the books beneath my mattress.

Though my father was more than willing to turn to the supernatural or otherworldly knowledge for answers and inspiration in the plight for my mother's health, the majority of town, or really, of Ecrivenia would've thought him mad. For those who believed in fae, it would be inviting trouble into our home, may it be from the fae themselves or the royalty of Ecrivenia that hated them. For those who did not, it was a descent into madness, into myth and fantasy.

Now that Mama had indeed been taken by a faerie, I didn't know what to think. Father was right all along, that something else was a foot, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something I did not fully understand. Why would they take her after all this time? Why by the river? What could they possibly want with her?

"If you bring her back, I'll go with you instead!" I cry, but I am once again met with only bird calls and the rush of the water. Not a single rustle of the bushes across the river answered my offer, and I let myself fall back against the soft grass. Tears pricked at my eyes, first slowly, then all at once, completely blurring my vision. Ugly sobs broke from my chest, and I fought to draw breath.

It was my fault Mama was gone. If I'd only grabbed her, or never left her side at all, the faerie couldn't have taken her. I'd been so focused on trying to make a good showing for the aunt I'd never met, that I forgot why she was here at all— to help take care of my mother.

Despair crept deep into my bones, digging its dirty fingers into my rib cage and holding me hostage even as I lay in the grass by the river. Was I really so selfish? The fae must think me pathetic, that I come to them begging for my mother, offering them trinkets that could never equal her in worth. What was I hoping would happen? That a faerie would step from the trees and offer to make a deal with me for my mother's eternal freedom?

I was being such a child. The tears flooded even more, the distance between who I wish I was and who I am feeling farther away than any distant shore.

"Clara?"

I startled, sitting straight up with such speed that I swallowed my next sob, giving a hacking cough. I opened my eyes, and through blurry vision I watched as Mrs. Landon approached me, her typical

"Clara, are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine," I said, my tone bright but forced and utterly unconvincing. I hiccoughed, wiping my nose and eyes on the back of my sleeve. The lavender fabric grew dark and muddled with snot and tears. Mrs. Landon gazed at me steadily, watching my display with her mouth down turned and her eyes soft.

"It's okay to be upset," Mrs. Landon said to me, her voice quiet as she lowered herself to sit beside me on the bank. Her gray hair formed perfect curled waves and peaks, and her wrinkled hands lay folded in her lap, their tan skin standing against the white apron she wore over her typical dress of rugged linen. Though both of our dresses were made of the same fabric, hers featured a thicker thread and was dotted with wool thread sewn patches. She was a patchwork of familiar expressions, fabrics, and feelings and her words made me bubble out yet another sob.

"It doesn't feel okay," I forced out, and she frowned at me, pushing back a strand of hair from my eyes, though it sprang back to disarray with the rest of my errant curls. Her right hand covered my left, grasping it comfortingly. "I should've saved her."

"How?" It was a simple question, but I gaped at her. It was not asked in jest, and her mouth formed a thoughtful frown at its corners. "You know the stories of the fae as well as any other Ecrivenian girl."

"I—" I looked over to the array of objects still littering the grass and felt awash with shame. Had I really thought I could plead with immortal beings that supposedly cared little for humans other than to trick them? I had. "If I'd stayed with her, or maybe if I find something that they actually want—"

"They've already taken what they wanted. If they wanted something else, we would already know it."

"How do you know?" My tears had slowed, and I looked at her with clearer eyes though still with crushing guilt. Her frown deepened, but she squeezed my hand again, patting it with hers.

"I have not always lived in Portfall, and I've heard my fair share of tales." She looked away from me, out towards the river and the sun-dappled trees on the other side. Birch trees, willows, and oaks sat by the river, their branches torn between dipping towards the water and the sun. All stood innocently enough, a perfect treeline for a pleasant summer's day. I waited for her to continue, looking over at Mrs. Landon as she watched the river and all of its bubbles rush by us.

"Like what?"

It seemed to be the encouragement she needed. "Have you ever heard of the glass maker?" I shook my head. "There once was a glass maker in the mountains of Cairn who possessed great talent. Like the silversmiths of Portfall, their skill was honed over years and years of practice. It started small, with small trinkets catching the eye of townsfolk, but soon enough, the fae became interested in her skill."

"Her skill?" Surprise colored my question, and my eyes widened. "I didn't know women could work in the trades."

Mrs. Landon raised a brow at me. "Have you not seen the women healers your father called to the manor?" A flicker of shame arose— she was right, I'd forgotten. "Do not limit yourself and others just because you do not see it often."

"I will not."

"Either way, the fae heard of her skill. Some say it was because she bragged of her abilities, others say it was her own fellow townsfolk that traded the information for a favor, but one midsummer night, she disappeared in front of their eyes, taken by the king of the fae to work in their court."

"Did her family try to get her back?"

"I'd imagine they did, but they didn't succeed. There was nothing they could offer that the fae wanted, no matter how they pleaded, no matter what they offered. The story goes that years passed, until one day she reappeared back in town, but she was changed." Mrs. Landon looked back towards the water, her lips pressed together. "Her glass making was more skilled than ever, and she made impossible things, like living butterflies and magic mirrors, but she was a shadow of herself and she brought back more than just her new skills."

"Did she ever get better?" Mrs. Landon met my eyes, but her face was grave as she shook her head.

"She did for a time, as she fell in love and left her home in the mountains, but not even her new family could keep her safe from the fae, and one day they took her back."

"Why would they do that?"

Mrs. Landon shrugged, the motion strange on her usually poised frame. "Perhaps they sensed she was unhappy, maybe they felt she had become one of their own. Or she owed them something else. It's hard to say, but the point is that you cannot barter with the fae to bring her back. They only listen to those whom they want something from, and I wouldn't want you to offer something you cannot give."

"It is a strange faerie tale," I responded, and she looked at me sharply.

"Clara, it is no faerie tale." I shrank back at her tone. "Faeries are not the beings of children's stories or myths. The glass maker is no writer's creation, but a woman who got taken and never was the same again. Only trouble can come from meddling with the fae and your father, determined though he is to get your mother back, is only courting trouble."

"But he has to do something!" I snapped, throwing my hands up in the air. "We can't just sit here, waiting for the day she returns like the glass maker. What if she never comes back? What if they hurt her? We can't just leave her."

Mrs. Landon got to her feet and I felt a pang of regret. "I'm not saying you should forget her, but charging off blindly is a fools errand."

"I don't think Father will charge off blindly," I argued, thinking of the years of research he'd done trying to fix my mother's ailment. "Is he not planning his course now, trying to find the right way?" I got to my feet as well, unsettled as I often was that I stood taller than her now, whereas I used to feel so small beside her, so safe. "I understand your concern, but there truly is no other choice we could make. We can't just let her go."

"Of course," Mrs. Landon responded, but I could tell she was only humoring me. She turned away, making to walk back up the path towards the house. She walked with less sureness than she used to, the nature of her work and her increased age causing her to stoop slightly as she moved. I frowned as she went, an extra layer of regret coating the feelings I already felt. She'd come to comfort me and I'd argued with her.

Just like my conflicting feelings from before, I felt torn between one set of actions in another. I saw her reason, her thoughts, but how could I let my mother go? She'd only been gone a single day, if anything, less than that. She would never give up on me so easily. I corrected myself, Mama from three years ago wouldn't have given up on me so easily. As ever, the woman she'd become and the one who'd raised me loomed as different pillars of the same woman in my mind. I could not acknowledge one without the other.

Shaking myself and grimacing at the mess I was about to leave on the river bank, I fled after Mrs. Landon, not willing to add one more regret to my growing pile.

"Mrs. Landon, wait!" I ran, dust kicking up in my wake as I skidded to a stop in front of her. She'd taken the left path, the one that went around the maze, rather than through it. "I'm sorry, I know you only mean to help and to keep me safe, and my father." She peered up at me, her arms crossed over her chest and the bodice of her fitting apron. She started at me for a few moments, her rheumy eyes searching mine. She sighed, unfolding her arms and linking her right arm with mine.

"It is alright. I should have been more gentle with my warnings, but they still stand. I do not think much good will come of this quest, but I know you would never give up on your mother."

"What would you do?" I was honestly curious, as there didn't seem to be a good course of action other than charging off into the wilderness or trying to barter with uncaring faeries. Mrs. Landon paused in her steps but continued, leading us down the path towards the front of the manor.

"I suppose I would go to the king, or maybe seek an audience with the prince."

"The prince?" I'd never met the prince nor the king himself, but had met the late Queen when my mother went to the palace for tea, several years ago. I remembered a hushed and carpeted parlor, as well as the fanciful tales of the king's crusade to rid the land of the fae, following in the steps of his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather before him made into tapestries and paintings that adorned the walls.

Flames, fearsome creatures, and a long-gone king on a white steed waged war against winged beings not unlike the one that had taken my mother, but these fae had been ugly with gnarled faces and blood-soaked hands. Both sides had struck deep into my memories, with neither seeming any better than the other. Was the prince like his father? Did he seek the end of all things fae, the end of anything unlike him? I was not sure what to think of that.

"Yes, the prince. Though I've yet to meet him, I'd imagine you'd have a better chance of speaking to him on the matter than his father." She searched the paths around us, as if looking for eavesdroppers or listeners. "Do not tell your aunt, but there is a large celebration planned to celebrate the Prince's twenty-third birthday. It would be the perfect time to try to ask if there are any plans to continue to hunt the fae."

"Where did you hear that?" I'd never taken Mrs. Landon as a gossip, but there was much I did not know about her, apparently.

"From the head housekeeper at the palace, but it is meant to be secret for now. It will come at the end of the month, and last for over a week."

"I am not out in society yet though. I could not attend even if I wished."

Mrs. Landon nodded, but surged on. "Yes, but you could perhaps convince your father that you should be out in society before you leave. It doesn't have to be a grand event, or even something that means any large change. I've heard some girls of your age have simply had a dinner party and posted it in the Herald."

The Herald was an infamous but helpful weekly paper that was sold in the market and brought to the homes of all the wealthy lords and ladies of the area. It was not so much a report as it was a column or three of gossip and happenings of the week and upcoming weeks, but it was popularly believed to be firmly under the thumb of some important lady or another of the palace court.

"I will try to speak with him."

And I would, but even as I thought of it I couldn't help but turn doubtful. As we walked by the outer gardens, stepping onto the long road that passed by the manor and went into town, I focused more on my churning stomach and still confused thoughts. Father had never seen the importance of my going out into society, but after my aunt's reaction yesterday, it felt more important than it had before. If it was may way to find another course of action, to find a way for my mother to return home, maybe it was worth it.

A clamor of sound reached my ears, a strong contrast to the peaceful chirps and crunch of leaves I'd grown used to over the past two hours. As we drew closer to the front gate of the manor, my face twisted into a frown and Mrs. Landon and I stopped at the very edge, looking into utter chaos.