“No.” The faery shook her head. Her hair was unbound, tumbling down her back and trailing behind her onto a flower-dotted ground. There were no twigs or mud entangled in the curls here.

The faery turned away from Rae, staring into the water as if it were a giant mirror. Faces drifted under the surface like Ophelia drowned and tragic. Has she lost someone? Death was so much larger to faeries. When one had the promise of eternity, centuries seemed a blink. Rae had seen the reality of such loss when Devlin considered what he did for his queen. Her orders were blood on Devlin’s hands.

“What do you dream of?” Rae whispered.

The faery didn’t look away from the water. Silver veins like roots crept from the faery’s skin and sank into the earth, anchoring her to the soil. Rae was transfixed by the sight: faeries weren’t ever this unusual in their self- imaginings. They saw themselves much as they appeared in their waking world; their essential representation echoed reality. They were of the High Court, logical in this as in all things.

“My son is gone from me.” The faery looked back at Rae. “He’s gone, and I can’t see him.”

Rae’s heart ached for her. Faeries had so few children that the loss of one must hurt even more than the loss of most faeries. Rae sat beside her, carefully not brushing the roots that extended from the faery’s hands, arms, and feet. “I’m sorry.”

“I miss him.” Six tears slid down the faery’s cheeks. They fell to the soil and rested on the ground like drops of mercury.

Rae gathered them into her hands and carried them to the edge of the river. With her words, she reshaped the water, stretching it and widening it until it became an ocean.

“Seven tears into the sea,” she told the faery.

Then she returned to the faery’s side and knelt. With one hand outstretched, Rae added, “Seven tears for a wish.”

She caught a seventh tear as it fell.

The faery was silent as Rae flung it into the water.

“What do you wish for? As long as you’re sleeping, you can have it.” Rae stayed kneeling beside her. “Tell me what you wish for.”

The faery woman stared at Rae. Her voice was as a slight breeze, but she said the words, made her wish. “I want to see my son, my Seth.”

Behind them the sea vanished, and in its place a mirror appeared. The glass was framed by vines hardened and blackened like they’d been darkened in fire. In the mirror, Rae could see a faery unlike any others she’d glimpsed and very unlike the austere appearance of most High Court faeries. Seth had silver jewelry decorating his eyebrows; a silver ring pierced his lower lip; and a long silver bar with arrow- like tips pierced the top curve of one ear. Blue-black hair framed a face that wasn’t faery-pretty, but mortal-hungry. Seth didn’t look anything like the son of the vibrant faery.

Is he why she sees herself with silvered anchors?

Seth was fighting with a group of faeries with moving ink on their forearms. If they’d been mortals, Rae would guess that they were the sort of people one should cross streets to avoid. In the mirror, Seth wrapped his arms around a muscular female faery and propelled the two of them through a window. Broken glass hit the cement floor inside of a bleak- looking room.

Where are they? Did she see her son die? Is that what this is?

Rae winced in sympathy at the thought that the faery had witnessed her son’s death.

The faery didn’t look away from the mirror at all. She raised one hand as if she’d touch the images. “My beautiful boy.”

Seth was laughing at the scowl on the muscular female faery’s face. “Got you,” he said.

“Not bad, pup.” The cruel-looking faery in the image plucked glass from a long gash in her shoulder. “Not bad at all.”

Another faery tossed a water bottle at Seth. Only the inked arm was in the frame, but even without seeing the face, Rae knew that this was another fighter. His voice carried like a rumble of thunder: “Go another round with Chela?”

Seth shook his head. “Can’t. Summer Court revels tonight. Ash… we’re talking, and she wants me with her there.”

“Keenan?”

“Still MIA.” Seth grinned, but just as quickly looked away, as if his happiness was wrong.

“Pity.”

“Do you know where he—”

“Don’t,” the female faery, Chela, interrupted. “It’s not Gabe’s place or mine to tell you things that we learn for our king.”

Seth nodded. “Got it. Good fights today?”

“You’re still broadcasting your next move too much,” the voice, presumably Gabe, said.

“Tomorrow?”

“By the time you’re awake, it’ll be evening. If you do it right, pup”—Gabe stepped into the frame and grinned— “revels aren’t the sort of thing one follows with early mornings.”

The words spoken by the faeries in the frame felt far too precise to be a memory. Moreover, this wasn’t a scene that ended in Seth’s death. This is not good. As Rae watched, she had the sinking suspicion that she’d done something new: she’d somehow given the dreaming faery a glimpse into the mortal world in that very instant. How did I do that?

“Your son isn’t dead?” she asked.

“No. He is in the mortal world.” The faery turned to stare at Rae with unblinking eyes. A clear lens slid over her inhuman pupils, reminding Rae of reptiles she’d seen. Faeries were Other. She’d known that from her first day in their world, but it was rarely made as obvious as it was in that instant.