I stare at her, this strange recognition playing tricks on my brain.
They share the same name.
No, it’s not possible. Though the resemblance is uncanny, that girl’s hair was sable. And besides, Mother didn’t return the child to her family.
A shudder runs down my spine, my body subtly reminding me that things of the past are best left forgotten.
“No one,” I say, dismissing the notion. “Never mind.”
Golden eyes peek at us from the bracken as we walk, but nothing but the fool goblins would dare challenge me on the road, though certainly not for lack of interest.
These hidden creatures are small and insignificant—wood pixies and mud sprites, florigans with fat bodies covered in colorful hair and faunaweavers with eyes three times larger than their ferret cousins. None are a threat.
Alice, however, senses them. Their eyes wink out as she looks their way, just before she has a good view, lingering in her side vision to spook her. She’s unnerved, glancing into the surrounding forest as we walk, unconsciously edging closer to me.
Funny that the girl unknowingly shies away from those insignificant creatures and ends up next to one who’s not so benign.
But she thinks I’m human. I almost laugh aloud, morbidly amused by the innocent assumption.
Too soon, we reach the tall, scrolling gates that mark the boundary of my land.
“Iron,” Alice murmurs to herself, frowning. She then turns to me. “I thought the Fae…”
“They cannot work the metal themselves, but it makes a decent deterrent against the less savory of their kind. The materials are purchased outside Faerie and then transported here. Human workers install them during the daylight hours.”
Alice presses her hand to the gate, giving it an experimental push to see if it's open. I, however, know the gates are locked from the other side, barred with a heavy rod of metal. A chill travels my spine when I contemplate reaching through the bars and touching it with my bare hand.
Contrary to human legend, iron doesn’t burn us. But it does send a jolt through our bodies that’s not dissimilar to the sensation one receives if someone scratches a nail across a chalkboard. It’s unpleasant.
I turn to Alice. “This is your last chance to change your mind.”
Looking hesitant, she peers through the gate at the heavily wooded lane that eventually leads to my estate. “Who is Lord Ambrose, exactly? Why does he live so close to humans?”
“He’s the marquis of Rose Briar Woods.” I cross my arms. “He protects the Fae border.”
“From humans?” She looks back as if the notion is startling.
I nod.
“Have you ever seen him before?”
I think of all the times I’ve looked at my own reflection in the mirror, deciding it’s not a lie. “I have.”
“Is he as terrifying as rumor states?” she asks, fear finally making her voice sharp.
I smile, pleased with the turn in the conversation. “Even his mother abhors him.”
Alice hugs herself, blinking with indecision.
“Let me take you back to the bridge.” I coax.
But my words of warning don’t elicit the response I was hoping for. The girl stands taller, letting her arms fall to her sides like she’s about to march into battle. “I’ve come this far; I’ve lost my things and my supplies. I can’t turn back now.”
“You can,” I point out.
She turns, pinning me with those familiar eyes. “But I won’t.”
The girl is either very brave or very foolish—or she simply loves her brother, though I cannot fathom why.