The bat disappeared, not even a shadow on the nearly moonless night. She had deposited a carefully wrapped bundle on the window’s ledge and left with a frighteningly intelligent look of recognition in her strange eyes.

  Corabelle wedged the library window open a mere sliver and palmed the parcel.

  “It is stuffy,” Amietta commented, glancing up from the book in her lap at the slightly ajar window that was letting a crisp sea breeze flutter the pages.

  Corabelle nodded, hiding the parcel in the folds of her dress, “I thought we could use some air.”

  Amietta bobbed her head lightly in agreement, returning her line of sight to the book as Corabelle returned to her seat at the desk.

  Feeling the edges of the cloth covered parcel she could feel that the contents were hard and cylindrical with a distinctly sharp point protruding from one end, almost like a needle.

  A tiny rolled piece of parchment was tied to the package with a length of rough, grasswoven twine.

  Curiosity itched under Corabelle’s skin as she sat there, pretending to read the book in front of her.

  Eyes of a human and delivering a gift? What was that thing?

  There hadn’t been many Masters of Transmutation in this region, much less one advanced enough for true shapeshifting. If there had been they would have been targeted first in the slaughter.

  It was entirely possible this ‘bat’ didn’t come from this region, perhaps sent to aid the war effort. Though she doubted any country still safe would risk a prize Master and certainly not to bring a gift to a Faedemon.

  Which left only one other option, a Psychic connection.

  While the Psychic Arts were grossly understudied in Greater Verdiante, there had been tell of the human mind being able to possess small creatures and directing them to complete simple tasks. Though these stories seemed to source solely from the Aldiran region with very little verified evidence.

  While nearly as slim, perhaps there was an Aldrian mage fighting in the war effort.

  “I am hungry,” Corabelle announced, pressing the only excuse she could muster to leave.

  Amietta’s eyes darted up briefly, her body tensed with nerves, “Are we going back to the docks?”

  Corabelle shook her head, “No, I don’t particularly care for human meat and that place is foul,” She assured her. “I am going to see about gathering crustaceans from the dungeon. They have a far better flavor and even that place smells better.”

  She set her book down on the floor next to her seat, “I don’t know how to catch fish.”

  “That’s why you are going to continue your work here,” Corabelle told her, clutching the gift tightly against her thigh. “It will be much faster to hunt without you. I won’t be gone long.”

  Amietta’s face fell in poorly concealed disappointment, “Okay, Mistress.”

  “I’ll bring back half of what I can find for you,” Corabelle told her.

  She wouldn’t let this girl starve herself. After uncovering what this mysterious parcel had to offer, she would bring them both back something to eat.

  Amietta didn’t even try to hide her relieved smile, ”Thank You, Mistress.”

  Corabelle followed the narrow stone stairs to the dungeon in the cliff below the castle. Slick with moss, she might have fallen to her death if she wasn’t careful.

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  The skittering of hundreds of tiny feet echoed around the cavernous space as she descended.

  Bugs or crustaceans, it was impossible to tell without looking over the sheer drop that was the unprotected edge of the staircase.

  As she reached the first landing, the rusty gates sat ajar tiny denizens staring from the thin horizontal supports with disdain. The smell of old seawater permeated even this high up, with four more stories below.

  The Fae hated this place. They didn’t even put the human prisoners here for the sole purpose of never having to step foot in these dank, putrid halls.

  It was pitch darkness down here, the braziers having not been lit since the previous monarchy. Without her Runebind, Corabelle wouldn’t have even been able to see the ghostly shapes of the Bonecrabs staring at her as they slowly approached, trying to determine if she was a foe or dinner.

  Though she didn’t need to, Corabelle ignited a small heatless flame, placing it on the ground in front of her, barely bright enough to cast light on the boldest crab.

  Regardless, the entire horde of Bonecrabs scrambled away from the obtrusive light. Their spindly legs, nearly as long as Corabelle’s arm, ticked furiously against the stone as they carried their almost comically small bodies into the nearest cell.

  With that annoyance dealt with, Corabelle could finally figure out what this strange gift really was.

  Pulling the tiny scroll carefully free of its twine confine, she began to read the simple handwritten note,

  Rescuer,

  I do wish I had a name to address you by to wish you a real thanks. But I hope this gift will suffice.

  -The life you saved

  Corabelle’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘The life she saved’. This note had to be from the mason, but how he managed to send it, she couldn’t even begin to solve.

  Though his words weren’t the end of the note, below his message was more. The different, refined handwriting offered only more questions,

  The enclosed syringe contains a Dewsilver compound. If you want the freedom Martin sought to repay you with, inject it into a vein to the best of your abilities. So long as it’s in your system, protecting your brain, you can not be tracked nor commanded with any degree of accuracy. You will have around a half day by my estimation.

  North of here is an abandoned village, wait for us there if you want to stay free.

  I suppose I should wish you good luck.

  Corabelle unwrapped the syringe to find a thin metallic black goo, sloshing in its dirty glass tube.

  Dewsilver?

  As far as Corabelle knew, the substance had little more use than decoration, a way to disguise cheap pottery as fine silver.

  Could it really shield her?

  No. That was absurd.

  If it was what this other mysterious writer claimed, surely someone would have figured it out. Her peers wouldn’t have suffered enslavement if there was such a simple way to avoid it.

  Though… Her mind went to the bat, her sweet human eyes.

  Dewsilver was not exactly common and not used in any of the major magical disciplines of this region.

  If there was an Aldiran mage among them, versed in the more refined aspects of the psychic arts, perhaps there might be more to Dewsilver than Corabelle could know.

  Corabelle rolled the syringe around in her palm as she read the short note again and again.

  The mason, Martin it seemed, was safe. He was with a mage, so he'd be well protected or at least well hidden.

  Maybe this really was freedom in the palm of her hand.

  Or maybe this was a trap.

  Maybe he wasn’t safe, maybe he’d been captured and forced to write this note, to be a pawn in another game of the Fae to test her loyalty.

  Her eyes bore into the words on the page. The handwriting was clean, careful. There was evidence of torture. No smudged ink or hasty misspellings The parchment was worn and creased, but remarkably clean, free of the smell of blood and fear.

  She clutched the dark vial as tightly as she could without cracking it. She’d made her decision the moment she read the mysterious writer's words.

  Death or freedom. Either was better than this.

  But if she did this, she wouldn’t be back with supper. Amietta would be here, alone, unprotected, likely forced into tutelage under another Faedemon, one with far less patience.

  The girl would have failed the mission she hadn’t even known she was a part of. She’d be punished. Corabelle just had to hope it would be more delicate than the usual consequences for failure.

  But if this worked, if she survived this, that could mean freedom for not just herself.

  I’m sorry.

  The sharp point plunged into the crook of her arm, and the dark liquid entered her vein.

  I’ll come back for you.