Seraiah jerked awake, disoriented, and found herself lying in a bed, dressed in a nightgown.

  The last thing she remembered was stuffing her face with the delicious food that a pumpkin faery had brought. How had she ended up here? And where was Kestrel?

  She propped herself up on her elbow, taking in her new surroundings.

  There wasn't much she could see. The room was nearly pitch black, just as it had been in her dream. This seemed to be thanks to heavy brocade curtains over the windows on either side of the bed.

  Seraiah left the bed and tugged the curtains open. Only a bit of murky, blue-tinted light filtered in. She leaned closer to inspect the window. The glass wasn't crystal-clear like the windows she’d seen in Nyrene. Instead, it was wavy and tinted a shade of light blue.

  She pressed one hand against it and yelped in surprise when the cold bit into her palm.

  It wasn't glass, after all, but ice.

  Seraiah quickly dropped her hand and turned away.

  Now that there was a little light, she could make out more features of the room. Besides the bed she’d recently vacated, there was also a vanity. Seraiah found herself drawn to the large mirror perched atop it.

  Her eyes went immediately to her neck. It was her first time seeing the mark that had marred her skin since Ren had attempted to remove it. As Kestrel had said, the spots were small, barely noticeable now, and could almost be explained away as a birthmark. Seraiah gingerly touched the spots. They didn’t feel any different than usual.

  She tugged the neckline of the lace nightgown down to expose her collar bone. The tendrils of the shadows that had previously curled there were completely gone. As long as Ren upheld his promise, it would stay that way.

  A noise at the door startled her from her thoughts, and Seraiah hastily pulled the nightgown back into place. A moment later, another odd-looking creature entered the room.

  It wasn't the pumpkin from earlier, but it was another food shape faery. This one looked like a head of broccoli.

  She watched it flutter around with a small feathered thing in its hand. Was it—was it dusting?

  It didn’t seem to notice her standing there.

  "Hello," Seraiah said. "Can you tell me what’s going on? Where is my friend?"

  The little broccoli creature let out a frightened shriek and jumped into the air. Instead of answering Seraiah's question, it scurried from the room, slamming the door shut behind it. There was the unmistakable snick of a lock clicking into place.

  It was that sound that sent Seraiah into a panic. She flew across the room and tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn.

  "Hello?" she called, hammering the flat of her palm against the smooth wood. "Is anyone out there?" She rattled the doorknob but got no response.

  Exasperated, she turned back to survey the room, or as she’d now realized—-her prison cell. Her eyes landed on the blue ice windows. Maybe there was a way to open those, and she could escape that way.

  After a quick inspection, Seraiah found that this would not be her exit point, either. The windows were sealed with no way of opening them, and even if she could find something to break them, the ice appeared to be thick. With her luck, it was probably spelled too. Kestrel might be able to use her fire to melt them, but Seraiah had no such magic, nor any idea where Kestrel was.

  Her attention went back to her reflection in the mirror.

  The mark.

  If she really was a prisoner here, she could try to use the mark to call to Ren, as he had used it to call her. Since he was their ally, he would be obligated to rescue them. Of course, if he’d gotten her note, he could be in the human world now. It would be ages before he reached them. If he ever did.

  Seraiah touched the shadow spots. Then there was the other matter to consider. Ren had warned her if either of them used it, it would spread again.

  Before she could decide on whether to try it, a knock sounded on the door.

  "Come in," she called.

  The door opened to let in the male faery from yesterday. He quickly averted his eyes when he realized she was dressed in a nightgown.

  "Why was the door locked?" Seraiah demanded. "What’s going on?"

  "It is for your safety," he informed the floor. "The Queen has asked me to take you to your mother. I will wait outside until you are dressed."

  "I will gladly get dressed if you can tell me what has happened to my clothes," she said before he could retreat.

  The faery pointed to a wardrobe in the corner that Seraiah was sure hadn't been there before. "You should be able to find something suitable in there." Then he was gone again.

  Seraiah crossed the room and opened the wardrobe, expecting to find her clothes inside. Instead, what she found were multiple dresses and a small selection of pants and tunics. None of which she had previously owned.

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  Not wanting to make a fuss about it in case they decided not to let her see her mother after all, she selected a dark blue dress made of crushed velvet and lined with snowy white fur.

  The dress was surprisingly comfortable. It was like she’d wrapped herself in a warm blanket. There was a hood attached to the back of it that was also lined with white fur, but Seraiah opted to leave it down. Thick stockings and wool-lined boots completed the outfit.

  After she was properly attired, she headed for the door. She half expected to find it locked again, but the knob turned easily in her hand. The faery, whose name she still didn't know, was waiting for her on the other side.

  "This way," he said, setting off down the hall.

  Seraiah hurried to keep up with him while trying to take in as many details of the place as she could. The day before, she’d been too hungry and tired to notice much of anything around her, but now that she was fed and rested, she wanted to learn as much about the Unseelie Court as she could.

  Just in case.

  Unlike her room, the hall was chilly, and if not for her new faery dress, she would have been shivering. Seraiah tucked the hood of the dress closer around her neck to keep out the chill. Sneaking a glance at the faery in front of her, she noticed the cold had little effect on him. He wore what appeared to be light linen trousers and a thin tunic—both in shades of blue. The tunic had sleeves that came to his wrists, though they seemed to be more of a style choice than for actual warmth.

  “Can you tell me where my friend is?” Seraiah asked.

  “She has accommodations of her own. Do not worry. She is perfectly comfortable and will join you for dinner.”

  Seraiah was only marginally reassured. At least it seemed they would not keep them apart all the time.

  When they reached the end of the hallway, the faery held the door open and gestured for her to go first. Seraiah thanked him and stepped into a courtyard dotted with frozen sculptures. A light snow fell softly around her, and Seraiah finally pulled her hood up as she marveled at the beauty around her. There was something peaceful about a world turned to ice. Her breath fogged out in front of her as she waited for her faery guide.

  Once upon a time, she had loved winter, and the snow it brought. She had loved it almost as much as Sterling had loved the daisies in the spring. However, too much of a good thing is enough to turn any love sour. Seraiah would be more than happy to leave the cold behind for good, no matter how peaceful it appeared.

  "This way," her guide said, snapping her out of her reverie.

  They cut across the courtyard to another pair of doors. It wasn't until they stepped inside the new hallway that Seraiah noticed the faery wasn't wearing any shoes. She started to ask him about it when he stopped outside a door, not unlike the one to her own room in the Winter court and announced they had arrived at their destination.

  Seraiah took a deep breath and clenched her hands at her sides to stop their trembling. On the other side of the door, waited the mother she’d thought was dead.

  The faery knocked softly and waited two beats for a response.

  There wasn't one, but he didn't seem bothered by this. He opened the door and stepped inside with Seraiah on his heels.

  The room was appointed similarly to the one where Seraiah had woken up. The heavy curtains were drawn, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust and spot the figure perched on the edge of the bed, facing away from them.

  Dark hair cascaded down the figure’s back looking mussed from sleep, though the woman was dressed in a fur-lined gown almost twin to the one Seraiah had chosen.

  The faery crossed the room and opened the curtains. "You have a visitor, Miss Ashe," he said.

  Again, there was no response to indicate she’d heard him.

  The faery gave Seraiah a sympathetic look before exiting the room, leaving her alone with her mother.

  Seraiah twisted her fingers together nervously, unsure what to do now that she was here. The Winter Queen's warning that she might not like what she found still rang in her ears.

  "Ashe," Seraiah said softly, not wanting to startle the woman.

  She didn't move or turn or do anything to acknowledge she’d heard Seraiah.

  Seraiah tried again. "Mother?"

  Until she’d said it, Seraiah hadn't realized how wrong the word was to describe the woman before her. This woman may have given birth to her, but she wasn't Seraiah's mother in any other sense of the word. That title belonged to Jensira.

  Ashe’s face turned in her direction, and Seraiah got a glimpse of delicate features in the dim light. She’d always been told she resembled her father, and now, looking at Ashe, she could see how true that was. Seraiah moved closer to the bed and took a seat next to her mother.

  Ashe said nothing.

  This close, Seraiah got a good look at Ashe's eyes and it almost felt like looking at her reflection in the mirror again. It seemed there was one feature of her mother’s she’d gotten.

  "I'm Seraiah. Your daughter."

  Ashe stared at her, unblinking.

  "Did you—"

  "You shouldn't be here," Ashe interrupted her.

  Those weren't the first words Seraiah had expected to hear.

  "Why not?"

  Ashe's gaze moved over her shoulder, and her eyes took on a faraway look, as though she was no longer in the same room.

  "Why not?" Seraiah repeated her question. "I needed answers. I need to know how to overcome the madness."

  Ashe mumbled something that she couldn't quite make out, still staring vacantly over Seraiah's shoulder.

  "What?"

  Ashe didn't repeat her words, and Seraiah got a sinking feeling that she was lost in another world—a world of visions where you weren't sure what was real anymore.

  If this was what would happen to her, she would pay any price to find out what the Winter Queen knew about stopping it. She didn't want to end up like this, but neither did she want to give up her visions.

  Ashe latched onto Seraiah's arm. The coldness of her hands leaked through the heavy fabric of her sleeve.

  "Fate cannot be fought," Ashe said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can't change what is to come."

  Goosebumps rose on Seraiah's skin, whether from the cold or Ashe's words, she didn't know.

  "What does that mean? Are you talking about the madness?"

  Ashe was quiet again. Her hands fell away from Seraiah's arm.

  "Please," Seraiah begged. "Tell me what that means. I need to know how to stop the madness."

  Ashe caressed Seraiah's cheek with icy fingers. For a moment, her eyes seemed to be focused on Seraiah's face like she was really seeing her, but that focus didn't last more than a second.

  "You know what it means," Ashe said fiercely. "You have the answers." Her touch on Seraiah's face was no longer a caress as her grip tightened and her nails dug uncomfortably into the sensitive skin of Seraiah’s cheek. "You have the answers," she repeated, almost shouting.

  "Ow! You're hurting me!" Seraiah cried out as Ashe’s nails broke skin. "Stop! Please. You're hurting me!" She squirmed, trying to break Ashe's hold on her.

  Behind them, the door flew open, and the faery who had brought her here rushed in. He quickly disentangled Seraiah and pushed her out the door.

  "Ashe must be having a bad day," he said once the door was shut between them and the mad seer.

  The way he said it made Seraiah think every day was a bad day for Ashe, and he’d expected something like this to happen.

  Seraiah lightly touched her stinging cheek. Her fingers came away dotted with blood.

  "Did she say anything to you?"

  Seraiah shook her head, still staring at the blood on her fingers. "Nothing coherent."

  "The Queen warned you she would be like this."

  "I know." She’d known, and yet she hadn't expected it to be this bad.

  While the faery led her back to her room, Seraiah replayed the conversation in her head. She kept going back to what Ashe had said about fate. Maybe it was nonsense like she’d told the faery or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, it wasn’t what she’d come here for. She could worry about the ravings of a madwoman later, after she figured out how to avoid becoming one herself.