I touched the point of my ear, studying it in the mirror. My mind told me it was wrong, that it shouldn’t exist. Just like the faint scarring that was visible when my hair was tucked behind my ear or pulled back in a braid.

  I wouldn’t be able to hide this for long. Not the scar, not the ear, not the plants grasping at my ankles. Even now any vegetation in the forest leaned toward Ronan and me, reaching out to us like desperate hands of the earth.

  Ronan paced behind me, muttering under his breath, fists clenched. His anger rolled off him, filling my living room. It was dark, too dark. I had opened all the shutters, drawn all the curtains, and turned on all the lights. Still, the room was dimly lit as if evening, the lights casting a soft, faint glow.

  That fey had said she’d given us gifts… called us children of the forest… could she have done something?

  I set my pocket mirror on the coffee table, curling up on the couch and watching Ronan pace.

  He was still muttering. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. I leaned forward and focused on his voice, trying to pick out his words.

  “Stupid forest. Stupid fey!”

  His voice boomed in my ears as if he was shouting into them. I jumped, shrinking back.

  Ronan paused his mutterings and glanced at me.

  “What?” he asked, his voice flat and blissfully normal in volume.

  “Nothing, nothing!” I forced a smile, waving him off. “Please, continue.”

  Ronan sighed and collapsed into an armchair across from me. “There’s no point. This wretched forest has cursed me. I am doomed.”

  “So melodramatic,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

  Ronan glared at me, his eyes darkening.

  The desperate need for normal slammed into me. Tears pricked my eyes as I clenched my fists. I just wanted things to go back to normal. I did not want dreams about fey or strange pointed ears or a new partner. I just wanted what had been, the steady rhythm of day-to-day life in Sherwood. To chat with the other villagers, to help in the kitchens, to practice my spying on Robin and train with Will and Marian.

  I stood, slipping out of the living room, into my bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me.

  “What are you doing?” Ronan asked, a tired edge to his voice.

  I wiggled out of the rumpled dress I had worn to dinner the night before, changing into a slim fitting navy blue top with long sleeves. I slipped a matching skirt over my brown leggings, then fastened my belt around my waist. I opened my door as I checked my equipment, slipping on my leather fingerless gloves as I crossed the room.

  “I’m off,” I said, opening the front door.

  ***

  Ronan stalked through the training grounds, a dark expression on his face. A shadow seemed to loom over him, darkening the space around him.

  I ignored his brooding.

  He can act like such a child when the moment arises. He was the one who asked to join me, not the other way around.

  No one paid any attention to us as we crossed over to the far end of the yard, sheltered behind a storage building. There were quite a few groups training, unlike yesterday, and they all knew what I was capable of.

  Ronan watched as I hopped up onto the wrap-around porch and stepped into the storage building. The space smelled like old wood and dust, filled with an assortment of practice equipment and archery supplies.

  I took a box from the shelves near the door and brought it outside, handing it to Ronan.

  “A hatbox?” he asked, his eyes lightening slightly as curiosity got the better of him.

  I took the lid off, revealing the dozen compartments filled with all sorts of knickknacks and training tools. None of them were even the least bit dangerous. Various small trinkets like marbles and keys that unlocked nothing, a set of flashcards on a ring, and a small stopwatch were some prime examples.

  Ronan picked up a small cat figurine. “What is this?”

  I met his eyes as I grabbed the box, twisting so I was close enough to snatch it from his hands as I ripped the hatbox from him.

  Ronan looked down at his hands, then at me. “Pickpocketing?”

  “Practice makes perfect. It’s best to do so when it’s least expected. For realism.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I placed the figurine back into its compartment, my eye catching on a red marble. Robin had turned my pickpocketing lessons into a game for the entire band when I had first started my training. He had given them a single marble. If they could keep it for a full 24 hours, they won a favor from me. It was highly motivating.

  “Oh?” Ronan said, a little too casually.

  I looked up just in time to see him draw his dagger.

  I dropped the box, hopping off the porch and drawing my own daggers, heart jumping into my throat.

  The blades clashed, the force of the blow jarring my teeth.

  This will hurt.

  I ducked, darting closer and ramming the hilt of my smaller dagger into his right arm.

  Ronan hissed and backed up slightly, before lunging at me again. I blocked again, then tried to dart closer and whack him in the side with the flat of my longer dagger.

  He twisted his knife, nearly knocking my smaller dagger from my hand as he thrust his forward, then rammed the hilt of his dagger into my stomach.

  I fell back, coughing, eyes watering.

  Somehow I had made him mad. Really mad. I could see the fury in his eyes, black as night. Even the space around us seemed to grow dark, as if it was dusk.

  I forced myself to stand, blocking three more of his blows. My arms ached from the impact, my heart pounding in my ears as I tried to land a blow.

  I missed, stumbled, and got the hilt of his blade rammed into my side for my troubles.

  I coughed again, darting back.

  It was no use. Ronan lunged at me, his knife coming at me too quick and too hard. I could barely block, let alone even attempt to attack. The fight seemed to stretch on endlessly. My lungs burned, my body growing slower, heavy with fatigue.

  At last I spotted an opening as he lunged for what seemed the thousandth time. Shifting to the side, I rammed the hilt of my dagger into his wrist, the only place I could reach. He dropped it, stumbling back, blinking hard.

  I froze, gasping for breath as I sheathed my daggers and collapsed into a puddle on the dusty ground. A lump formed in my throat, the relief swelling inside me.

  Ronan rubbed at his eyes, his breath shaky. He blinked, then looked around wildly, wobbling on his feet. Strangely, the darkness that had followed him all day began to lighten.

  Something wasn’t right.

  I had noticed it all day, the darkness that gathered around him like a cloak of shadows. And his eyes… I could see now that a cloud of soft grey covered them, as if he was blind. A sense of panic filled his every move. A panic that seemed unnatural given the situation.

  Dreams of fey. A single pointed ear, with decorative scarring. A cloak of shadows that seemed to follow Ronan around.

  It couldn’t possibly be… no, that was ridiculous. Ronan couldn’t have magic, could he? Human magic wasn’t real. It was the stuff of legends, a fairy tale. Humans couldn’t harness any sort of magic. Only fey could, and only in their realm.

  Ronan stumbled forward, then fell to his hands and knees and wretched. I pulled myself to my feet and stepped forward, crouching beside him.

  I patted his back, feeling immensely awkward. “You’re fine. It’s fine.”

  “I can’t see,” he said, his voice low, shaky, and filled with pure terror that chilled me to the bone.

  Maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe it’s all my imagination. Maybe Ronan has an illness of the mind from his time in the capitol.

  I knew the mind could do strange things when past memories came up. Ronan would not be the first who struggled with a painful past that afflicted the mind, though he was the first I had heard who couldn’t see because of it. But…

  I felt his terror pressing in on me, weighing me down. It settled in me, in a spot next to my heart, and I could tell it was not my emotions, but his.

  I grabbed Ronan’s blade from where it lay on the ground, shoved it in its sheath at his side, and stood. I took Ronan by the wrist and pulled him up, practically dragging him across the training yards. He stumbled, and I could feel him shaking from the grasp I had on his wrist.

  Home. I need to get back. I need to look at some of the old books, and talk to Friar Tuck.

  This was too big to handle alone. I needed to figure out what to do and make a plan. Ronan collapsing in the village wouldn’t help anything.

  We made it to the porch steps of Little John and Millie’s house before Ronan collapsed against me, breathing hard. I could feel his heart pounding in his chest too hard, and his face was pale and a little green.

  “Retch on me and I will kill you,” I warned him as I stumbled forward.

  “Noted,” Ronan gasped.

  We struggled up the steps and into the house. I dropped him onto the sofa, positioned only a few feet away from the front door. Ronan had a slim build, and his height was toward the lower end of average, but he still weighed a good thirty pounds more than me, too heavy to carry far.

  I sat on the coffee table, breathing hard.

  Ronan managed to kick off his shoes, curling up into a ball on the couch, still shaking.

  I reached down and lifted a section of the coffee table’s top up, revealing a compartment filled with blankets underneath. I grabbed the first one and threw it over Ronan.

  Ronan’s eyes closed, and I could feel when he lost consciousness. The panic that had settled into my chest lifted as his eyes closed, replaced with a numbing calm.

  I stood, then turned and left. I had a lot of thinking and planning to do, and a letter to write.

  As I climbed down the stairs of Little John and Millie’s house, making my way to my own next door, I touched the tip of my pointed ear.

  If Ronan has human magic because of the dreams and ear, do I?

  I gritted my teeth. I really hoped I was wrong about this.