The first time I kissed Franc was on Blue Elm island. Well, Franc kissed me. The bold ideas were always hers.

We rented a beat-up little boat from one of the gruff fishermen who fished off the wild side of the island where the wind never stopped and the shore was never the same from one day to the next.

"Do you even know how to row?" I asked, eyeing her thin arms.

"Singing isn't my only talent," she said with a grin, picking up the oars.

It turned out getting to Blue Elm didn't require much rowing, as the current carried us most of the way there, our boat bumping gently up onto the shore. Franc and I dragged it away from the reaching waves and glanced about.

"It doesn't look very haunted to me," she said, almost disappointed.

The crescent of beach was empty, strewn with crushed shells and clumps of seaweed. The air smelled of brine and loneliness. The land climbed steeply away from the beach and I admired the tangle of Franc's auburn hair as the wind played with it while I followed her up the path to the cliff rise.

I was out of breath by the time we reached the top and what little was left was stolen again at the view. Beneath us, the wide green sea stretched to the curving horizon on one side while the city glittered on its fin-shaped island on the other.

We turned as one and our mouths dropped open in unison. In the bowl of the island's center, a ring of huge elm trees with dark blue trunks stood sentinel, hiding whatever was in their middle. A spiraling path led out from the ring of trees rising up around the rock face until the path blended into the top. At regular intervals along the path was another elm tree, their trunks gradually lightening in hue until the very last one was bleached white as bone.

"This is closer to what I was expecting," said Franc. Her gray eyes were wide with delight and something else that was hard to place. "Let's go."

"Wait," I said, grabbing her hand. She looked down at my fingers wrapped around hers and heat flooded my face. I dropped her hand. "I've heard all sorts of stories about this place. What if it's dangerous?"

"You never struck me as someone afraid of danger, Fayore," she said slyly.

"I'm not afraid of danger. I'm trying to avoid it. I've had enough of it for one lifetime."

She took both my hands in hers. Her skin was warm, soft and my breathing hitched in my chest again. "You are one of the bravest people, I know. And now you've got me watching out for you too. Besides, think of how jealous Bertie and Theo will be when we tell them of our adventure." She squeezed my fingers and my heart spiked. She kissed my cheek and I feared my heart would stop. And then she was off and moving towards the beginning of the path.

We wended our way down the circular path, which seemed much longer than it did from the top. I lingered under some of the trees as we went. The bark was smooth and polished, the leaves broad and full of sunlight. A faint pins and needles feeling ran through my fingers when I touched the trunk. I turned to ask Franc if she felt the same sensation, but she was another rung down the path and I jogged to catch up.

She was waiting for me at the end, where the trail opened up into the bowl and the trees, huge, old things whose roots probably reached the water below, filled the perimeter. The buzz I felt from the tree trunks above seemed to permeate the air down here. Goosebumps flared along my arms.

"Do you feel that?" I asked.

"The thrill of adventure?" Franc asked. She moved into the trees.

It was quiet here; a kind of quiet I had never heard in my life. Not in my crowded, broken house, not on the pleasure barges, not in the ocean, not in my alley. I closed my eyes and breathed it in and found the quiet infused inside of me.

At the center of the clearing was a cottage, neat and well-kept, surrounded by tiny, yellow flowers that hung from their stems like bells. A chimney poked out from the back though no smoke drifted from it and the windows were shuttered and dark.

Franc sidled up next to me and whispered, "Reckon anyone's home?" She didn't wait for me to answer, but walked through the narrow gap of yellow flowers toward the house. About halfway, she smacked into...nothing. "Ouch!" she yelped, clutching her nose. She reached out a hand and encountered the same resistance. "It's warded," she said, almost to herself.

"Seems that some of the stories have a thread of truth," I said.

"Do you think the ghost is inside?"

"I imagine she's sleeping at this time of day," I said. Franc had whispered the tales of this island to me in the dark of our shared tent in the depths of the Haven, a precious candle cupped between her hands. Her voice, thick and slow and sweet like honey sent shivers down my spine and seemed to slow down time, but I didn't believe in ghosts.

"Perhaps that's why it's warded?"

"I think you're grasping, Franc," I said. She threw me a look and I smiled. I could believe magic lived on this island, but I didn't have any desire to investigate it. Magic attracted the wrong sorts of adventure. Franc rolled her eyes and threw up her hands in concession.

"You're right," she said exasperated. "I just thought there would be more."

"A creepy, guarded cabin in the center of blue trees on a remote island isn't enough for you?" I teased.

"No," said Franc. "It's merely a beginning." She walked through the yellow flowers, trailing her fingers along their tops so they bobbed in her wake. A faint mist of golden pollen shimmered behind her.

She was right, as she always was. It was the beginning of many things. Some wonderful. And some not.

#

The attack in the alley had sped up my timeline. I didn't have the luxury of waiting for daylight to go to the Haven. I would have to go tonight.

I wended my way through the dirty veins of the city, sticking to shadows and doubling back in case anyone else was following me. I made a brief detour into the dusty cellar of a run-down inn Franc had begun performing at only weeks before I was sentenced. The inn keeper had taken a liking to the two of us, the way people looked fondly on stray dogs that wagged their tails. She had offered her cellar to us on nights when the storms were violent enough to tear roofs from their houses and I had taken the opportunity to stow another tiny vial of blue sap beneath a loose stone in the floor. It was easy enough to pick the new lock on the door and scurry through the towers of dusty crates to the back corner. I breathed a sigh of relief when I picked up the vial and stowed it in the pocket sewn into the inside of my jacket. I said a silent prayer that I wouldn't need to use it. This was my last one.

At the mouth of the street that was dubbed The Haven, I paused and pulled up my hood. I was torn between lighting my candle of hope or letting it sit dormant in my chest. What would hurt less?

I squeezed the tiny glass vial and plunged down the street. In some ways it had changed a lot. And in some ways, it hadn't changed at all. It was still cluttered with haphazard shelters. The most sophisticated of the lot had a roof made of scavenged wooden slats, though the majority were half-constructed tents of dirty canvas. Candles flickered from the interior of some while the glow of eyes peered out from others at my passing. I ducked as a tin can was thrown at my head. The sound of it clattering down the cobblestones raised a few curious heads while others pulled what privacy screens they had tighter.

Franc and I had shared one of the nicer tents towards the middle of The Haven, but as I drew closer to the spot, I saw that it had been taken over by shelters that were decidedly not our home. I slowed my steps and bit my lip. My eyes stung and I blinked away the sudden glaze of tears. Stupid candle. These days, tears were a rare luxury I usually couldn't afford. But I allowed myself a minute to let one slid unchecked down my cheek.

In the weeks leading up to my arrest and banishment, Franc and I had talked about finally moving out of the Haven. Her singing had gotten her noticed by people with real money, minor merchants, tavern owners, the occasional musician who had been hired to play at a lesser lord's banquet. She had enough coin to line both our pockets several times over, enough to afford a room at one of the communal houses.

#

"Think about it, Franc. In just a couple of days we'll have a real roof, running water, a place to keep our food where rodents won't eat it. Or at least, it will be more difficult for them. If they get to it there, I suppose they will have earned it," I mused.

Franc was moving around our cramped space, tidying our few belongings. She tugged the threadbare carpet into position, straightened the wreath of driftwood branches and kelp she had purchased from a dirt-encrusted child, crossed her arms and sighed. "I'm not so sure I want to leave."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "We've been talking about this for weeks."

"I know," she said. She turned to me and took my hand. Hers were soft where mine were callused. "We're happy here. I'm afraid to tempt fate."

I offered her a reassuring smile. "Fate doesn't care about the likes of us." Franc dropped my hand. My smile faded. "You're afraid we won't be happy there?" Did she think our happiness was tied to this tent? Was it that fragile?

"I'm afraid we will be," she said. "Happiness is to fate like blood is to a hound. It hunts it. It feeds on it. And leaves ugly carcasses in its wake."

I grimaced. "Not exactly the picture I wanted painted of our new home."

"Exactly," sighed Franc.

#

I took a deep breath and wiped the tear from my neck. I suppose, in the end, she was right. Fate had sniffed out our happiness, even in this dank alley, and ripped it apart. Now, even the carcass of our tent was gone.

I turned on my heel and froze.

A guard, the moonlight shining off his breastplate, stood in the middle of the street.

Couldn't I have gotten one night of freedom?

I did not want to risk looking over my shoulder and instead combed back in my memories for a map of the end street, calculating the quickest route back to the ship. The thought of leaving the city without Francesca made me want to scream, but it seemed I had no choice. I would go back out to sea with Brune and find a new way back.

Don't run. Not yet. There's a chance he may not be here for you. It was not unheard of for guards to patrol the Haven where fights and theft were common. The meaner ones would harass the residents for nothing better to do; the good ones might give a copper to a woman with an underfed babe. There was one, a green guard fresh out of the training barracks who would come often to flirt with Franc. She would indulge him so she could see my eyes roll into the back of my head and tease me about it later. But for one to be here at this time of night did not bode well.

I reopened the cut on my palm, a hiss of pain working its way up my throat and got my tiny glass vial ready. I prayed that I would not need to use it and debated if it would be better to continue down the street away from the solider, if he would think I was running, or to walk towards him. I decided to stay and let him come to me.

When he was only several paces away, he spoke in a booming voice that brought the eyes shining from the dark once more. "Fayore Dumont?" he asked.

So, he was here for me.

"Yes?" I asked, guarded but not hostile.

"Will you come with me, please?" His tone had taken the same measure as mine, treading carefully. Though he phrased it as a question, I wasn't convinced I had an option.

"For what reason?" I countered.

"Orders, miss," he replied. The cadence of his voice sounded familiar to me for some reason. Or perhaps it was just the cadence that all positions of authority had when talking to those beneath them.

I gripped the glass vial tighter and walked forward a few paces, angling my trajectory in the hopes one of the few low lamps strung along the street would throw his face into relief.

"I have a right to know if I am being charged with something," I said loudly. I doubted anyone in The Haven would come to my aide whether or not I was being unfairly detained, but at least rumors would get around. Whispers and rumblings were some of the last weapons I had.

"At this time, you are being asked to come peacefully," he said, though his words were beginning to angle towards hostile.

I was finally close enough to see enough of his face to understand why his voice sounded so familiar. It was the guard that used to flirt with Franc. The last seven years had sanded down the roundness of his face into sharp angles and the eager light in his eyes had dulled a bit, but it was him. My heart did a weird flip in my chest. He might know where Franc had gone. I was grasping for a crumbling ledge just out of my reach, but the site of it alone made me want to jump.

"May I at least know where?" I asked, before I let my desire to find Franc cloud my judgement.

"The Lady of Third Manor requests your audience."

The title raised my internal hackles once more. That was what the men had said as well. Why was the Lady of Third Manor so intent on speaking with me? I wasn't even sure who she was. When I had been banished from the city, the family of Third Manor had been the Vilvanis, as it had been for the last hundred years. From what I could recall, they had had a son and a daughter, but who was to say whether the son had married or the daughter had come of age?

When the men had confronted me in the alley, I had thought the Lady wanted my presence in the city to remain secret, for whatever end she had in mind. So, why now send a guard? Had someone found the men unconscious in that alley so soon? Was she so desperate to speak with me?

Though a small part of my curiosity was piqued, I had already seen the dark side of this city, and I had no intentions of returning. I would go with the guard only so far as to see what he knew about Franc.

I relaxed my stance and nodded. "Very well. I will come peacefully."

The guard gestured with his hand back up the street and I fell into step beside him. His gait was easy, but he kept his left hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw should I change my mind and run. I kept my thumb on the stopper of the vial in my right hand.

"Your name is Niam, no?" I asked.

The guard appeared visibly startled and I knew I had been right. The streets surrounding the Haven were quiet and empty at this late hour and his boots rang loudly off the cobblestones.

"You used to come to the Haven to speak with my friend. A maiden named Francesca."

Niam's eyes slid to me and then away.

"Have you seen her recently? Does she still come around here?" I asked.

I thought, for a moment, now that I had agreed to come, he would refuse to speak anymore. But then, he cleared his throat and said, "I have not seen her for some time."

My heart sank and I had to swallow the lump in my throat so I could get the next words out. "When—when was the last time you saw her?"

"It is hard to say. Four, maybe five years ago was the last time we spoke in the Haven. But I did see her perform at an inn, The Waystone Inn, a few months after our last encounter. I tried to find her after her last song, but she had disappeared."

I lapsed into pained silence. Four years prior was the closest lead on Franc I had, unless the owner of the Waystone could tell me anything else. Maybe she had performed there again, after the last time Niam had seen her.

"I'm sorry," added Niam, his voice intruding into my thoughts. At first, I thought he was apologizing for the lack of information, until my eyes refocused ahead and I saw the row of spear heads glinting in the moonlight, all pointed at my heart. 

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Fayore's in trouble! What do you think? Will she escape or will she be captured again?? Let me know in the comments :)