Chapter 4 4- Ask Yourself, Who Benefits From This Interaction?

LOTTIE

Pik grumbles for a little longer, muttering under his breath and casting wounded looks in my direction like I’ve deeply insulted his honour. I guess I have. Accusing a fae of lying probably ranks somewhere between rude and suicidal in their social hierarchy. But I don’t soften. I just glare at him until his tiny shoulders sag.

“Fine.” He huffs at last. “I do not know, nor have I ever known where your brother is. I do not know who has taken him.” He says it slowly, deliberately, like he’s reciting something sacred. My heart thuds so hard it almost hurts. The words feel heavier now that he’s said them properly. My brother is gone. Not misplaced. Not hiding. Not temporarily enchanted. Gone. Pik doesn’t know where he is. I don’t know where he is. There’s no plan forming in the back of my mind, no sudden solution. Just a hollow, expanding panic that starts in my chest and spreads outward, cold and suffocating. Zander has never spent a night away from me. He still curls into my side when he sleeps. He still reaches for me if he wakes from a bad dream. And now he’s somewhere else. With someone else.

I fumble for my phone with shaking fingers and call my grandmother again. She answers on the first ring, like she’s been standing there holding the phone, waiting.

“I can feel your panic. He’s a changeling, isn’t he?” She says immediately. There’s no judgement in her voice. No surprise. Just a quiet confirmation.

“Yes.” I choke out. “And I don’t know what I did, but I turned him back to himself. He’s a pixie, and he doesn’t know where Zander is, and I don’t know how to find him. He’s gone, I lost him. How am I going to get him back? He must be so scared!” The words tumble over each other. I can barely breathe between them. I’m pacing without realising it, one hand fisted in my hair.

“You changed him back? Without a spell?” She asks, and there’s something almost awed in her tone. “That’s immensely powerful magic. It makes sense, I suppose. If your mother was considered unworthy of our bloodline magic, it likely skipped a generation, and you got an extra dose. I wouldn’t be surprised if your brother is powerful too.” She comments. I stop pacing. Seriously? THAT’S what she decided to focus on?

“I don’t CARE!” I shout, the sound cracking. “I don’t care if I have powerful magic. I just want my brother back!” I say desperately. There’s a pause on the other end, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer. 

“I know, Lottie. I know.” She exhales slowly. “Only a powerful fae could have forced a change like that on a pixie. That kind of glamour isn’t casual magic. So, in order to find him, you are going to need to find another powerful fae to help you.” She explains. The words settle over me like a death sentence. “Most fae don’t take audiences with humans or witches.” She continues carefully. “But pixies are lesser fae and usually serve under someone stronger. Find out who the pixie serves, and maybe he can get you an audience…” She trails off. I can hear her thinking. Calculating. Imagining worst-case scenarios. “Although… I don’t know how you are going to convince a fae to help you. They do not act out of kindness. But I’m sure you will think of something. You always do.” She adds after a moment, tension creeping into her voice. That isn’t comforting. “Still, you need to be incredibly careful dealing with the fae. I’ll email you some important rules to remember. In the meantime, I want you to pull out all the jewellery I’ve sent you over the years. Every piece. It’s all made of iron. It will burn fae if they come into contact with it. It won’t kill them, but it will give you some protection.” She presses on briskly, slipping back into practical mode. Iron. Protection. That’s something. That’s solid. “Go. Hurry up.” She instructs firmly, and before I can argue, question, or spiral again, the line goes dead. I stare at my phone for a second longer, listening to the silence. Then I swallow hard. Powerful fae, iron, and rules. Fine. If that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do. 

I don’t give myself time to think. If I stop moving, I’m going to fall apart. I run to my closet and drag down the small wooden box from the top shelf, the one I keep tucked behind old scarves and a pair of shoes I never wear. It’s where I store my favourite things. Not expensive things. Just meaningful ones. Inside is a collection of trinkets my grandmother has sent me over the years for birthdays and Christmases. Things my mum always rolled her eyes at and called ‘dramatic’ or ‘ugly.’ Things I secretly loved because they made me feel like someone out there was thinking about me. Five rings. Two necklaces. Four bracelets. They don’t look particularly impressive, dark metal, simple designs, nothing flashy. But I remember my grandmother pressing each one into my palm when I was younger, telling me they were important, even if she never quite explained why. Now I know. 

I slide the rings onto my fingers one by one. They’re cool and heavy against my skin. I clasp both necklaces around my neck, the chains tangling slightly before settling. The bracelets follow, clinking softly as they fall against each other at my wrists. By the time I’m done, I feel ridiculous. Like I’ve raided a medieval costume box. 

Pik hovers behind me, his wings buzzing nervously. The moment he realises what I’m putting on, he recoils so sharply he nearly crashes into the wall.

“Hey, lady, what are you trying to do?” He demands, eyes wide and offended. The iron is working better than I expected. Even the proximity makes him uneasy. Good.

“Pik, can you take me to your master? Or mistress. Whoever you usually work for.” I say, turning to face him. The pixie shifts in the air, suddenly very interested in the corner of the room. His wings slow.

“You want to see Lord Rowl?” He asks carefully. Even I recognise that name. Lord Rowl is not some obscure woodland sprite. He’s practically fae royalty in this city. Powerful. Elusive. Rumoured to be a shapeshifter. The paparazzi are constantly trailing him, trying to uncover his affiliations, his alliances, his secrets. Unlike most fae, he hasn’t publicly aligned himself with either the Seelie or the Unseelie courts. As far as everyone knows, he is neutral. Untethered. That makes him dangerous. I give a stiff nod. 

“Yes. I want to meet Lord Rowl. Do you think he would be likely to help me find my brother?” I ask. Pik’s face scrunches up as though I’ve just asked if the sky might decide to turn purple for fun.

“Powerful fae never do anything for free.” He says flatly. “He might make a deal with you, though. If he’s willing to speak to you at all. I don’t think I can get you an audience.” He tells me. My shoulders sag before I can stop them. Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple. But Pik isn’t finished. “But…” He continues, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.  “I could get you an invitation. Today is Friday, yes? Lord Rowl is hosting a party tonight. As one of his followers, I have an invitation. I could give it to you. It can be a trade. To thank you for changing me back. We would be even.” He tells me. 

A party. With powerful fae. That sounds like the exact kind of place I should absolutely not be going. It also sounds like my only chance.

“Deal,” I say immediately. An invitation is better than nothing. A crowded room is better than being turned away at a locked door. If I can’t demand an audience, I’ll create an opportunity. I’ll wait, watch, and find a moment to corner him. I don’t care if I have to humiliate myself. If Lord Rowl is powerful enough to help me find Zander, then I will walk into a room full of fae armed with nothing but iron and stubbornness. And I will make him listen.