Chapter One

SHE CAME FOR HIM in the middle of the night.

Prince Graham of the kingdom of Ardglass woke suddenly, and despite being only eleven years old, knew something was not right.

The castle fortress of Tullamore bustled with noise during the days—servants, visitors, and diplomats from the thirteen clans that comprised Ardglass talking and laughing and drinking. Led always by his father, King Gideon. But during the nights? Tullamore quieted, only the occasional creak of wood and stone as the castle shifted with the occasional servants' preparations for the next day.

But tonight, sound vibrated in the walls, the rhythmic echo of booted feet wrapped to dull the noise, pounding in harmony with the fierce beating of Graham's heart. Something was definitely not right. Had the clans laid down an ultimatum that his father hadn't told him about? Graham knew they were unhappy with his advisor and the King's own increasingly dissolute and drunken ways. Sabrina, the King's advisor, was noted throughout the kingdom as a powerful and intelligent woman. But some whispered she was a witch and a sorceress and that her magics had enslaved the King until he did not know what he did or why. But Graham believed it wasn't entirely Sabrina's fault that chaos was rising in Ardglass. His father, who was the tenth of his line, had, at the beginning of his reign, been a strong and steadfast ruler, but as time had gone on, power had corrupted him. He now spent most of his days drinking and his nights with a revolving group of girls that seemingly materialized from thin air.

Graham had asked his tutor, Rhys, about these women, and Rhys had simply affixed a bland expression on his face and told Graham that with his mother long dead, his father was lonely and desired company.

Graham had not replied that, if his father was lonely, there were many in Tullamore he could pass the time with—namely his only son, and in addition, all the many clan representatives who had begun to arrive in larger and larger numbers. But Graham did not particularly care to spend time with his father lately, so he said nothing.

Tonight everything felt different, and his apathy over his father evaporated as Graham was gripped by the real fear that something terrible had happened while he'd been sleeping.

His door opened, a wedge of dull candlelight spilling into his tower room. Graham fumbled for the little dagger his father had gifted to him on his last name-day, but even he was not naive enough to believe it would make any difference against a broadsword.

"Graham." The voice of his tutor, Rhys, was harsh. "Graham, you must wake quickly."

The one person in Tullamore, and truly in all Ardglass, that Graham trusted was Rhys. He made sure he was fed and clothed and educated—both from texts and from the members of the guard. Often it felt like the only one in all of Tullamore who gave more than a passing thought to Graham was his tutor.

Graham climbed out of bed and stared at Rhys, who was illuminated by a single candle. His face was white and drawn, as if all the blood had leaked out of it.

"Quick," Rhys repeated, his voice frantic, "put your boots on, lad. Yes, good, you have your dagger." Rhys glanced behind him, as if he expected someone to suddenly emerge from the dark shadows. "There is no time to lose."

Graham did what he was told, and even grabbed his cloak from the chair by the desk, where he had carelessly tossed it earlier in the evening.

Rhys' expression as he looked at him was frozen, and it nearly stopped Graham's heart in his chest. Something indeed was wrong, and though he wished to ask what it was, the cold look on Rhys' face trapped Graham's words in his mouth.

"There is a rope outside your window," Rhys said. "You must use it to climb down. At the bottom is a horse, with several saddlebags of supplies. You must take it and ride as far away from here as you can."

He could not help it; Graham gaped at his tutor. "I must what," he repeated, panic lancing through him.

If it was even possible, Rhys' face grew even colder, until it looked to be carved from the marble that lined the walls of the great throne room of Tullamore.

"You must go, they will be here any minute, and . . ." Rhys paused, and suddenly, there was fear in his eyes. "I promise that if they catch you, you will not survive her."

Rhys had long been the only constant companion that Graham had had. Rhys' face came more easily to him than his dead mother's. He had always been there—firm and much enamored of enforcing discipline on Graham's behavior—but always there. Did he mean that Graham should leave without him?

"What about you?" The words tumbled out of Graham, even as he tried to hold them back. He did not want to go into the forest surrounding Tullamore at night. He did not want to leave. He especially did not want to leave without Rhys. His father surely would have frowned and chastised him for his lack of bravery, but at that moment, Graham simply didn't care.

Rhys bent down, his head level with Graham's own. "I must stay, my prince. I will delay them, if I can. But you must be very brave for me now, and go."

Swallowing back tears, Graham nodded. "When may I return?"

Solemnly, Rhys just shook his head, and Graham could not hold back his choked sob. "Why?" he asked plaintively.

"It is your blood she wants," Rhys said, "and he has finally agreed to give it to her."

Graham had an idea of who "she" was, but did not ask the identity of the man who had acquiesced. He did not ask, because deep down, he knew the truth, and he did not want to see the look on Rhys' face as he told Graham that his father had agreed to sacrifice him.

He wiped his eyes. Fear still clogged his throat and held his lungs in a vise, but Rhys would not lie to him. If he needed to go, he would do as he was told, and go.

Rhys reached out and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You are brave and strong and loyal," he said to Graham. "Someday, you will need to remember that."

Graham did not ask what he meant, just nodded, and then turned towards the window.

He fumbled for the latch, and after pushing the heavy leaded glass panel, it swung open. There, just as Rhys said, was the rope, dangling right in front of the open window.

But when he glanced back, Rhys was gone, the candlelight disappearing down the darkening hallway.

Taking a breath, Graham faced the window and the rope again. It was not so much different than the exercises that the guard had set for him. Of course those exercises had been only a few feet over the dust of Tullamore's training grounds, and now there were several stories between him and the ground below.

Not that different, he told himself as he sat on the ledge and gripped the rope carefully in his hands. It was too dark to see from where it came, but it seemed solid as Graham gave it a hard tug. Still, his heart pounded as he gripped it hard, and swung his body out the window.

For eleven, he was tall and, as his father had crowed about on more than one occasion, he had inherited the hardy, muscular build of the Ardglassian line. His palms slid a little as he positioned his feet against the hard stone of the tower, and he began to carefully shimmy down the rope.

There were more windows in the tower aglow than normal at night, and each time he passed one, Graham's breath caught in his chest. His dagger was tucked in his cloak, and he could not easily draw it to defend himself if one of the windows suddenly and unexpectedly swung open.

But all the windows remained closed, though more than once, Graham saw dark-cloaked shadows pass across them.

He reached the ground, and as Rhys had promised, the horse was saddled and waiting, tied up by its reins.

"Hello, boy," Graham whispered to the horse, who dipped his head, and let Graham rub its nose. He was just about to grip the pommel of the saddle and swing up to mount when a rustling noise stopped him in his tracks.

A tall woman with long dark waving hair and a single emerald set into her gold circlet emerged from the thicket of trees surrounding the tower. Graham mounted before she could stop him, but when he dug his heels into the side of the horse, nothing happened.

"My prince." The woman's voice was dark and rich, like the honeyed wine that had so enslaved his father recently. Graham did not believe that was a coincidence.

"Lady Sabrina," Graham said, his voice calm even though he did not feel calm. He had heard much talk about how difficult she was to have as a friend, nevermind an enemy, and even though Graham did not believe he could convince her to change her mind, it was wise to proceed with caution. "Please release my horse."

"Why?" She laughed melodiously. "So you can escape?"

Graham had trusted Rhys. He had not believed Rhys would lie to him, but hearing the Lady confirm his suspicions was painful. He swallowed hard. "Gideon, the King and my father, would not stand for this," Graham insisted, because if he was not mistaken, he had few choices left and one of them was to appeal to his royal blood.

But then he remembered, with a horrifying chill, what Rhys had told him. It is your blood she wants.

She laughed again. "Here he comes." She beckoned to the trees, where a cadre of guards emerged, led by his father on his great black war destrier. "He may tell you himself."

Graham did not want to listen to his father, but even as he dug his heels into the horse's side repeatedly, the horse remained still and unbothered, like Graham was not even on its back.

Some terrible enchantment, Graham thought, but did not know how to possibly break it.

If the situation had been slightly less dire, Graham would have dismounted, come to the King's side and begged to be spared. But despite the inactivity of his horse, Graham still knew the safest place for him to be was on its back. If somehow Sabrina's enchantment could be broken, he was a good rider, and he had a chance at escaping the guard.

But before he could phrase his request, Sabrina's face shifted, like water under glass, and suddenly she was terrible and unrelenting. "My king," she said to Gideon, even as his gaze barely shifted to her. He was either heavily in his drink, or ensorcelled by Sabrina's powers.

"What is the meaning of this?" Gideon asked, words slurring together. "Graham, you have left the safety of your room."

Graham was speechless, and for a split second, he was not sure who he should trust. Had Rhys betrayed him? Had he indeed been safe in his room? It hurt to believe it, but it hurt less than believing that his father had agreed to give him to Sabrina.

"Father, I . . ." Graham stuttered. He'd meant to ask for safe passage, but the words stuck in his suddenly uncooperative mouth. He did not know whether this was another dark trick of the sorceress' or if fear and anxiety had suddenly overcome him.

"Graham," Gideon said, "you will go with the Lady Sabrina, at once."

"Where will she be taking me?" At the same moment the words tumbled out, Graham felt the horse stir beneath him for the first time since Sabrina had come into the clearing. Was her spell lifting?

"That is none of your concern," Sabrina insisted. Her dark eyes grew somehow darker in her beautiful face, and it morphed again, frustration marking it, before her features smoothed out again.

Graham's heart leapt in his chest. Something was preventing her from continuing the enchantment, and whatever it was, it wouldn't last long. He needed to make a choice, once and for all.

"Father," Graham repeated. "Where is she taking me?"

Instead of answering, the King turned his horse away, his face fading into the shadow.

Graham felt sick to his stomach, but he couldn't waste even a second, because he now knew, unequivocally, that his father had betrayed him. He dug his heels hard and fast into the horse's sides, and held tight to the reins as the horse reared and took off. Luckily, the guard had not surrounded him, probably because they hadn't wanted to frighten him, but it gave him the necessary gap between Sabrina and the guards' horses to squeeze through. Graham leaned over the horse's neck and urged it faster and faster, dodging trees and upturned roots. He knew the forest around Tullamore like the back of his hand, and he used every bit of his knowledge to wind his way through the trees, jumping over a stream as he heard the pounding echo of the guard chasing him. Sabrina's voice carrying through the dark leaves, threatening and cursing and angry. If her true colors hadn't been exposed before, they were laid bare now. Graham had no doubt that if she got her hands on him, he would be immobilized and taken someplace where he'd never see the light of day again. He did not really understand why she wanted him or his blood so fiercely, but he did know she wouldn't risk him getting away again. He'd be locked up, and not even his princely status would save him.

Graham's heart pounded in rhythm with his horse's hooves as they galloped through the forest, towards the main gate and freedom. It was the middle of the night, and Graham was counting on the fact that Sabrina, despite all her magical power, could not have raised the guard at the gate so quickly, and the way through would be open.

More shouts sounded from behind, and he heard Sabrina yell, "He's headed for the gate."

Risking a look, Graham saw that two of the guard were chasing him, but their horses weren't bred for quickness or speed, as his clearly had been. They were loaded with a lot of fancy armor, worked with gold and brass, and glinting with silver, and with those ridiculous velvet tassels that his father had once found dashing. All that extra weight meant that they might be excellent riders, but they could not overtake Graham and his light, sure-footed horse.

"Good boy, faster, faster," Graham breathed out and the horse leapt ahead, the wind streaming through Graham's hair, his cloak billowing as they gained more speed. The horses behind may not have had a chance, but he would be a fool to think that Sabrina had made no precautions at the front gate. She couldn't have raised the guard, not so quickly, but she was a woman of unusually keen intelligence, and he would be stupid to underestimate her.

They made the final turn towards the gate, hooves skittering across the cobblestones as they raced through the village. The light was better here, and he could see signs of people stirring in their beds, awoken with the noises of the chase. Please don't let her have raised the guard at the keep, Graham prayed as they approached. They were good men—loyal and obedient—and they would take him with only a word from her, and he would have no chance of evading her capture.

But it was not the keep's guard that met him at the gate.

Sabrina stood in the middle of the archway, eyes closed, murmuring a long string of words, flames spitting from her fingertips. He might have kicked his horse's heaving sides and tried to make it past without stopping, but just as he approached, her eyes shot open. Instead of their normal darkness, they glowed bright gold.

"You will not escape me," she said, her voice unearthly, and echoing with the power flowing through her veins.

He pulled up abruptly on the reins and watched in horror as her long golden cloak fell away in flaming strips, and her body began to bulge and shift into something out of a nightmare.

Graham set a reassuring hand on his horse as it bucked and skittered away from the creature Sabrina had become—head like a lion, attached to an oversized body, with a long, whip-like tail. Heart in his throat, Graham shrank as he realized the end of the tail was actually a spitting serpent.

"A chimera," he whispered out loud, remembering all of Rhys' lessons on creatures that had long ago tormented Ardglass and its neighboring kingdoms. A chimera had not been seen in many, many hundreds of years, but Graham couldn't doubt what he saw in front of him. He did not know how he could possibly evade such a creature and make it through the gate, but he would not cower in the dark and let her corral him into captivity. He would face this thing head-on, as the Prince of Ardglass, or he would die trying.

Then it occurred to him. She wanted him alive. She needed something from him, from his blood, and though he did not know what it was, it might stop her from fully attacking him if he approached.

The chimera growled and flames spit from its jaws as it paced in front of the gate, its tail whipping back and forth rhythmically.

It was expecting its very presence to cow Graham, to push him back, but he could not let that happen. Whatever occurred, Graham knew he could not stay here. His fingers trembled on the reins, but he gripped them tightly, his knuckles glowing dull white in the graying darkness.

The horse underneath him seemed to understand his purpose, and even though it shied a little under his hands, clearly terrified of the chimera, Graham knew—the way he knew he couldn't stay—that it would follow any directions he gave it. This horse had been bred for the royalty of Ardglass, and it recognized the Crown Prince on its back, and would follow Graham unto death, if that was what Graham asked of it.

But Graham hoped, fear making the edges of his vision fuzzy, that neither of them would be dying tonight.

"With me," Graham whispered to his horse, and it sprang suddenly, moving forward like a ghost in the night, weaving and dodging the chimera's flickering, hissing tail, and its spouts of flame. It screeched, the sound grating and unholy, but somehow still feminine. Graham ducked as the serpent-tail lunged for him, narrowly missing his shoulder, its teeth clacking uselessly against the heavy wool of his cloak. He reached up, blindly slashing with his dagger, disorienting the tail, and before the lion could turn and sear Graham and his horse onto the paving stones, they were gone, racing off into the darkness outside the gate.

They rode for what felt like hours, even though there had been no sound behind them and no obvious pursuers. It seemed impossible that he could have escaped so easily, even though battling a chimera could hardly be called easy. Still, he rode on, despite his horse's increasingly panting sides. They rode deeper into the forest surrounding Tullamore, and then deeper still, until between the darkness and the strange territory, Graham did not know where they had gone. They were away; that was all that mattered in the moment.

Finally, abruptly, the horse slowed, and then veered to the right, and then stopped in front of a small, bubbling stream. Light was beginning to seep through the trees, and Graham supposed dawn was only a few minutes away.

Graham dismounted on wobbly legs, still feeling like he might vomit. Between his father's betrayal and then Sabrina's enchantments, he felt unmoored and lost—and not just because he had never been to this part of the woods before. He could not easily hide, not in Ardglass. He would almost certainly be recognized instantly as the Crown Prince, and easily captured by Sabrina. Perhaps, Graham thought moodily as he watched the horse dip its head to drink in the clear water, that was why he had gotten away. Because she knew it was only a matter of time before she or the guard caught up to him. After all, he was young, and he was alone.

Not for the first time, Graham wished that Rhys had been able to come with him, to guide him, to show him what he should do. To explain what had just occurred. Why did Sabrina want his blood?

He decided that her reasons did not matter—only her purpose, and that certainly seemed terrifying enough.

"What should I do?" he asked the forest, even though he knew quite well that the forest could not answer back.

Yet, it did.

"You will come with me," a deeply resonant voice answered. Graham jumped and nearly reached for his horse's reins, but it moved away, giving him a bored, lazy look as it continued to drink from the stream.

At first, the source of the voice was not immediately apparent, and then before Graham could get his bearings or decide to wade into the stream to capture his horse's reins, a bewildering mirage appeared between the trees.

Graham shouldn't have been so astonished. After all, just tonight, he'd been betrayed by his father, then chased by a sorceress turned chimera, and now he was in the deep woods and alone for the very first time in his life. A unicorn shouldn't have felt like such a surprise, but Graham stared openmouthed and wide-eyed as it picked its way through the underbrush both elegantly and snootily. A little like all those bits of pine needle and bark were not quite good enough for it to walk across.

The unicorn shimmered—there was no other way to describe the brilliant white shine of its coat, or its single, silvery horn. Its flowing mane and tail were so ethereally pure white, they nearly gleamed blue in the muted dawn light of the forest.

Graham blinked, and then blinked again. Each time, he expected the vision in front of him to pass. Maybe he had hit his head? Maybe the chimera's serpent-tail had gotten him after all and injected him with some form of hallucinatory poison. Otherwise, what he was seeing simply did not make sense. Unicorns had not been seen in Ardglass for hundreds of thousands of years, if they had ever even existed at all. They had long since passed from history into legends whispered over the fire and a good tankard of mead. Emphasis on the mead, as most rational and reasonable men did not believe they had ever even existed.

But the unicorn remained present, as it gracefully stepped towards Graham. Then, stopping in front of him, it unexpectedly—Graham knew if he ever looked that word up in the large, leather-bound dictionary housed in the library of Tullamore, there would be a description of this night inscribed as the definition of "unexpected"—bent one knee and bowed to him, its long white mane rippling in waves to the forest floor as its head tipped towards Graham.

"My prince," the unicorn said again, in that deep, sonorous voice. "I am at your command."

Rhys had been carefully preparing him for a distant future in which he would be King, but he had never covered what one should do in the event of a talking unicorn pledging itself to Graham.

"Um," he said, because words had failed—and were still—failing him.

The unicorn raised its head and affixed Graham with a stern look. "Your Highness," it said, the two words it uttered an undeniable reprimand.

Graham flushed, embarrassed and flustered, but still not at all sure how he should proceed.

"It is very nice to meet you," he finally said. "You can call me Graham."

The unicorn huffed in surprise. "I certainly will not," it said. "But you may call me Evrard, Your Highness."

"Evrard," Graham said, testing out the name. "I have never met a unicorn before."

Evrard's face turned haughty. "I am not just any unicorn," he said, "I am King of the Unicorns." His attention flicked suddenly to Graham's horse, who had lifted its head from the stream to observe the newcomer.

"Goodness, there is no need to stare," Evrard continued, directing his comments towards Graham's horse. "How rude."

"He's not being rude. He just got ridden half to death, saving my life." Graham felt somewhat duty-bound to defend the creature who had protected him, while bravely and selflessly facing off against a sorceress-turned-chimera. For all his formality, Graham had difficulty imagining Evrard throwing himself into a fight with such reckless abandon. He'd probably want to negotiate with the chimera first, and then find a pair of seconds, and then set off at fifty paces, and make some sort of ridiculous honor-bound production out of a fight.

"Excuse me, he did not save your life," Evrard corrected him. "He prevented your untimely death. I intend to save you. That is why I have come to Ardglass."

"I'm why you're here?" Graham questioned in awe. The King of the Unicorns had come to Ardglass for him?

"I told you that you should come with me, and you will. We shall journey to the Valley of the Lost Things, and you will be safe from the sorceress who intends to take over your father's kingdom and drain you of your innocent royal blood in order to further her own filthy life."

Graham stared at the unicorn, another shock invading a system that was already over-full of them. "That's why she wanted my blood?" He shuddered, imagining her treacherous face looming over him, a silver knife flashing in her delicate, graceful hands.

Evrard dipped his head, sorrow in his voice. "Your blood is valuable for the power it contains, Your Highness," he said. "You are of the royal house of Ardglass, historically known to possess powerful magic, and you are on the cusp of adulthood, yet still innocent. It is that which the Sorceress Sabrina wishes to utilize for a spell that will extend her own life. Immortality is a powerful motivation." Evrard hesitated, the first time since he had appeared that he did not seem fully certain of everything he said and did. "That is why I believe your father agreed. Power works viciously on a weak mind."

It was one thing to have witnessed his own father's betrayal; it was entirely another to hear Evrard speak of it in that careful, sympathetic voice. Graham's throat closed and he pushed back the angry, hurt tears and wiped his eyes with hard, quick movements. He did not want anyone to see, especially Evrard. Some pain felt too great to expose to the light, and there was nothing in the world Graham had seen that was as light as Evrard. He glowed. "He was weak," Graham agreed quietly.

Evrard's eyes stared deeply into Graham's own. "He was weak because she wished him to be weak. It was not entirely of his own making. She saw the seed in him, and she exploited it. It is one of her great talents."

"How do you know all this?" Graham questioned. Evrard seemed exceptionally well-informed considering he was a unicorn. A royal and talkative unicorn, but still, a unicorn nonetheless.

"I was called here because, in the world of magic, there must be balance," Evrard said.

"Who called you here?"

"I think you know," Evrard offered. "He who was always loyal to you, and was loyal to you to the very last breath he took this night."

It was just as Graham had feared. Rhys must be dead, but his actions had also prevented Sabrina from obtaining what she wanted most—him. And even though he could not accompany him, Rhys had made sure that he was not alone. Somehow, he had summoned Evrard to help him.

Graham felt undone. Too many emotions he could not control swirled inside him like a storm cloud. Abruptly he stomped away, choosing a fallen log some distance away and sitting down upon it heavily. He had been afraid that Evrard would follow him, but he did not, and let the Prince sit there in quiet contemplation for several minutes.

The tears he'd barely held back before began to fall. He had lost his home, his loyal tutor, his safety, and his father in one single moment. Nothing would ever be the same again. Never again would he spar in the courtyard of Tullamore, or sneak honey cakes from its kitchens. Never again would his father swat at him good-naturedly when Graham made an impertinent remark. Rhys would never again tuck him into sleep or set for him too many mathematical problems or texts to be read. Life as he had known it, Graham thought dully, was over. He could not go riding back to the keep and pretend that what he had seen and heard had not occurred, even though there was nothing he wanted more.

There was nothing left to be done except move forward, one foot in front of the other.

He stood and walked back over to where Evrard and his other horse stood. "When shall we leave?" Graham asked.

Evrard gave a sharp, decisive nod. "It becomes light. We will leave immediately. Fetch the supplies and I will deign to carry them." Graham went over to his other horse, and then hesitated, his hands on the saddlebags.

"But what about this horse?" Graham asked.

"He will find his way back to the keep eventually," Evrard said dismissively.

Graham had always been a quiet boy, an observer more than an active participant, which was probably because he had grown up in a castle full of adults who usually did not wish to be bothered by a child or a child's questions. He'd long since learned to watch, and to form conclusions based on his observations. Even though he had spent less than an hour with Evrard, he could already tell that the unicorn was a snob who looked down on any creatures that could not speak as he could.

Clearly, Graham's horse had been relegated to this view by Evrard, no matter its bravery or tenacity in helping Graham ride to safety.

Rhys had always told Graham that loyalty was the most important currency he could gain as a king. And even though now, Graham had no reason to believe that he ever would be a king, those lessons still felt important.

"No," Graham said firmly. "He will come with us."

"That creature cannot speak," Evrard said, cruelty edging his voice. "Why would we need it?"

Graham shot the unicorn a chastising look not unlike the one Evrard had given him earlier. He was also a very quick learner. "We will not leave it behind because it has earned the right to come with us," he said.

"Well, I suppose we can hook his reins to your person, and he can carry the supplies. He may be useful, yet," Evrard said with resignation.

The horse gave a little whinny of agreement, and turned kind, warm eyes onto Graham, as if it knew what Graham's intervention had saved him from.

"I pay my debts," Graham murmured to the horse, and went to make sure all the saddlebags were properly secure, before looping the reins across his arm and leading the horse out of the stream and towards Evrard.

"What about the saddle and the bridle?" Graham asked, when he stopped next to Evrard. "How shall I ride without them?"

The look on Evrard's face was worth a million gold pieces. "You shall ride me like men have always ridden unicorns. Carefully and with respect," Evrard said in a haughty tone. "You may use my mane, carefully, as means to keep yourself secure."

To Graham, it seemed the utmost disrespect for him to even touch that pure white hair that cascaded from Evrard's brow, but in his hands it felt much as any regular horsehair did. He tied the reins to his cloak, and the horse trotted carefully behind as Evrard began to pick his way through the forest. There was no trail, which was a blessing, because on a trail there might be other people, and a unicorn would surely raise questions that Graham couldn't answer.

As they traveled a direction that Evrard seemed very certain of, Graham asked additional questions.

"Where are you from?"

"A place very far from here," Evrard answered patiently.

"What's it called?"

Rhys had always told Graham that one day his curiosity might get him into trouble, and Graham felt it must be true when Evrard paused in his normally very steady gait, and then continued without answering. Some questions then, Graham realized, were off-limits.

But that did not stop him from asking.

They stopped when the sun was very high in the sky by another bubbling brook. Graham chewed on a few pieces of dried meat, while Evrard and the horse drank deeply from the cool water.

"How do you know where we're going?" Graham asked before climbing back onto Evrard's back.

"I know because the valley we are headed to is one of ancient magic. Protective magic. It calls to the magic in me."

"Is it far?"

Evrard took off at a slighter faster canter than before, the horse moving behind them like it had always followed Evrard.

"It is several days' journey," Evrard said, "since we must keep to the forest, and off any known trail. For your safety, of course."

"But what if someone spots you?" Graham asked. "How am I to explain what you are?"

Evrard glanced back at his passenger. "People see what they choose to see. I do not think you will have any questions about me, Your Highness."

They slept that night in a well-hidden cave that Graham further camouflaged with several large leafy branches he had cut from neighboring trees with his dagger. There was a small ax in one of the saddlebags and a tinderbox kit, and Graham kindled a small fire with twigs to take away the chill of the night. The cave was large enough for both Evrard and the horse, though Graham knew that Evrard was not altogether pleased about sharing even a temporary domicile with the horse.

They set out bright and early the next morning, continuing to journey into the thick of the forest. By midday, there was a fine sheen of sweat on Evrard's back and Graham realized that as he'd been daydreaming, staring up at the leafy canopy of the trees, they had been steadily climbing uphill. After stopping for a rest, they continued on, and once Graham offered to help conserve Evrard's energy by walking, and leading the horse himself, but Evrard's complete silence as a response told Graham exactly what he thought of that particular idea.

By later in the evening, when the shadows were beginning to grow longer, the trees had thinned out, and the ground had gone from densely packed dirt to a much rockier, harder surface.

When they stopped, Evrard's voice finally reflected his own exhaustion. "Tomorrow, we will climb," he said, "and then we will be in the valley."

As Graham gathered branches for their fire, he asked, "What is in this valley?"

"A farm, though I do not know how inhabitable it will be. It may need repairs. It has been abandoned for many, many years." Evrard paused. "But no matter, it will be safe there."

Graham realized then that ever since Evrard had appeared in all his majestic glory, he had not felt particularly unsafe. He had been sad, mourning a life lost to him, along with Rhys and his father's loyalty and affection, but he had not once felt like they were in any particular danger. When he said so, Evrard shook his head gravely.

"We have always been in danger, Your Highness. Sabrina searches for us in many forms. Our magic has shielded us from her view, though with the taxing climb tomorrow, I may not be able to shield us for much longer." Evrard sounded reluctant to share this information, but Graham was glad he had.

"What can I do to protect us?" he asked.

The unicorn's eyes seemed to bore into his very soul. "Be brave a little while longer, my prince."

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The next day was the most grueling day that Graham had ever experienced. Nothing, not even training with Tullamore's guard or the night he had escaped from Sabrina's clutches, had prepared him for the grueling climb to the top of the mountain peak. The air grew thinner, and the ground much tougher for Evrard and the horse to pick their way across. Graham descended from Evrard mid-morning, and was glad he had, because only a few hundred yards further, a hissing viper slithered out from around a rock and stood right in their way, spitting poison onto the ground, where it sizzled and bubbled.

"Graham," Evrard said sharply as Graham pulled his dagger, which he had kept much closer to hand since the unicorn's warning the night before.

He knew why Evrard had not told him of the danger previously; he still thought of Graham as a somewhat helpless child, but Graham knew he had not been a child since the night he'd escaped Tullamore. It was the same reason why Evrard warned him back now, but still Graham approached, soft footfalls on the ground as the viper eyed him with gold, flashing eyes that somehow brought to mind a woman's.

"It is her," Evrard said steadily from somewhere behind him. "She means to stop us while she still can, because once we are in the valley, you are lost to her."

Graham weighed the dagger in his right hand. If he misjudged even the tiniest bit, or worst of all, missed completely, the viper would be on them instantly, and Graham did not think their chances of survival would be very good.

"Graham," Evrard said again, and that was all the motivation that he needed to throw the dagger.

It flipped perfectly, just as Graham had practiced thousands and thousands of times, and though the dagger did not land quite as precisely as he'd hoped, it did hit the viper in its soft, meaty underbelly. It hissed loudly and angrily and then fell deathly still, its head lolling across the rocky ground.

"Is it . . ." Graham hesitated. "Is it dead?" He did not think he'd dealt the viper a mortal blow—an injurious one certainly, and one that he'd hoped would at least stop it from attacking them—but Evrard nodded slowly.

"Sabrina has many powers. One of them allows her to transport her soul into various creatures at a significant distance." Evrard looked at the dead viper with distaste. "It was once a stupendous skill, born of beautiful and good magic, but she has twisted it, like she twists all things. The viper died not just because of your blade, but because most creatures cannot survive her abrupt departure."

"What would have happened if she had been inhabiting the snake when it died?" Graham asked. If they managed to reach the valley in one piece, he had no intention of tangling with Sabrina ever again, but it wouldn't be bad information to know, just in case.

"She would also die," Evrard said. "But you are not to attempt such a stunt again. I could have dealt with the viper."

Graham walked over to where the dead snake lay, and carefully, using a corner of his cloak, retrieved his dagger, cleaning it thoroughly before returning it to the makeshift sheath he'd made. "You are struggling with the climb," he pointed out, "and I could handle this, so I did."

"My prince," Evrard said, somehow his voice becoming even more formal, "you are irreplaceable. I beg you to remember that."

"I'm also no longer a prince," Graham said bitterly. "Let's head for the peak. I don't want to risk her sending anything else."

The remainder of the climb felt strangely anticlimactic after the thrilling, heart-stopping episode with the viper. They reached the summit, and then carefully began to pick their way down. Slowly, more trees appeared, and the air grew sweet and clear. Graham leaned against a trunk as they stopped at the first stream they encountered.

"When will we reach the valley?" he asked.

Evrard lifted his head from the water. "We are nearly there," he said. "We will reach it by nightfall. But even now, I feel my magic is rejuvenated. We should be safe here."

"Should be safe," Graham muttered, and went to grab some jerky from one of the saddlebags. It wasn't that he didn't trust Evrard—after all, the unicorn had given him both imperative information about his situation and protected him from Sabrina. He had come to save Graham's life, and he was grateful, but he always felt like there was something Evrard was holding back. Important details or vital pieces of information that he kept silent on. Graham did not know what held him back. Was it that he thought Graham was too young? Too inexperienced? Too stupid? Graham wasn't sure what the reasoning was, but he didn't particularly like it.

The sun was setting across the faraway peaks on the other side when they finally climbed the rest of the way down into the meadow that carpeted much of the valley floor. From a distance, Graham could see a cluster of buildings, low and squat, and as they traveled closer, he could see that Evrard had been honest—they were not in the greatest of repair. The roof was nearly collapsed on one, and what had once been a large garden had been nearly taken over by weeds.

"So this is the Valley of the Lost Things?" Graham asked as they approached the buildings. "Why is it so empty? I'm certainly not the only lost thing in this world."

"No, but you are the most important," Evrard said, with that maddening superiority that made Graham want to gnash his teeth and demand the whole damn truth. But there was no point, because Evrard clearly did not do or share anything that he didn't want to.

When Graham wrenched open the main building's door, a whoosh of dust settled over him. The whole interior could use an intense cleaning—it was full of dust and cobwebs, but it did contain several rooms, as well as a full complement of sturdy, hand-built wooden furniture. Two fireplaces constructed of river stone stood cold and empty. The building with the mostly collapsed roof turned out to be the stable. Luckily, there were still a few bales of only slightly rotted hay. And even though Evrard turned up his nose at the meal, Graham's horse leaned down and munched away happily.

"Tomorrow, the roof will need to be repaired," Evrard said practically, clearly dictating this request towards Graham, even though he had no experience at all repairing roofs.

Graham considered saying so, but already knew his concern would be brushed aside. He would have to learn. He would have to learn to take care of all of this. This place, unceremonious and humble, was his new home, and if anything was to come of it, there was only him to do the work.

"Of course," Graham said.

"And one more thing," Evrard said, as Graham went to find a less dusty room to spend the night in, "you are lost here. Safe and lost. But perhaps a subterfuge to confuse anyone that might come upon us? As you say, you are not the only lost thing in the world."

"A subterfuge?" Graham asked tiredly.

Evrard glanced down at the heavy cloak he wore. "From now on, you shall be known as Gray."

Graham had thought he had nothing left to lose, but as Evrard walked away to the stable, he realized he'd just lost the last part of who he'd been before.

The next morning, Gray, as he was now known, tackled the stable roof, and then the dusty interior of the main house. Then, over a long, hot, arduous summer, began to clear the vegetable garden. Evrard made suggestions, but besides his own stable, he cared little of what Gray's living conditions were. As long as Evrard had sweet grass or hay to eat, cool, clean water, and a roof over his head for the occasional rainy day, he was not particular about the state of the farm. But Gray, who had been raised to rule Ardglass, felt the sting of his pointless life a little less if he kept busy. Each night he lay in his cot and thought of what he could do the next day to keep his mind and body occupied—and silent.

Being lost had its advantages. There was nobody to tell him what to do except for Evrard, and mostly Evrard left him alone, except in the evenings, when they would talk of legend and history and magic.

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Gray was eventually forced out of the Valley of the Lost Things to buy supplies that could not be taken from the meadow or the woods or the valley itself. But he had grown in the two years since coming to the valley and was unrecognizable to himself in the creek as he hacked off big chunks of his dark, wavy hair with the same dagger he'd been carrying during his flight from Tullamore.

The village where Evrard directed him was exactly as he'd described, and as long as Gray kept his head down, nobody seemed to care who he was. He traded for supplies, and returned a year later, and a year after that.

Slowly, he eked out a profitable farm from the fertile ground of the valley. He built a hen house, dug a well, and began to keep sheep and cows. His garden expanded, and the next summer, he planted a whole field of hay for Evrard and his old horse.

Time both crawled and flew. Years passed, but with each successive birthday, the only marker of the passage of time were the inches Gray continued to grow. He continued to stay as busy as he could, and most nights he fell into his bed exhausted from the day's work. And that, he learned during the years, was better than lying awake and wondering what had happened to the keep of Tullamore, the kingdom of Ardglass, and his father. He heard bits and snippets on his annual trips to the village, but mostly he blocked out any talk of politics. He had no interest in the goings-on of the nobility. He was no longer a member; he was lost, and he intended to stay lost.

And so, many years passed. Occasionally, a visitor would make their way into the valley. They too would be lost, in some fashion, and they would stay for a night or a week, and then move on, but Gray stayed. He had nowhere else to go.

On the morning of his twenty-sixth year, Gray woke and did not even start at the realization that flickered across his consciousness. He would never leave this place; he would die here, lost.

Of course, the year he came to terms with the course of his life, that was when it changed irrevocably.