,‘You want to do what?’, Faolan asked incredulously, his hair turning greener by the second and his eyes glowing brightly ‘Tell me I misunderstood or dreamt what I think you just said.’, he growled through appearing fangs. Ian shrugged. He had waited until they were back in their quarters until he had told Faolan about his plan. Half expecting his friend to literally jump out his skin, he had been right it seemed. ‘It’s our best shot.’, he said noncommittedly. ‘At being killed, you mean?’, the Cu Sidhe growled, now sporting his green dog ears.

  ‘Moira, is a high Sidhe, like me. We can’t simply leave her here.’, Ian shrugged watching his flipping friend with interest. Now his snout pushed out, just like his tail, leaving him looking like a green werewolf. This lack of control was dangerous, but something Ian would rather not comment on right now, not if he wanted to get anywhere with this conversation.

  ‘She is a dragon, for the Morrigan’s sake.’, Faolan growled, now more Cu Sidhe than human in form. Ian had to admitted his threatening growl and posture were intimidating, or would have been if it hadn’t been his Cu Sidhe. So, the young sidhe simply ignored the transformation and held his hands up if he was still talking to the fey in his human form and said ‘And she is High Sidhe.’, then stopping his friend from interrupting he added ‘We need her to reach the Feodora in time to keep Sean’s oath.’ His ears flat against his skull Faolan snorted ‘If she agrees to carrying us. I don’t trust her.’

  ‘That’s what we are going to ask her. Let’s go.’, Ian shrugged unwilling to fight any longer he headed for the door, asking the shadows and his old magic to protect him from detection. Their guards were playing dice and would not see him or Faolan, who was a master of stealth in his Cu Sidhe form.

  They had detected Ian’s ability to fade into the shadows one evening, when the young Sidhe had been fed up with Faolan’s constant teasing about being a High Sidhe and about as magical as a sofa cushion. Without thinking the young prince had wished to be out of this situation. It had been a touchy subject to Ian. His uncle had told him that he simply needed to trust his powers to free himself, but besides the nagging sense of the widening distance to the Feodora, nothing magical had happened. He had felt guilty as if he hadn’t tried enough. And seeing Faolan struggling with too much magic, didn’t help either. That meant even the Cu Sidhe’s well-meaning teasing had stung. Deeply. And then he had simply disappeared, into the shadows, wrapping the veil, that disguised the supernatural world, around his shoulders like a blanket. And just like that his powers had awoken, the powers of Ian Mac Lir, the grandson of Mannan Mac Lir, the Veil spinner. After calming his friend who had panicked at his disappearance, they had worked on it and tested the gift’s limits. There were few. Direct light and the knowledge of his position made it harder, but not impossible. Even his sounds were muffled. But Ian felt that he didn’t want to spend too much time in this in-between, he had recognized from travelling with his uncle. He tired fast and the shadows always seemed to look back at him, whispering. And in that deepest layer of his gift he needed to know exactly where to exit, since matter mattered little in the space between realms but very much so if you were to exit in a wall. Thankfully Ian had a millisecond to adjust his aim upon returning.

  Now, he didn’t use the deepest part, but just scratched the surface of his gift, not really vanishing, but fading into the shadows, still firmly in this realm. Ian slowly opened the door and let himself and Faolan exit, before closing it just as silently. Then they hurried through several corridors, over to the entrance of the cells. After slipping past the positioned guards and finally standing in front of Moira’s cell Faolan mumbled ‘I still think, you are crazy even considering it.’, the sound strangely changed by the anatomy of his snout.

  ‘Why does the hound call you crazy, cousin?’, Moira asked Ian.

  ‘Good evening, Moira, this is Faolan, a dear friend and vassal of mine. He thinks I am insane for thinking about freeing you and escaping with you.’, Ian answered solemnly.

  ‘She is a dragon.’, Faolan mumbled before looking Moira in the slitted green eyes and correcting ‘You are a dragon, you are dangerous.’

  ‘Oh, little Cu Sidhe, as if you are not dangerous. Three barks of yours and every mortal soul in your vicinity is yours to harvest. A dragon needs to use its body our breath-weapon or at least a spell. All of that can be thwarted. Your ability is only hindered by the sanctity of hallowed ground or one’s home. Not to mention your body is nearly as strong as a dragon’s.’, Moira laughed at the comical sight of seeing the wolflike dog flinch. Ian bit back the laugh that had built up in his chest feeling, that Moira had done enough to remind the fey knight of his new reality, something Ian knew, he still struggled with. The knight had been devastated and had called himself an abomination. Or tried to since the old magic in his blood didn’t let him lie, not letting him express an untruth about himself, even if he felt it was true. And laughing about him would not be helpful.

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  ‘Uhm, you may have a point.’, Faolan admitted grudgingly his tail between his legs, his ears flat against his skull. His body openly betraying his insecurity, another point Faolan hated.

  ‘Now, that that’s out of the way… what do you say will you join us or are you unwilling to give up the hospitability of the order?’, Ian asked half-seriously.

  Moira laughed ‘I am more than willing. And I am totally okay with carrying the two of you, if that was supposed to be the second question.’

  ‘It was indeed.’, Ian confirmed with a smile, before adding ‘So, in return of us, Faolan and me, Ian Mac Lir, freeing you, you, Moira de Dun Scaich, are willing to carry us safely to the Feodora, my uncle’s, Sean Mac Lir’s, ship? Don’t fret about directions, I will guide us.’

  ‘In return of you, Faolan and me, Ian Mac Lir, freeing me, I, Moira de Dun Scaich, am willing to carry you safely to the Feodora, your uncle’s, Sean Mac Lir’s, ship.’, the dragon swore and all three Sidhe could feel the oath snap into place.

  ‘You are good at that, for a thirteen-year-old.’, the young dragon praised Ian with a smile. ‘And you possess the power of the veil weaver. A prodigy was born to the Mac Lir line. Lets stay friends when all of this is through.’, Moira offered. Ian blushed slightly and answered ‘Thank you, that would be an honour, Moira.’, which made Faolan laugh, a sound akin to a bark in this form.

  ‘We have everything we possess on us. Do we need to get you something before we go?’, Faolan asked Moira, who nodded, ‘Not something, but someone. Tora the demon-princess and my best friend is locked up in one of the cells further along. The horned black tigress. She wouldn’t have dared to talk to you this morning, in fear of simply being killed for being a demon, not a demonic beast.’

  ‘A demon. You sure she won’t turn on us once set free? She looked pretty far gone.’, Ian asked thinking about the desolate appearance of the tigress.

  ‘She won’t. Not if I am with you, I am her sworn sister.’, the dragon reassured Ian who nodded. ‘Okay if we are doing that we will set everybody free, so they have a least a chance at escaping, or create a decent distraction.’, Ian decided and both his partners agreed with a nod.

  Shortly after Ian realized a veil tendril out of his index finger, sending the lock into another dimension. The same he did with every other lock in the prison tract, relying on his now three companions to cow the other inmates into waiting until the last one was released. Tora, the demon-princess, was thankfully very much in her right mind and helped to her best ability. Taking on her demon-form with soul-sword and all, but much to her chagrin and Moira’s glee still sporting tiger-ears. ‘Try staying in a shapeshift spell, that is learned not ingrained in your blood, for three years and we talk again.’, she had good-naturedly grunted.

  Everything went according to plan. And several of the other inmates were sane enough to be overjoyed by this opportunity, creating groups so that everyone that made it out had at least a chance to flee. Then came the point of no return. Ian and companions were the stealthiest group, at least until Moira would once again take on her dragon-form. In her High-Sidhe-form she was like a shadow, clearly her mother Scathach’s daughter. That meant they were the spearhead, responsible for incapacitating the guards silently.

  And that they did. Without even so much as a hushed sound Moira and Tora, perfectly in synch, knocked the guards right and left to the entrance out, hiding their bodies inside in the shadows. Faolan and Ian were thoroughly impressed. But just when they were crossing the last few planks towards the railing, they heard a well-known voice. Marek. ‘Stop! Alarm, we have escapees!’, the witch-knight shouted.

  Faolan and Ian shared a look and shouted run. In this very moment several things happened at the same time. The four companions ran towards the railing. Marek and several alarmed knights tried to intercept them and all other inmates left the shadows of the prison’s entrance, trying to escape.

  Marek cursed. Seeing his two most promising apprentices jumping over the railing, he knew they had a plan. Which plan they had he saw in the same moment when he saw one of the two unknown girls transform in the blood-red-scaled dragon they had held for three years deeming her a mere dragon, a drake even. Intelligent but not sentient enough to be a danger.

  Even though he knew he would not reach them he grabbed a nearby knights bow and send an arrow after them ‘We are not finished!’, he shouted, his gift confirming his statement in his mind. Then the knight simply stood there, watching their whole menagerie escape, secretly relieved, that that unsavoury chapter of the order’s history had come to a close. He turned his head when he felt the bishop’s ice-cold gaze on him. Marek nodded at his superior, who acknowledged completely out-of-character his unsaid ‘I’ve told you so.’, with a shrug. They had lost a battle. But the war had only just begun.