Rowan blinked his eyes open. He was lying on the floor of the hag’s kitchen. Gretta and Meg were dozing nearby, each snoring in their own unique ways—Gretta in a soft, higher pitch and Meg in a slow rumble.

  He brushed the crumbs off his shirt and stumbled to his feet. He rubbed his face and then looked around. The place looked more or less like it did before he had felt the irresistible need to take a nap.

  There were a few cookies left on the table, a mess of blankets on a straw mat in the corner, and a cooking prep table full of herbs next to a fireplace with a hanging pot. A shuttered window over the food prep table rattled slightly, like a gentle breeze pushed against it.

  Eager to clear the scent of cookies and get fresh air, Rowan groggily went over and opened the window. A pungent, heavy air wafted in, reeking of sour decay and bitter herbs. Tendrils of fog began to waft in. He caught the glimpse of a swamp outside that they had definitely not been in before they fell asleep before he shut the shutters again.

  “Rowan, what’s that stench?” Gretta asked as she sat up.

  “I think the hut moved,” Rowan said. “Looks like a swamp out there.”

  He felt a warm pulse in his pocket. He reached in and pulled the small, unremarkable silver ring. He turned it over a few times as he studied it again. It didn’t change or shift in any way and seemed completely ordinary.

  “Where did you get that?” Meg asked, her tone firm.

  Rowan shrugged. “Fell off the hag.”

  Gretta stood up and started to walk closer, but Meg leaped to her feet and pulled her back. “Careful.”

  Gretta’s brow furrowed. “Is it that dangerous?”

  “Very,” she said. “If the Queen takes his mind, best to cut the hand off. But don’t touch it—she’ll take you next.”

  Rowan stopped twirling the ring. “Seems like a bit of an overreaction. It doesn’t look special at all.”

  Meg pointed at the ceiling above Rowan, which had a patch of blond healthy wood that didn’t match the rest of the house.

  “The ring is already shifting reality,” she said. “Stay back, and I’ll take care of him. I can probably resist its influence for the few moments it’ll take to rip his arms off.”

  “Feels harmless enough,” he said. “I don’t get any sense of magic off it.”

  “You should get rid of it,” Gretta said.

  “He might be possessed by the queen now, and he’s trying to lure us closer,” she said.

  Rowan held the ring out, “Do you want it? Or should I put it down?” He started to reach for the table.

  “No!” Meg said.

  Rowan hesitated.

  “I’m not sure how you are withstanding the queen’s might this long, but if you release it, it will draw Dew or I to it, and we won’t have such luck. The queen will take us over in moments.”

  Rowan tucked the ring into his pocket, and the ceiling went back to being the same as the rest of the hut. Meg let out a sigh.

  “I’m not sure I can call you Dew,” he said to Gretta. “That’s kind of weird.”

  Gretta nodded. “I’ve gotten used to it, but it took a bit for me.”

  “I can’t feel it when it’s in your pocket,” Meg said. She seemed confused. “Somehow, its magic is obscured.”

  “From what I can tell, fairy magic just seems to come undone around me,” he said. “You should have seen Dorian’s face when I ate his sandwiches.”

  “That prick is still out there, but I heard somebody broke his face,” Gretta said.

  Rowan smirked. “Chair to the face. I’m a little surprised he lived, to be honest.”

  Meg still had one hand on Gretta and her eyes on Rowan, as if he might attack at any moment.

  “It’s fine,” Gretta said to Meg. She placed her pale hand over Meg’s massive green one. “Rowan is a god of chaos. He probably can’t even help unbinding the magic.”

  “Is that how you broke the hag’s fog?” Meg asked.

  Rowan shrugged. “When you pointed out that it wasn’t touching me, I realized that if I pushed hard enough, I could extend the area that the fog broke. It was a bit tiring, but otherwise seemed to work out.”

  Meg let her hand fall to her side. “Well, keep that ring in your pocket. We’re just lucky that Dew and I didn’t see it first. If one of us had picked it up, things would have gone much differently.”

  “Lucky,” Rowan said.

  “You said we’re now in a swamp?” Gretta asked.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Rowan opened the shutters again, and the putrid swamp air drifted in again.

  “Less murdery fog this time,” Rowan muttered. “Just aggressively moist.”

  “Ugh,” Gretta said. “Shut that.”

  Meg walked toward the door. “The Summer lands are rotting.” She looked back. “We should probably keep moving. The queen might have felt the ring when it was out, and she might send somebody after it.”

  Rowan patted his pocket. “Does she have many of these rings?”

  “Seven,” Meg said. “I don’t think they are all rings, though. I’ve only heard about them. They each took enormous power to forge, and she’ll want it back.” She gestured toward the door with her head. “Let’s go.”

  Gretta and Rowan followed Meg out into the rank swamp air. The ground was soft and squelched as they walked, and with each step, Rowan worried he might lose a shoe forever. If only he could figure out how he brought his clothing back—then this wouldn’t be an issue.

  “Are the rings artifacts?” Rowan asked.

  “I don’t know if the word means the same for you as it does for me.” Meg shrugged. “They are more than magic. They are tools for war.”

  Rowan nodded. “Gods can make artifacts by using a bit of their soul. It weakens them, but it lets them exert more power in realities they couldn’t otherwise get to.”

  “These were made by the Queen’s artificers,” Meg said. “Took a hundred servitors years to build up enough magic to even forge one.”

  “A person who binds themselves to Fairy can make magical objects or potions,” Gretta said. “Artificers and alchemists are the two I know of.”

  “Wow,” Rowan said. “So, anybody can just make magical rings? No need for a mountain of lava?”

  “Being bound to Fairy lets you share some magic,” Gretta said, “but Fairy chooses what you become, and you might become a servitor.”

  “What’s a servitor?” Rowan asked.

  “Sort of a magical battery,” Gretta said.

  “Humans make the best servitors,” Meg said. “That’s why the slavers love them. They fetch a pretty penny. Fairy is unlikely to allow them to be an alchemist or artificer, and the queen would kill them before they could use their power against her.”

  Gretta touched the pendant at her neck. “Well, it’s not a guarantee they’ll be a servitor, but even if they do, they get immortality.”

  Meg kept leading them through the wet, ankle-high water. Occasionally, the water would be deeper, and they’d fall down to their waist. They all went quiet briefly as they slogged onward. As they walked, Rowan noticed the occasional ice crystal in Meg’s wake drift off and melt.

  “I wonder if this would be easier to traverse if we shifted,” Rowan said.

  “Easier for you,” Meg said. “I can’t turn into a cat-bird.”

  “Well, that form is still healing,” Gretta said. “If I turned into a house cat, I’d probably drown in this swamp. Maybe if Rowan let me shift into the owl again?”

  “What?” Rowan asked. “Owl?”

  Gretta frowned. “On Earth, when I tried to shift to a cat, I became an owl. I thought that was you.”

  “Oh,” Rowan said. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of,” Gretta said as she slogged along.

  “I tried to fix Purgatory, and while it gave us a little time and restored magic for a bit, my chaos sort of seeped into everybody’s magic. You should see how colorful the other gods are.”

  Gretta looked horrified. “You altered the other gods?”

  “Not on purpose,” Rowan said. “And I was saving their lives.”

  “What about the griffin form?” she asked. “Did you give that to me on purpose?”

  “The cat-bird thing you’re talking about?” Rowan said. “Might be because magic was filtered through my chaos, but I didn’t do any of it on purpose.”

  “Oh,” Gretta said. “Well, if you fix magic, I guess it’ll be nice to have the tiger form back.” Her voice didn’t sound convincing.

  Rowan watched Gretta’s back. “Considering that magic for Earth was hours away from failing, and we’ve been here more than a few hours, I’m not sure you should count on any of your magic working much longer.”

  “What will happen to the gods when magic fails?” Gretta asked.

  Rowan shrugged. “I don’t think the gods can exist without magic. We’ll probably find out soon, though.”

  “You have time,” Meg said.

  “How do you figure?” Gretta asked.

  “Your roommate arrived after twenty-five years Fairy time, but to him, it was less than a day since you disappeared,” she said. “Time clearly moves faster here. You just have to get back in less than twenty or so years.”

  “It’s great having an optimist along for this,” Rowan said.

  Gretta looked back over her shoulder. “You think we’ll get back?”

  “What’s that?” Meg asked.

  Rowan and Gretta turned to look at a pile of muddy clothes next to a tree. It was only when he focused in on it, did Rowan realize it was a body. He recognized the person. It was one of the dwarves who had put him in a cage. Now, those red eyes were dim and sightless.

  “I know this guy,” Rowan said. “Shot me in the leg.”

  Meg nodded. “His buddies are probably around.”

  “What killed him?” Gretta asked, scanning the murky fog between trees.

  Meg pulled out her sword and nudged the body. Then, he noticed a tear in his shirt. She used the sword to move aside the dwarf’s shirt and reveal two huge, bloody holes in his side. They were oozing a black fluid.

  “Hard to say if it was poison or blood loss that got ‘em,” she said.

  “Poison feels rather redundant on anything that makes holes like that,” Rowan agreed.

  “Keep our eyes open for snakes then,” Gretta said.

  Rowan’s chest hurt and he pulled his shirt neckline down to peek and saw the black spot on his chest was growing. Soon, it would be at his neck.

  “What’s that?” Gretta asked, looking at Rowan with narrowed eyes.

  “Hey,” Rowan said. “A little privacy! It’s rude to look down somebody’s shirt.”

  “I’ve seen you naked,” she said. “Multiple times.”

  “Not with my consent,” he said, adjusting his shirt.

  “You were dead the first time,” she said. “And the second, I was looking out for your safety.”

  “And Bool thanks you,” Meg said.

  “Well,” Gretta said. “It was. And the twisting dark ball of shadows growing on your chest wasn’t there before.”

  “It’s fine,” Rowan lied.

  “It’s not,” she said. “We’re in this together, and if you die—well, don’t make me kill you again.”

  “Do you really kill him whenever he irritates you and he just comes back?” Meg asked. “I wouldn’t mind giving it a go.”

  Rowan stepped back. “I’ve been lucky to find my way, and I doubt I’ll get back here.”

  A wide ripple moved out over the water toward them, like something was moving under the water toward them. They all stared at the dark water for a moment.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Rowan said.