happen to her? Do you…bury them? Is there a cemetery?”
“We burn our dead,” he said. “They’ll be a ceremony soon.”
Callie nodded and the silence became awkward. “So…what’s with this imprint business?”
“I already explained this to you, but maybe you were too hopped up on faerie wine to remember.” She opened her mouth but Rowan held up his hand. “It’s fine.” Callie sat back and waited for him to continue. “An imprint shows your rank amongst the fae. Your amulet, which the Elders will explain to you, gives you this rank. When you’re born, the prophet, or in our case, prophetess, divines your future. The amulet is spelled and hidden in the city. Finding it is kind of like your initiation. Choosing to put it on means you accept Eirensae as your home. It binds you and your magic to the city.” His words became quieter. “You can’t become a full member until you have it.” A fact that Rowan knew all too well.
“How do I know where to look?”
“You don’t—that’s the thing. You’re given no information about it at all. No clues. From what I understand, it’s a gut feeling, some magical connection that leads you to the correct path.”
“Sounds like a load of bull to me,” Callie said.
“Yeah. And you only get two years.”
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
Rowan answered her real question. “I have a little over two months to find my amulet. Sixty-seven days, if you care.” He tried to sound blasé, but wasn’t sure he pulled it off. He knew he would leave. He just didn’t want anyone to know how much it bothered him. He could survive anywhere, inside a fae city or outside in the human world. All he had to do was scrape out an existence. Besides, if he were banished, he’d lose his longevity, so at least it’d be a short existence.
“Doesn’t anyone help?” Callie asked, finally looking up.
What he saw in her eyes was more than curiosity, it was compassion, pity.
“Have you even started searching for yours yet? Better hurry. And don’t expect help—you won’t get it.” He forced his expression to remain blank. “I’ve searched every inch of Eirensae, my amulet isn’t here. The Elders don’t believe me.” Hazel had been the most adamant that he “keep searching,” but offered no explanation why it was so easy for every other fae. Days, usually, not weeks or months, certainly not years. To them the two-year search time was laughable. Who needed that much time when the amulet’s placement was so obvious?
Either he didn’t belong here, or the prophetess foresaw he’d bring destruction to the city. Neither option sat well with Rowan. If he didn’t belong here, that meant he did belong to another city. As for the second possibility, he failed to see how one fae could ruin a city, especially one without offensive power. What was he going to do? Heal them to death?
“And if you don’t find it?” Callie was really paying attention now. Rowan could see the shiny flecks in her irises, smell the dampness in her hair as it tumbled onto her shoulders, just inches from his fingertips.
He swallowed, tearing his gaze from Callie. “Meet the newest member of the Fallen.”
“Those are the people who used to be faeries, right? Hazel explained it some,” Callie said. “I don’t really get it.”
Rowan searched for a way to explain it that she’d understand. “What’s the one thing you want more than anything in the world?” he asked.
Callie hesitated.
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“Family,” she said.
A sharp ache lanced through Rowan’s chest. He ignored it. “So imagined you had a family. Parents, siblings, the perfect suburban life wrapped up and tied with a bow. Then, all of a sudden, you’re not worthy of that family anymore, so they kick you to the street, refuse to speak to you, refuse to acknowledge you exist. That’s what it’s like to become Fallen.”
Callie looked uncertain. “Hazel made them sound
“We burn our dead,” he said. “They’ll be a ceremony soon.”
Callie nodded and the silence became awkward. “So…what’s with this imprint business?”
“I already explained this to you, but maybe you were too hopped up on faerie wine to remember.” She opened her mouth but Rowan held up his hand. “It’s fine.” Callie sat back and waited for him to continue. “An imprint shows your rank amongst the fae. Your amulet, which the Elders will explain to you, gives you this rank. When you’re born, the prophet, or in our case, prophetess, divines your future. The amulet is spelled and hidden in the city. Finding it is kind of like your initiation. Choosing to put it on means you accept Eirensae as your home. It binds you and your magic to the city.” His words became quieter. “You can’t become a full member until you have it.” A fact that Rowan knew all too well.
“How do I know where to look?”
“You don’t—that’s the thing. You’re given no information about it at all. No clues. From what I understand, it’s a gut feeling, some magical connection that leads you to the correct path.”
“Sounds like a load of bull to me,” Callie said.
“Yeah. And you only get two years.”
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
Rowan answered her real question. “I have a little over two months to find my amulet. Sixty-seven days, if you care.” He tried to sound blasé, but wasn’t sure he pulled it off. He knew he would leave. He just didn’t want anyone to know how much it bothered him. He could survive anywhere, inside a fae city or outside in the human world. All he had to do was scrape out an existence. Besides, if he were banished, he’d lose his longevity, so at least it’d be a short existence.
“Doesn’t anyone help?” Callie asked, finally looking up.
What he saw in her eyes was more than curiosity, it was compassion, pity.
“Have you even started searching for yours yet? Better hurry. And don’t expect help—you won’t get it.” He forced his expression to remain blank. “I’ve searched every inch of Eirensae, my amulet isn’t here. The Elders don’t believe me.” Hazel had been the most adamant that he “keep searching,” but offered no explanation why it was so easy for every other fae. Days, usually, not weeks or months, certainly not years. To them the two-year search time was laughable. Who needed that much time when the amulet’s placement was so obvious?
Either he didn’t belong here, or the prophetess foresaw he’d bring destruction to the city. Neither option sat well with Rowan. If he didn’t belong here, that meant he did belong to another city. As for the second possibility, he failed to see how one fae could ruin a city, especially one without offensive power. What was he going to do? Heal them to death?
“And if you don’t find it?” Callie was really paying attention now. Rowan could see the shiny flecks in her irises, smell the dampness in her hair as it tumbled onto her shoulders, just inches from his fingertips.
He swallowed, tearing his gaze from Callie. “Meet the newest member of the Fallen.”
“Those are the people who used to be faeries, right? Hazel explained it some,” Callie said. “I don’t really get it.”
Rowan searched for a way to explain it that she’d understand. “What’s the one thing you want more than anything in the world?” he asked.
Callie hesitated.
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“Family,” she said.
A sharp ache lanced through Rowan’s chest. He ignored it. “So imagined you had a family. Parents, siblings, the perfect suburban life wrapped up and tied with a bow. Then, all of a sudden, you’re not worthy of that family anymore, so they kick you to the street, refuse to speak to you, refuse to acknowledge you exist. That’s what it’s like to become Fallen.”
Callie looked uncertain. “Hazel made them sound
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