The Mirrored Shard

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TIME MOVES DIFFERENTLY in the Thorn Land. The Fae, the pale, secretive natives of the place, live for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, and time to them means practically nothing.

I wish I could share the carelessness of the Fae. I really do. But I can’t, because time is the one thing I don’t have.

Since my mother and I had returned to Thorn—her willingly and me less so—all I could do was watch the sun rise and set, the shadows grow short and wither away at dawn before their teeth grew long again at dusk. Watch, and wait, and think. About what I’d left behind in the Iron Land, the place of men, the place I’d called home until a few weeks? months? before.

I’d left my brother, our human father, my friends and my entire life. I’d left behind the bad, too. The iron rule of the Proctors, who feared beings like me—changelings, half Fae. If I’d stayed I would have been locked up for the rest of my life, if I was lucky.

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