Fighting the flow of retreating sentries, Laurel spun, trying to find her friends. She caught sight of David, who was standing like a stone in the middle of a raging river of faeries; Excalibur was in his hand and he was staring at it as if to ask, What am I supposed to do now? At the rate the gas was spreading, he had little choice but to run with them. Even with Excalibur, surely he still had to breathe.

It took Laurel only a moment to realise she could save him.

The same way she’d saved him once before.

Laurel rushed to David, grabbing for the front of his blood-soaked shirt. Her hand slipped away, as though she’d grabbed at a ghost; too late, she remembered that as long as he was holding Excalibur, she couldn’t touch him. She felt herself being pushed away by the panicked throng and resisted the urge to cry out.

And then his hand was on her wrist, and he was pulling her to him. His eyes were hard and his grip on her arm was tight as he placed one hand on the side of her neck, the way he used to do. She could feel his heart racing in his chest as she brought her face close, then pressed her mouth to his.

Laurel heard a weird sound and opened her eyes to see Chelsea just a few feet away, her hand pressed over her mouth, watching them. Behind Chelsea, Tamani had paused in his task of dragging Jamison’s unconscious form to stare at them in confusion.

Laurel sucked in a breath and peered around David, catching their eyes. “Breathe!” she commanded, making sure she didn’t let any of the misty air enter her mouth.

Realisation sparked in Chelsea’s eyes and she spun to Tamani with a smirk. She took a firm grip on his ears and pressed her lips against his.

And there they stood, four figures abandoned by the living, surrounded by the dead, clinging to one another. From their experience at the bottom of the Chetco, Laurel and David knew that they could share breaths for a long time. If they moved carefully, they could probably escape the smoke no matter how far it had spread. And David could still carry the sword between breaths.

But what will we do without Jamison?

Laurel pulled away from David and knelt by Jamison’s side. She put both hands on his chest and – to her surprise – they moved up as the old faerie breathed. Laurel had almost convinced herself it was wishful thinking when he did it again.

Jamison was alive!

Laurel turned and grasped at Tamani’s arm. She took his hand and placed it on Jamison’s chest, her eyes fixed meaningfully on his. Tamani’s shoulders slumped in what must have been relief as he understood.

That meant that the gas wasn’t immediately deadly, and that most of the faeries around them were still alive – but for how much longer?

The sound of footsteps swishing through the thick grass indicated they didn’t have much time. Laurel paused, peering through the mist. She could only make out shadows, but the hulking forms that were clearly not faeries were all the confirmation Laurel needed. The assault was about to begin again. Whatever this sleeping gas was, it was only intended to give the trolls back the upper hand.

After a quick pantomimed request for Chelsea’s assistance, Tamani pulled Jamison onto his back and they began dragging him toward the wooden gates at the front of the Garden. As they approached the wall, the smoke thinned, and when they emerged through the heavy wooden entrance, it was into clear, breathable air.

“Aim!” The call was quiet – the faeries had discovered the trolls and were hoping to catch them off guard.

With his very first breath, Tamani called, “No arrows!”

The sentry who was giving orders to the archers atop the garden wall looked down from the battlements. “We can’t fight them in there! We can’t even see them. They’ll breach the walls for sure this time. All we can do is rain arrows from above as fast as we can.”

“It’s sleeping gas,” Tamani retorted. “Everyone who took a breath of that stuff is helpless but alive; if you fire now – especially blindly – you’ll kill as many faeries as trolls. We need to fall back. Take up a more defensible position.”

The sentry commander closed her eyes for a moment, her mouth a thin line. “We’ll not abandon our post,” she said. “I’ll figure something out.” She scurried to the nearest archer, clearly moving on to some kind of backup plan.

Laurel hoped it was a good one.

“David?”

Chelsea’s voice was laced with concern, and Laurel turned to see David staring at his free hand – stained red – turning it this way and that. His clothing was equally bloody and he gingerly felt his face, which was streaked the crimson-brown of drying blood.

“David?” Chelsea repeated as his eyes seemed to lose focus and he put a hand to his forehead.

He gave no indication that he’d heard anything.

“David!” Laurel said, as sharply as she dared.

He looked up this time and Laurel’s stomach turned at the hollow horror in his eyes. “Laurel, I – I don’t—”

Laurel took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “It’s OK. You’ll be all right,” Laurel said. He must have only now comprehended what he had done. It took a few more seconds, but finally his eyes calmed. Laurel knew he was pushing his dismay away – he’d have to deal with it later – but for now it would have to do. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the sword again and repositioned himself in front of the Garden entrance.

Laurel turned her attention back to Tamani, who had laid Jamison on the ground and was listening at the old Winter faerie’s lips. “He’s really out. We need to find a way to wake him up.”