Dred had spent the better part of the day beating on the wooden door of his dark cell, cursing the hoary guards who’d dragged him there and the witch-mother who’d cast him away. For hours, the jailers got a kick out of taunting him and calling him names. It was amazing how fast they’d turned on him. The day before he was the prince of the realm, but today he was little more than a bug. Eventually they left, offering nothing to eat and only a wooden cup half full of rank-smelling sewer water. What goes around comes around, Dred thought, remembering how Qwon had been served the same swill at the beginning of her captivity. He paced. He wanted to get out and help Qwon. He wanted to stop his mother. He even wanted to help the fairy Shallot, and he definitely wanted to thank the other one, Bors. But more than anything, he wanted to meet his brother. Dred kicked the cup in frustration and barked, “Where are you, Artie Kingfisher?” “Did you say ‘Artie Kingfisher’?” Dred jumped.
