Hackii pinned the queen's letter to his study wall, though she had never written him one. He had copied her words from a border proclamation instead. "None may enter the shadowed court uninvited." He read it every morning. He wanted the fae queen of Waspwood to love him, and she did not know his name. His home was a stone manor wrapped in ivy, the vines so thick they had cracked the walls and clawed across the tall windows. He had inherited it and little else. For a month he had studied the court's laws, its customs, its border. Every path led to the same wall. Without an invitation, the fae would turn him away. So he made a plan. Invitations passed through the border only in the hands of the queen's messengers. If he could not earn one, he would carry one. He would offer himself as a courier and slip inside behind the seal. Hackii waited three nights at the edge of the wood, where the road thinned to a deer track. On the third night a lantern floated toward him. The messenger wore a coat sewn from moth wings and carried a folded letter marked with a black wax rose. "I serve the court," Hackii said. "Let me carry that for you." The messenger stopped. Its eyes caught the lantern light and threw it back green, brighter than his own. "You are not of the court," it said. Its voice buzzed, low and dry. "The seal knows who touches it. Take this letter, and it will burn the hand that has no leave to hold it." Hackii held out his hand anyway. "Then let it burn." The messenger studied him a long moment. Then it laughed, a sound like wind through dead reeds. "Bold. The queen has no patience for bold men. But she is curious about foolish ones." It reached into its coat and drew out a second thing, small and folded, a scrap of pale bark. "This is not an invitation," it said. "It is a summons. The queen has heard a mortal watches her border. She wishes to see the face of the fool. Come at the next dark moon. Come alone." Hackii took the bark. It did not burn. On it, someone had drawn a single mark, a rose with its petals folded shut. The messenger lifted its lantern and walked back into the trees. "You wanted through the border," it called over its shoulder. "Now you are through. Pray you still want it when you stand before her." Hackii stood alone on the deer track. He had a way in. But he had not been invited as a suitor. He had been called as a curiosity, to amuse a queen who ate bold men and laughed at fools. The dark moon was six nights away. He turned toward the manor and began to plan what he would say when she finally looked at him.

Six nights stood between Hackii and the dark moon. He had a summons but no roof. The manor lay too far behind him now, and the wood's edge held no walls. If he left the border to sleep at home, he feared the fae would forget his face. So he stayed. The first night he shivered under a bare oak and slept none at all. At dawn he searched the tree line for shelter. He found a ruined hut half-swallowed by the wood. Broken timber leaned against sagging walls. Moss covered the roof, and thick vines had crawled through every gap. The door hung open on one hinge. Hackii stepped inside and tested the floor. It held his weight. He decided this would be his shelter until the moon went dark. He spent the day mending it. He wedged fallen branches against the weak wall. He pulled the worst vines free and stuffed the holes with moss. By dusk the hut could keep out wind and rain. He gathered wood for a fire and sat in the doorway, pleased for the first time in two days. Then he heard scales scrape on wood. A small dragon crouched on the far wall, no bigger than a cat. Its scales burned orange in the firelight. Smoke curled from its nostrils. It watched him with bright eyes and hissed. Hackii froze. The creature opened its mouth. A thin jet of flame licked the dry vines above the door. The moss caught at once. Fire ran up the old timber faster than Hackii could rise. He grabbed his pack and dove out the door. Behind him the hut roared into flame. The dragon shot out through a gap in the roof and vanished into the trees. Hackii stood in the cold and watched his shelter burn to a black frame. All his work, gone in a breath. He did not sleep that night either. When morning came, he walked the wood with aching legs, hunting anything to keep him warm. In a low hollow he found a strange tree. Long ropes of purple and teal blossoms hung from its branches. Pink flowers bloomed among warm leaves. Beneath it grew wild lavender, a whole slope of purple spikes. Hackii cut the lavender and bound it into thick bundles. He layered the stems into a low nest against the tree's roots, out of the wind. The scent filled his nose, sweet and clean. That night he slept, warm enough, for the first time since the border. He survived the last three nights the same way, curled in lavender beneath the flowering tree. On the sixth dawn he woke stiff but alive. The dark moon would rise tonight. He had beaten the wood. But his clothes reeked of smoke and crushed flowers, and he had no fine words ready. He would face the queen as a ragged, sleepless fool. The court convened at dusk. He had one day left to become worth looking at.

Hackii woke in his lavender nest before dawn. The dark moon would rise tonight. He had his summons, but he came empty-handed. A fool arriving with nothing would be laughed from the court. He needed a gift. In his study of Waspwood's laws, he had read one old line again and again: the queen prized the hollowfruit of youthfulness above all things. Find it, bring it, and she might look at him twice. But he had no idea where it grew. He rose and searched the wood. He found streams, thorns, and mushrooms, but no rare fruit. The sun climbed. His hope thinned with the light. Then a white shape stepped from the ferns. A wolf, no taller than his knee, with fur like frost and eyes the color of deep ice. It sat and studied him without fear. Hackii went still. He knew fae things wore soft faces to hide sharp teeth. "You smell of smoke and lavender," the wolf said. Its voice was calm, amused. "A strange man to stumble through her wood." "I seek the hollowfruit of youthfulness," Hackii said. "For the queen." The wolf tilted its head. "Frostwhisper, I am called. And I know where it hangs." It rose and turned. "But knowing is not giving. Follow, and mind your feet." Hackii followed. Frostwhisper led him through a gap in the thorns he had walked past twice. The path dropped into a shaded hollow. There a low tree grew, its branches heavy with bright pink fruit. Each one shone round and swollen, dotted with purple at its center. The air smelled sweet and old. "One fruit," Frostwhisper said. "No more. The tree marks greedy hands." Hackii reached up. The branch bent easy. He twisted a single pink fruit free and held it to his chest. His heart pounded. He had it. He had his gift for the queen. "Now the price," Frostwhisper said. Hackii turned. "You said follow. You said nothing of a price." "I said knowing is not giving." The wolf's ice eyes fixed on him. "I want the thing you carry that is not yours to give. Your name. The queen does not know it. Give it to me, and I let you leave with the fruit." Hackii's grip tightened. His name was the one thing he meant to hand the queen himself. But dusk was coming, and the fruit was in his hands. He had no time to bargain. "Hackii," he said. "My name is Hackii." The wolf's mouth curved. "Hackii." It said the word slow, tasting it. "A fair trade." Then it slipped back into the ferns and was gone. Hackii stood alone with the pink fruit warm in his hands. He had won his gift. But he had given his name to a fae who was not the queen. And a name, once given in Waspwood, could be carried anywhere.

The pink fruit still warmed Hackii's hands, but the wood had turned strange. Every path looked like the last. Ferns closed behind him. He walked until his legs ached, and the trees grew huge, red-barked giants whose crowns blocked the sky. Somewhere beyond them the court would convene tonight, at the dark moon. If he missed it, the fruit meant nothing. He was lost. A white shape sat between two giant trunks. Frostwhisper. The frost-furred wolf watched him with ice-blue eyes, calm as a cat that owns the room. Hackii's stomach dropped. This was the fae who had taken his name. Now it waited on the only path out. "You wander in circles," Frostwhisper said. "The wood hides itself from the nameless. It always has." "You did this," Hackii said. "You took my name and now I cannot find my way." "I took what you offered." The wolf rose and stretched. "But I am kind. I will lead you to the border, in time for the moon. And I will give your name back." Hope jumped in Hackii's chest, then curdled. Fae gifts always cost. "For what price?" "The fruit." Frostwhisper's gaze fixed on the pink orb. "Your gift for the queen. Trade it, and walk free with your name." Hackii held the fruit tighter. Without it he was a fool with nothing. With it he had a reason to stand before her. His name or his gift. He could not keep both. He thought of the queen. She did not know him. A name spoken by a stranger meant little. But the hollowfruit she prized above all things. If he arrived with it, she would look at him. That was worth more than a word. "No," Hackii said. "Keep my name. I keep the fruit." Frostwhisper's ears flicked. It had not expected that. "Then find your own way, nameless man. The dark moon will not wait." Hackii dropped to one knee. Near the wolf's paw lay a fallen branch, long and heavy. He did not reach for it. He had no sword, no threat that would frighten a fae. He had only what he carried. "I will not trade the fruit," he said. "But I have this." He pulled the lavender from his coat, the last dried sprigs from his old nest. "You smelled it on me the day we met. You liked it. Lead me out, and it is yours." The wolf leaned in and breathed the scent. Something in its eyes softened, just once. "A small thing. But freely given." It took the lavender in its teeth. "Follow. Mind your feet." Frostwhisper slipped between the red trunks. Hackii ran after, the fruit safe against his chest. The trees thinned. Ahead, the sky opened, dark and starless. The border. The dark moon was rising. He had his gift. He still had no name. And the court waited past the trees.

Frostwhisper carried the lavender in its teeth and slipped past the border stones. The dark moon hung above the trees. Beyond the last trunks rose the court's castle, its spires black against the sky, its windows lit green and orange. Hackii clutched the pink fruit and ran to keep up. He had his gift. He had no name. Tonight he would finally stand before the queen he loved. The great doors opened for the summons. Inside, fae lined the hall in silence. They watched Hackii the way children watch a beetle. He was the fool, brought in to be examined. At the far end sat Titania Amberwilde. Silver hair fell past her shoulders. Blossoms crowned her head. Her amber eyes found him and did not blink. Hackii walked the long floor. His boots echoed. He knelt before the throne and lifted the fruit in both hands. The pink skin glowed. The purple center caught the light. A murmur ran through the court. This was the hollowfruit she prized, the fruit of youth from the hidden tree. "For you, my queen," Hackii said. "I crossed your wood to bring it." Titania leaned forward. Her gaze softened, just for a breath. She reached down and took the fruit from his hands. It fit in her palm like it had always belonged there. "Few reach the tree," she said. "Fewer still leave with the prize. You have done well, courier." Hope surged in Hackii's chest. She was looking at him. Truly looking. "Tell me your name," Titania said, "so I may know who has pleased me." Hackii opened his mouth. Nothing came. His name was gone, traded away in the wood. He reached for it and found only silence where it should have been. His face burned. The court began to laugh, low and cold, a sound like wind through dead leaves. At the edge of the throne, Frostwhisper stepped from the shadows. The lavender was gone from its teeth. Its blue eyes shone. "He has no name to give, my queen," the wolf said. "He gave it to me. I hold it now." Titania's smile changed. Her amber eyes turned sharp. She weighed the fruit in her hand and studied the nameless man at her feet. "A gift without a name is a riddle," she said. "How can I love what I cannot call?" Hackii's heart dropped. She kept the fruit. She set it beside her throne, admiring it, the way one keeps a pretty stone. But her interest in him cooled. She turned to Frostwhisper. "You hold his name," the queen said. "Then his name is a thing I want. Bring it to me, wolf, and name your price." Hackii stared. His gift had won the queen's eye. But the wolf held the one thing she now desired, and it was his own stolen name. To reach her heart, he had to win it back from Frostwhisper.

The court still watched Hackii kneel. Titania had turned from him to the wolf. She wanted his stolen name now, not the man who once owned it. Hackii saw only one path left. He would take the name back from Frostwhisper himself. Then he could give it to the queen and become worth loving again. He rose. "My queen. Let me win my name back. If it is a thing you want, let me be the one who brings it." Titania studied him. She lifted a hand. From beside her throne floated a sword of clear gemstone, its facets flashing red and blue. She held it out. "Frostwhisper will not give a name for words," she said. "Take this. Try." Hackii closed his fingers on the crystal hilt. The blade weighed nothing. Frostwhisper's blue eyes did not move. The wolf sat calm, the way a thing sits when it knows it cannot lose. "You want the name," Frostwhisper said. "So does she. But I want something too." It padded forward. "Names are not won by blades, courier. They are traded. Put the sword down and hear my price." Hackii did not put it down. He raised it. If he could not buy the name, he would cut it free. He swung. The wolf slid aside like smoke. The gem blade struck stone and rang. Hackii swung again. Frostwhisper let the blade pass through empty air each time. The court laughed, low and cold. Hackii's arm burned. He understood then. A name lived inside the wolf. No edge could reach it. He stopped. His chest heaved. The sword shook in his grip. "Now you listen," Frostwhisper said. It looked past Hackii to the throne. "I will not sell your name to you, courier. I will give it to her." Hackii went cold. "What?" Frostwhisper faced Titania. "You seek the Amberveil. The tapestry that vanished from your house before you drew breath. I know which corner of the world it hides in. His name is worth little. My knowledge is worth more. Take his name as a gift, and I will lead you to the thing you truly want." The queen leaned forward. Her amber eyes changed. For the first time she was not bored. "Say that again," she said, quiet and hard. "The Amberveil," Frostwhisper repeated. "I can bring you there." Titania stood. She did not look at Hackii. She looked at the wolf, and at something far beyond the hall. "Then his name is yours no longer," she told Frostwhisper. "It is mine. And you have my ear." Hackii dropped the sword. It rang once on the floor. He had come to win the name back. Instead the wolf had handed it to the queen and made himself her guide. Titania held his name now. But she wanted a lost tapestry more than she wanted him. To reach her heart, Hackii had to find the Amberveil first.

The crystal sword lay on the floor. Hackii had swung it at the wolf and failed. Now the queen held his name, and she wanted a lost tapestry more than she wanted him. He picked up the blade and rose. If she wanted the Amberveil, he would offer to find it. That was the only path left to her heart. "My queen," he said. "Send me for the tapestry. Not the wolf. Me." Titania Amberwilde stepped down from her throne. Amber eyes, silver hair, a crown of pale blossoms. She stopped close to him. "You have no name," she said. "You have no map. Frostwhisper has both." Frostwhisper sat at the foot of the throne, white fur bright in the dark hall. The wolf's blue eyes stayed calm. It had traded Hackii's name to her and made itself her guide. It looked at Hackii the way a winner looks at a loser. "I found the hollowfruit," Hackii said. "I reached your court. I do not quit." He held out the gemblade to her. "Take back your sword. Keep my name. But let me earn it." Titania did not take the sword. She studied his face. Something in her look shifted. She had watched him kneel, fail, and rise again. "You still want me," she said. "After all of it." "Yes," Hackii said. "That has not changed." Frostwhisper stood. "He cannot lead you anywhere, Queen. He is lost the moment he steps under the trees. I hold his name. The wood hides from him." The wolf's voice was smooth. "You need me." Titania turned to the wolf. "You sold his name for a favor," she said. "You would sell mine too." Her voice went flat and cold. "I trust the one who came back after he lost everything. Not the one who profits from it." Frostwhisper's ears went back. For the first time the wolf looked unsure. Titania faced Hackii. She reached out and closed his fingers around the gemblade's hilt. "Keep it," she said. "You will go for the Amberveil. Frostwhisper will give you the direction. That is its last payment to me." She looked at the wolf. "You owe me that much for a name I never asked to hold." Frostwhisper's tail lowered. It could not refuse the queen in her own hall. "West," it said at last, quiet. "Past the border. A stone manor wrapped in ivy. The tapestry waits there." Hackii felt the sword steady in his grip. The queen had chosen him. Not for his name. For his stubbornness. He saw it now in her amber eyes, warm where they had been bored. "Bring it to me," Titania said. "Then we will speak of your name." Hackii bowed. He had come to court a fool. He left it her chosen searcher, a wolf's directions in his ear and a lost house waiting in the west.