My cottage was just as I had left it. I passed the kitchen and the fireplace and went straight to my room.

Ugh, I knew it. I had forgotten to make my bed. How careless.

I sighed and returned to the fireplace, where I sat in my wooden chair and folded my hands in my lap, unsure of what exactly to do. I cleared my throat, tapping my fingers, and began humming as I looked about the room.

And in this state of perplexed boredom, I fell asleep.

I started when someone knocked on the door. I sprang to my feet and went to answer it, but hesitated. Then the door slid open on its own and there, in the doorway, stood a girl only a few years younger than me in a cheery periwinkle dress. Deep red blood still stained her stomach.

“Lefeli!” I screamed.

“You forgot to lock the door,” she commented with a smile. “It was much harder to take the necklace when the door was locked, you know. I came to tell you that Atlas and Evyne are gonna be lonely now, because of you. He meant to tell you in your little midnight talk, but Atlas doesn’t have anyone other than his half sister, Evyne. They’re all alone again, just as it was before my curse.”

She smiled again and waved cutely as the door shut itself again, leaving me gaping in horror at where she’d stood.

And then I was back in the wooden chair, covered in cold sweat. A dream? I couldn’t shake Lefeli’s haunting words.

I immediately got up and locked the door, true to my dream, and started on dinner. For once, completely alone.

The rest of that night went slowly. I never did get back to sleep after that, and I couldn’t find anything else to do, either, so I stoked a fire and sat in peril until the sun rose on my first day back to work in more than a month.

Miss Tremie’s shop was draped with dismal colors in honor of Lefeli’s death. She’d been told of her passing, but nothing involving her magic or the curse that had caused us to leave in the first place.

The chatter of the customers was only slightly dulled, though, and when I saw her, Tremie looked the same as always. But I knew more than most just how much a service voice could hide.

I was put to work immediately after Tremie felt she had dramatically cried enough over my return, and I found a sort of solace in the busyness of the shop. I always had a distraction, a fiddle, a work. I was never left alone with my thoughts. If nothing else, Tremie knew how to keep someone away from their worries.

I returned home, slept fitfully, and woke the next morning to start it all over again. And this went on for what seemed like an eternity, a never ending diversion from the thoughts I refused to face. From the life I refused to live.

How long would I stay in denial?

I collapsed into my bed one night and saw Lefeli again when I closed my eyes, clutching her wound in disbelief and dying with tears streaming down her face. She had appeared in my dreams several times, ever relentless in her efforts even if it wasn’t her at all.

She always said the same thing, too. Why had I turned down Atlas’ offer? He had been right. All the people I loved here were dead. The familiarity had become haunting memories and my home had become a prison. Why did I have to become so lonely to realize this?

That night, like all the others, was slow and mercilessly regretful, and in the morning I dressed up in my usual skirt and vest and set out into the early spring weather.

The morning went fast with Tremie. Even though it was a weekend, I had asked to work extra to be away from my own head—though I didn’t tell her that—and so far, it had worked. Being at home, it seemed, was always the hardest part of life in this town.

This town. I say it like I don’t live here.

I looked up from my needlework at the sound of Tremie calling my name.

“Do come, Veia dear! Don’t lallygag!”

“Yes, yes,” I murmured, setting the fabric down and standing.

Before I reached Tremie, though, I froze in place at the sight of the person in front of her. Short hair, pitch black in contrast to her pale skin, hands on hips over her trousers and rough traveling jacket.

“Veia, what in the bloody, rotten, cursed death has taken you so long? We’ve been roaming around the area, waiting for you to say something, but you never did! What is wrong with you?”

I gaped, speechless, as Evyne Jeims strutted up to me and glared daggers, surveying me up and down. Her face softened. “What happened? You look like a wreck.”

Finally, I found my voice and half chuckled, half cried. “You know, that’s not surprising.”

And it finally clicked for me. After all this time of wanting to be home, it finally clicked that my home wasn’t with my family’s graves, nor was it in this ghost town of broken memories. I bit my lip and closed my eyes, taking a moment to accept it.

“What are you...?”

“Yep.” I nodded and looked at Evyne. “I’ve got it now.”

She furrowed her brows and looked as if she was about to say something, but I shushed her as I spotted a tall figure standing outside the shop.

“Aha!” I jumped past Evyne and Tremie and burst out the door of the shop to see exactly the person I’d been hoping to. I should have known he was responsible for this awful ache, the cursed scoundrel.

Atlas wore the same gray scarf he always did, his arm still stuck in a sling, his dark hair now pulled into a short ponytail at his neck. But his eyes melted a part of me that I hadn’t realized was frozen. Just seeing his face was like a waterfall of emotions.

He seemed to have his own waterfall of emotions as he stumbled backward in surprise, mouth agape.

But I didn’t mind. I crashed into him, wrapping my arms around him and pressing my face into his shoulder. “Hey, Atlas,” I laughed as we both teetered to regain balance.

“Veia, I—hi?” He looked down at me, blinking in surprise, and put a hand on my shoulder. I still hadn’t let go of him. “Are you okay?”

I felt bold. Crazy, even. “Atlas, can I do something for Evyne? It involves you.”

“What?” He glanced around, befuddled, then nodded. “What is it you’re wanting to—”

I cut him off by placing a hand on his cheek and kissing him. It felt so good, so right, and I couldn’t help but be angry with myself for refusing this. Atlas was tense at first, but he relaxed after a second like he’d been half expecting this. When I pulled away, though, he looked utterly astonished.

“Yes!” Evyne yelled from the doorway, laughing triumphantly. “Do that more often!”

Atlas flushed dramatically and tried to speak, but I pulled away from him and instead took his hand and reached for Evyne’s as well. “Let’s go, shall we? I want to go home.”

I glanced back at the shop where Tremie gawked dumbly for a moment, but she waved us off nonetheless, the fabric she’d been holding fallen to the ground at her feet.

“Home?” Atlas asked, turning to me as I pulled them both along.

“Well yeah.” It had taken me this long to realize it, but now more than ever, I was sure of my decision. “You said it yourself. Home is with the people you love.”

I cried out, rushing to Lefeli’s side. She sputtered, heaving gasps and staring in disbelief at the growing bloodstain on her dress.

“Hold on, hold on…” I lifted her gently from the dirt onto my lap and she tore her gaze from her wound to look at me.

The fear in her eyes. The terror. My heart sank, dread pooling in my stomach.

“Veia,” she whispered, her voice so small, “what did I do? Please, tell me… all I wanted was her smile.” She drew a shaky breath and cried out softly.

“Lefeli…” I glanced down at the blood that had soaked her whole torso and became nauseous. There was so much of it…

“All I wanted…” Lefeli breathed, her eyes losing focus, “was… a smile…”

Her body went slack and my heart pounded, panicking. I looked up at Evyne, who shook her head solemnly.

“Where are the medics?” I laid Lefeli down and jumped to my feet, my adrenaline running. “Isn't anyone trying to save her?”

Maestus. I spotted him at the edge of the broken street, his face grim. In his hand was a throwing knife identical to the one that had wounded Lefeli. My breath hitched and my knees buckled.

And as I sat there on the ground, Lefeli’s blood on my skirt and an irreparable tear in my heart, I realized that no one was going to save a murderer from her own death. No one would save a rogue magician on the brink of madness.

The fear in her eyes was the last expression she'd ever have.

My own tears mingled with the dust on the broken ground and the dirt ground between my fingers as I made fists of my hands. An uncontrollable sob overcame me.

I had done nothing to help her.

Not a single thing.

I watched Lefeli’s funeral pyre burn until all that remained were embers and a distinct feeling of wrongness.

The events of yesterday had drenched my night in cold sweat. After Lefeli’s death, my mind and body refused to be consoled and had taken on a relieving numbness.

I sighed, looking at Lefeli’s dagger in front of me. Small beads of blood collected in my palms where I’d dug my nails into them.

After that, I vaguely remember someone coming to fetch me before the night grew too dark, and so I sat silently in the Meekers’ parlor instead of in front of Lefeli’s ashes. It made no difference to the void in my chest.

“Veia, dear, the book,” Miss Mylda reminded softly, sitting on the couch across from me.

Everyone had gathered in the parlor with me to finally dispel the curse on the book. Atlas avoided my gaze and Evyne was entirely unreadable.

I set the book on the table. The curse on the cover only served to remind me of Lefeli. Next, I took Lefeli’s magic dagger in both of my hands and the room seemed to draw a collective breath all at once.

Firhetya had told us how to break it. According to him, all I had to do was slash over the exsecratus on the leather and it would be over. But now, as I held the dagger over the jagged letters, my grip faltered.

Evyne placed her hand over mine on the hilt of the dagger. I didn't look up at her, but I felt the resolve in her fingers. I brought the dagger down on the book, dragging the blade across the letters with a finality I didn't realize I had.

A long moment passed as I lifted the dagger back up, and nothing appeared to change in the book.

“Is it… done?” Atlas asked, peering down at it.

“I…”

Evyne carefully opened the cover and a quiet gasp escaped from Miss Mylda.

The words written in the book, the passages on each page that had foretold disaster after disaster, were blurred and splattered as if water had made the ink run.

It was final. I looked around the room at the Meekers, then at Evyne and Atlas. Atlas returned my gaze, blue eyes shining.

The curse was broken.

Things seemed to pass so quickly when you weren't paying attention.

Just like that, the Jeims siblings and I had left the extravagant City of Magic behind in all its glory to return to the unforgiving road. Before I'd left, though, I'd given the ruined book and Lefeli’s dagger to Firhetya in memory of his friend Miss Merenais, which he accepted with a solemn grace.

Some say that he crystallized the pages of the book and designed a magical wind chime from the broken curse, but that he never put it to use. They say it remains in his little shop to this day. I haven’t returned to find out.

The trip back to Esterwilde went much quicker than the trip away from it, which I suppose is understandable considering we no longer had a curse causing bandits and rockslides to slow us down. Still, every night when the sun set, I would sit away from the bicker of the two siblings and listen to the sounds of life. I would hear something different each night—the insects, the birds, the rustle of animals in the wood or wind through the trees—and I thought of my home, so close yet so far.

Eight days passed in the blink of an eye on Evyne’s new cart. Most of the time I sat dazed and distant until I began to recognize the scenery. The tall, wooden windmill teetering on the hillside, the brush of the trees and the feel of the ground.

Then I saw the flower field, and beyond it, Esterwilde.

I remembered sitting under that tree in the field as we passed it. The snow was gone now, but I remembered well the cold mud that dripped from my clothes. That had been the first time I’d met Atlas.

I peeked up, fighting the urge to bounce in anticipation, as we passed through the town gates, which were always open and felt more than ever like welcoming me home.

“Atlas,” I said, unable to contain myself, “that's Tremie’s dress shop!”

He glanced where I’d motioned and nodded, somewhat distracted.

Oh. Right.

In all the time I'd spent sitting on the same bench with him, we still hadn't talked. And I still hadn't apologized for turning him down so rudely.

My face flushed with shame and I drew my hand in. Maybe us not talking had been purposeful after all.

It didn't take long after that for us to pass through the town and emerge on the other side, straight onto a nostalgic forest path. The cart continued to thump along down the dirt road as we passed Emrita Saravani’s house, looking dejected as ever, and continued on to a large, gnarly willow tree. There, Evyne pulled us to a stop.

After a moment of absentmindedness, I stood and climbed down from the cart. My feet planted on familiar ground and yet I stumbled. It didn't feel right after all this time.

“So.” Evyne sat back with a sigh. “Our little hitchhiker finally returns home. What an emotional parting… so tearjerking…”

After a moment, she cocked an eyebrow, not satisfied, and suddenly shoved Atlas off the bench. “What, are you just not gonna kiss? I've been waiting forever for you nitwits to make up!"

I gawked as Atlas stumbled down next to me. We gave each other flustered glances, then Evyne cleared her throat and began chewing on a piece of dried meat from her bag. She kicked her legs up and folded her arms, waiting.

“So, um,” Atlas fumbled with unslinging his bag from his uninjured shoulder. “I’m—well, I’m sorry about the whole asking you to stay thing… so… here.” He pulled a little wooden scroll tube from his bag, tied with a simple twine bow, and pressed it into my hands. “I know I didn't ask your permission, but…”

I removed the lid of the tube and slid the paper out from inside, unrolling it, then I gasped quietly.

It was a drawing. One of those charcoal portraits I'd heard of in the big cities and art towns. My own eyes stared back at me in strokes of ashy black and my face took on a serene grace I knew I didn't have.

“Did you…?” I looked up again at Atlas as he glanced away shyly. “I didn't know you could draw!”

“I haven't had the inspiration to.” He tried to hide his smile.

“It’s… beautiful,” I breathed, glancing down again at the drawing. I took it all in. It was too perfect. My chest swelled and ached with appreciation. “Thank you, Atlas. For this, and helping me break the curse. Thanks for being so nice to me.”

He caught my eye and his lips quirked. “Thanks for making it fun.”

“Just kiss already!” Evyne shouted.

We both blushed.

“Then, uh,” Atlas stammered and grabbed my hand, “it was a pleasure to travel with you, Miss Veia Phelde.” He dipped stiffly and pecked my fingers, his face aflame. He forced a crooked smile with eyes wide and squeaked a small laugh to himself, then let my hand go abruptly as if he felt he’d held it too long. He shot a nasty glare at Evyne.

I chuckled, putting his drawing back in its case, and nodded gratefully. “Thank you also, Atlas Jeims, for your outstanding service to a girl in need. Oh, and Evyne,” I added, winking, “thanks for the ride.”

She laughed loudly, then shook her head and motioned for Atlas to get back on. “S’been nice, Veia.”

And just like that, she yipped to Birdy and they started down the road, leaving me standing with my knapsack and a portrait in front of the one place I'd wanted to be most.

My home beckoned me, and yet I waited for the sound of the cart to fade.

It was his eyes. The look in his eyes before I ran away had struck an arrow of painful, aching guilt right into my heart, and I felt horrible. What could I have done? Esterwilde was my everything. I had lived there with Mom and Dad and Juna. My fingerprints would never leave the halls of the orphanage I had helped rebuild, and my fingerprints were still on the ashes of the building before it. How could I leave when I had worked so hard to get to where I’d been?

Still, the ache in my chest remained, truly insatiable, and I couldn't find the will to lift the bedsheets from my face as I lay there alone in the room Miss Mylda had lent me.

Atlas had said… he’d said he wanted me to be a part of his home. Did that mean… he loved me? My eyes burned and I lifted the heel of my palms to my face, miserable. Was it even possible to love a person like me?

I'd had many suitors since I came of age; even I had to admit I was physically appealing. But I knew what they had wanted, and it’d had nothing to do with my personality. I'd watched as many girls had been swept into the allure of their flattery, taken off to the alter with a man they had barely met. I'd known girls who'd been married off by their families, but I’d never even had the chance for something awful like that. Besides, no one wants to marry a girl who doesn't even know her own lineage. The only reason anyone would want me is lust, because the angels know that I am not worthy of love. In the end, I always end up putting myself first.

But in all my life, I'd never felt this way about a person before. I'd never met anyone who confused me like him, whose mysteries I wanted to unravel so badly that I would strip my life bare before him so he could understand. I’d never cared what people thought about me, and yet here I lay, torn from the inside out over lashing out at him. I couldn't describe the awful, gnawing feeling inside if I tried. I rolled to the side, finally taking the sheets from my face…

… and saw Evyne in the doorway, arms crossed as she leaned on the doorframe.

“Evyne!” I yelped, wrenching the blankets back over myself. “Go away!”

“Not happening.”

I wasn't listening. I waited for her to leave, but after a long moment of nothing, I peeked out again from under the sheets, wiping the tears from my face self-consciously. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” She looked unamused. “Stop wallowing in self-pity and help me find Lefeli. She’s gone. Probably ran after the magic scared her out of her wits.”

“She’s missing?” I asked, sitting up.

“I knew she’d crack eventually,” she continued, pushing off from the doorframe and strolling down the hallway. “To be expected of a lallygagging dressmaker…”

I gawked at the empty doorway for a second, then scrambled into my clothes and hurried after her down to the parlor, where everyone was gathered minus, of course, Lefeli.

“I don't know what you all are fretting over,” drawled Miss Mylda from the kitchen, sipping tea I could smell from my seat, “she’s simply having some time to herself. Maestus ran off practically every week when he was her age.”

“Mother, please, I was practicing my potions.”

I caught sight of Atlas sitting on a couch on the other side of the room, holding a steaming mug in his hand and gazing listlessly into it. He looked so somber…

“Oh, stop it.” Evyne whapped the back of my head and shot Atlas a glare. He looked up from his tea and jumped to his feet when he spotted her, then took a long pull at his drink and handed the empty mug back to Miss Mylda. Evyne turned and started down the hallway. “Let’s go find that girl before she gets robbed or something.”

I followed Evyne again as she strutted toward the door, Atlas at our tails. We found Birdy in the stables and saddled her, but realized quickly that all three of us couldn't ride her at the same time.

“We can take Gedsik here,” came Jaren’s voice from behind as he approached the same spotted horse we’d ridden yesterday. “If we pair up.”

I shared a look with Evyne and she rolled her eyes. “Go on, then. I'll ride with Atlas.”

Atlas opened his mouth to protest, but was shot down with a glance from Evyne. A few minutes later, we all trotted the streets of Azareba toward the shopping district, where we'd decided to search first.

We made very little conversation, each of us scanning the streets, gazing down alleys and, at some point, asking passersby along the way. There was no sign of her, though. No trace at all.

We brought the horses up next to each other and Birdy scuffed a hoof in disagreement.

“Should we split up?” Jaren asked, glancing again around the street.

“We’ll break off toward the houses and smaller districts,” said Evyne. “You keep down this street all the way to the main gate, then if you don't find her, go back to the House. She might have returned.”

We all nodded in agreement, then as we were breaking off again, a shrill scream pierced the air, coming from up ahead. The four of us glanced at each other, sharing a look, then set off at a gallop. We were soon slowed, though, as a crowd of people filled the street, running like mice from a flood. I sweated nervously as I strained to see past them.

“A rogue magician!” someone shouted. Other similar exclamations echoed around us. The people in the streets scurried past, turning off into stores or buildings. Some kept on running.

A rumble shook the ground, cracking the cobblestone, followed by a deafening boom that reverberated in my chest. The horses bucked and reared as bright flashes of light cracked through the sky nearby and the screams continued.

I shot a look at Atlas and Evyne, who had the same expression I did.

We pushed through the crowd, demanding space with our horses, and raced toward the source of the chaos. As we came closer, I made out the shouts of soldiers and guards reacting to the scene also, then my blood ran cold as we came upon what once was the brilliantly lit town square directly in front of the city gate.

It lay in ruins, the stone on the street shattered to form a crater in the center, the buildings decimated, the storefronts and performing stages charred. And several bodies, bloodied, scattered among the rubble. Some still cried out in pain, but others lay motionless, sprawled over the wreckage.

My stomach lurched as I jumped off the horse and ran forward, stopping at the edge of the crater.

And in the center of it all was a girl, her shoulders tensed like a threatened animal and her once petite, stylish dress covered in dust and ash. Her light brown hair stood on end and she faced toward the gate with a dagger in her hand that glowed dimly and shook in her grip.

“Let me through!” she screeched at the gate guards, who pointed weapons at her in response. The ground tremored beneath my feet.

“Lefeli….” Dread pulled a thread around my chest so tight I stumbled. No… how could this…?

She swiveled around at the sound of our approach and I inhaled sharply. Her eyes were so wild and furious, her mouth pulled into a snarl that faltered the moment she recognized us. Her face seemed to flicker for a moment, her resolve wavering, then she thrust her dagger straight out in front of her with both hands, still shaking. “Get back, all of you! Don't stop me! I don't want to hurt you!”

The wind blew my skirt around my ankles and I took a step forward, gripping my satchel, the cursed book inside, with tight fists. “Lefeli, what are you doing?”

“Don't get any closer!” She growled, but then her face registered shock and her legs buckled.

I swiveled around to see Jaren holding a spellbook and murmuring a chant under his breath.

“She’s just stunned,” he said once the spell was finished. “It will keep her from trying to escape, but it won't last long.”

I nodded as Evyne and Atlas dismounted and I ran down the crater where Lefeli still sat, dazed-looking. The guards from the gate surrounded the edge of the crater in a circle, each pointing a weapon in Lefeli’s direction.

She was cornered.

Lefeli’s eyes widened suddenly and she staggered back, staring at me like I held a sword to her neck. My jaw clenched and I stopped a few paces away from her. Up close, I could see the tears in her dress, the glisten of sweat on her brow. She was terrified.

“I told you!” she cried, desperate now. “I told you I did what the Mother said. Steal something, curse the book and return the necklace, play the game. Play the game. Play the game.”

Atlas and Evyne came up behind me, listening as I was in growing horror. My breath caught in my throat and my body refused to accept her words. Curse the book…

“It was a game!” Her eyes, a glimmering amber, filled with tears as she choked on her words. “The Mother’s greatest, funnest game. Veia, you know, don't you? How to break the curse? Don't you?” She took a step forward and Atlas reached his arm out in front of me. Lefeli recoiled.

“You could have broken it anytime! I thought you wanted to keep playing! Evi,” she turned to Evyne, face pleading, voice breaking, “we’re friends! I love you! You knew this was the Mother’s game, right? My game?”

Evyne grimaced. “I thought you didn't like lying.”

“I'm not lying!” she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I'm not lying! What did I do wrong? We were having so much fun! I thought you liked playing games!”

Atlas stepped up to Lefeli, his uninjured hand tight in a fist at his side. She stared up at him from her knees, her whole body trembling. She smiled hopefully, her pink lips cracked and her cheeks streaked from the dust.

“So it was you." His voice was so quiet. I’d never seen him like this. “In Fairlay, it was you who poisoned and killed those five people. It was you who cursed Veia and poisoned me and Evyne. Because we were trying all along to break your curse, Veia nearly froze to death and all of us nearly died falling down a ravine.” His voice rose, his stance stiffening. “You destroyed my cart and broke my arm, and look at you!” He thrust his arm out, motioning to the destruction around us. "How many people have you murdered now? What blood lies on your frail little hands? Do you even understand how awful you are?!”

He shoved her by the shoulder and she fell to the ground, cowering and sobbing. Clenching his teeth, Atlas looked as if he wished to strike her, but he restrained himself and yelled in frustration, then swiveled around and stalked away.

“Lefeli…” I approached her, my feelings dulled and muffled below the deafening betrayal ringing through my ears.

Before I could realize what she was doing, though, Lefeli let out a cry and uncoiled, swinging the glowing dagger out in wide arcs. I gasped, stepping back. The dagger, most likely enchanted, began to emit a bright light, creating runes from the trail Lefeli left in the air, and they lifted into the sky, creating a pattern of bright yellow.

Just as an electric hum began to thrum in my chest and through the air, snapping and crackling from Lefeli’s magic, a flash of black blurred past and Lefeli screamed, dropping the dagger and crumpling to the ground, curled around herself.

And a deep crimson seeped through the periwinkle fabric of her dress where a throwing knife had pierced her stomach.

Later that night, I sat in the parlor with Jaren and Miss Mylda while he explained to her the situation. Occasionally, I nodded or murmured my agreement, but most of the time I wasn't even listening. My mind was elsewhere, hooked and trapped on the words Firhetya had said.

I'd been cursed by the child of a murderer. Laveen Merenais had most likely lost her mind sometime after leaving Azareba. Otherwise, why would she have done what she did? Even Miss Mylda looked somewhat shaken over the idea of Laveen Merenais' successor being the book's curser, which only served to feed the fears itching at the back of my mind. I stood abruptly when Evyne entered the room later wearing nightclothes and jumped on the opportunity to leave, claiming to get ready for bed.

Once out in the hallway, though, I found myself running. Dread pulled my chest taut from the building realizations of Firhetya's words and I found it hard to breath. What would it take to rid myself of this curse? Why had it been placed on me at all? I mean, who curses people they don't even know? I turned a corner and slammed head-on into someone, knocking both of us to the ground with an incredibly loud thud in the otherwise silent hall.

"Ow! What the—? Veia?" Atlas squinted up at me, blinking a few times as he gained his senses. He clutched his newly bandaged arm tenderly.

"Atlas?" Oh, holy curses. The thoughts of Firhetya were instantly banished. "Are you okay? What are you doing here?" Why did I sound like I was about to cry? Did I always have to cry in front of Atlas? I hoped he wouldn't notice the heat rising up my face.

"What am I—? You're the one who ran into me! And I'm just ducky, thanks." He hesitated, looking at me more closely. "Are you okay, though? You look like someone's after you."

"What? Oh, no, I just..." I looked down, noticing for the first time that I was on top of Atlas, a tangle of limbs and skirts and fabric...

I was on top of Atlas.

Letting out a short cry, I thrust myself to my feet and wobbled around a bit, mortified. I tripped, then, and almost fell over my skirt again if not for Atlas, who jumped up and caught me, managing the feat one-handed. Not again with him catching me! Why was I like this?

Atlas looked as surprised as I felt, a tinge of worry creasing his brow. "Veia, what—"

"I just... don't ask, okay? I'm perfectly fine." My voice snapped with panic, my thoughts a frenzy of actions and reactions and very little actual consideration of my surroundings.

Atlas closed his mouth, looking shocked at my outburst, and nodded. "I won't ask, then."

Oh. I had shut him down, hadn't I? Guilt washed over me in a cold wave and before I realized it, I had reached forward and grabbed Atlas' sleeve, causing him to startle.

"No, actually," I sucked in a shaky breath and released it. "Talking to someone... would be nice."

I stared down at his sling, feeling like a child as he stared back at me with his perfect, crystalline eyes. It was as if he were trying to figure out how it was possible for a person to panic and break down and mess up as badly as I did. Shame followed the guilt and I felt a lot like crying again, but I didn't. I'd made that mistake once before.

Atlas took my hand suddenly and began leading me down the twisting hallways. He didn't say anything and I didn't trust myself enough to speak, so the only sound was of our footsteps on the wooden floors.

We made our way up the stairs as if led by an invisible map, through three or four more hallways, past a sketchy-looking room covered in runes, and straight through a door on the left.

I yelped as we were enveloped in blackness as thick as tar, but I didn't pull away from Atlas' grip on my hand until he let go, at which point I dropped into a panic again. I couldn't see Atlas. I couldn't see myself. I didn't know where we were. Was this a cursed room? I breathed heavily.

Until a soft light started from a few feet in front of me. Atlas lit a lamp, struggling to do so with only his non-dominant hand, and bathed the rest of the room in a warm glow. I looked around.

It reminded me of my cottage back home. A simple desk with a candle, and a single bed against the far wall. Atlas held the lamp up and hung it on the wall, then turned to me with a smile.

Wait. A bed?

And Atlas?

"Uh..." I backed up, feeling the walls around me until I accidentally pushed the door shut with my shoulder. Panic flooded me and I drew a complete blank. Of all times not to come up with some clever plan!

Atlas took a step forward casually and my eyes widened. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nu-uh. I swiveled around and clutched the door handle, but it was jammed. The confounded rusty knob!

"Veia?" I turned to see Atlas giving me another worried look. "What's the matter?" He stared at me a moment longer before his eyes widened and he seemed to realize what I was thinking. "Oh, no, uhh..." His face went beet red and he scrambled to take the lamp off the wall again. "You know what, how about we go into the hallway? That'd be better, wouldn't it?"

The room grew silent, both of us staring at each other over a four foot distance and looking as if we'd seen a ghost. Finally, I found the words in my throat and they came out almost inaudible and terribly squeaky. "That... yes, of course."

He nodded, face still aflame, then cleared his throat and turned away. I saw him cringe from the corner of my eye, muttering something like a reprimand to himself. As my instincts subsided, a small smile itched at the edge of my mouth. This situation would be almost laughable if I weren't still trying to slow my racing heart.

And it hadn't occurred to him that bringing a girl to his bedroom wasn't in the least suspicious? I huffed incredulously as I tried working the doorknob open. The tall, handsome, perfect Atlas was actually entirely and hopelessly oblivious. Knowing that unwound some of the panic of being so near him. I let out a breath as the door gave.

Stepping out into the hall with Atlas close behind, we sat next to the doorway and he put the lamp on the floor in front of us. It gave the rest of the hallway an eerie fade into perpetual darkness, but I was glad it gave me something to look at other than Atlas, who probably didn't want me looking at him either.

"So..." I took another long breath. "Just listen. You don't need to say anything, but... listen. Earlier, Jaren and I went to visit a dark magician named Firhetya, as you might recall."

He nodded. "I—"

"Don't talk." I watched as he clamped his mouth shut, blushing again, then I continued. "Firhetya told us that he couldn't undo the curse because it was the magic of a woman named Laveen Merenais, who murdered her husband and died herself while transferring her magic to her child several years ago. That means her child has inherited her magic, survived this whole time, and given a cursed book to me. But why me? Esterwilde is a town strictly against the use of magic, so why would a magician come simply to curse me?" I sighed and leaned back against the wall. "I just don't know why all of this happened and it seems to be getting harder and harder to fix. Is a solution even possible? I mean, what if the successor is dead? Would we just have to wait until the book fills itself up and kills who knows how many people in the meantime?

"You probably think this is crazy, but now that I've been to the City of Magic, I don't don't even know if my hometown will take me back. It just seems like the life I've worked so hard to get to has been torn away from me and the chances of getting it back are growing slimmer and slimmer every day. Will things ever be the same, even if we do manage to break the curse?" I stared down at the lamp as the silence reclaimed the hallway, then finally looked at Atlas.

His expression was unreadable. I'd seen it on him before, when facing down an enemy or taking hard news, but this time it seemed different. He met my eyes. "I know you don't want my opinion, but I think Esterwilde is awful for you."

I opened my mouth, but didn't speak. I didn't know what to say.

"I know your family is there, but to me, it doesn't seem like the townspeople respect you as much as you deserve. From what I've seen, they weren't mean to you, but did you have any friends? You haven't mentioned any the whole trip. You always worked for what you got, sure, but is that really all you want in life? To survive?"

What?... To survive? Somewhere inside me, an emotion twitched and writhed at his words. How could he have thought I'd done all of that just to survive? I searched his face for any hints that he was joking—he had to be. I inhaled shakily and calmed myself. "I don't have family in Esterwilde, Atlas. The Pheldes were my adopted family, and they all died eight years ago. I live alone, with no neighbors, out in the middle of the woods. But my whole life is in that town, and it's all I've ever known. To me, Esterwilde is where I return to. It's my home."

He blinked, surprised, then, slowly, his expression became unreadable again, almost sorrowful. He lifted his hand up, raking it through his dark hair and leaning back against the wall. We both sat there for a moment while I tried to collect my emotions and Atlas gazed up at the ceiling thoughtfully. When he suddenly turned to me and took my hand, I jumped and glanced at his face only to see his striking blue eyes staring into my own with resolve.

"Veia, live with me and Evyne. Let's make a new home where you don't have to be alone. You'll never have to be alone again, if you don't want to." He must have seen my stricken face, for he continued, his voice almost pleading.

"Just because you've lived somewhere doesn't make it your home, Veia. My home is not on the streets where I grew up, nor is it with my father, who abandoned my mother, or with my mother, who abandoned me. My home is with the people I love. It's not a place, it's a feeling, and... and I want you to be a part of my home, Veia."

I searched his eyes, but there was no lie. There was no joke. No smile. But how could he be serious? How could he ask me to give up Esterwilde? My life? How could he ask me to just leave it behind? The emotion in my stomach—anger, I realized—swelled and agitated. I had lived my whole life there. It was the one thing for me that had never changed, and yet he's the reason I had to leave it in the first place. Now he somehow had the idea to suggest I never return to the one place that had housed me my entire life?

Atlas searched my eyes as well, hoping—yearning—for my response. He was so sincere it made fury spark through my body and I looked down at his hand, still holding mine.

"My family lived in Esterwilde, and my family died in Esterwilde. The only life I've ever had has been there, and you're actually asking me not to return to it? Atlas, I already have a home, and it doesn't involve these awful questions you make me ask myself. It doesn't involve this ache in my heart. It doesn't involve you."

And with those terrible words, I took my hand from his and ran into the darkness.

Miss Mylda's humorless laugh sent a chill up my spine. That was what I could only assume was a bad first reaction to seeing the cursed book lying on the table between us.

Maestus had shown us around the labyrinthine puzzle that was the Meeker House, sweeping across every room and hallway with shocking ease before settling us all into what appeared to be an old-fashioned tea parlor. There, I'd unlatched my knapsack and slapped the leather book down on the table with a fervor that surprised even me. I was excited, of course, to finally be in the presence of magicians to break the curse, but I also believed that somewhere in my paranoid mind, I was terrified of the possibilities.

While Miss Mylda gave many mixed reactions to the outward appearance of the cursed book, Maestus, who was perched stoutly next to her, muttered its Latin title to himself before rubbing his chin and leaning back on the couch. Jaren stood silently but with apparent interest near the corner of the room; Evyne, Atlas, and Lefeli sat around me on either side, letting off a nervous aura of their own. Finally, Maestus spoke.

"The carving on the front, exsecratus, means 'cursed,' if you didn't know." He flipped open the cover with no hesitation and nodded once, though I wasn't sure what he meant by it. "And I presume these are each verses of this curse in the form of a Latin poem?" He looked to his mother for confirmation and she smiled wisely.

"Very good, Maestus. In addition, I believe this is a dark magic curse, meaning that the Meekers aren't able to aid you in breaking it since we all practice potion brewing, which is not a dark magic. However, I happen to know of somebody who I'm confident will be able to help you." She whispered something to Maestus, then stood up slowly and made her way to Jaren, whispering to him also. Watching the secrecy of it all made me twitch with anxiety, but when I caught a glimpse of the calmness on Miss Mylda's face, I tried to settle down. I'd been living with the book's curse for close to a month, now. I wouldn't let it unnerve me now.

I jumped as Miss Mylda snapped back around and snatched the book off the table, rifling through its pages. She read the passages—lines in a poem?—almost furiously until she got to the most recent entry. Her eyes narrowed, then she clapped the book shut. "I won't tolerate a curse on my household, Veia dear, and that's just what this book has done. Jaren, please go with her to have Firhetya dispel it."

She pulled me up to my feet, tucked the book into my bag, and shooed me out into the hallway with Jaren in a stern, matronly way. She smiled as she batted us away and out the door, closing it with a click before opening it a second later. She peeked her head out, a strand of her wispy gray hair falling from its place in her bun. "And be back before dark, would you? The night is dreadfully cold this time of year and I wouldn't want to have to send Maestus out to get you."

"Yes, Ma'am." Jaren bowed slightly and swept me off down the drive to where a spotted gray horse waited for us as if summoned by magic—which was probably true, now that I thought about it.

Jaren helped me mount, ever the gentleman, and hopped up behind me, then we were off down the street.

I tried not to focus too much on the fact that Jaren was sitting directly behind me, his lean arms on either side as he held the reins, so I focused instead on the colors that painted the sky. For now, it was a pale blue, but I could see the hints of orange and pink blushing on the horizon from the nearing sunset. I shivered. For many unspoken reasons, I, like Miss Mylda, also wanted us back before dark.

The ride continued in a perpetual—but not uncomfortable—silence. Jaren found a way to make it pleasant without conversation, but I couldn't help the creeping thoughts of the dark magician we were going to meet. Images played across my mind again of the poison sellers and otherworldly beasts thrashing at us through the bars of their cages. What if this Firhetya was like my imagination feared him to be? No, Jaren and Miss Mylda were good people. If they were magicians, then my hometown must have been wrong to say magic was the work of the devil; these people were no monsters—or monster summoners, for that matter. I'm sure Firhetya was an honorable magician.

The horse whinnied as we slowed to a stop in front of a small, hut-like building with plain wood walls and a curtain hanging from the front door frame. I stared at the wind chimes and small bells that hung outside the doorway as we dismounted. Some were stained glass, others a polished silver, more yet were what appeared to be a glimmering crystal that rotated and flashed so many soft colors in the evening light. As a breeze came by, they all chimed with each other and my feet stopped moving beneath me as if just to listen to them required all the energy in my body, and yet it invigorated me at the same time. How could I not listen? Their melody was so high and pure, like the silent songs of faeries and the changes of church bells as they played a morning peal. I closed my eyes, picturing the sunlight filtering between green leaves in a forest canopy above me, the calming ring playing almost as if from the heavens themselves.

The chimes all stopped suddenly and I was knocked rather unceremoniously from my reverie. "I'm so sorry, little heart! Are you alright?"

I opened my eyes and found another forest spirit, this time draped in flowy clothes and a green headscarf upon his single braid of blond hair. He almost looked like Jaren—who I spotted behind me looking mildly alarmed—but this man's eyes were older and infinitely wiser. I didn't know how I could tell, though. His body language?

He smiled and took a step back, an action that reminded me again of Jaren. "I'm glad you're unharmed." He motioned for us to follow him inside the building. "I apologize again for the chimes. They're my defense mechanism, believe it or not. After all, this can sometimes be a dangerous city, and as you can see, I have no door." He flashed another smile and I cocked my head to the side, brushing through the curtain after him.

The inside of the small hut was covered from floor to ceiling in seemingly random doodads and small mechanisms like the chimes. The sight was breathtaking and I found myself gaping at the intricate inventions.

"So what brings you two here today?" The man spoke again, this time from behind a wooden counter in the back of the room. "Another broken charm at the Meeker House? Or perhaps the Madame Mylda has found another nest of hexed winkerats in the attic?"

"No, sir." Jaren strode up to the counter and motioned for me to the same. "This time, we have a cursed book that has unfortunately afflicted the Meeker household. Miss Mylda immediately sent us to you, Firhetya, under the belief that you would know how to dispel it."

Firhetya? He was Firhetya? I looked again at the two men next to the counter. It was as if they were both straight out of a fairytale grove. How could that man be Firhetya? I walked up to the counter and unslung my knapsack from my shoulder.

So... I guess he wasn't big and scary, then. Or evil.

With only a short moment's hesitation, I extracted the cursed book from my bag and slid it across the counter. The man—Firhetya—touched it delicately, turning it around so he could read the slices on the cover, then he opened the book and turned a few pages, his eyes thoughtful. He shut the book, then turned it over again, tapping his other hand on the countertop as he seemed to contemplate something with himself. Finally, he flipped the book back around and placed it on the counter between us, keeping his hand on it firmly.

"This," he said, his voice serious, "is a curse that, by the laws of dark magic, should not exist."

My breath stuttered and I stared down at the book. That was not what I was hoping to hear.

"Is there any way you can break the curse?" Jaren asked, and Firhetya removed his hand from the book, his expression grim.

"At one time, I had a dear friend named Laveen Merenais who lived not far from me. She was the most talented magician I'd ever known, and everyone knew it. But one day, Miss Laveen closed shop and moved out of Azareba. From what I'd heard, she'd gotten married and went to live in the country.

"All was well for several years until a man covered in blood came to the gate of the City of Magic, half starved, half insane, and started rambling something about Miss Laveen and her family. He was taken inside, then when he had gained his bearings, he explained that he'd been her neighbor and that one night, he'd heard a commotion at her house and went to check on them. When he got there, though, he saw that Laveen's husband had been killed and dissected, and Laveen herself lay on the floor, stabbed through the stomach."

Firhetya paused for a moment, staring again at the cursed book as if it were the morbid answer to a question he had never asked. Finally, he continued. "He said she'd laughed as her blood pooled around her, but before she died, she told the man this: 'My lover has paid with his body for my successor to take my magic. My blood becomes my lifeline in this world.'"

"What does that mean?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Our best guess was that she'd used her husband's body parts to seal a blood curse with her only child, sealing Miss Laveen's magic abilities to the youth. But then why had she been stabbed?"

There was another pause in which a dark idea came to me. "What if the child didn't want Miss Laveen's magic and had stabbed her in the struggle to escape? Was the child ever found after that?"

"No..." He let out a breath, thoughtful. "But there is one thing I'm certain of: the curse on this book is the work of Miss Laveen's magic, and it can only be dispelled by her successor."

"There it is!" Evyne pressed her face up against the window and gave a short victory laugh.

"It's so... big." Lefeli had managed to calm herself some over the three days of traveling, but she was still so much fidgetier than she normally was and she always wanted to be on the opposite bench as Miss Mylda, claiming once when the woman had fallen asleep that she was afraid of her, though she hadn't mentioned why.

The city seemed to triple in size as we grew nearer to it and before I knew what to think, we had come to a stop in front of an immaculate gate flourished with vibrant decorations and two large gargoyle statues that inspired the unsettling thought of not being quite all stone.

A short but impossibly intimidating guard scowled up at the carriage as he conversed with Jaren. Both of them motioned to us in the compartment—the guard as an accusation, Jaren as a calm but spirited explanation—then Jaren stepped up to the carriage respectfully and opened the door for the guard to inspect us. His short stature did nothing to inhibit his ability to peer into the compartment where the four of us sat.

His beady eyes first latched to Miss Mylda, who was trying halfheartedly to keep herself awake, then to Evyne, who met his gaze with a sort of challenge in her eyes, then to Lefeli, who shrunk back with a delirious whimper. He paused for a moment. When he looked over to me, I felt as if my body had been stripped bare, open for him to see and to judge. His little black eyes narrowed at me, his gaze lingering, and I felt as if he could see everything—my parents' lifeless bodies, my tearstained cheeks as I sat alone in the orphanage, the fire that enveloped the walls around me as I escaped the same burning hallways years later. My deepest, darkest memories I had tucked away now resurfaced with a simple flick of his gaze and I felt paralyzed under his scrutiny.

Then he turned and tromped over to Atlas and Birdy and the heat of his black eyes retreated. I sighed shakily and watched as he harrumphed at the horse and nodded once to Jaren, returning to his post, then we were moving through the gate with another jerk of the carriage.

As we passed through the inside of the gate, intricate paintings and ancient runes jumped out in colors and patterns that glowed even in broad daylight. The inscriptions appeared to float off the wall as they passed overhead, but when I blinked they returned to their place as if they had never left. I felt a shiver run through me and an odd unsettling pushed at the base of my spine, then we entered the city in all its vastness and the muffled noise of people erupted into a cacophonous chatter and the roar of crowds.

Through the closed walls of the carriage, I couldn't understand individual voices, but the people themselves told enough of a story that I found myself entranced by the foreign acts of magic all around us. Bright shots of blue and silver fired into the sky from a magician we were passing, his clothes matching the brilliant colors he shot from his hands, one to the other, then up into the air. The crowd oohed and aahed at his display, then another more discreet magician caught my eye—a short, stout woman who sat in front of a glass ball on a green pillow. A tent adorned with golden stars surrounded her and a coy smile played across her glossy lips as she conversed with the small crowd of people collected around her.

"Don't be fooled," Miss Mylda's crackly voice caught me off guard as she peered solemnly out the window for the first time in the whole trip. "These are merely the showy magicians. They perform set acts to intimidate the masses, but their magic is mostly tricks and skims. Once we get farther into Azareba, these sideshows will cease in lieu of the actual artists in the city. And once we're there—" her eyes caught mine and I stiffened at her prideful smirk—"I will finally be able to show you my life's work."

"That's right," Evyne rubbed her chin nonchalantly. "You did say you had a house here—"

"The Meeker House, yes."

"—but you never did tell us what exactly you do for a living." Evyne finished with a curious look at Miss Mylda, who, with smugness playing across her wrinkled features, seemed all too happy to tell her story.

"Well, I myself am a magician of great standing here in the City of Magic, and the Meekers have long been a bloodline very talented in the art of potion brewing. Sadly, I am the last one living of my six siblings, but all of us have many promising grandchildren who I'm sure will carry on the Meeker name with great upstanding. The Meeker House that we're headed to is actually the estate where my great-great-great-grandmother first started her life in brewing nearly two hundred years ago in this very city, though it was much smaller back then..."

Miss Mylda continued on like this, but my eyes soon drifted back to the window, where light, cotton-like clouds drifted through the peaceful afternoon sky. Looking out at the streets, I realized Miss Mylda was right—the theatrical feats of magic had come to a stop, replaced by a shockingly normal-looking shopping district. There were storefronts filled with clothes, townspeople milling about with errand boys or servants to help with the groceries, men and women working their shops with aprons and outfits dirtied with the work of the day. It didn't seem like the dark allies filled with poisons and curses that I'd seen in the many restless dreams I'd had while traveling to get here.

In the life I'd led up until now, I had always been told that magic was taboo. Magic was supposed to be the spawn of evil and the abuse of nature and an abomination to the church. Witchcraft and spellcasting was only to be mentioned in the whispered conversations between my parents late at night after I was presumed to be asleep, but the normalcy of this city seemed only to remind me of my home of Esterwilde. The peaceful, everyday life of a town couldn't be disturbed by the presence of magic, could it? Or was magic not the circles drawn in blood and the midnight incantations that I thought it was?

"Aha!" Miss Mylda jumped up in her seat and jarred the carriage. "There it is! My beautiful Meeker House of Potionry and Elixirs!"

I strained to see past Evyne's lust of the window space and caught sight of a large, mismatched house with lopsided decorations and added rooms in brighter, newer colors trying and failing to distract from the older, more ancient parts of the house. It looked as if they had changed the location of the front door multiple times throughout the ages, and in turn, I counted eight entrances all facing the front of the house from different points in the structure. Did that mean it also had eight separate foyers and eight separate welcome mats? What about the hallways? Were they interconnected? I scrunched my eyebrows.

The carriage kept going past the large house, however, and all the way to the end of the street where the buildings ended, where it made a sharp right turn and began barreling through the grass. Everyone let out a yelp except Miss Mylda, who sat with her hands folded over her lap, humming pleasantly.

The carriage pushed through the yard for a ways, then turned again until we were looking at the backs of the buildings we had just passed on the street. Just when the rough, bumpy riding was about to turn my stomach, we came to a stop directly behind the same misshapen house as before, where a small dirt path led up to a single back door. I let out a queasy sigh as Jaren opened the door for us, an amused smile playing across his face. Slightly behind the carriage, Atlas struggled across the terrain one-handed on Birdy. His sling had been tightened to accommodate for his trip on horseback, but even with it, he cringed at the movement. They came up to the carriage as well and he dismounted, heaving a sigh much like my own.

"Welcome, welcome," a deep voice crept out from seemingly nowhere and a tall, slinky man materialized in front of us, his hair so black it appeared blue in the sun, his eyes even darker than that. His long robes brushed on the ground as if his feet weren't quite touching the grass and he extended a hand to Lefeli, the last person who hadn't exited the carriage. Her eyes were as wide as saucers and her face twisted in sheer terror.

He helped her down, though she was frozen solid, and turned to Miss Mylda with a smile. "Hello, Mother. I'm glad your travels went smoothly."

Miss Mylda chuckled jovially and glanced at us, then she motioned to the pale man in front of her. "Allow me to introduce my son, Maestus Meeker. If you will," she turned to the man pleasantly, "please show our guests around the House, would you? And get that boy some medical attention, for curses’ sake.” She motioned to Atlas dismissively.

"Of course," Maestus smiled again, and with a swish of his death black cape, he started toward the Meeker House, opened the door, and motioned for us to follow him into the darkness that lay beyond.

Lefeli all but screamed when she spotted us, and after knocking me to the ground in an overdramatic embrace, she wiped her eyes daintily and stood, dusting off her dress as if she hadn't just covered Jaren’s blanket—which was wrapped around me—in mud. She then proceeded to tell me that Evyne and Atlas had gone down to the river to search for me and the moment I finished introducing Jaren and his offer to Lefeli, we were off down the ravine to find them.

I pulled Jaren along by the hand as if his long legs couldn't already keep up with mine, which were still awkward and numb and tangled between two layers of skirts leaden with water. More than once I tripped over myself and Jaren had to catch me, which rekindled memories of when Atlas had done the same thing back in Tremie’s dress shop. I thanked him meekly and kept sprinting down the decline until I heard the rushing water of the river fill my ears like bubbly foam. I soon after sighted two figures crouched on the riverbank handling something between them.

“Evyne! Atlas!” I shouted over the distance and the splashing of the river.

Before I reached them, though, the memory of my night spent on the riverbank flashed across my mind. I still didn't know whether or not Atlas—or Evyne, for that matter—had stolen my mother’s necklace, which thumped now against my collarbone like a reminder of the words she’d warned me with about whom to trust, and whom not to. Were they friends or enemies? How could I tell? All of this flew by me so fast, hitting me like an arrow to the chest, and then the moment was gone, the thought nothing but just that—a fleeting image haunting the recesses of my mind.

We reached the bank where the two of them sat, eyes wide in surprise, Atlas’ mouth hanging open, Evyne’s clamped tightly shut. Atlas’ eyes flicked confusedly between Jaren and myself, our hands still intertwined, but Evyne was the first to act by launching to her feet and thrusting a fist in the air, swearing loud enough I was sure Lefeli could hear it. “Where the bloody death did you traipse off to in the middle of the night?”

I realized just as soon that she had dropped the thing they were handling, which was Atlas’ sling, and though Evyne continued to furiously reprimand me, Atlas still struggled with the loose fabric, his attention switching between that and us for several seconds before he twisted his face and dropped the cloth.

“Who is he?” Atlas interrupted Evyne’s rant with a jut of his chin in Jaren’s direction.

I released his hand and let Jaren step forward; he was surprisingly unaffected by the run down half the mountain, a healthy tint to his cheeks the only noticeable result of it. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

Atlas audibly huffed and I knew he would have folded his arms had one of them not been injured.

Jaren continued. “My name is Jaren Leimattes and I travel under Madame Mylda Meeker, mistress of the Meeker House in Azareba, where we have offered to take Miss Ilyavei and her companions, if they would have us.” He smiled charmingly as if he held the very warmth of the sun and I glanced away, dazzled.

Atlas had narrowed his eyes during Jaren’s speech, but Evyne looked as if he had offered her a diamond-embedded coach ride to a gilded mansion in the city. “Yes,” she barked a laugh, slapping his shoulder with a sturdy hand. “We would absolutely love to hitch a ride with you to Azareba.”

“Lovely!” Jaren’s smile brightened even more.

“Atlas,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral as I stepped beside him, “do you need some help with your sling?”

He glared at me. “No, I don't. I have it perfectly under control.” He plucked one end of the sling and tossed it over his shoulder, then attempted to do so with the second end and knocked the first one down into his lap again. He cursed under his breath.

Jaren gave me a glance to signal his trip back up the mountain and I volunteered to tag along. As I passed Evyne she put her hand to her mouth secretively and whispered, “What a ruddy knockout! I underestimated you, Domina Capiendas.”

She smirked and whirled around before her words could sink in, then she was already helping a grudging Atlas tie his sling as it dawned on me. Domina Capiendas, the Lady Temptress, was a popular Latin lovers’ tale of the woman who stole the handsomest man’s heart and sewed it to her own using the red twine of fate. When she sewed the heart of a second man to her own and the twine snapped, the woman dissolved into the earth to become one with the land on which her lovers still trod. Risu fatum est scriptor, they called it. Fate’s laugh.

I shuddered and followed Jaren through a patch of trees, unwilling to let it get to me. But when we made it back to Lefeli and our now packed luggage (and Birdy, whom Lefeli had fetched from her spot in a clearing), we had to wait nearly twenty minutes for Evyne and Atlas to catch up to us. Both of them had an entirely different air about them, too, that lifted the hairs in the back of my neck and put an end to whatever conversation I’d been trying to keep with Jaren and Lefeli.

We all traversed the rest of the incline in a tense chorus of crunching leaves and Lefeli’s nonstop chatter, the rest of us not so much as uttering a word until we reached the path to the road and Jaren’s face lit up. I saw him visibly let out a breath of relief.

“Allow me to lead the way,” he hummed, and practically ran up the rest of the way to the road.

I had to nearly sprint to keep pace and Lefeli, not much shorter than myself, was trying desperately not to stumble. I noticed she still managed to sport a petite smile, but even that dissipated like vapor when she saw the ostentatious carriage awaiting us. Her peachy skin paled dramatically and she looked as if she’d seen a wolf.

Evyne, on the other hand, had happily dropped her veil of silence and laughed in approval. Beside her, Jaren stood grinning like a proud mother.

Atlas, however, had not dropped his dark atmosphere. He seemed irritated at the sight of such glamor, from what I collected of his expression. Or maybe it was something else that bothered him.

“Come along now, little forest children!” Miss Mylda’s ancient voice rattled from inside the carriage, and her pickled hands soon pressed up against the glass, her eyes brimming with a smug pride almost like Jaren’s but haughty. “'Tis still three days yet to Azareba!”

“Yes,” Jaren stepped forward and opened the door for us rather expressively. He had already packed our bags in the storage compartment without my noticing. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

Evyne hopped in first—a little too eagerly, I thought—and I went in next. My wet boot slipped on the metal footstep and Jaren braced me, elegantly, politely, until I got in the coach. The interior was a cushioned blue matching the exterior decorations and a window on the other end of the compartment let me see the side of the mountain like a large rocky wall obstructing the view of the rest of nature.

Lefeli, for whatever reason, had become even more ghostly pale by the time she climbed into the carriage. Her gaze was locked downward and she had wrapped a blanket around herself protectively, her eyes wide and overwhelmed. She sat and looked as if she would cry.

Since the carriage was full with us three girls and Miss Mylda, Atlas opted to ride alongside us with Birdy—”I can, in fact, guide a horse one-handed, thank you very much!”—and Jaren took the driver’s bench on the carriage, urging the two of their horses forward. The vehicle started with a jerk on the trail and a surprised grunt from Evyne, then we were off on our three day carriage ride, leaving the wreckage of our cart still lying at the bottom of the ravine.

The day was long and strenuous, the constant lurch of the carriage no condolence to the fact that I was one of four people who were trapped in what I soon found out was a two person vehicle. And how was I supposed to know? I’d never been in a carriage before.

That night, we finally made it out of the mountain range and I let out a long sigh, staring out at the flat forests that still stretched out across the vibrant, rocky horizon. Soon after, we stopped to give the horses a break and I got out to stretch my legs and free myself from Evyne’s impatient sighs and Lefeli’s contagious discomfort. Miss Mylda had fallen fast asleep the second the carriage had started moving, but listening to her wet snores wasn't my preferred means of keeping occupied. I slipped behind a patch of trees away from the road.

Looking upward, the sky was a chasm that seemed to ripple like an inkwell dappled with soft, twinkling stars and my welled-up unease melted away as I sat on a log, swimming in the vastness of its shadows. The trees outlining the sky reminded me with a pang of my cottage back in Esterwilde, of my living room, warm even in the dead of winter; the desk in my bedroom, always covered in layers of unfinished writing; the wooden table and the early mornings, surrounded by nothing but my porcelain mug and the rays of sunshine streaming through the windows. I could hear the birds whistling, the gentle rustle of the trees, the distant bubbling of a stream somewhere in the wood.

But I wasn't at home. I was a hundred miles away from Esterwilde, stuck with a cursed book. Of course. It occurred to me as suddenly as if I had been dunked underwater.

The book.

I jumped to my feet and strode back to the carriage where Jaren was tending to one of the horses and Evyne sat nearby, plucking absently at a small lute.

“The book,” I demanded, harsher than I was intending, and both of their gazes snapped to me, startled. “The cursed book,” I said again. “Where is it?”

“Are you seriously going to search for it when you've been wanting nothing but its riddance for this whole merry time we've been on this trip?” Evyne almost laughed, but with a bitter undertone. “Let it come to you.”

I stayed put for a moment, unsure of what to think, then I sighed and started toward the carriage again as Jaren began asking Evyne questions about the book—I’d forgotten the fact that he’d never seen it.

When I hopped into the compartment, as sure as day, the cursed book sat on the bench where I’d been earlier, its ink black letters seeming to leap from the leather. Perhaps they were; I didn't know. All I knew for sure was that the new passage I was positive had appeared in the book in my absence would bring no better a cure to the curses than the five people dead with arsenic in Fairlay. At this point all I could hope for was mercy from its scripted writing.

Mercy or, perhaps—I read the Latin phrase with no way of knowing its meaning—a magician from Azareba.

I saw the little girl again, her face a shadow as she watched the flames envelope the orphanage she’d known for so little a time. Her eyes were as dry as the fiery smoke, her cheeks smudged with the ashes and her face lit with the spark of something I couldn’t quite remember.

The image flashed and the memories changed.

This time I watched as the girl stood at the foot of her parents’ bed, the sound of her sister’s racking coughs echoing through the hallway. On the faces of her parents were features she had never seen on them in the past: deep purple circles beneath their eyes, a yellow tint to their normally creamy skin, their bodies wan and sickly, the only shadow of their lives with the girl found in the creases in their cheeks where they had smiled in times previous. Their age showed through their normally youthful skin, the eyes of both the man and the woman closed but peaceful. Then the coughing from the hallway stopped, replaced by a horrible, deafening silence.

The soil was cold when I awoke. Everything was cold, it seemed, as I weakly pushed myself to my elbows. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes with chilled, shaking fingers, then gasped.

The water from the river splashed calmly at the edge of my dress, which was soaked clean through with frigid river spray. When I rolled away from the water, my skirt crackled as the frozen layer upon it broke apart, and I fumbled over myself as painful pins and needles shivered through my limbs. My breath rose in cool, icy puffs in the February air and my body stiffened. Had no one bothered to come for me when I left the warmth of the fire? My thoughts returned to me at the slight thump of my mother’s necklace against my collarbone.

Oh. Right. Of course they wouldn’t come for me.

I bit my lip against the ache in my chest and trekked up the steep incline, my numb feet crunching the leaves on the forest floor and rustling the birds in the trees above me. My throat stung with dryness and I patted a hand against my hip where a flask was normally dangling from my belt, but quickly realized it had been destroyed in the fall down the ravine. I swallowed my thirst, carrying myself up the mountain with a pall of dark thoughts swimming around my vision. The morning had already become most unpleasant, indeed.

I must have been climbing for nearly a hour before the crunch of leaves was matched by an old, nasally voice squawking something awful from somewhere close by.

“Jaren, is this one of those salad-something-or-others you were telling me about earlier—Jaren, come here and look at this!”

“Yes, Miss Mylda,” a darker tenor voice sighed quietly, “that’s a salamander. Please leave it alone.”

I peered past a patch of trees to where an ancient-looking woman in a hundred layers of scarves and shawls crouched, pointing under a bush with a withered, spindly finger and holding a one-sided conversation with another person I couldn’t see. I moved around a tree and her gaze snapped toward me, her eyes wide.

“Good heavens!” she cried, jumping to her feet with shocking agility. “It’s one of those forest people you were telling me about”—her eyes flicked to her left several times—”Jaren, do come look!”

I blinked once, freezing in place. Out from behind a thicket came a tall, graceful wood spirit. Or at least the young man looked like one with his brown leather vest and green blouse and his long silver hair falling in a braid down his back, his eyes glimmering an earthy green in the forest light. It was a trick of my eyes, though, as I blinked again and he appeared fully human—but still just as striking in appearance.

I lifted a hand in greeting, my mouth going dry and my words muffled and stuttering. I clamped my mouth shut and pulled my hand back in, feeling a hot rush of blood flood my cheeks.

“Does she know our language?” The old woman croaked loudly.

The man looked at her reprovingly, then he glanced at my muddy, disheveled appearance and took a step toward me, holding out his own hand. “Hello, Miss. Is there any way we can help you?”

“Um, it’s—I-I mean… that’s… difficult to say.” I placed my hand in his shakily and his eyes widened at my touch.

“Your hands are so cold! We must get you a blanket.” He nodded to me politely, then pulled me along with him past the woman—Miss Mylda—and up a length of hill to the road where a large, flamboyant carriage waited.

Three whole birds’ worth of unnaturally large, colorful feathers protruded from the back of the carriage like a peacock; bright gold and green and blue paint swirled around the exterior as if by a mesmerizing magic and my eyes were drawn to the wheels where a series of runes was carved into the wood in a revolving circle around the rim. I continued to stare at it even as the man opened a compartment in the back and procured a large, cozy-looking blanket, then shut it again and was pulling me back into the woods where Miss Mylda waited before I could so much as speak.

He found a log and sat me down, swiftly wrapping the blanket around my shoulders and touching my hands again before backing up to a formal distance and casting me a smile that seemed to warm my body much more than the thick, soft blanket ever could. “I do apologize, Miss, for not introducing myself. I am Jaren Leimattes and this”—he motioned rather dramatically to the still stunned old woman who had crept out from behind him with milky gray eyes as wide as saucers and her wrinkly mouth stretched into a wide O—”is the Great Madame Mylda Meeker.”

The woman suddenly glared at Jaren. “I told you, it’s just Madame Mylda. Madame Mylda Meeker is too long!” Then, as if just realizing that I was still sitting there, her mouth pressed into a wrinkly line and she squinted at me. “So she’s not a forest girl, then?”

Jaren scrunched his face as if she had asked him if I’d sprouted horns, shaking his head quite clearly, then he turned again to me and raised a questioning eyebrow. “And what might your name be, Miss?”

I flustered again at the question, curling my fingers around the blanket and wrapping it tighter around myself. “It’s, I’m—my name is Ilyavei Phelde.”

“Ilyavei,” He repeated thoughtfully before dipping into an elegant bow, the corners of his lips turning upward. “What a beautiful name.”

I couldn’t help but smile with him. Then Atlas’ quirky grin flashed across my mind and my smile dissipated. I had to find them, even just to let them know I was okay. Even if they weren’t my friends, it would be outright impolite to just abandon them in the middle of the wood in this frightening cold.

Jaren seemed to notice my predicament and, as if he could read my mind, said, “What brings you out to this forest, Miss Phelde? Are you lost?”

I shifted uncomfortably on the log and folded my hands on my lap. “Well, not exactly. You see, me and my… companions… were riding along this road when we came across a rockslide and fell down the ravine—don’t worry, there was little injury among us. Unfortunately, our cart crashed down the mountain when we did.”

Miss Mylda’s eyes had grown wide again, but this time with watering sympathy and luster. I saw her lips moving as she muttered soundlessly to herself. In the midst of my speech, Jaren had placed his hand on his chin and furrowed his eyebrows as if calculating a difficult equation. Finally, he snapped his fingers, taking me by surprise, and stepped forward, bracing my shoulders with his firm grip. Heat bloomed in my cheeks again.

“Miss Mylda and myself are currently en route to a city not too far away named Azareba”—my shoulders tensed, but he didn’t notice—”and if it’s preferable for you and your company, we have plenty enough space to have you all along with us.” He paused, realizing his mistake. “How many companions did you say you were traveling with?”

I managed a smile. “I didn’t ever tell you, but I’m traveling with three others… and one horse.”

“Ah.” He smiled reassuringly and helped me to my feet. “So where are these companions of yours?”

I hesitated, glancing once at the overtly curious Miss Mylda. “That’s the thing: I really don’t know where they are.”

I didn’t mention the fact that I had run away from them (the sheer immaturity of my actions burning again at my conscience), but found I didn’t need to—no sooner than I could begin to describe where we’d been camping, Jaren had somehow obtained a spying glass and cried, “There they are!”

Following his outstretched hand, I did indeed see the extinguished fire and a little figure who looked like Lefeli unpinning the dried clothes from the line. But she was the only one I saw.

“Where are the others?” I asked, an edge of unintended worry in my voice.

Jaren glanced at me, his hand back on his chin in contemplation, then he turned and whispered something to Miss Mylda, who listened with her aged lips pursed. She nodded once, whispered her agreement on whatever it was rather loudly, then jabbed her index finger into the middle of Jaren’s mahogany vest and started hobbling up the hill. I raised my eyebrows when he turned back around with a cheery smile on his face. “Well then, let’s go find your friends, shall we?”

“Right,” I cleared my throat uncertainly, the mesmerizing blue of Atlas’ eyes streaming through my memory as we both took a step down the ravine toward the camp. I hoped this was the right thing to do.

The little girl's eyes sparkled when they came upon the emerald green jewel. Even the chain glimmered, the pendant lying gracefully upon her mother's collarbone. "Your father gave it to me," her mother had explained when she'd asked. "It's how he asked me to marry him."

"Mama," the girl poked at the other side of the pendant as she read the letters carved into it. "What's Anya?"

Her mother laughed lightly. "That's me, silly! Just how you're Veia, I'm Anya and your daddy is Bell. Can you say that?" The little girl nodded, repeating the name. "You have to remember that for if you're ever in trouble. Can you promise me you'll try to remember?"

"Mm-hm."

"Good girl." She rustled her daughter's hair.

That same little girl ran into her house years later under the promise of one item to take with her to the orphanage. Her mother was gone, her father along with her, and even her little Juna had left her behind. She wiped her eyes, staying strong for her family, and grabbed the bright green necklace off her mother's bedside table. "I'll remember more than just your name," she pressed the jewel to her chest.

"I'll never forget."

"That's such a pretty necklace!" Lefeli squealed, clasping her hands together and doting over the pendant. "Did you say it was your mother's? Why isn't it with her?"

"She's dead," I ground through my teeth, "and it was stolen from my house back in Esterwilde. Why was it in your bag?"

Lefeli's gaze slid down to the sack in my fist and she cocked her head to the side. "That's Atlas' bag, not mine."

I furrowed my brows. That made no sense whatsoever—I had just seen Lefeli's belongings in it and I had never seen Atlas even touch it before. I held up the bag to see and my mouth dropped open.

It was Atlas' bag. It didn't even look similar to the bag in the pile up the mountain—leather instead of burlap, a satchel and not a sack—it was impossible for me to have accidentally grabbed the wrong bag. But then Lefeli hadn't seemed to recognize the necklace when I'd showed it to her, and now that I thought about it, the necklace was on the ground, not in Lefeli's bag, so it could have fallen out of another bag... and in order for me to accidentally switch Lefeli's bag with Atlas', they would've had to have been near each other, which could... mean...

I snapped my mouth shut, disbelief still pulsing through my mind. It couldn't be... but... I wound more scenarios through my head, connecting the dots as a panic formed in my throat. The more I thought, the more it made sense. It was likely he visited my house before Tremie's shop when he was searching for me, and travelers are always in need of money... I choked on my breath.

"Did Atlas steal my necklace?"

It came out so quiet I thought it was in my head, but Lefeli let out a small gasp. "Why would he want to steal something like that?" She whispered, shock in her features as she huddled closer like a secret was being held between us. "No offense, but it doesn't look like it would sell for much."

"No," I said, staring at the jewel cradled between my two hands, my mind still spinning frenetically. The bag hung like deadweight from my arm. "This necklace is actually an antique passed down from my father's family, inherited through several generations, which is why it meant so much to my mother. It's been taken care of so it looks only a little outdated, but if one has a good eye, they would realize this could probably be sold to buy a small estate."

Lefeli gawked at it, her eyes wide and twinkling. "I never would've thought..."

But, I thought, my chest aching at the thought, Atlas just might.

I looked up to see him a ways down the ravine talking with Evyne, and I suddenly became dizzy. It was him, and I hadn't even taken the time to think before falling headfirst into his charm and carefully scripted words.

How could I have been so careless?

By that night, we had collected all our belongings near a clearing and tied Birdy to a tree close by. At sunset, we'd managed to start a small fire and switch to less ragged clothes. Our other outfits hung from a line taking up half the space around the fire, and the four of us sat around the other half. I was dead silent and Lefeli cast me worried glances every few minutes. Thankfully, she hadn't mentioned the issue to anyone else, so I had time to think about the best course of action. Rather obsessively.

Should I address it with him out front? Should I just dismiss it? No, horrible idea. What if he stole something else? Was he planning to sell my necklace in Azareba? Why hadn't he already? Was Evyne in on it? How could she not be? I found myself staring at the back of Atlas' head as he gazed passively at the fire, his arm still cradled in the sling I had made him.

I couldn't let him come any closer to me than he already had. He was messing with my head and weakening my senses. That was why I was so unexplainably vulnerable around him, why my heart beat so fast and my thoughts spiraled in never-ending circles around him—he had probably done the same thing to multiple others with similar situations.

"I salvaged some bread from the cart." Evyne popped up from behind me and I jumped. Atlas glanced at me curiously. "There's still food left for almost a week, but our water jugs cracked, so we'll have to filter some from the river. Atlas can't do much now, either"—he opened his mouth indignantly, but shut it again with a grunt—"so Veia and I should set out in the morning for some food. Atlas and Lefeli can try to find a way to carry our things or pick through what to leave behind."

"Sounds good," Lefeli agreed. "But if we can't find something to carry our stuff in, me and Atlas can only go through our own bags to figure out what to leave behind."

"That's fine," I blurted, quicker than I had intended. Atlas raised his eyebrows.

I don't want him going through my stuff anyway.

I stood suddenly and muttered something about finding some more wood, then swiveled around and left the three of them staring. I heard someone say something as I crossed toward the river. I didn't know what.

Water soaked into my boots when I ran through a mud puddle, the tears in the leather seeping cold water to my stockings. I started into a sprint down the slope, dodging trees and slipping between stumps and bushes until I skidded to a stop at the loud, crashing river.

I stared at the black water, the frothing current creating a thick, heavy mist like a woolen veil draped over the riverside. I couldn't see to the other side and a series of shivers worked its way down to my toes. The ground beneath me clung to my boots and squashed under my weight and my hand went to my chest, my racing heartbeat an erratic indication of my frantic emotions.

I found a drier spot on the ground and sat, my hands supporting my chin, my sight still spinning in a dizzying, wobbling blur. Who were these people I had agreed to travel with? Lefeli, an immature, over-dramatic girl who acted ten years younger than her actual age—did I really know anything about her? Her interests, her pastimes? And Evyne. I knew nothing beyond the fact that her temper could tame a bear and she was the sister of Atlas.

And then there was Atlas. I had dared to think, if even for only a passing moment, that I might have had a friend in him—or even something more than that. I had nearly admitted to the odd way he made me act, and feel, and even yet at the way he always managed to find a way into my daydreams. I had let down my outermost barriers, inadvertently showing him more than I had intended at the mention of my family. But what did I really know about him? Did I know his history or his interests? What could I have possibly seen in him past his perfectly carved face and the warmth of his skin? Had it all been an illusion, those passing thoughts and wishes and faroff, hopeless dreams? Had I really been so naive as to trust a set of complete strangers? What would my mother think of me now?

"You must stay safe for me," her willowy voice echoed in the corners of my memory. "Always love your friends, and know well your enemies..."

I rested my head on my hands as I lay in the grass, listening to the ground and the insects and the frogs. When had it come to be that I depended on others to solve my problems?

"Remember us," my mother said somewhere past the roar of the river.

Even when I'd lived in the orphanage, I'd fended for myself, earning my own food and my own bed through hard work and dedication. I'd had to earn my stay in the orphanage, I'd had to earn my jobs in the town, and I'd had to earn my life in my small, meager cottage with my small, meager belongings and my small, meager grounds. For my whole life, I'd earned what I'd received. Why all of a sudden did I so heavily depend on the lives of others whom I barely knew?

"... know well your enemies..."

My eyes drifted closed with my mother's voice repeating like an automaton in the back of my mind. The sounds of the river dulled to a distant shush and I found myself remembering the embrace of my parents and doubting my many choices as I fell into a shivering, exhausted sleep.

Before I could breathe, the deadwood had snapped and my feet were cradled by vast, empty air.

The cart tipped, Birdy protesting loudly, and we tumbled downward, my legs crashing onto the mountainside and forcing me into a roll down the ravine. The world blurred and spun so fast my limbs couldn't keep up; sounds so explosive and painful shot at me from all angles and every inch of my body screamed with the impact of the rocks and the bushes and the sticks against my body over and over and over.

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, it all ended with a bolt like lightning to my shoulder, shooting jolts of pain throughout the rest of my body and causing black spots to splatter my vision. I must have hit a tree.

And then the crashing continued—the shattering of wood and the crunching of leaves and the yells from everyone else—until they stopped as well, farther down the ravine.

I tried to move but was stopped by the pain that returned to my shoulder and I curled in on myself. It was definitely bruised—probably pretty badly. The stinging on the rest of my body continued even as I trudged up to a standing position, surveying the area through the lingering spots in my vision. The parts of my skin that I could see were covered in dirt and blood and my clothes were even worse off, ripped and torn in multiple places like tattered rags hanging from a scarecrow.

The road from which we fell was now close to a hundred feet up the mountain and nearly out of sight. A trail of wreckage strung down the rockslide where we'd tumbled and it branched off to where I was standing. Going farther, a few pieces of cracked wood scattered the mountainside as the path led down to the broken cart, which was almost at the bottom of the ravine.

I staggered down the decline toward the others, my body protesting but my mind driving me onward through the spiking, paralyzing pain. More than once I stumbled to my knees only to roll back up and keep running again until I saw every crack and splinter of the shattered cart and its surroundings, covered in dirt and leaves and debris. The cart had taken a lot of damage. Birdy's reins had been cut, I assumed by Evyne, and the horse was nowhere to be found.

Someone sucked in a breath suddenly and I moved to the back of the cart to see Atlas curled up against the tipped vehicle. He looked so tense... I inched forward and almost instantly noticed his arm, stuck under the side of the wagon. He gripped it with his other hand and arched his body around it, his face pinched and covered in a thin layer of sweat. He didn't look up at me.

"Atlas." I crouched down and nearly touched him, but pulled away before I could meet his skin. My voice cracked. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded shortly, further tensing at the movement, and I launched to my feet, understanding what I needed to of the situation. He was definitely hurt, much more than myself. I couldn't let my paranoid mind take over my thoughts. I had to do something to help.

"Evyne!" I called, running from the fallen cart into the surrounding forest. "Lefeli!"

I skidded to a stop when I came upon both Evyne and Lefeli rolled in a pile over each other, both clearly unconscious but otherwise unharmed. I swore so loud I thought it could work as a call to the nearest town thirty miles away, then I continued the action in an undertone as I raced back to Atlas and circled the cart in a panicked fury. I racked my brain for any possible solution, every dead end in my mind sending me further into despair. Think... think...

After attempting too many times to move the cart off Atlas with my bare hands, I slipped and fell on a rock, my elbow landing hard before skidding off. The spikes of pain that followed were instantly paled by the idea that struck me in that moment.

I rolled the large rock over near Atlas, who managed to spare me a concerned, exasperated look before I snapped a plank of wood from the cart. I placed it on top of the rock and shoved one end deep under the side in one burst of strength. A simple lever. How had I not thought of it earlier?

After letting out a deep breath, I found another rock, this one a little bulkier than the first, and rolled it over to the lever with more than a little bit of effort. It went up on the wood of the lever easier than I'd expected, then I held my breath as the cart slowly lifted with the contraption. Slowly, slowly...

Atlas gasped, clenching his teeth, and I quickly pulled him away from the remnants of the cart as the lever snapped and sent it all smashing back against the ground. My mind raced as I sat next to Atlas in the dirt, my heart thudding in heavy beats against my chest, my lungs refusing to allow me proper breath.

I put my hand to my chest, letting out a large puff of breath, then I looked up and down Atlas' arm, guilt biting at the back of my mind at the large purple blotch appearing below his elbow where it had been under the cart. What could I have done to prevent this? His fingers lay limp, but he had managed to relax his posture a little. Still, when I looked at his face, I didn't expect the smile playing across his lips. His eyes slightly squinted as if he were resisting a grimace, but he met my gaze and nodded his appreciation. There was something about him that was so foreign to me. Maybe I would never understand.

A short screech pierced the woods as Lefeli shot up to a sitting position from her place on top of Evyne. She glanced around frantically, her gaze falling inevitably upon us, and even from the distance I saw her mouth open in surprise. I returned my focus to Atlas, biting my lip.

"Where does it hurt most?" I asked, figuring I'd want to discover any other injuries before I asked about his arm.

He gave me an overly sarcastic look. "My kneecap, obviously." But he pointed to the darkening bruise on his left arm. We both stared at it for a second. Atlas winced again.

"Do you think it's broken?" I motioned toward the swelling.

"Wouldn't be surprised," he groaned. "Where's Evyne? She normally takes care of stuff like this."

"Unconscious by that clearing over there." I pointed toward Lefeli as she wobbled on her feet. "She looked fine, but that's not important right now. Can you move your arm?"

He immediately shook his head, certain of at least one thing.

"Well"—I took my dagger from my belt and grabbed a fistful of my filthy, ruined skirt—"it'll probably need a sling then."

For the second time that week, I shed the top layer of my dress to reveal my gray fabric underskirts. Atlas' eyebrows visibly raised before he slapped his uninjured hand over his eyes and turned in the other direction in honor of an illusionary modesty.

I swiftly cut through the loose material to form what would have to work as a temporary sling, then I crawled closer yet to Atlas and turned him back around, the fabric in hand. He was still covering his eyes and his mouth was pressed into a thin line, but that wouldn't affect his injury. I reached for his arm, then hesitated again. I knew this would hurt him. What if I did it wrong? Would I only make it worse? I chewed my lip again, my eyes glued to the a scratch near his wrist. I didn't have much of a choice, though, did I?

Atlas put his hand on the cloth in my fists and I glanced at his face. He had uncovered his eyes and now gazed at his injury, oddly focused, then he looked at me with a reckless acceptance that made my bones bristle and my stomach flutter. Then he raised his eyebrows, suddenly unimpressed. "I might do it quicker myself."

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but found I had nothing to say. "Shut up, Atlas."

I huffed and moved the sling around his arm, taking the loose ends in either hand. Atlas cringed at the contact, but didn't so much as twitch as I bent his arm at the elbow and positioned it tightly over his chest. I tied the knot at the nape of his neck and stood up, dusting my hands off.

"I have to say—"Atlas peered town at the makeshift sling—"you're not the most graceful physician, are you?"

I let out a small sound of indignation and folded my arms across my chest. "Well it's a lot better than what you could do!"

He cocked an eyebrow at the poorly cut fabric and muttered something like "I wouldn't be so sure" before pushing himself to his feet with an obvious effort to avoid touching his sling.

A moment later, Lefeli caught up to where we were, looking distractedly at the shattered cart and various other pieces of debris and carnage in the area before glancing between Atlas and myself several times. "So I guess the traveling horse fell, then. The curse was right again." She scuffed her foot in the dirt and folded her hands behind her back nonchalantly. "How are we planning on getting back up the mountain, though? And all the way to Azareba?"

A long second passed before a great, collective sigh passed over us. I pursed my lips and surveyed the cart again, this time weighing the damage. Even I could tell it was closer now to firewood than any type of vehicle.

We were much closer to the bottom of the ravine than when we were on the road and I could now clearly see the rushing river not yet fifty feet down the mountain along with the harsh splashing of water that I had ignored before. Looking higher, I took in the true steepness of the mountain's upward slope and suddenly I was glad there weren't more injuries to account for.

"We should find a flatter area to set up camp"—Atlas pointed to the bags randomly scattered across the mountain—"and maybe we can figure something out once we have somewhere safer to sleep."

He walked toward where Evyne was still curled up on the ground and nudged her a few times before she awoke. I chose to turn away from the profanities that followed and instead opted to retrieve our bags from the mountainside, leaving the others behind as I moved up toward the wreckage.

My muscles reminded me of my fall with every step I took—by the time I reached the first bag, I was already panting. After a few minutes of bearing through the backache, though, my body gave up trying to get me to stop. I collected the several knapsacks and satchels in one place, forming a pile, and I slowly traveled higher and higher up to the road in search of more sacks or loose objects. As I picked up a small box from among a layer of rustled leaves, a loud scuff made me turn to see a profusely muddy Birdy skidding down a slope and to a clearing, where she walked in a circle and proceeded to look very confused.

I moved a ways farther and picked a few stray scarves and shirts from beneath some dead leaves, then headed back to the pile. After rummaging through some of the bags, I finally noticed a rope with which to tie Birdy's lead and I grabbed it and stood. My foot bumped a sack when I stepped and it toppled over, spilling its contents over the rest of the pile.

I blew a sigh through my teeth and crouched again, picking through the random objects and replacing them in the bag. A blouse, an unsurprisingly fashionable dress, a hairpin and some ribbons—this must be one of Lefeli's bags.

Then a glint caught my eye and I reached underneath one of the other bags to see a green-jeweled necklace, its chain a simple, worn silver, the pendant small but painfully memorable. My blood ran cold as I brought it closer, running my finger across the unmistakeable etching on the back of the pendant. Anya. The small, neat writing proved it. This was in Lefeli's bag? Why? How could it have gotten there?

I snatched the bag and jumped to my feet, the piece of jewelry in my fist as I raced down the mountain toward the others. I hadn't even packed it when I left home, which meant it should still be at my cottage back in a Esterwilde. Why was it here? The question burned a hole in my chest and grew a lump in my throat, repeating itself over and over until I rushed up behind Lefeli and pushed her shoulder so she faced me. I shoved the pendant in front of her face.

"Why was my mother's necklace in your bag?"