Aresti switched to sharpening her other sword. “I thought the point was not to show our magic to humans?”

“They’ll already know we’re fae,” Leif said. He held out his sword before him, arm straight and steady. “Why not show them everything we’ve got?”

The air shifted slightly. Magic gathered within him, centering in his outstretched arm. Bright vermilion flames burst forth from his fist and skittered down the length of the blade.

Marai couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Brilliant. A flaming sword, able to slice and scorch. She’d done something similar with her lightning and Dimtoir on The Nightmare. 

Fire had always been Leif’s specialty; the eternally burning fire in the cavern was his creation. Leif swung his blazing weapon back and forth, creating a trail of sparks and embers like a shooting star. Marai didn’t mind the smug smirk at his lips. It was time the fae stopped fearing their power.

“That’s good, Leif,” Marai said. “Can you lead the others in this exercise?”

Leif’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at the compliment and concession. Marai knelt on the riverbank and dipped her hands in the cool water. Behind her, she heard Leif say, “Alright, children, let’s light ‘em up.”

Flames skittered up Aresti, Raife, and Keshel’s swords. Even Thora managed to produce a few tendrils, but Kadiatu had never been able to call forth fire. Her blade remained metal, but she seemed more relieved than disappointed. Kadiatu didn’t want to complicate something that was already challenging for her.

Marai’s lips twitched into a smile. She quickly turned her head, hoping none of them saw how pleased she was. But that pride disappeared the longer Marai stared at her hands in the water. Keshel alone had seen the black skin of her fingertips. She wore her gloves at all times. Marai didn’t want to explain to the others what she’d done, especially since Leif and Aresti had finally begun to trust and respect her.

She enjoyed the company of her fellow fae. Her family. She’d missed them. This way of life was so different than her time away. But how long could this peace last?

Marai knew her time in Ehle was limited. There was only so long she could bear to stay in the desert, so far from civilization. She missed the trees and the grass, the dirt and mud and sand. Her heart ached to hear the chirping crickets, roar of the ocean, the sounds of life. She missed ordinary humans sometimes.

But could she leave the others here to fend for themselves? Rayghast would still search for them. They weren’t safe here, especially without Marai.

Perhaps we can go to Andara . . .

It was an idea that had been growing in her mind, a flower beginning to bloom. She thought of that part-fae male she’d met on the docks at the Tides. He’d said he was from Andara, the mysterious country far out in the treacherous Northern Sea. No one was allowed past its docks, but the strange faerie with silver eyes had told Marai to come there if she ever wanted to learn more about magic. Perhaps there was a future, a safe future, for all of them in Andara . . . answers to questions that sat on the edge of Marai’s tongue. Once Marai’s magic fully returned, she could go there, and maybe convince the others to come along, the same way Ruenen had for her.

That evening, after training, Marai joined Kadiatu in her garden to harvest food for dinner. Kadiatu had been working on this small stretch of land by the river for years. The garden housed native plants and foods that she’d embellished with her limited magic. Their colors seemed brighter, fragrances stronger, tastes more nectarous.

Marai paced between the rows of plants, mind whirring about Andara and Rayghast. She’d been spending more and more time with Kadiatu in her garden in the past two weeks. Kadiatu’s gentle presence eased the anxiety knotted up inside her.

“You’re restless,” Kadiatu said.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” said Marai, “and I’ve never liked it here.”

Kadiatu chuckled. “I know. You used to be worse, though. Gods, you hated being cooped up.”

“I still hate it,” Marai said, the corners of her mouth lifting. “This place doesn’t feel like home.”

“I hate it here, too,” Kadiatu said with a frown. “It’s so empty and lonely. When we travel into town . . . we’re outsiders. We have no community, the way humans do.”

The town of Paracaso was several hours’ walk away. Twice a year, since the fae arrived in Ehle, three of them would traverse the desert to Paracaso to gather supplies and trade goods. The town was entirely carved into the canyon wall, beneath an overhanging cliff. Usually it was Thora who went there with Raife, Leif or Aresti. She was the least conspicuous; her brown skin and hair blended in with the locals. They traded Thora’s ointments and medical remedies and Kadiatu’s woven baskets and produce in exchange for meats, grains, linens, knives, and books for Keshel. But they never stayed long, for fear of being discovered.

Kadiatu yanked a large bulbous tuber out of the ground and tossed it into her basket. “But home has nothing to do with the place you live. I think home is being with the people you love.”

With her fingers laced into the dirt, Kadiatu sent out a pulse of nurturing magic beneath the ground. From that one pulse, the stems of the plants straightened. Flowers turned their heads to the sun. Kadiatu’s garden bloomed, and the dirt beneath her hands darkened with fertility.

“You have more power than you let on,” Marai stated.

Kadiatu met her gaze and smiled. “It’s not exactly a helpful gift. I could never protect anyone with this. I cannot call a flame like Leif or a wind like Aresti. I cannot create shields. But I can help nature grow. I can feed us, and that’s enough for me.”

She stood and brushed the dirt from her hands onto her apron. “You’re strong, Marai. And I don’t mean your magic. I mean you. You’re so much stronger than you think you are, and I’ve always looked up to you.”

“Me? Why?” Marai was probably the least likable person anyone had ever met. A prickly desert cactus. A moody, shrouded vulture. She never wanted to be likable. She’d told that to Ruenen once before.

“Because even when you’re afraid, you stand up for what you believe in. Because you make the hard decisions, even if it means others judge you for them. You chose to stay here and protect us. If that doesn’t show true strength, I don’t know what does.”

Marai looked away, down the canyon pass. Her lips became a thin line, biting back the negativity that sprung impulsively up her throat. Was she strong? She certainly hadn’t felt that way in a long time. There was a stark difference between true inner strength and erecting walls to keep others out.

“There’s more to you than the hurt someone else caused you,” said Kadiatu softly.

Marai swallowed, and tried to hide how those words affected her. She’d never thought of herself in that way. She’d never consciously done any of that. But Kadiatu, similar to Ruenen, had watched her, had seen something valuable underneath all the garbage.

“The Nevandian prince must’ve been a very good person to have gained your high opinion,” Kadiatu said.

And for the first time in days, Marai smiled when she thought of him. It didn’t wrench her heart out. She didn’t shed a tear as she said, “He was.”

Kadiatu grasped Marai’s gloved hand to her chest and smiled as brightly as a sunbeam. “You are so loved, Marai. We love you. Leif and Aresti do, too. We are your family, and I hope you feel safe with us.”

Tears stung Marai’s eyes. She blinked them away. “I do.”

Keshel’s collection of faerie books had grown slightly since Marai left, but he seemed to be finding new information within them all the time. Every day he jotted down notes in his personal journal. Marai wondered if perhaps he’d one day write his own book. One of his favorite tomes was entirely dedicated to fae ancestry. It showed the common branches of the faeries, including those who’d bred with humans.

One afternoon, he brought out the enormous green leather volume and reverently placed it on the prep table. Keshel opened the yellowed pages and found the dog-eared sheet he sought. With one long, pale finger, he pointed, and Marai came to his side. The name under his finger was her own, inked in his handwriting.

“Thanks for adding me,” she said wryly, unsure what his purpose was.

“Trace the line.”

Marai’s eyes zigzagged up the line to her own parents. Her mother’s line didn’t continue, seeing as how she was human and considered insignificant to faerie history. But Marai’s father’s line continued up and up.

She didn’t see what the point was. Nothing about this was interesting.

Until her eyes reached the final name, the first in her line.

Queen Meallán.

Kadiatu and Thora hovered nearby, preparing newly picked medicinal herbs from Kadiatu’s garden. They perked up when Marai whispered the name.

“You said your bloodstone ring belonged to her, correct?” asked Keshel, giving Marai that intense stare.

“Is that why it called to me? Because I’m related to Queen Meallán?” Marai could hardly believe that she was part of a royal line.

“I believe so. You said your magic manifested as lightning?” Keshel pointed at Meallán’s name. It was surrounded by hand painted strands of lightning. A shiver traveled down Marai’s spine. “You appear to be her progeny.”

Progeny. Nosficio had hinted at it. Her power came from one of the original faerie queens. One of the first fae. And the ring she’d happened upon . . . But Marai didn’t believe in fate, that the gods had a plan for her. Is that what Keshel was implying? That she was a piece on a board in a game the gods were playing?

“Marai’s the last in a royal line?” asked Thora, coming to Marai’s side to peer at the book.