Thora lifted Marai’s arm and attempted to remove her glove.

Marai snatched her hand away and tucked them both behind her back. “I’m fine now.”

Questions and concerns flashed across Thora’s face. Marai knew if Thora saw her fingers, she’d fall into a panic, worried about their safety. The bloodstone ring seemed to burn a hole of culpability in Marai’s pocket. Another secret Marai was determined to hide from her people: Meallán’s ring. A faerie queen’s curse.

Thora opened her mouth to speak, but Raife leapt in first.

“I should let the others know of your arrival.” He gave Marai a weak smile. “So they don’t fall over dead from shock.”

Raife drifted off down the main tunnel; the crunch of his boots in dust grew distant.

Thora finished dressing Marai’s burns and wiped her hands on her apron. “Keshel told us you were on a ship for a while. And then explored the continent—”

“I wouldn’t call it exploring—”

“What was it, then?” Thora asked, voice rising. “Because you disappeared into the night and couldn’t be bothered to visit or send a message—”

“How could I send you a letter? This cave is in the middle of nowhere,” Marai said, throwing up her arms in a way that reminded her of someone else she knew. Someone she had left hours ago in the tropical southern port town of Cleaving Tides. She squeezed her eyes shut to erase the memory of him.

“You could’ve come back.” Hurt settled upon Thora’s face. “You wouldn’t have had to stay, but . . . you could’ve visited.”

Before Marai could reply, a squeal of delight ruptured the tense atmosphere. Dark arms wrapped around her neck, smelling strongly of cactus blossoms and eucalyptus.

“You’re here,” said a merry voice in her ear. “Raife wasn’t joking.”

Kadiatu, removing her arms, beamed down with her round face. Her black wiry hair was twisted into long locks and decorated with handmade beads.

“Careful, Kadi, don’t want to break fragile Marai, do you?” came a different sniggering male voice. “Arms like twigs, and no taller than the day she left.”

At the mouth of the tunnel, Raife stood with his twin, Leif, identical to nearly the last freckle. Both brothers had defined cheekbones and arrow-straight noses, although Leif’s sandy hair was shorter, unbound, curlier, than Raife’s. That, and Leif’s attitude, were the best ways to tell them apart.

A silent shadow lingered behind the brothers. Aresti.

When Marai had left, Aresti had been beautiful at fourteen. Now that she was an adult, Aresti was stunning: straight black hair, as shiny as a raven’s wing, cut severely to her chin. Sensuous curves were accentuated by her tight pants and shirt. She had several more piercings in her ears and nose.

“Why are you here?” she asked, putting hands on her hips as she stared at Marai with haughty scorn. On her belt hung two short swords, her signature weapons. “I thought we were rid of you.”

“That’s unkind, Aresti,” said Kadiatu, but it wasn’t a scolding. No, never from Kadiatu, who radiated kindness and purity unlike anyone Marai had ever met. “We’re so glad you’re back.” She hugged Marai again, and some of the horrible, crushing weight Marai carried lifted. She couldn’t bear to lift her arms to embrace Kadiatu back, but she breathed in the comfort, along with the smell of cactus blossom. Kadiatu brushed Marai’s wild, white-blonde hair from her face. “You look . . . different.”

“You mean dreadful,” chided Aresti.

Kadiatu rubbed her oily fingers together. “And slimy.”

“I covered her in burn salve,” Thora explained. “You should have known better than to walk here in broad daylight without coverage.”

“I didn’t,” Marai said.

The others waited for her to go on.

Marai continued. “I didn’t walk all the way here.”

“Oh, so did you fly?” Leif flapped his arms, shooting Marai that taunting jeer he’d perfected as a child.

None of the part-fae had wings. There wasn’t enough faerie in their blood to create those beautiful stained-glass wings that Marai remembered on her own father’s back.

All those vivid fae eyes bored into Marai, waiting for answers. Marai’s head spun. Too much had happened. She wasn’t an innocent child anymore. How could she explain each horrible thing that she’d done?

Footsteps sounded in a tunnel to her left.

He appeared, sweeping into the room with a commanding grace only he possessed. Keshel.

His dark, angular eyes met hers, revealing no slight flicker of surprise. He’d already seen Marai’s return. The others watched with bated breath as he approached Marai on the rock. She adjusted her gloves. She’d always hated the intensity of his gaze on her, how distant and solemn he was. Now, he looked at her in disapproval, as if he already knew each detestable crime she’d committed. He probably did.

“It’s good to see you, Marai,” he said, but his tone lacked conviction. “We so rarely have visitors who don’t wish to cause us harm.”

By the wariness in his voice, Marai guessed Keshel wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t there to cause trouble. Marai squirmed. Had he seen her do something?

“Loquacious as always,” said Leif under his breath and Aresti sniggered.

Marai shot them both a glare, which spurred on their chuckling.

“Why don’t we all give Marai time, and let her explain things when she’s ready?” Thora suggested, and Marai melted with appreciation. Thora put a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. Her fingers then hovered over Marai’s skull, and Thora sucked in a short breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a concussion?”

Raife stepped forward, his face darkening. “How did you get a concussion?”

Marai averted her eyes. She clamped her mouth shut. Resigned to not getting an answer, Raife sighed through his nose.

Thora went to work, and slowly, the pain ebbed away. Marai’s vision sharpened. The ringing in her ears stopped. The fist-like pounding against her skull subsided.

Leif kicked a rock across the cavern floor. “Marai waltzes in here, after years away, and you expect us to wait for her to tell us anything? She owes us an explanation.”

The silence was deafening as they stared at her. There was no skirting around this, but how could Marai find the words to explain?

“You escaped,” Keshel said.

Marai’s breath caught, stomach flip-flopping, as her anxiety returned. How much does he know?

“Escaped what?” Thora asked, fingers tensing against Marai’s skull.

“The Tacorn dungeon and then the pirate ship,” continued Keshel.

Marai met his cold gaze. Everything. He knew everything. He knew she’d been nearly tortured to death in the Tacornian castle fortress of Dul Tanen by a demented king. And that she’d once again come face-to-face with her worst nightmare in Captain Slate Hemming. The ring she’d stolen from him grew heavier in her pocket. Her fingertips turned numb.

“Why were you in the Tacorn dungeon?” Kadiatu gasped, amber eyes wide. Even Aresti and Leif seemed interested; their heads cocked to the side.

“I killed some soldiers. Tacorn didn’t appreciate that.”

That was an understatement. In the past few weeks, Marai had killed at least forty soldiers. She hated the shudder she saw from Thora and Kadiatu. She hated to see them come to their own conclusions about her story and why she’d taken those lives. But Marai struggled to find the words to explain. How could she admit all her failings? How could she reveal those demons inside her? If they’d flinched at the deaths of brutish Tacorn soldiers, what would they do if they knew the full length of Marai’s tally?