“I want to come to Grelta with you,” Aresti announced as soon as Marai stirred the next morning. She’d barely blinked the sleep from her eyes before Aresti stood over her bed of rushes, blankets, and one thin pillow.

“Why?” Marai asked, yawning.

Aresti pulled back the sides of her hair with pins. “It’s smarter for us to travel in groups. You shouldn’t go abroad on your own.”

“You just want to see the Glacial Palace,” Kadiatu said with a playful grin.

Marai rose to her feet and stretched. “Fine, but we aren’t there for fun. We’re acting as members of the King’s Guard, alongside Commander Avilyard.”

“I could be a better knight than them,” Aresti replied under her breath, then bent down to lace up her boots.

Marai returned to fixing her braid. “Is that what you want to be? A knight?”

“You and I are better fighters than any of those men. I’d rather not be forced to rely on them to win the war.”

She offered no further glimpses into her life as she sauntered from the bedroom, feet silently treading across the reeds and out the front door of the cottage. Perhaps Marai had more in common with Aresti than she’d thought . . .

Kadiatu was already fully dressed and ready for the day. Her round face burst into a smile. “Come and see what I’ve done with the garden!”

She led Marai out back, revealing the startling transformation. Thick green grass shot out of the ground. A rowan tree sprouted lustrous, red berries. The mineral, musty scent of rich dirt lingered in the air as hearty vegetables grew from tangled vines. Bright wild thyme, buttercups, and honeysuckles swayed in the breeze.

“How far can your power spread?” Marai walked to the farthest corner of the garden and knelt next to a flower bed of merry daffodils. She rubbed dark earth between her fingers, and felt no dark magic at all, no evil presence in the air or the soil.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never tried to do more than this small plot of land.”

“Keep experimenting. See how far your magic can reach. Try spreading up the rest of the street.”

Kadiatu’s smile faltered. “But I don’t have the strength you do, Marai. My magic’s not so powerful.”

Marai put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “None of us ever got to discover the limits of our magic. Give it a try. See what else you can do.”

The words became caustic on her tongue. Marai grimaced. She sounded like Nosficio.

“I suppose I can try expanding into the neighbor’s gardens . . . through the earth, of course. I won’t go there in person.” A pained yell from outside made Kadiatu jump.

Marai rushed to the front door, heart pounding. Was it from Keshel, Leif, and Raife’s cottage next door?

Avilyard’s two boy-soldiers, Elmar and Nyle, were still stationed outside the fae cottages. Their attention was focused on a commotion two houses up the dirt street.

A man stood outside his home, grasping at his bleeding hand. Marai recognized him from the other night. He and his wife hadn’t taken well to having fae neighbors. He spewed a tapestry of curses so impressive Marai briefly thought she should take notes.

“What happened?” his wife asked, running out of their house. More neighbors appeared, also drawn by the noise.

“Hand slipped on the saw,” he groaned, indicating the wood and rusted tool lying on the ground.

The wife took his hand and winced. Blood dripped down his arm and clothing.

Thora appeared at Marai’s side. “That’s a bad wound. Judging by the state of that saw, he could get an infection.”

“Or lose the hand entirely,” said Nyle.

Marai watched Thora intently. An aggrieved crease formed between her ginger eyes.

“Do you need help?” Marai shouted to the injured man.

Thora blanched and stepped backwards towards the door as the man and wife gawped at them.

“Not from the likes of you,” the man snapped, then released a gasp of pain as his wife moved his hand.

Marai stepped closer. Thora tugged on her arm as Elmar and Nyle tensed.

“My friend here is a skilled healer. Let her take a look.”

The man clutched his bleeding hand to his chest, eyes widening. He stumbled backwards over a piece of cut wood. “Don’t touch me, you abominations!”

Marai’s fingers twitched in time with the vein in her neck. She grit her teeth, taking another step towards the humans. Nyle and Elmar moved closer, hands on their swords, ready to intervene.

“Marai, stop,” Thora said, pulling on her arm again, “let’s go back inside.”

The man grabbed the saw with his uninjured hand, raising it out in front of him.

Fine, let him suffer. Marai stomped back towards the cottage, then stopped in the doorway. She let out a harsh exhale.

They had to build a bridge. They had to find common ground. Humans and fae had to trust each other. If Ruenen and Leif could do it, so could this man.

Marai pulled her knife from her boot. The man and wife yelped and staggered backwards. With a quick slice, Marai dragged the knife across her own palm. Blood welled instantly, dripping onto the dirt below.

“What are you doing?” Thora asked, appalled.

Marai shoved her injured hand at Thora. “Heal me.”

“What?”

“Let them watch.”

Thora bit her lower lip, then took Marai’s hand in her own. She closed her eyes and a blue light emerged from her gentle touch. Warmth spread over the wound as Marai’s skin welded back together. When the pain and blood were gone, Marai and Thora looked up. Everyone was watching; the injured man, his wife, Elmar and Nyle, neighbors from up the street.

Marai raised her hand, revealing no wound, no scar. It was as if the cut had never happened. “We want to help you.”

“That’s amazing,” whispered Elmar in awe, his acne-spotted jaw wide open.

The man swallowed and glanced back down to his shaking hand. “I don’t have money for a healer.”

There were no healers in Grave’s End. And even if he did manage to scrounge up enough coin, the wound would most likely fester, and the hand eventually amputated.

“We’re not after money.” Marai dragged Thora lightly by the arm towards the man. Nyle and Elmar followed. “I’m assuming you’d rather not lose your hand.”

“Go inside,” the man ordered his wife.