I'm not sure how long I drift in and out of consciousness in the mage's home.

Or rather, the mage's shed.

Don't get me wrong, it's a comfortable shed. Decorated with a plush couch, which I lay on, a desk with a computer that's surely been knocked out by the Fae, a rocking chair with a crocheted blanket laid on the back, and weed growing all around the edges.

Sorry, 'catnip'. That's what the mage's two children believe it to be, at least.

The mage talks to me while she works. She tells me about running from Ebony when one of her brother's followed their youngest brother here after he was kidnapped. She'd tried to hold what remained of her family, her two mothers, together, but couldn't.

After things fell apart, the mage tried to find her place in Ebony, but mages aren't welcome in many places. Especially with a war going on.

She left Ebony entirely. A part of a mage's powers include being able to teleport and create portals through realms. She traveled through the realms for a while. When she reached Ivory, my realm, she was attacked and injured. She was left for dead.

Then, a kind man by the name of Halsey found her. He took her into his village and helped her recover.

They fell in love, but Andelain was scared of being found by people from Ebony. So, she created a veil with her powers. The veil is invisible to the naked eye, which is why we couldn't see her home. It'll ward off most people, except for people with a lot of magic.

That's why she came out of her veil when she felt the magical poison surging through me. She feared the day had come that she'd have to fight soldiers from Ebony to protect her new life.

I'm sure I've missed pieces of her story. This is the most I've been able to patch together while flickering in and out on the plush couch.

She's got me hooked up to an IV and spends what feels like hours every day muttering in a foreign language over my body.

I don't recognize the language as any we've ever spoken in Ivory.

When she speaks it, her hands glow, and the poison in my back starts to boil.

The first few times she did it, I screamed so much my throat went raw. From then on, I couldn't scream any more. So, I laid there and silently sobbed as she tried to save me.

I'm not sure anymore if I want to be saved.

Coming back from the dead hurts. It's agony. It hooks into your skin, and burrows under, and eats you alive. It threatens to tear apart everything that made you what you were. It rips out the pieces of you that you were proud of and it eats them.

It makes your skin someone else's. Like you're just a ghost who took over a body that doesn't belong to you.

I think that's why Andelain talks so much. She'd started with small things. How her kids, Callum and Kinzey, were the light of her life. How she liked watching old Doctor Who reruns for days on end. How she learned to crochet to calm her fears about... well, everything.

She gives me something to hold onto. Something to keep me tethered to the here and now.

Without it, I would've drifted back to Death's arms days ago.

When I wake up, panting, I still feel like I'm in the wrong body. The roof above me is foreign. The humming of the mage isn't something I'm used to. The gentle caress of her hand over my forehead is jarring and makes my skin crawl.

She smiles when I try to pull away. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

I try to talk, but nothing comes out except a high-pitched squeak.

She shakes her hand out and places it over my throat. "Sorry about that. I didn't want to restore your vocal cords if you weren't done screaming." Her hand glows and heat washes through me, like I'm swallowing boiling coffee. Or lava.

She pulls away and I clear my throat.

It turns into a cough. She helps me sit up as I wheeze and hack until I can breathe again.

I dig one hand into the back of her couch. My fingers sink into the cushion. I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the faux fur under my hand. "How long have I been out?"

She shrugs. "I lose track of time when I'm healing. I'm sure Halsey could tell you, but he doesn't like magic. He wants nothing to do with it."

I glance at her, trying to gauge if she's lying or not. "You're magic."

She smiles, too brightly. "Astute observation. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by twenty buses," I croak.

"Better than thirty," she says, patting my knee.

"I don't trust doctors," I tell her. "And I don't trust you."

"I'm not a doctor. I just dabble in healing. You pick up a few tricks when you're living on the run."

I swing my legs off the couch, then grab my head when the entire world spins faster.

She puts her hands out. "You need to keep resting until this last IV is finished."

I reach for it to rip it out, but I can't get my fingers around the needle. "Why can't I-?"

"Magic," she explains. "You can't remove the needle unless I allow it."

"I don't have time for this," I slur. "I have to-." My head rolls back and I moan, "no. No more sleep. I need to get-." My eyes droop.

I slap myself as hard as I can. My eyes flare wide and I gasp.

Andelain raises her eyebrows at me. "A little overdramatic. You've been through a lot. You're exhausted."

"I'm not weak."

"I didn't say you were. But there's a limit to how much you can put your body through."

"Remove the IV, mage."

She sighs, "I can't do that. I don't know if there will be long term consequences to taking it out before the last of the potion is in you. You should sleep."

Something powerful rolls over me, like I don't have a choice in listening to her.

My body fights to obey.

I slap myself again.

She grabs my arm. "Okay! Jeez. Just stop."

I let out shaky breaths. "I can't go to sleep."

"Why not?"

"I'm healed, right? I can go?"

She scowls. "Essentially, yes. You're 'healed'. But you need to rest or there could be side effects."

"Could be? You're not sure."

"I've never done this before, okay!? It's not like many girls wander into my territory full of magical poison!"

"I'm not a girl," I snarl.

She quiets for a minute, then nods. "Well, whatever you are, you still need rest. You're lucky I knew what to do in the first place."

"I knew you would," I groan, trying to stand.

She forces me back down and I'm too weak to fight back. "What's that supposed to mean?" She growls.

"I need to go."

"How did you know I'd be able to!?" She presses an arm over my throat. "My kids could be in danger. Tell me. Now."

"Death."

She blinks and pulls back. "That's a new one."

"I almost died," I rasp. "And I had a vision of a woman-."

"Black skin, black hair, white dress, Greek sandals?"

I nod.

"I'm familiar." She goes to the rocking chair and eases into it. She rubs her forehead. "Why would she visit you? Why bother saving you?"

"She shouldn't have bothered," I whisper. "You shouldn't have either."

She frowns at me. "What are you talking about?"

"Did my friends tell you my name?" I ask.

She runs her tongue over her teeth. "I didn't let them inside my veil. I haven't spoke with them. So, no. Why? What's your name?"

I tap my forehead, laughing without amusement. "Y'know, the memories-." I shake my head. "They come so fast these days. It's hard to keep up with what's real. What she did to me. What she did... to everyone."

"I'm not following."

"I've been putting things together in my head. The obvious truths I haven't wanted to admit to myself. Why she knows Thomas, why he wants me dead, why even the things that don't work for him want me dead." My eyelids flutter. "Why she never spoke my father's name."

Andelain leans forward, pressing her elbows into her knees. "Thomas?" She asks. "Thomas Black? The King of Zorcath?" Her eyes widen. "He's here? In Ivory?"

I press my thumb into the scar on my hand. The first scar she gave me. "He's here for me."

"Why would he care about you?"

I lift my head and meet her gaze. "My name is Raven Zora Black. My mother is Zoey Black. And my father is Thomas Black."