The wooden living room floor is hard against my back. I tug my blankets tighter, trying to ward off the chill. Aster suggested we not light a fire, which makes sense. It's cold, though.

Everyone's breathing is soft and steady in the dark room. Even Sean, who was up fiddling with locks earlier, came and laid down about half an hour ago. But for some reason, even as exhausted as I am, I can't get my mind to shut off.

The fire, darting toward me—

Aster's warm arms around my waist, keeping me from falling—

The tree branch freezing and snapping off—

The Man from the East, miserable, leaned up against the tree. The shocked expression he quickly struck from his face as I covered him with the throw—

My dictionary flying through the air—

Jacin trying to kiss me.

I shift, struggling to get comfortable. I'm tense, and the circling memories make it impossible to relax. Yesterday was a lifetime ago. The Eleaviara Riveirre of yesterday didn't believe in magic, yet today, that same girl has used it. Magic has coursed through her body and stolen her energy and made the impossible happen. The Eleaviara of today has a magic charm tucked in her pocket, just in case she might need it. Tomorrow, she'll walk side-by-side with a 'wizard' and a 'kra'kaa' and trust in their skill to keep her from winding up dead.

Sean says their 'magic' is just science we don't understand yet, and the researcher in me agrees wholeheartedly. But the little girl who read fairy tales in her father's study?

She knows that there's something more to it than that. Something that's powerful and frightening, deeply visceral and wholly real. Something that can't be reduced to facts and figures, any more than art can be separated from emotion. Something that can't be simply studied and torn apart and replicated. Something that just is.

The researcher shakes her head at the superstition, nonsense, and willful ignorance.

But little girls trust their instincts.

So if Sean produces more evidence about the logistics of magic, I'll listen to him, of course. I'll probably even believe him. But, I think, no matter what happens, I'll always know that there's something more to all of this than the human mind will ever be able to explain.

My brain clicks off as dawn greys the sky.

* * *

I can't focus.

In one of the bedrooms, Idyne swipes makeup onto my face as she talks to herself. A rickety and splintering foot chest, one of the few items left in the house, functions as my seat. The slanting, afternoon light spills in through a dirty window.

I should be reviewing my plan, making sure that all the kinks are worked out, that I know what I'm doing, but I can't. Nerves block my mind, rendering all the details too hazy to grab hold of and manipulate. We're about to kidnap a woman, take her from her own bed in the middle of the night, and cart her to a country where she's a wanted criminal. Last night, everything was abstract, and the steps we laid out to kidnapping her seemed no different than the steps of a research plan.

Now, as the sun readies itself to close the day and Idyne perfects my disguise, reality sinks in. Despite what Veradeaux did to Aster, despite what he says she'll do to Sean and me, there's a knot in my stomach I can't unravel.

"Idyne."

She glances up at me. Earlier when I spoke, she shushed me, saying I'd mess up her lines. Something in my voice must catch her off guard, though, because now she sits down beside me and puts her brush away.

I meet her gaze. "Have you ever done something bad because you were too scared to do something good?"

"Yes." Her simple sincerity is frightening.

My fingers creep to my necklace. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

I look out the window to the snow-covered field. "Did it turn out for the better or the worse?"

"You can't exactly know once you take the other path, can you?"

My mind wanders back to Karsix. What if I'd stayed? Maybe I'd still be there, going to work every day, hoping I don't contract the Death. Maybe the disease would have died out, and I'd be back home in Erreliah.

Maybe I'd be dead.

Idyne catches my attention as she stands. "But I'm still alive. That's what counts in the end, right?" She flashes a smile. "Come on. Let's get your makeup finished. Can't have you getting caught." She winks and pulls back out her brushes. When she finishes, she hands me her long shard of silverglass. "What do you think?"

I catch a glance of myself and almost drop the glass. My paper skin has darkened to a warm peach color. Some sort of chalk makes my hair look more brown than black. A mole rests below my eye, and the curvature of my face even looks different. My hand drifts up to touch my skin.

Idyne swats it away. "Don't. You'll smudge it. But you think that will work?"

"Work? Idyne, I don't even recognize myself." My eyes don't stray from the mirror. It's like being in another person's skin. "It'll be a miracle if anyone else does."

"Just don't talk. Your accent's awful."

I glance up at her, frowning. "Is Avadelian even your native language?"

"It doesn't have to be." She pats the charm beneath her collar. "Come on. Let's go see what the boys think." She steals back the piece of silverglass and leaves the room.

Sean's pacing when I enter the living room. His head snaps toward me, and alarm pitches his voice up. "Riveirre?"

A smile tugs at my lips. Across the room, Aster turns away from the window, and shock ripples across his face. I'm relieved to see he's back. Idyne whisked me off shortly after he went to check on the Man from the East, and I never heard him return.

Sean's eyes follow me as I cross the room to stand beside Aster. "What did you find out?"

His jaw clenches. "Nothing. He won't talk."

"He's in the barn now?"

He shakes his head. "We don't want him to know where we are any longer than we have to. Once we have Amarris, we can collect him and start out in the morning."

"You said before he can't hurt us." My arms cross.

"He can't, but a plan never failed from overcaution."

"Is it overcaution, Aster, or—" My tongue fumbles for a word I've not learned in Avadelian. "Azhiet-friae," I settle on pointedly. Revenge.

Hurt flashes across his face. "No, Leavi. I'm trying to protect us." His brow darkens. "If I sought azhiet-friae, then he'd be cold, alone, and starving."

I step back, stung and embarrassed. "I didn't mean—"

"Hey, Riveirre," Sean calls.

I look back.

"You're going to miss shift change if you stand around here much longer."

My lips press together. "Right." I head for the door but pause when I reach the handle. I glance back.

Sean's already pacing again. Aster watches me, pensive expression clouding his face. Idyne's hands are clasped in front of her. "Good luck!"

A nervous smile finds its way to my lips. "Thanks."

I leave.

* * *

The kitchen is hot and busy when I walk in. Maids wipe down counters, scrub dishes, drench fires, and sweep floors. Over the cacophony of cleaning up and clanging pots, the head cook shouts, "Move those feet, girls! Or do you want to be here until midnight?"

The cook bustles over to a counter where a lidded platter sits. "Who's taking the Lady's supper to her tonight?"

Everyone keeps their eyes on their task. Across the room, a girl's head hesitantly lifts and glances around the room. Scowling, she dusts her hands off and starts toward the cook.

I weave through the busy maids. Someone shoves a broom into my hand.

The girl, oblivious to me, is halfway to the tray.

I drop the broom against a counter and hurry to cut the girl off. She's five feet from the cook when I slide in front and pick up the platter.

From behind, I feel a pair of eyes study me.

The cook seems not to notice the race. "Well, what are you doing just standing there? Get on with it!"

As I turn, the other girl moves forward and snags a towel off a nearby counter, as if that had been her goal the entire time. She slinks back to where she came from and continues cleaning.

Maids glance at the tray and avoid me as I make my way out. I'm at the door when the cook calls, "Hey, girl!"

I freeze.

"Be sure you take that to her quarters and not the dining hall. And hurry up with it! It'll be your hide if her supper's cold, not mine."

Her quarters? Cold fear settles like ice in my stomach. I'd hoped to set her tray on the table and leave, or better yet, pass it off to some serving maid when I neared the dining hall. My head dips a nod, and I push through the door.

I walk head-down through the halls as servants trickle out of the building, leaving while the smaller night staff comes in. Chatter rings all around me, and I fervently hope no one stops me. Your accent's terrible, Idyne said. Which means one word from me, and this whole thing could come crashing down.

My steps are quick, though, and purposeful. No one stops a person who looks like they know where they're going, my mother used to quip, unless it's to ask for directions. Slightly comforted, I keep up my pace until I clear the crowd.

As I slip onto an empty hallway, I cast a glance behind me. No one's there, and all the servant's voices ring distant. Setting the tray down, I dig a vial out of my pocket. The dried valerian root and crushed chamomile are perfectly invisible inside the concentrated solution. Hopefully the good Lady will appreciate the change in flavor. Or, better yet, not notice.

I lift the lid off the tray, carefully setting the metal down so it doesn't clatter. Steam rises from a bowl of soup. Popping the cork on my vial, I pour its contents into the broth, then hurry to set the lid back and pick up the tray. My steps echo down the hall, and wavering torches chase me.

I knock on Lady Veradeaux's door. The platter trembles slightly, and I shove my nerves down, forcing my hand to still.

"Enter," her high voice calls.

Head down, I do. A giant, four-poster bed rests against the far back wall, surrounded by a wardrobe and dressing screen. An elaborate water basin stands in one corner. Throughout the space, silver candlesticks sit in low alcoves while burgundy rugs and tapestries drape the floor and walls.

In the front of the room, Veradeaux lounges in an armchair before a roaring fire. A satin robe covers her, and her blonde hair falls in loose, messy waves as she stares sullenly into the flames. She waves her hand distractedly. "Just set it there."

Slowly moving forward, I place the tray on the coffee table she indicated. My skin tingles in spite of the fact that she hasn't even looked at me.

I turn to go. Halfway to the door, I think I'm home free. By the time I can almost reach the handle, my heart's beating three times too fast, already celebrating.

My hand is on the cool metal when she calls, "Have you always lived in the village, child?"

I force myself to let go of the knob and turn to face her. She still stares at the fire. Thinking it easiest to agree, I nod.

"I can't hear the rocks inside your head rattling, girl," Veradeaux snaps. "You will speak when spoken to."

My stomach jumps into my throat. Struggling to keep as much of my accent from my voice as possible, I say, "Yes."

"Yes what?"

I swallow. "Yes... my lady."

Veradeaux settles further into her chair, seemingly appeased. "So I suppose you don't know what it's like to miss home, do you?"

"No, my lady." The lie tastes like bitter ashes.

"I do," she murmurs. As she stares into the hearth, thin robe wrapped around her shoulders, this commanding, put-together woman suddenly looks sad and weary.

For the first time tonight, she makes eye contact with me. There's something metal-cold in her gaze. "And no one will stop me from getting back." She leans into the chair, ignoring me again. A dainty hand flicks toward the door. "You're dismissed."

Gratefully, I slip outside. She didn't recognize me. The profound relief weighs almost as heavy in my chest as the fear did. I hurry down the quiet halls.

Now to hide and wait.