"Sorry I'm late." My voice is flat as I slide into the dinner table. "I didn't realize the time."

Elénna waves it away and ladles me out a bowl.

After Jacin's execution, I spent the day wandering through the grand stone hallways, trailing my fingertips against the walls. When I imagined hard enough, I could be lost in the tunnels of Erreliah, not even sixteen yet. My mother hadn't sent me to Karsix. There was no plague, no journey with the Traders, no Man from the East, no war, no senseless execution. When I tired of my excursion, I could go home, back to my city of lights, back to my warm house, back to my family.

But the castle walls are smooth, and the floors are level. Back isn't a direction people are meant to go.

Contemplation furrows Illesiarr's face. I blow on my soup, trying not to look at him.

"Are you alright, m'dear?"

I nod and swallow my spoonful.

He pauses, but I don't offer anything else. He doesn't say anything either, just pats my shoulder as he stands. I wonder if he knows Jacin was the boy who visited the other day. As perceptive as he seems, I can't imagine him not. I am a glass vial—transparent and hollow.

I clean my bowl and go to my room quietly.

When I sit on my bed, all the numbness of today dissolves into sudden rage. I yank my shoes off, and they bounce across the room. I pull at my dress, barely remembering to undo the lacing, and it drops against the floor. I want to strip myself of today. Kicking the dress under the bed, I dig through my bag for my real clothes—leather pants, high-collared shirt, black muffler—and tug them on. There is no comfort in them, though; there is no substance.

Changing clothes doesn't change anything.

I drop onto the bed, arms spread against the comforter. In the dark, I stare at a ceiling I mostly can't see. I didn't think of him like he did me, but I did count him as a friend. And he didn't deserve to die. Even if what he did was wrong, it wasn't worth his life.

Tears I've held back all day stream from my eyes, and I curl onto my side. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."

I wish I could make up for all the wrong I've done, all the little mistakes all my life that got people hurt. But I can't change anything.

"Please." My throat chokes on the word. "Please forgive me."

But whether I'm talking to Jacin or Aster or the universe or someone else—I don't know. My sobs shake me to sleep. I dream of the dark and the cold.

I wake up shivering what feels like minutes later.

"Blazes!" a man curses amidst the ruckus of sudden movement. Again he yells, "Blazes, Leavi!"

My eyes snap open. Sean stands on his pallet, presswrite set aside, glaring like a madman. I scramble up. "Sean. Sean, am I really here?"

Anger contorts his features. He steps frighteningly close, and bites, "You're a mockery, a—"

I throw my arms around him. I don't care that he doesn't understand, that he doesn't want me here. I am, and he is.

He shoves me off, stepping back, but bewilderment and frustration have replaced the fury. He sinks to his pallet. "I'm completely gone."

"No, Sean." I crouch in front of him. "I'm real. Truly real. It's magic; I'm here because of magic—"

His hand slaps the cot. "Magic isn't magic. That's not how physiks works. You're in my head—" His voice drops to a choked whisper. "And I've lost it."

"Sean." I set my hand on his shoulder, heart-broken and desperate. "Please, believe me. I know there's no reason for you to, but please. I was in Morineaux, and—"

"Who're you talking to?" an unfamiliar voice demands in harsh Common.

Sean pales, and fear spikes my heart.

"No one," he shouts back. "Science, sorry. I'll quiet dow—"

But the silver lights are already wisping around me, pulling me out of Sean's room and into the black anti-world. I didn't even get to tell him I was glad to see him.

My magic spits me back out into the real world, and I fall across the stone floor.

"What was that?" a woman asks.

My eyes snap open, and for a moment, the world swims. Blurry firelight and shadows, chairs gathered around a hearth, faceless women pushing to their feet, turning toward me. My vision clears, and I scramble up. They shriek as I dart to the door. The knob twists clumsily under my hand.

"Spirit!" one screeches.

The door swings out, and I stumble into the hall.

"Idiot, someone's spying on us."

I flee through the shadowed corridors, not sure if they're following, not sure where I am or where I'm going. Blood rushes in my ears, making it hard to think. I twist and turn the winding halls, half hoping to lose myself in the maze.

It isn't until I turn onto Aster's hall that I realize I'm in Courtier's Circle. I skid to a stop, but voices still rise in the distance, and I hurry to his door.

I knock, the raps louder than I meant. Come on, Aster. Wake up! I knock again. My ear catches motion, someone's approaching footsteps, but in this quiet hall, I know it's not coming from Aster's room.

It's coming from the one opposite his.

I glance over my shoulder, but there's nothing to see, just a door and the thought of someone behind it. Of someone catching me.

I twist Aster's doorknob desperately, but it just rattles, locked. Behind me, a key is turning in a different lock, and I'm out here, exposed, vulnerable. I need to be in Aster's room now, and this stupid door is locked—

The door behind creaks as it swings open. Fear floods my senses, and everything shifts. The soft glow of the castle's enchanted crystals disappears, replaced by the anti-world darkness. Just as quickly as the dark comes, it goes, and silver light ebbing away reveals the inside of Aster's room. When the only light left is my bracelet, it's dark in here too, but nothing so severe as that infinite black.

Someone knocks on the door, and I jump. I blink at the wood. It's uncanny to think I was standing outside just moments before.

"Aster?" the Captain's voice calls. His keys jangle.

Hide. I should hide. That bit of rationale breaks through my daze, and I glance about. Couches, bookshelves, table, door—

I lightfoot to the next door, gently open it, and slip inside, closing it behind me. Moonlight filters through a slit in the curtains, revealing a desk, wardrobe, beautifully woven rug, and large, canopied bed. In the quiet—it's amazing how much a person can hear when it's so, so quiet—a key clicks in the lock.

I scramble underneath the bed and press myself to the very top, in between the two posts, where the shadows are deepest and I'm most difficult to reach.

The Captain's heavy footsteps echo in the next room. Stay in there, stay in there, stay in there... The steps swing slowly from one edge of the room to the other, and then finally, heavily to the bedroom door. It occurs to me that I should have faced the wall so he sees my dark hair and not my face. It's too late to move now, though.

He opens the door, and I try not to breathe.

I can barely see the soles of his feet through the gauzy bed skirt and the trailing edge of the comforter. He steps inside cautiously. "Aster?"

No sound greets him. He walks through the room as if testing each step. I let in and out a shaky, shallow breath. It's deafening, but his search doesn't pause. Wooden doors creak open—the wardrobe, I imagine. After a moment, they shut again.

"Could have sworn I saw something," he mutters. His feet approach the bed, and the tip of a sword lifts up the skirt and comforter. I bite hard on my lip to keep from making a noise. I don't think I've ever been so casually close to something meant to kill.

He peers under the bed, and I squeeze my eyes shut, as though that will help keep me concealed. My heart beats unreasonably loud, and I hold my breath. After a moment, the bed skirts rustle, and he walks out of the room, murmuring something about jumping at shadows.

I let myself breathe again as he leaves and relocks the suite door. I lie there in the black of the bed for the next few minutes. There's a comfort in its quiet stillness, and I use it to put together the insanity of the last few minutes.

I saw Sean again—in person. I actually was wherever in skies' name he is. But when I got spooked, my magic must have brought me back.

I shift. You really need a name, I think at it. It doesn't do anything, but I know it's listening somehow. Every name I think of, though, sounds too much like a person or too much like a pet.

An ironic smile tilts my lips. Vihnzeirre. A trickster, what Sean accused Aster of being when he first spoke of magic. And my magic certainly has plenty of tricks up its sleeve—for both me and the rest of the world.

Vihnzeirre it is then. Do you like it? No response. Oh well. I'll get used to holding one-sided conversations.

My hair slips over my eyes, and I push it out of the way. I could probably leave now, but I'd rather be uncomfortable than unsafe.

So, Vihnzeirre sent me back to the castle, but for some reason not to my room. My mind flashes to my return to the jail cell, after the first time I teleported to Sean. I fell several feet before landing.

Maybe Vihnzeirre did bring me back to my room—just two stories up. You really need to work on your accuracy, you know. Could have gotten me killed.

And poor Sean. We're going to drive him mad if you keep sending me back there. Might have already. But I can't pretend I'm actually angry at it. Selfish or not, I do want to see him.

I just wish it'd let me stay longer than a few moments.