For four days we ride through the night and sleep outside deep in the shelter of fields, hills and forests, away from the roads. Sunrise to sunset lengthens, lasting almost five hours, warming the lands and the air.

We are in the habit of establishing camp before dawn and waking in the late afternoon twilight. My body adjusts to the physical exertion of riding, which puts a different strain on muscles used to snow trekking. I am energised by regular meals and the power of the sun. But every time I feel life humming through my veins, I also feel guilty. Is Kel faring well with his Lyndonian captor? Will he remain strong, even though he does not know I'm coming for him?

After breaking fast after the fourth night of riding, Brin and Tug take care of the horses, and Deadran instructs the Prince and me on Carucan geography. Our prior lessons have all been about court politics and etiquette, a subject, which briefly fascinated me, but quickly became tedious. Geography is a welcome change.

Deadran unrolls a worn parchment, holding down the corners with stones. Jakut and I sit on the ground before him. We lean forward to see better, our shoulders brush, and awkwardness spikes through me. I pull away, but the Prince is faster to sit back, so I am free to take in the Kingdoms of Ederiss.

I used to enjoy sketching the lands of Ederiss from Ma's memories. It was what I did when she gave me ink and paper instead of practicing the Carucan alphabet. But Deadran's map has many details and subtleties missing from Ma's map, or at least her memories of what she studied. My attention is drawn to an island southwest of the Etean Kingdom.

"What is this island?"

"Auran," Deadran says. My head jolts back. Auran, Island of the Rushing Winds, where my people came from, and which was supposed to have drowned beneath the waves over a century ago.

"How old is this map?"

"Twenty long-sleeps, but it was copied from a map in the Ruby Palace whose date I do not know."

The excitement in my chest flows out leaving me disappointed. This map must predate the catastrophe.

"Is this," the Prince asks me, "where your people came from?" I had not noticed him moving, but now his face is almost next to mine. He speaks softly, as though he understands how important my heritage is to me. As though he realizes this is not just history, but the missing roots I feel I cannot really grow without.

"Accounts of Carucan history," Deadran says, "site this island as the origin of the glitter-eyed children." Deadran's milky eyes are turned on us in his usual unfocused, but attentive manner.

"Origin?" the Prince echoes. "Then why do they hide in the northern forests? Why doesn't the King allow them to return to their island?"

I bristle, wondering what could possibly hold Jakut's interest in Uru Ana history.

"The island drowned," I say.

He nods. "And so your people came searching for new lands." He erroneously assumes my people imposed themselves on lands that did not belong to them.

"The Etean King," Deadran interjects, as though sensing the rising tension, and trying to diffuse it, "or Alaweh as he is known to the Eteans, was responsible for Auran being swept under the sea, after he mined their crystal cliffs and coral reefs. Only four hundred or so Uru Ana children, brought by his fleet to Etea, survived."

I feel the Prince's gaze, but when I look at him he looks down.

"I would like to know more about the Carucan cleansing," I say. I have been wishing to ask since our first lesson, and now we have crossed the line of awkward, the moment seems ripe.

Everything I've perceived in Deadran's memories before the winter hibernation, suggests the Prince performed the cleansing as a form of escapism, like my mother. Through the old tutor, I have heard the Prince's tormented hours spent praying with a priest of Rhag, before losing his past. Nights frantically scribbling words on parchment. Letters, a confession, or an account. As I cannot read Carucan, I cannot say what exactly.

"I am no priest," Deadran replies, "but I will answer any questions as best as I can."

"I did not wish the biased answers of a priest."

The Prince snorts. I glance across, and get distracted for a moment by his lopsided smile. Frowning, I turn back to Deadran.

"How is wiping out a person's painful memories supposed to bring them closer to the Gods?"

"Why do you think it is only painful memories?"

An image of Ma a few minutes after Kel was born flashes in my mind. The midwife had wrapped Kel in warm deerskin and allowed Pa and me back into the bedroom. Ma's face was spotted red, her hair wet with sweat. An exhausted smile lit her eyes as they met my father's.

The midwife gave Kel to Pa, and he tilted the tiny bundle to Ma. My mother's expression transformed. She pushed herself up to see better, panic twisting her face.

"That's why people do it, isn't it?" I say. "People take the mist berries before the long-sleep because they want to forget the pain of their past."

Deadran rubs his short gray beard, and takes a moment to formulate his answer. "From my understanding, it is not the most painful moments that are taken by the Gods, but the most potent. The memories where awareness of being alive is greatest."

His words settle slowly through me. If what he says is true, it means Ma did not forget Kel and me because we were the most painful part of her life, but because we were the part that made her feel most alive.

My chest swells. I don't want to cry, but I suddenly want Ma so badly I can't breathe. Tears glaze my vision. Since I left my parents in Blackfoot Forest, I have barely allowed myself to think of them. But this unexpected information slips around my defences. A tear rolls down my cheek. Deadran cannot see and the Prince is positioned behind me, so I let it run to my chin and drop away, leaving the air to dry the salty trail.

"The cleansing," Deadran continues, "is a way of making space in a person's soul for the light of the Gods. The temporary loss of their most vivid memories is the sacrifice."

By Deadran's interpretation, the Prince has lived in a state of heightened sentience most of his life—good or bad, or maybe both. I glance around to see how Jakut is absorbing this information. His eyes are closed and his face is still, concentrated.

I wonder if I took the mist berries before the long-sleep what pieces of my past would be buried beneath the veil. My life on the run in the Sea of Trees was punctured with intensity, but the last six years in Blackfoot Forest have been more like watching an old man dying. Before Tug and Brin turned up, time seemed to be winding down to a standstill.

"What happens if an Uru Ana takes the mist berries?" I ask.

"Traditionally," Deadran says, "the Uru Ana see memory as a gift, a way of understanding and uniting people. So it would not be relevant for them to remove the one thing they believe brings them towards harmony and balance. At least this is my understanding."

"Is this why the Carucans call us shadow weavers? They think we cannot make space for the light of their Gods because even if we could not access our own memories, we could just see the memories of those around us. We cannot make the ultimate sacrifice."

"It is possible this is part of how you got the name. But mostly, it is because a lord who had great influence over King Rex, the Prince's grandfather, instilled deep fear in the Carucans concerning the Uru Ana's ability. He said those slaves who escaped Etea and came across the border to Caruca, had poisoned the minds of their slave masters, and wrapped their hearts in shadows. This is why the slave masters set them free."

For a moment we are all silent.

"Do you have any more questions on this, Mirra?"

"No."

"Prince Jakut?" Deadran asks. The Prince opens his eyes and also says no.

Deadran continues teaching us the geography of the four remaining kingdoms: Etea, Tmà, Caruca and Rudeash.

I sit back and observe the Prince when he is not paying attention. Perhaps there is some grace in what he has done. Perhaps it is not cowardice or escapism that made him turn to the cleansing ritual, but a desire for higher guidance, a demonstration of sacrifice. The Gods didn't just take his memories. They took his whole identity.

At one moment, as I contemplate the riddle of the Prince and his choice, his eyes turn to me. He gives a small smile. I tentatively mirror it, until I register something in the distance. Tug is watching. He manages to capture both the essence of molten lava and shiny volcanic glass in his obsidian-hard stare. He does not want the Prince and me to make any kind of alliance. But for now, it can only work in my favour for the Prince to believe we are on friendly terms. It will give me an advantage Tug does not possess, and might irritate him as well.

My smile deepens.

Thanks for reading :) the next chapter will be posted on Friday 17th April. Take care, Claire xox