Araphel blazed orange and gold against the black night sky. I watched it while sitting on the hillside, my face still streaked with ash and every bone in my body throbbing in agony. Not once since we'd arrived had the fire been this intense, and I wondered if Tievel's violent display of power had roused Seraphina's anger.

But surely she could only burn this bright for a brief period. If that was the case, then in a few days, the land would return to a place of char and smoke, and King Brinley would be eager to hear if I was ready to go to the Temple.

I was grateful for the darkness as I limped back to my tent. My condition would raise too many questions, though part of me wished I could rat Tievel out to his father. His patience with his son has always been a shallow pool, and no matter how distasteful King Brinley found my existence, I was valuable. More valuable than his son.

The risk wasn't worth it. Right now, no one had reason to suspect that the Puca had traveled to Araphel with Tievel and me. In fact, I suspected no one knew we had gone to Araphel at all. It was in my best interest for everyone to think the Puca had deserted.

After lighting the lanterns in my tent, I filled the washbasin with cold, clear water and went about the arduous task of scrubbing soot from my skin. Bowl after bowl of water turned to gray sludge, and my skin grew raw with the effort it took to remove the tar-like remnants of Araphel. I'd never seen anything like it, but then it was not normal fire that consumed that land.

I moved onto my hair, working the bar of soap into a rich lather before slathering the black strands with it. Three times I washed it, and even then I could still smell hints of smoke beneath the rose oil and lavender.

Raising a damp handful to my nose, I inhaled deeply and sighed. This was as good as it was going to get tonight. I forced myself to drag a comb through my hair to lessen the tangles, but on the second stroke, I dropped the comb with a strangled gasp.

From the base of my skull below my left ear, was a streak of white, nearly as wide as my thumb. Bile rushed up my throat, and I retched into the basin. Everything I'd eaten that day came up, and the heaves continued until I worried my insides were going to come out.

At last, it stopped, and on unsteady legs, I searched for the eating utensils I kept by my bedside since I took most of my meals in the tent. Thankfully, they were where I'd left them, and I grabbed the knife. It was dull and rusted, but I was grateful to have a knife at all since I was a prisoner.

Back at the mirror, I separated the white strands from the rest of my hair and sawed at them until they broke, leaving only a patch of short, bristly pale hairs that would require a razor to remove. I swung my eyes to meet the wide frightened ones in the mirror and received another shock. My irises flitted through a dozen different colors, never settling for long before moving onto the next.

"Get it together, Morana," I commanded out loud, gripping the porcelain bowl and slamming my eyes closed as I searched through the threads of power running inside of me, locating the newest one with ease thanks to Kuga's instruction.

Silver death. White ice. Golden fire. And now, verdant green. Shapeshifting. It pulsed and thrashed next to the others.

I grabbed onto the thread. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I wrestled it into submission, not stopping until it was as calm as the others, and when I opened my eyes, I was met with brilliant, unchanging amethyst.

There was no more water to rinse my mouth out, so I cupped my hand and filled it with the dirty bath water. Grit clacked against my teeth as I swished it around my mouth. Its flavor was bitter. It was no more than I deserved and a welcome relief from the sour tang of vomit that coated my tongue.

Finally, I crawled into my cot and pulled the furs over my shivering limbs. All the way to my chin and over my nose, leaving only my eyes peeking out above the blanket. I'd left the lanterns lit thinking the light might comfort me, but now I second guessed that decision. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the canvas walls, but even worse, the light reached all but the farthest corners of the small space.

There, the darkness gathered. Black and unrelenting. Thick enough to hide all manner of monsters, but that shouldn't frighten me. The worst monster of all was lying in my bed.

Tears flooded my eyes, welling until my vision turned watery, and when I blinked, they leaked down my cheek. Once they started, I could not stop them. It was almost worse than throwing up. They formed in the deepest parts of me, producing great, wracking sobs, and my already sore muscles protested.

It didn't matter that I told myself over and over and over that I had no other choice but to take the Puca's soul. He was right. I would not have made it out alive if I'd had to rely on my own two legs, but the nobler choice would have been to accept death. Only then I would have doomed countless others to a terrible fate.

What would Remiel say if he were here? Would he look at me in horror, or would he soothe me, justifying my actions? I sniffled, shocked by how badly I wanted that answer right now. As if I could be okay if he would tell me I'd done the right thing.

And Astreia and Yoko? The soldier and I had reached an understanding. Perhaps she might even consider me a friend now, but I wasn't so foolish as to believe that friendship didn't have limits. But she was also the one who taught me how to defend myself. All I'd done was use the weapons I had at my disposal.

Calm washed over me as my thoughts turned to the princess, who had seen me at my best and worst. She, more than anyone else, understood what was at stake if we did not light the portals, and I didn't doubt for a second that she wouldn't sacrifice herself to accomplish that.

Turning on my side, I wiped my cheeks. Was that what I had done? Sacrificed a bit of myself for the greater good?

I fell into a fitful sleep, asking myself that question over and over. There was no rest in slumber. The Puca's dead eyed stare followed me everywhere in my dreams. From the fiery forests of Araphel to the rock overhang by the Caryn river. I couldn't escape.

When Kuga opened the tent flap the next morning, she found me awake and dressed. Arching a brow, she looked me over with an appraising eye, and I told myself it was my imagination that her attention lingered near my left ear. After all, I'd trimmed it back even further before carefully arranging my hair to hide any hint of the white patch against my skull. She couldn't know.

Could she?

"I see you took our last conversation seriously."

"I did."

"You're wearing a dress."

Hands drifting over the bodice of the impractical lavender silk gown Queen Thea had provided me with, I shrugged. "My other clothes need to be washed."

"That is the only reason?"

"No. You were right about it all. I don't want to be here, but I'm not making it any easier on myself. If wearing different clothes will help, then it is a small thing to give up."

The lie stuck in my throat. I did not want to give an inch to her, Tievel, or the king. But I couldn't exactly admit the truth.

She nodded as if she expected nothing less and turned on her heel to exit. I paused with one foot in the air when I saw her raise her nose and sniff. Turning back around, she surveyed my space with a sharp eye, giving it as much attention as she had given to me when she arrived.

"Why does it smell like fire in here?" she demanded, walking toward the washbasin and mirror.

"Everything smells like fire right now. Araphel is burning," I said, my heart dropping when I remembered I hadn't drained the water from the basin and cleaned it after washing my hair for the last time.

"No. It's not that."

She squatted down and picked up the bundle of clothes I'd discarded the night before. Holes riddled the linen tunic where embers had landed, and when Kuga dropped the pants, her hands were blackened by the soot on the leather. But none of that was why I felt as if I might be sick again.

Moving the clothes had revealed the long swatch of white hair. Kuga stared at it for several minutes without speaking, and from this angle I could not see her face. Palms sweating, I cupped the back of my neck and shifted from foot to foot as my vision blurred around the edges. Around my feet, frost feathered out, and my skin pulled taut to the point of splitting.

Finally, she rose and faced me. Her gaunt face showed no emotion. She flicked her fingers at the entrance, and the tent flap drew to a close, ensuring no nosy individuals could see what was happening in here.

"Morana, is there something you would like to tell me?"