We travel hard for another four hours after our first pit stop until we reach camp for the night. The forest’s border stands just a few miles from us now, so close I can feel the coldness emitting from its floor on the back of my neck. An overwhelming scent of leaves and foreboding envelops our resting place, putting everyone on edge. 

The guards murmur to one another, and I catch bits and pieces of their hushed conversations. 

They’re scared.

“I know changelings are mostly endangered, but I heard it’s only making them that much thirstier for blood.”

“I heard that, too. I had a cousin who went missing in that forest. A search party went looking for him, but most didn’t return. The ones that did still refuse to speak of what they saw, which was over 3 years ago.”

I shudder, a shiver racing up my spine. Changelings are pure nightmare fuel and extremely rare to spot outside Emscroft Forest. According to legend, they are descendants of Fae, often their sickly children who were left to die in the desire for a healthy baby. Instead of growing into beautiful humanoid creatures, like most Fae were, they’re often mangled and craved human blood. When the Gods drove the Fae away, the changelings were left behind as reminders of how retched and bloodthirsty the Fae could be.

At one point, wealthy humans took sport in hunting down changelings. They’d lure them out with a freshly sacrificed mountain goat or wildfowl and rig traps to string the changelings from the trees. Once captured, the humans would take turns with clubs made of ash and bash the changelings repeatedly until they were unrecognizable. After they had their fill, the changelings were left strung up to die.

All of this stopped, of course, when the changelings started setting their own traps for the humans and would inflict unspeakable damage on their bodies. 

It’s not fun anymore when your prey beats you at your own game, after all.

I leave the two guards to their disturbing conversation and turn in search of Archie. I was able to slip a handful of the salve under my trousers and massage it into my muscles during the ride when no one was looking. If I hadn’t, I’d undoubtedly be in tears currently and unable to walk.

I spy him on the other side of camp, standing in front of the fire, a large kitchen knife in hand. A wooden cutting board is balanced on a log as he chops a mound of vegetables before dumping them into a pot that’s heating over the fire. He spots me walking up and pauses, his knife dangling precariously from one hand. 

“Why, if it isn’t my silver-eyed beauty. How are you holding up today?”

I wrap my arms around my middle, pulling my cloak tighter against the cold. “I’m doing better today, thanks to your salve. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had the touch of a healer.”

“Nah, just a little recipe I picked up from my days as a soldier. It’s nothing, miss, no need to thank me,” he says, waving me off with the flick of his knife.

“Well, regardless, I do appreciate it. It’s the best I’ve felt in forever.”

“Glad I could help then, miss.” He resumes his chopping and scoops the small mound of what looks like carrots into the pot. 

“Anything I can do to help? I’m not much of a cook, but chopping I can manage.”

“Nah, nah, you just sit your pretty little self down and rest for a bit. Heard you and cap’n got into it earlier. Bet that explains the breakneck speed earlier. Thought my damn head was gonna bounce right off my shoulders.”

I cringe slightly as I sit down on the log next to him. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, he’s the one who started something he couldn’t finish.”

Archie snorts and points his knife at me. “I’m sure he did. Between you and me, miss, cap’n could use someone to put him in place every now and then. These guards are so far up his ass they can’t tell left from right anymore.”

A tiny grin forms on my lips. “I can do that, no problem.”

He shoots me a side-eyed stare. “Now, I don’t mean for you to go startin’ a fight all the time. My ass can’t handle no more of this hard travelin’. Plus, I’m sure cap’n means well. He’s got a good heart, unlike that cruel weasel of a king he serves.”

I turn to look at Archie, eyes wide in surprise. “I thought you said you fought for the king on the battlefield?”

“That was a long time ago, miss, and it don’t mean nothin’ to me anymore.” His chopping turns frenzied, and he turns the carrot he’s handling into a heap of orange ribbons.

I take the hint and drop the subject. “So, how are you feeling about crossing the forest tomorrow?”

He grunts and pulls out a bag of potatoes from a sack situated next to him. “The sooner we’re out, the better.”

“I heard some guards talking about changelings earlier. I thought they were pretty much extinct by now.”

“Never trust anything you hear in these parts, miss. I know you’re new around here, so I’ll clue you in first. Rokos is dangerous. Keep your wits about you, ya hear me?”

My smile vanishes as I give him a solemn nod. “Understood.”

“Good,” he says. Whatever is in the pot has started boiling. He grabs a wooden spoon and starts stirring. 

I look around and take in our surroundings. There are few trees spread sporadically throughout the area. But save for our tents, the area is mostly wide open space. Tall grass waves in the soft breeze, the crisp spring air dropping a few degrees with it. The night sky blinks at me, a brilliant expanse of stars on display for us.

I glance behind my shoulder. A lone tent, a tad bigger than the rest, stands on the perimeter. Soft light from a lantern glows behind the canvas walls, carving out the silhouette of the person inside. He’s hunched over a small table, a pen in hand, scribbling furiously.

For a second, I wonder what he’s writing about. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was ordered to write frequent updates about the journey, but I find myself wondering what parts of it he’s reporting about.

“Aruna?”

I whip my head around, dirty hair fanning out around my shoulders from the movement. 

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted the first bowl. You okay, miss?” 

He holds a steaming bowl of stew in his hand, outstretched towards me. I grab it from him hastily.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought. Thank you.” I take a sip and the hearty goodness warms my soul. “Hey, Archie?”

“Hmm?”

I wipe the soup that’s dribbling down my chin with my sleeve. “Where can a girl take a bath around here?”

---

Ten minutes later, I’ve made it the few hundred yards due east, where Archie said I could find a stream winding through the trees. Armed with my soap and rag, I drop my cloak and tug free the laces of my boots before slipping my feet out. Scanning the area for unwanted onlookers, I unbutton my trousers and peel them off. They’re soaked with sweat from the two days ride. I debate swishing them a few times in the water, but the night is cold enough that I know they wouldn’t dry properly. I’ll save hypothermia for a different life.

I tug my tunic over my head. The sleeves snag on my cuffs, and I yank them the rest of the way off with more force than needed. Dropping the tunic in a heap next to my trousers, I grab the rag and dunk it in the stream before wringing it out and lathering it with soap. I start with my underarms, methodically rotating between rinsing, lathering, and scrubbing as I work my way down. 

In the dark, it’s difficult to make out the setting around me. Thankfully, my eyes are used to the dark by now, so I can pick out the outline of a handful of trees, small shrubs, and a large rock a few yards to my left. 

I finish my makeshift bath and sit in the grass for a bit, letting the cold air bite at my skin. I work a hand up to my hair, the ends of it blowing in the breeze. Even tangled, it reaches the middle of my spine, hanging in wads of dirt and knots. 

Before I can think twice about it, I dip the ends of my hair halfway into the stream, plunging my hands in at the same time. Quickly so as a chill doesn’t set in my fingers, I work at untangling the knots. Clumps of dead hair and grime bob down the stream by the time I’m done. It’s not perfect, but at least I can run my fingers through my hair again. I squeeze out as much water as possible before slinging it behind my shoulders. It lands on my back with a wet slap. Reaching for my pile of clothes, I tug on my trousers and tunic before lacing up my boots and slinging the cloak around my shoulders. 

Looking over my shoulder towards camp once, I turn and walk up stream to the shrubs. Bending to my knees, I feel around in the grass. My fingertips grope around blindly until they hit something wet and slimy.

Blegh. I cringe, not daring to wonder what that could be, and shift the other way, reaching out with my hand again. This time, I touch a small, rough object. It’s long and thin, about half the width of my pinky finger. I feel for the end of it, and a dull point scrapes my fingertips. Bingo.

I grab the skinny stick and tuck it into the pocket of my trousers before stepping out from the bushes, pretending like I just came from relieving myself to anyone who may be watching. As nonchalantly as I can muster, I walk back to camp. My wet hair drenches the back of my tunic, and I shiver from the cold.

The guards are all sitting around the bonfire when I return, engrossed in a story one of the men is telling. Whatever the tale, it must be good. They’re leaning in, on the edge of their seats as the storyteller animates wildly with his hands.

I briefly scan around the fire and my eyes land on on the Captain. He’s facing my direction, eyes locked on mine as I approach. The orange light from the fire illuminates the strong features of his face, his dark hair gleaming in the muted light. He inclines his head to an empty spot on the log next to him, and I shake my head quickly, my heart thumping out of rhythm in my chest.  His eyebrows pull together momentarily and he does a subtle once-over before turning back to the story. 

Nerves course through my veins as I cross camp and enter my tent. I kneel in the pile of furs and whoosh out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. 

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the stick and twirl it between my fingers. It’s skinnier than I would have liked, to the point I’ll have to be mindful not to snap it, but it’ll do the trick. Now, the wait begins.

Almost three hours pass before all I can hear is the soft crackling of the bonfire and distant snores from the surrounding tents. My eyes have been glued to the same spot on the ceiling of my tent for what feels like an eternity, but I didn’t dare close them in fear I’d fall asleep and miss my opportunity. My hair has long since dried, hanging in a blunt curtain around my shoulders.

Sitting up, I strain my ears again one last time to confirm everyone is truly asleep. When not even a sound draws from where the horses are tied up, I rise to my knees and place my left wrist onto my lap, my right hand holding the stick. 

My heart thumps in my chest. For a moment, my brain tells me to rethink my plan. I almost listen to it, when I feel my magic whisper to me.

Release me. Let’s go home.

It’s all the push I need. Taking a deep breath to steady my shaky hands, I insert the stick into the keyhole on the cuff and fiddle with it until I hear the lock click. Slowly, I ease the cuff off and let it drop to the ground in front of me. 

Nothing happens. I flex my wrist and rub at the skin, a frown pulling at my lips. I reach inwardly and feel the wall still intact around my magic. 

Strange. Maybe both cuffs need to be off in order to free it?

Or maybe the calemarine cell walls extinguished my fire for good.

Pushing the unsettling thought out of my head, I start working on the second cuff. Since I’m now using my non-dominant hand, it takes me a few tries to line up the stick correctly before setting to work picking the lock again. I’ve almost unlocked it when I feel it. My hand stills.

It starts in my belly, an interesting sensation, almost like the linings of my stomach are melting away. The feeling grows until a portion of the wall surrounding my magic starts crumbling away. I inhale deeply as the barrier lifts. The fog in my brain alleviates slightly, and I can see clearly again. My smell heightens, eyes sharpening against the darkness of the night. I can almost taste the nightmare a guard a few tents away is having. 

Fire trickles through my veins slowly from going unused for too long. The heat burns so good. Tears prick my eyes at the sensation I’ve greatly missed. It feels like home. 

Gods, I’d forgotten what this felt like. What it felt like to have such great power living under my skin. The ability to stretch my fingertips and burn down an entire village with just the glimmer of a thought. Not that I ever have, but it was nice to know I could if I wanted to. 

The fire courses through every inch of my body, spreading more rapidly now. I welcome the sensation, tipping my head back and opening my mouth slightly to release a rush of hot air from my lungs. It’s almost orgasmic. 

I’m so lost in the feeling that I almost miss the thought that flits through my brain. 

Too fast.

I open my eyes. Suddenly, the heat is overwhelming. It’s growing faster now, building stronger with every pump of my heart. Whisps of silver smoke float in my peripheral, but I can’t focus on it. My eyes bulge, silver irises churning. I can’t remember a time when my magic ever felt like this. 

But then voice in the back of my head tells me to let go, to let it take over, and I swear I feel the sea salt spray of the ocean on my face. The taste of familiarity teases the tip of my tongue. I release the tension from my body and let the flames take over. Home. I’m going home.

Briefly, I wonder if I should fear this. But when the magic pulses again, I realize that I don’t care if it burns me alive. I will never go without this power again, and if it eats me alive, so be it.

There was a time in my cage when I wanted to live through the pain. When I wanted to see it through to whatever end met me. But now that I know what meets me on the other side of this journey, I’m through with holding on to the scraps of my life before. A life I will never get back. 

I’m ready to give in.

The heat picks up again, the silver smoke swirling faster now. It circles around my tent, whipping against the canvas walls. My mouth is fully open now, breath rasping out in short gasps. The heat still grows, boiling my blood as it leaves my frantically beating heart. My soul detaches from my body. Distantly, I can hear screaming. It’s hard to decipher if it’s coming from outside the tent or my gaping mouth. My eyes are unseeing, too far gone to decipher the madness around me. 

I vaguely register the folds of my tent being thrown open and someone rushing through. He throws an arm over his face to block the heat radiating from my body.

“Gods, Aruna, what have you done?” Hands reach to grip my wrists. Palms hit my flesh, then snatch back with a hiss. The person fumbles around for something on the floor, eyes squeezed shut to keep them from liquefying in their sockets. He finds whatever he’s looking for and reaches for my wrist again.

“No!” I roar, yanking my wrist from reach. The voice that emerges from my throat doesn’t feel entirely my own. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re going to die, Aruna. Let me help you.”

A sob rips from my throat. “I don’t care,” I rasp, tears streaming down my face. They evaporate instantly, leaving a trail of dried salt on my cheeks. 

I try crawling away but he’s faster. Suddenly, a hand wrapped in red fire grips my arm, holding me in place. My silver fire retreats from it the second it makes contact.

“What sort of trick is this?” I spit, looking down at my arm. The red fire pulses brighter, scattering my flames into smoke. I try wrenching my arm away but the grip holds firm.

“I’m sorry, Aruna, but this is the only way.” The red flame licks up my arms, dousing the silver fire in its wake. 

“Wait,” I cry out. My flame retreats against the threat, curling back into my core. “Don’t.”

“I have to, you’re going to burn out,” Callahan says, and he places his other hand on the side of my face. I look up and see pain etched on his face, mixing with the sweat that pours down his temple. “I’m sorry.”

Before I understand what’s happening, the red flame pulses again and consumes me. The heat from my body cracks in two just as something cold slips over my wrist. My fire dissipates.

“You really are mad, Aruna. That, or you have more of a death wish than I anticipated.” 

It’s the last thing I hear before my fire is sucked back behind the hard wall. Tendrils of silver flames sink their claws into the ground, trying to escape the effects of the calemarine cuffs, but it’s no use. The internal door clicks with finality as the last of my fire is once again locked away.

Strong arms wrap around me as my head lolls, and the energy leaves my body. I’m gently lowered into the furs. A hand brushes away the sweaty strands of hair that cling to my face as darkness engulfs me.