I just lost my best friend.

The thought echoes through my head as I wash the dinner dishes, alone in a back room with a tub of warm water. I've been avoiding the others all day, trying to keep my hands busy and my mind shut off. It hasn't worked.

I just lost my best friend.

I can imagine what my mother would say if she were here. Stop being so dramatic, Eleaviara! He was hardly your friend, let alone your best one. All you two did was argue.

But he was also always there. Even when he didn't agree with me, even when I led us into danger, he was there. I suppose I assumed it'd always be like that.

Which is dumb. I scrub an already-clean dish harder. People don't spend their lives together unless they're married, and even then, they often wish they didn't have to. My mother certainly never counted anyone as her friend. Acquaintance, annoyance, assistant, or a tool to manipulate favors out of. Those were about the only categories she had for people.

"I, however, am not my mother," I tell the dishes, "and I don't aspire to be."

Grabbing another dish, I scrub at a stubborn piece of food, then dunk the bowl into the water. It bothers me more than it should that there's one less dish to wash tonight.

A window at the back of the room reveals gently falling snow. I wonder if he's safe. Did he manage to start a fire? I think he still has coal and his flicker, but out in the open, with the winter wind, that won't do him much good. He'd have to find some deadwood to build a decent blaze, but I'm sure everything outside the barn is wet.

And what about shelter? He doesn't have a tent. Maybe he'll sleep in some convenient tree hollow, like lost children do in story books. Or maybe he did make it to another town, and he's in a different inn where the rooms aren't orange, or flowery, or—

What decoration did Sean's new room have? It suddenly occurs to me I only saw it once after Aster took his old one, and I don't remember.

My hands fall still in the water-filled tub.

The door swings open behind me, and I go back to scrubbing, my focus down on the dishes. A piece of hair escapes my bun and hangs down beside my eye, concealing whoever entered the room. Maybe if I ignore them, they'll go away. I really hope it's not Jacin, and I don't want to look to find out.

I bring the bowl out of the water to inspect it.

"Here." Aster's soft voice shocks me into looking at him. A drying cloth rests on his hand. "Let me."

"Oh." I pass the bowl to him and tuck the piece of hair behind my ear. "Thank you." If anyone in the house had to come help me, I'm glad it was Aster.

He's just as quiet as I am, the swish of the water and the soft clink of the dishes taking the place of conversation. It's strange to see thoughts swirling in his head. It's like trying to read a tome in a foreign language—knowing something weighty and important is going on but having no idea what it is. Right now, Aster's face is a maelstrom of troubling ideas, but I don't bother him about it. That would leave it far too open for him to turn the question back on me.

I watch him dry in my periphery. His lips are in a soft, contemplative line, eyes focused on his task. It staggers me that right now, instead of being solid and real in this kitchen, he could be stuck in some hazy half-world, body wasting away.

His life for mine. His life for mine. What could have possessed him to make that decision? No matter how nice he is, that ignores every survival instinct and defies the most integral instructions our bodies are programmed to obey. This man is a mystery I'm not sure I'll ever understand.

We finish our task and leave the room. In the living space, Idyne plays some sort of dice game by herself. She waves me over, but I bite my lip and turn away. It feels wrong to take part in any sort of joviality tonight, especially with her, and the cacophony of her dice leaves no space for thinking.

Aster slips out to the back porch, nothing but his cloak to ward off the cold.

Acting on impulse, I snag a couple blankets and follow him. He sits on the steps, framed by the dark of the snow-covered field. I settle beside him, passing him one of the blankets. He looks up, surprised.

"I thought you might be cold."

Distractedly, he takes it, setting it on his knees as I wrap mine around my shoulders. Safe under the eaves, we watch the snowfall set a muted hush to the world. We sit together like that for who knows how long, each lost in our own thoughts. 

Softly, he says, "My uncle is dead."

I glance over at him, trying to read the emotion in his face. The night masks it.

"He was practically my father." He fists the fabric of the blanket. "The girl that was there, Sela—that's my sister."

My brow draws. No matter how much they look alike, how could the woman in a fairy queen's dress be his sister? I study him, as if I can discover his history by staring hard enough.

He continues. "She'd been attacked. She..." He looks down at his hands. "She was going to die, and Agraund saved her. And he knew how the Laeazí works."

"What do you mean?"

He glances over to me. "He knew he was dying for her."

Emotion tightens my throat.

He bites his lip, looking down. "I need to get home," he murmurs.

Sorrow weighs his words, and I wish I could lift some of their burden. "We'll head south as soon as it's safe to travel." Worry for Sean darts into my mind again, and I shove it away. There isn't anything I can do about it now.

His head straightens, a sardonic smile twitching his lips. "I needed to be home a long time ago. There are—" He runs a hand through his hair. "There are things happening, and I need to be there, and instead I'm hiding half the world away—" He cuts off, fists clenching.

I set my hand on his. "Aster?"

He looks at me.

Gently, I say, "Why would someone hurt your sister?" I don't know why, but for some reason, I feel like that question holds the key to all the others buzzing in my mind.

He pauses as a million thoughts seem to flit behind his eyes. A pent breath escapes him, and he deflates. His fingers move in his lap, slowly twisting around each other as he thinks. "You've saved my life more than once, risking your own in the process." His hands still, tightening together. "I have no reason not to trust you."

My heartbeat rises, scared of what he's about to say, and I struggle to keep suspicion off my face. Hoping he'll continue, I nod.

He stares off at the snow as he speaks. "As you know, I'm from Morineaux and work at the castle."

Uncertainty rises in me.

"But I didn't tell you the whole truth."

My stomach drops as if he just stole the floor itself.

"I'm not just a random worker." He pauses, lips tight, and then forges ahead. "I'm the upcoming Second Son. A prince."

My mouth creeps open as a million emotions whirl through my mind—anger, amazement, confusion, betrayal, regret.

He turns to me again, uncertainty wavering in his eyes.

"Sean was right." I don't know why that's what slips out of my mouth, but for some reason, I can't stop it. "Sean was actually right."

Confusion clouds his face. "What do you mean?"

I push to my feet, blanket falling to the porch. "He told me you were lying. And I stood up for you!" Now he's gone.

Hurt flickers across his expression. "I was just trying to protect myself," he says gently.

"How does lying protect you?" I demand, but I know the answer even as I ask it. I know I'm being unfair too, but Sean left, and it's my fault, and I don't know what to do with that. I sink back to the porch, face in my hands.

"I didn't know I could trust you. And nothing I said hurt anyone."

I straighten. "Sean left!" Aster's startled eyes weigh on me as my shoulders sag. "Sean left," I say more softly, "because I wouldn't listen to him. And he was right." My gaze drifts to the field.

He watches me, expression just as somber as mine. I pick my blanket back up and pull it around me again. It's cold now.

"I'm sorry," I say after a long moment. My words feel flat. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

He shakes his head. "No matter." We watch the falling flakes. "I'm sorry too. I didn't want to lie to you. But I had to protect myself and my country."

My heart aches as the snowfall grows heavier, the clouds above thick and dark, concealing the stars. "What do we do now?"

He leans against the stair railing. "I need to get home. Quickly. Kadran has attacked Morineaux. N'veauvia is under siege." He scoops up a handful of snow and tosses it off the porch. "But I don't know how to get there. Some of the Draón lordships let the attackers, the Kadranians, through, and now both sides—Morineaux and Draó—are guarding the border. And no one guarding is going to just let me through because I claim to be the prince. It's not like I look it." His words are pointed, but their frustration is directed more to himself than me.

I twine my fingers in my necklace. I wish I could do something to help him. If I could choose right now between sending him to N'veauvia or me to Erreliah—

I clutch my charm tighter. Though it would hurt, though my soul would ache for the missed chance home, I would send him. I'd have to. I couldn't bear the idea of him being like this, of me being able to fix it but not. I'd never forgive myself.

I'll never forgive myself now if I don't find some way to help.

"I'll help you," I promise.

He stares at me, as if trying to puzzle out a complex equation. "How?"

My mother once told me that if I actually wanted something, then I had to do whatever it took to make it happen, no matter what, no excuses. "I'll figure it out," I assure.

He looks doubtful. I catch his incredulous eyes and hold them with my soft, steady ones. "I'll figure it out," I repeat.

He opens his mouth, but the door flies open behind us. Idyne seizes my wrist and drags me inside. "Get in here," she hisses.

Aster snags the blankets and scurries in. "What's going on?" He shuts the door behind us.

I shake my wrist free, and we follow as Idyne hurries up the stairs. She glances over her shoulder. "Guards."

A chill creeps through me, and we rush into the watch room. "Get down!" Jacin whispers, crouched at the window.

I stoop, stealing over to him and peeking through. "Where are they?"

Aster hunkers at my side. "There's light in the trees."

It moves, and I spot it—a torch flame that from here looks no bigger than a firefly. Jacin nods. "One of them stepped into the clearing just a minute ago, but they lost their nerve, I guess. Retreated to the trees."

"How many are there?" Idyne asks with a coolness that freezes ice in my chest.

"I'm not sure. They haven't all come out. Five maybe? Probably not much more with just one torch between them."

"If so, they outnumber us," Aster says.

"I don't think it'll be a problem." Idyne slides her silverglass shard out, and I clutch my charm. I didn't even know she had it on her. Grimly, Aster fingers the small knife in his cloak.

"No." All three turn to look at me, and I swallow. "We're not fighting them."

Jacin says, "She's right. We should sneak out the back while we have the chance."

Idyne snorts. "And hide where? The snow-white field?"

"We are not handing over Amarris to them," Aster says.

"You think your prisoner is worth our lives?" Jacin bites.

"Would everyone shut up!" I hiss. "We're not doing any of that." They look at me askew. I take a deep breath and turn to Jacin. "They think this place is haunted, no?" He nods. "Then let's prove it to them."

I rise, out of sight of the window. Within a few minutes, we get everything set. Nerves jitter under my skin as I wait with Aster atop the stairs, the wood floor cold beneath my bare feet. I'm suddenly glad Sean isn't here; he was right about them coming, and if this plan doesn't work... then he was right about the snow being the better chance too.

"They're coming!" Jacin whispers from the watch room.

I hide behind the wall, peeking around at the sliver of the living room the stairwell reveals. Shadows coat the room, the fire dead in the hearth. We won't have any light until they bring their torch in. And Aster won't be able to cast until he can see.

I hold my breath. No one wants to be scared in the dark. They'll bring their light with them.

"We know you're in there!" a muffled voice calls from outside. "Give yourselves up, and there don't have to be no fight." The silence of the house speaks for itself, and the voice takes on a strained note. "Don't make us do something we don't have to."

A fierce, shaky thrill runs through me, because in their threat, I hear what they really mean. Don't make us come inside. I hope to skies they'll just leave, that our charade won't have to pass their scrutiny. Give in to the fear, and let us be.

The door creaks open, and I wince. Light skitters across the bare floor, but still not enough to see what we need. I'm simultaneously begging them to come closer and scared to death they'll get too close and spot us—or find Veradeaux. If they start searching the house, it won't take them long to bust past that lock.

A moan starts up that seems to fill the whole house. Idyne's voice echoes through the watch room chimney and reverberates into the main room. She sounds like the dead reborn.

The guards stir downstairs, murmuring to themselves. The fire thrusts forward. "Who's there?" he demands.

There. The light catches on a doorknob across from the guards. I glance over at Aster, but he's already seen it. His hand twists, and hopefully Idyne's moan covers up his muttered, "Et væ."

The handle turns, and as the door slips open, the guards call out. The death moan pitches higher, and I fight the urge to cover my ears. "Who is that?" the guard calls again.

Idyne's noise falls into a quiet, almost pitiful noise before sharply growing again. At the same moment, Aster sends a bucket clattering to its side. The guards jump, backing away from the hall Veradeaux is down, where the bucket had been sitting. It now rolls idly in a circle. Aster's hand twists, and a stick in the hearth snaps. The men call out. The door creeps open a little further. I gesture at the watch room, and the moan snaps off just after Aster casts again.

From the open door, a single boot steps out.

As chilled silence ripples through the men, Aster makes a sharp motion to end the spell and casts again. My other boot rises and lands in front of the first. Its soft thud fills the whole room.

Shouting rises up from the men. "It's Zairren!" Footsteps scramble toward the front door. "It's Farmer Zairren!"

The first boot rises again, and the front door bangs against the wall as the guards run out. The torchlight recedes, and the door bangs shut, leaving us with darkness and the screams of fleeing men.

* * *

I lie awake for a long time after Jacin and Aster settle down and Idyne goes up to watch. This house may not be haunted, but tonight, it feels that way. From here, friends and foes are driven away. Behind these walls, evil women are locked in forgotten rooms. Beneath the house's eye, dying men come back to life and desperate promises are made.

Magical help. Aster's words from the night of the party echo in my head. That is what he needs, after all—a way to make possible what isn't. I've yet to find a better definition for magic than that.

Despairing sleep, I roll to my feet and slip up the stairs, but my hand hesitates at the watch room door. Magical help. That's what Aster said people like her provided, but he also said they were impulsive and dangerous. Chronically untrustworthy.

I didn't listen to him before, and two men died. I'd be a fool to disregard his warnings now.

I bite my lip and knock.

"Come in!" Idyne calls softly.

The door pushes open. She sits cross-legged on the old chest. An easy smile rests on her lips, setting ablaze a  wavery fear in my stomach. How is she so calm, so normal, just two days after soaking her hands in blood?

It's like she has no conscience.

"What is it?"

I try to quench my anxiety as I close the door behind me. "Yesterday—" Skies, was it really just yesterday?

She tilts her head, looking concerned. "Is something wrong, Leavi?"

"Not with me, no. I just—" I pull my hair around my shoulder. "When I asked you if you could do magic, you said you do traveling magic, right?"

"And transformations!" She dips a nod, seeming pleased that I remembered.

"Could you get someone to Morineaux?"

She laughs, eyes twinkling, and exclaims, "Who needs to get to Morineaux?"

I smile with her, but my fingers fiddle with my charm. "Aster. He needs a way to get there quickly, without going through the border. His family contacted him. He has to get home."

She bites the tip of her finger. "I don't know..."

"I really do need your help, Idyne. I promised I'd find him a way home."

She points her finger at me, scarily serious all the sudden. "You should be careful what kind of promises you make." The finger falls, and I release a held breath. "But if you really did promise..." She stands up, threading her way toward me. "I might have something for you."

She flashes a bright grin and twists around me to retrieve her bag from against the wall. Strange objects flash by as she tosses them to the side. Finally, she pulls a pearl out and holds it above her head, triumphant.

She scrambles back onto the box and beckons me over, giving me a glimpse of the sphere. Its shimmery surface is covered in etched runes that remind me of the letters in Aster's book. "This is what brought me here." She rolls it in her fingers. "It can take you anywhere in the world, I think. But it will take a week to be ready to go so far as Morineaux, and it tends to be shifty on exact location. I'll get it to put him close enough. Oh, and," she stresses, counting on her fingers, "one, it only works for two people. Him and Veradeaux, I suppose, right? Two, once he gets there, he won't be able to come back through. The pearl will stay with me, on my side of the portal, so I can use it again. Got it?" She grins. "Great."

I raise my brow. "And three?"

Her face brightens like a child who just told the punchline to their favorite joke. "There is no three. Just one and two."

She moves to stand again, but I lay a hand on her shoulder to stop her. I don't want to agree to some hidden contract without knowing what the cost is. "What's the catch, Idyne?"

She pouts. "No catch."

I press my lips together, not wanting to offend her, but also not wanting to get caught up in something beyond my understanding. "Aster said casters like you asked for a price. In return for your help."

Her eyes narrow, hurt, and for a split second, the flighty, over-the-top Idyne I'm familiar with is replaced by a girl collapsing in on herself. Her eyes transform into wells of stories too deep and troubled to ever fathom, and loneliness radiates from her like cold fire.

Then it passes, and I'm struck with the sense it was some fanciful hallucination. She sulks playfully. "Why, Aster just doesn't understand me at all. I mean, after all, Leavi, you're my friend. You don't charge friends for things, now do you?"

I'm struck for a moment. This object she's offering to use for me is obviously valuable. Something that lets a person cross any amount of distance. All for free.

Her smile flashes in the darkness, and I repress a shiver. No, not quite for free. In order to keep my friendship.

She doesn't give me any more time to consider and flounces off, heading downstairs.

"Where are you going?" I call.

"The barn," she answers back, not stalling her pace. "The roof's not tall enough in the house, now is it?"

How am I supposed to know?

I pull on my boots, grab a blanket and follow her out the back door. Slogging across the dead, white field, we enter the barn. It's strange to see a building like this, meant to house life, so quiet and empty.

A shudder runs through me as I remember it's not quite empty. The Man from the East should be tied to the middle post.

But as I go farther into the barn and my eyes adjust to the dark, the shadows fade to reveal the post is bare. I freeze. "Where's the prisoner?"

Idyne glances over her shoulder. "Up in the loft. I moved him so no one could run across him by accident. Don't worry; he won't bother the spell."

She paces forward and puts the pearl in the middle of the floor. Her voice rises as she begins casting, using a longer ritual than I've ever seen. Powder floats through the air, sprinkled at intervals as her voice rises and falls. She withdraws a white feather from her hair, crumpling it in her hand. When she opens her fist, dust falls over the pearl.

As the spell draws to a close, she sticks the pad of her thumb between her teeth, biting it. When she brings it back out, she sinks to the floor, allowing a single drop of blood from her thumb to fall onto the shining surface of the sphere. It slides off one side, forming a tiny red puddle on the floor.

An ethereal light flares to life inside of pearl, darting and swirling like fish in a pond. Idyne sits back heavily. "There we go." She smiles at me weakly. "It should be all but ready seven nights from now. He can go through the following morning."

There we go, I echo. The beginning to the end of Aster's stay.

When he leaves, I can't go with him. Only two. That's what Idyne said. Obviously it has to be him and Veradeaux. Or perhaps he'll take the Man from the East. I'm not sure how it'll work out, but either way, I'm not on the ticket.

For a second, the irrational urge to tell Idyne to end the spell sweeps over me. I've already lost Sean; I don't want to lose Aster too. Even though he lied to me, I still can't help but trust him. There's something about him—a warmness, goodness, protectiveness—that makes me feel safe. I don't want to lose that.

I don't want to be alone.

But he misses his Morineaux, and his Morineaux needs him. Skies above know that if I had the cure to the plague in my hand right now and a way to get back home, nothing could stop me from tearing back to the High Valleys. No person could either, and no person worth caring about would ask me to. No. If the situation were reversed, and I was telling Aster what state my homeland was in, and how they would be better off if I were just there, I know exactly what he would do. And he wouldn't hesitate.

I leave the barn with Idyne.