Magpie nodded. They were leaving at nightfall. The caravans were packed. Faeries had come from all around Dream-dark with baskets of fruit and casseroles for their journey, with breads, pots of jam, puddings, and casks of drink, and the crows had stowed it all away with greedy grins. Orchidspike had contributed several jars of a precious healing balm and Poppy a fresh batch of moonlight mist in a copper urn.

With all the hubbub of preparation, it hadn’t really hit Magpie that her time in Dreamdark had come to an end, and now she felt a hollow little ache in her gut. “We’ll be back,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel. She’d had plenty of practice leaving folks behind, but she always knew that when she did, whatever hole her absence left would fill in fast, like a pit dug at the shore. It was just the way of things. It was her lot.

Magpie and the crows said their farewells in the new courtyard at Hai Issrin Ev. The Rathersting warriors hovered in the sky in formation with their knives held high, and as the crows crested the trees with the caravans, the warriors gave them a deep “Hurrah!”

It was a hero’s departure, and but for a small, deep pang, Magpie felt as she always did at the start of a journey, as if the world was opening before her like a window. She took a deep breath filled with eagerness, regret, excitement, anxiety, and sadness and whirled around in the air, pausing to gather herself together and dart in a burst of wild flight, out and away.

She heard a voice cry, “Wait!” and she faltered to a hover.

Talon.

She heard gasps from the faeries below before she saw him, but still she wasn’t prepared for the sight of him when he did shoot up into the moonlit sky. She stared and the crows stared, but quickly turned their surprise into hoots of approval. “Handsome wings, lad!” called Bertram.

“Fine choice!” cried Calypso.

Magpie shook her head and a slow, marveling smile spread over her face. “Uncommon . . . ,” she murmured.

He was wearing a new skin but he wasn’t cloaked in falcon feathers as before. In all ways but one he was just himself, pale wild hair and blue eyes and tattoos, and the wings that seemed to grow from his shoulder blades as naturally as any bird’s were black. Feathered wings and black. Crow’s wings.

“I just finished it!” he said, moving toward Magpie with the ease of a born bird. “I was mad shivered it wouldn’t be done in time!”

“In time?” she asked, confused.

“Aye, in time to come with you! I couldn’t ask anyone to carry me across the whole world!”

“I’d’ve carried ye, lad!” croaked Bertram.

“Thanks, feather,” said Talon. “Now you won’t have to.”