Twelve shifted and caught Six’s worried eye.

“It’s my admirers I feel sorry for,” Five said, sighing theatrically. “I mean, clearly, it’s my sharp wit and sparkling intellect that they’re interested in . . . but my ravishing good looks never hurt.”

Twelve couldn’t help it—a bubble of desperate laughter burst out of her.

“Things must be really bad if Twelve is actually laughing,” Five went on gloomily. There was a sparkle in his eye though.

“Think of the tale you’ll have to go with the scar,” Six grinned, nudging him.

Five nodded with faux modesty. “You make an excellent point.” He winced and closed his eyes again, his face losing more of its color. “It does hurt though,” he muttered, almost too quietly for them to hear.

Overhead, the firesprites shrieked with laughter, the sound pulling Twelve away. A dull throb of anger pulsed through her. She stomped from the others, yelling for the sprites to come to her. To her surprise, they obeyed immediately, swooping in front of her face, their wings a hot blur.

“What happened?” she demanded, crossing her arms and scowling at Sharpspark. Everything seemed confused now, her memory no more than a jumble of conflicting images. There had been rage, a burst of fire, but where had it come from?

Just like in Poa.

Twelve shook the thought away and refocused on Sharpspark.

“We saved you,” he said, his eyes challenging. Flames licked across his hands.

“Barely,” Twelve growled. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Dog watching them, his snarl revealing daggerlike teeth.

Fire-darts flew from Sharpspark’s wings and a sly smile flashed across his face. “Our agreement was for your protection, not theirs. It is you who changed the terms, not us.”

A low hiss escaped from Twelve’s lips. “You tricked me.”

“No,” the sprite said, “we took you at your word. Why would we agree to protect them?” He gestured at the others contemptuously, sparks flying from his fingers.

“Well, why did you agree to protect me?” Twelve cried. She had the strong sense that Dog had been right. The sprites were devious, dangerous—she’d been a fool to put her trust in them.

Sharpspark regarded her coolly and she had the wooden box out and open before he deigned to reply.

“You are different from them,” he said finally. “There’s fire in you.”

Twelve snorted and held the box out, but Sharpspark shook his head and backed away with the others.

“No,” he said, “not like that. We will serve you—but on our own terms.” With that, the trio sped away, their fire dimmed in the bright daylight. As soon as they were gone, Widge emerged from Twelve’s furs, chattering furiously after them. It would have made Twelve smile if she wasn’t so angry.

She clenched her trembling fingers and swallowed the urge to scream as Dog appeared beside her.