“Home,” Crier murmured.

Ayla felt something swelling inside her. A green thing, taking root. It was not an unfamiliar sensation. She tilted her head back, gazing up at the domed ceiling of the library far above their heads. It was covered in paintings that had survived the War of Kinds and all the fifty years since, the colors dusty and sun-faded but still visible, deep twilight blues and sea greens and the red of late sunset, of wine, of vermilion, of Ayla’s soft and human heart. She didn’t recognize any of the gods in these paintings, but Crier did. Crier probably knew every last one of them, their stories and symbols and the things you were meant to sacrifice in their name. Ayla thought to herself: Someday I’ll ask. Someday. In the coming weeks or months or years, whenever there was time, she’d ask. And Crier would look at her and smile.

“Now,” Ayla said, reaching out to take Crier’s hand. “Will you tell me your story?”

Crier looked at her, and smiled. Wide and bright as the whole damn sky.

Acknowledgments

Well! Here we are! We made it, folks!

Let’s get down to it. Sorry, Kieryn—this time it’s family first. Don’t kill me.

Mama and Papa, thank you thank you thank you for supporting me and loving me and believing in me from afar. I miss you, I love you, I really hope by the time you’re reading this the damn pandemic is over and I’ve already hopped on a plane home. I know how lucky I am to have parents like you; I do not take it for granted. I am immeasurably grateful for you, today and every day.

Piera, thank you for having my favorite brain. Thank you again for loving ugly things without trying to turn them beautiful. Tony, you’re the coolest, always. I miss you, I love you. Fiona, you’re one of the strongest people I know; I take inspiration from you. Paul, thank you for having more confidence in my abilities than I do.

Kieryn, you were the star of the book one acknowledgments, I’m not going to repeat all that. You know who you are and what you mean. Thanks for consistently saving my ass.

Thank you to Yes Homo for the laughter, for the unconditional love and support, for being there, for being yourselves, for being up for anything: a venting sesh, a Zoom night, a protest, any kind of adventure. Thank you to Amy for the playlists, the enthusiasm, the hand holding, the beach sunsets. You’re a stahh, I love you.

Thank you to the LP: C, E, I, J, K, P, R, W. Y’all are golden all the way to the core. You made a dark time a hell of a lot lighter. Thank you to Ivy for the witching hours, for your galaxy brain, for feeling close even though you’re far. I can’t put emojis in here but you know which ones I’m thinking of.

Thank you to Patrice, lifesaver and ass-kicker extraordinaire, for being brilliant and unstoppable and the all-around best. I feel like I could ask you the meaning of life and where we go after we die and you would not only have the answers, but they would already be written down and annotated. Possibly in a spreadsheet of some sort. I would die on a battlefield for you.