“She … made me drink things,” Dalyin said, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what exactly. It was bitter. Then the fever went and I felt better, but she said stay until the cool weather or it might come back.”

“And the wizard?” Arianya asked.

“There was a fair—with a show. Music, a song I never heard before, and then the wizard. He juggled balls of light. He made a wind blow and then stop. He had spells and potions for sale.” Her voice had strengthened. “My great-aunt said it was nonsense and I should spend my bit on sweets or ribbons, but I can find sweets and ribbons here in Fin Panir. I wanted a spell for light, so Da and Ma could see better to weave in winter.”

She stopped there; Arianya saw that the woman’s fingers had tightened on Dalyin’s shoulder.

“Did you buy the spell, Dalyin? Tell me truly now, on Gird’s honor.”

Dalyin bit her lip, looked down, and finally said, “No. It cost too much. But … but I really wanted it. I asked the wizard when my great-aunt was buying ribbons for herself, and he said … he said there was a trick. And that night I said the words and it didn’t work, but on the third night … my finger lit up. Like this.”

Her finger did light up—almost as bright as a candle.

“Dally—no!” That was her father. “Put it out, child, before anyone sees!” Then he looked at Arianya. “It’s not forbidden magery—it’s not, it can’t be. We been Girdish a long time! There’s no magery in my family or m’wife’s. Just a wizard’s trick, is all it is, and she’s done no harm with it but to light candles and save a spill.”

Arianya looked at the glowing hand. “What was the spell, Dally? Do you still use it?” Was there a wandering magelord pretending to be a wizard and implanting magery in children? Was that even possible?

“No’m. It’s just a rhyme.” She repeated it in singsong cadence: “If you want light/then late at night/wish hard and pray/the gods bring day. I thought it was silly at first. But … but I said it and wished hard, and the third night my finger lit up.”

The rhyme made no sense to Arianya. A lighted finger wasn’t “day.” And yet there the finger was, glowing. “Light a candle,” she said. The girl wriggled free of her mother and lit a candle; her finger’s glow vanished. “Does it always vanish when you’ve lit a candle?”

“Yes—but it lights up again later when I want to light another one.”