They stop at midday for food and an hour’s rest. After munching on meat and vegetables wrapped in thin bread that tastes of fire and sesame seeds, Croi leans against a tree and watches Tinder juggle seeds she harvested from a nearby bush. A breeze that smells like ripe apples plays with her too-long hair that rests in a braid down her back; a rare sense of well-being envelops her.

If only this could be our every day.

“Someday,” Croi says, comforting her other self.

“Let me show you something.” Tinder flies over, her eyes sparkling. She places a seed on her palm and sings a word of earth magick. The seed sprouts until it is a small plant. “Are you impressed?” The pixie giggles.

“Can I try?” Croi asks. Her last attempt at Talamh magick was unsuccessful, but who knows—she might be successful this time around.

“You can do Tine magick, not Talamh,” Tinder retorts, but hands over a seed anyway.

Croi, mirroring Tinder, places the seed on her outstretched palm. She can see a bit of green magick housed in the center of the seed. Tinder woke the magick by singing to it in the language of earth magick. Croi doesn’t know how to do that. Instead, she sends a thought to the magick, and it stirs slowly.

“Bloom,” Croi commands it silently. It doesn’t react. “Bloom!” she commands it again, this time infusing the command with a bit of her will.

In the next second, the seed sends a tender green shoot out. Tinder gasps in shock. The seed, however, isn’t done. It continues growing until it grows into a plant that is too big for Croi to hold.

She places it on the ground, her eyes not moving from it as it sends roots down into the ground and shoots up into the air, growing into a tree. It sprouts dark and vibrantly green leaves. Half a minute later, yellow buds appear on the tree, which then bloom into large yellow flowers that exude an intoxicating fragrance that attracts bees and birds.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have done that.

Croi has to agree with her other self when she realizes that Tinder isn’t the only one who is staring at her as if she has grown another head. Everyone is looking at her, but the sharpest gazes come from Ceara, her brownie mother, and Lorcan.

“Weren’t you Tine?” the princess asks sharply. “You clearly handled fire magick. I saw you doing so.”

You really shouldn’t have done this.

Croi looks at Tinder in desperation. The pixie, correctly reading the plea in her eyes, flies up to the bush. “There’s something weird about this plant. The seeds come from that tiny bush. How could it be a tree?”

Tinder directs attention away from Croi, and the Tine fae crowd around the verdant tree, exclaiming at the lushness of the blooms it contains. Croi slinks away from the crowd, trying to blend into the shadows, but instead bumps into the Tine King, who has been standing at a distance, observing her.