However, apart from a complex look, he doesn’t say anything to her, and soon they are on their way again.

The Tine King and his retinue stop again in the evening for dinner and sleep. The camp is set up by magickal means, and all the soldiers do is look fierce and ready for anyone with sinister intentions. Their attentions go unrewarded as the Tine procession is not attacked by anything or anyone. In fact, not even a rabbit crosses the road on which they travel.

At the end of the day, Tinder informs Croi that the Caisleán is near, but even if she hadn’t, Croi would have known. She can feel it, hear it, even. Just as the summoning spell tugged on her limbs, the Caisleán tugs at her limbs, at her heart, which aches at all times now. Sometimes Croi thinks that her heart wants to liberate itself from her body and fly ahead to the Caisleán.

The royal pavilion, with all its luxuries, is set up first, and Croi is sent to the bathing rooms with stern orders. Tinder accompanies her, not because she enjoys her company, but because the pixie wants to ensure that Croi does actually scrub herself clean and doesn’t just pretend to. Croi is slightly offended that she’s not trusted to clean herself, but she doesn’t make too much of a fuss. The truth is, the royal pavilion, with its many rooms and impossibilities, unsettles her.

“Take a bath,” Tinder commands, wrinkling her nose.

“I am!” Croi scrubs extra hard and finds that under the dust, her skin has turned from brown to orange-brown, but her fingernails and toenails are a light green. She puts on a pale yellow dress Ceara lent her and goes out of the bathing room to an anteroom where Tinder is waiting.

The pixie looks her up and down, her eyes lingering on Croi’s nails. The lightness flows out of her features, replaced by a rare solemnity. “You must make sure not to do Tine magick in the camp.”

“Why?”

“Nobody can handle both Tine and Talamh magick. Being able to do so makes you a threat to the Otherworld,” the pixie says.

“Because it harkens back to before Fionar’s time?” Croi asks.

“Yeah. A time ruled by blood and greed. You may not intend harm, but your intent won’t matter. Do you understand?” Tinder whispers.

Croi nods.

“I will talk to Ceara tonight. Ask her to help you hide your ability to command both fire and earth magick,” Tinder says.

“Thank you,” Croi says, turning to hide the sudden sting in her eyes.

“We’re friends!” Tinder grins.

Friends.

Croi smiles secretly, holding the word close. A friend.

Much later, when she’s in bed and holding her pack tight while trying to infuse the SoulSeed with her warmth, she takes the word out and considers it again. Friends and friendship. She tried it with the catkin and got betrayed. Surely not everyone will betray her. Surely Irial, wherever he is right now, doesn’t mean her harm. Surely the pixie is sincere. She looks at the empty space beside her pillow. Tinder decided to bunk with Ceara for the night in order to talk to her about keeping Croi’s secret.