“Can you really see magick?” Tinder flits after Croi as she walks over to a room on the far side of the living room, directly opposite the one Ceara calls her own.

“Yes.”

Croi opens the door and glances into the room; she immediately falls in love with it. A magnolia tree peeks in from the open window across from the entrance. The bed is made of living wood, and flowers bloom along the sides of it. Croi places her bag on a small desk in a corner and moves the scarf-wrapped SoulSeed from it to a pocket in the dress she’s wearing.

“What color is my magick?” Tinder asks, her wings going a mile a minute as she flutters in front of Croi.

“A piercing shade of green, though it changes color depending on your mood,” Croi replies. She pats her pocket and glances in the mirror in the room. Her orange dress is not dirty, and her dark blue veil is firmly in place. Her eyes are incongruously bright. Croi drags some strands of her hair forth to draw attention away from them. Her body has become curvier in the past few days; she still has narrow hips, but the shape is much more feminine than it was three days ago. Plus, the bumps on her chest. Croi looks down at them and feels uncomfortable. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Where? Didn’t the Tine King tell you to stay in place?” Tinder asks.

“This is the first time I’ve come to Talamh Caisleán. There is no way I’m staying inside.” Croi tweaks Tinder’s nose. “You can come with me to explore the Caisleán, or you can accompany the princess.”

“Obviously I’m going to go with you,” Tinder replies without hesitation. Croi grins.

Are you going to look for the central hall? Her other self is concerned about the errand, but Croi pretends she hasn’t heard her question.

“Let’s go, then!” Croi, with Tinder riding proudly on her shoulder, saunters out of the room and down the flights of stairs without being stopped or noticed by anyone. The soldiers at the door do glance at them but very briefly.

Croi breathes in deep of the air outside the pavilion and beams at the bright blue sky. There are no kin cavorting near the pavilion where the Tine are housed, but shrieks of laughter come from a distance, siren songs to both Croi and Tinder.

“Should we go see what’s so fun?” Tinder whispers.

“Not yet. Let’s go this way first,” Croi says, pointing in the opposite direction. There’s an intriguing smell coming from that direction, and she would very much like to know what it is that smells so fragrant.

“You’re hungry,” Tinder grumbles.

“As if you aren’t,” Croi replies.

“Walk faster, then,” the little tyrant commands.

Croi walks through the corridor connecting their pavilion to the main building of the Caisleán and, following the aroma, turns a corner into another corridor. Several Talamh kin are walking around, occupied with their own business. Nobody pays much attention to Croi, who keeps her eyes lowered, not wanting to attract attention or comment. The few kin who do stop her do so mostly because they want to speak to Tinder—either they are acquainted with another pixie or just want to get acquainted with one.