“What did your mother say?” the princess asks.

“I told her I’m going to the Caisleán with you,” Tinder replies.

“Why didn’t you tell her about the creature?”

“Do you think she would have agreed to let me accompany someone whose origins are a mystery? Besides, it’s not like I lied. I am going to the Caisleán with you.”

“Do you really know so little about the creature?” the princess asks, her tone cajoling. “I’m scared she means harm. There’s something about her that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Call her Fiadh.… Anyway, you like her enough to want her to be part of the rebellion,” the pixie says.

“That’s because she was able to best me. Not many kin can. She’s strong and I can use her. However, her politics are too radical. She spoke for the Robber Queen! If I can’t use her, I have to keep her close so no one else can either!” The princess’s voice is righteous. Croi curls her lips.

“Do you think of everyone in terms of their use to you? Is that how you see me, too?” Tinder’s voice is small.

“No, you know how much you mean to me. But that’s not the point here. We’re talking about that c—Fiadh.”

Croi tunes them out as their conversation cycles. Seeing their familiarity with each other gives her a strange, wistful feeling that makes her chest hurt. Their easy camaraderie, the genuine concern they have for each other, how they can argue without worrying they’ll break the bonds between them. How does it feel to have someone who likes you? For what you are and for who you are. For someone to want to spend time with you for no other reason than it gives them pleasure to do so?

I like you.

“You are me. You have no other choice but to like me.” Croi rolls her eyes.

I could have easily hated you. You get to be in the sunshine while I’m stuck in the darkness.

“I’m sorry.”

I’m not angry at you. You didn’t choose for us to exist in halves.

“I didn’t, but I’m still sorry.”

Don’t be sorry. Be angry. Anger will serve us better than sadness.

A few hours later they reach a thickly wooded area just shy of the Tine camp. The princess informs them that the journey would have been twice as long had they been on a normal horse, but since Dahy, the sand beastie, is not a normal horse, it is able to travel great distances without needing to stop and rest.

The princess, Tinder still on her shoulder, slides down the beastie with an ease that almost turns Croi crisp with envy. Reacquainted with the ground, the princess stares up at her. Croi stares back.

“What?”

“Do you not plan to get down?” the princess asks pleasantly.

Croi looks at the ground and shakes her head. “I think I’ll just stay here. The view is… Well, all I see are trees, but they are…” Croi trails off and looks closer at the magick filling the trees. The magick in the trees is unraveling. The color of it is pale and the movement sluggish, not at all similar to what she saw in the human world and by the pixie meadow. The sound of the earth magick is faint and tired. Croi frowns and slides off the beastie without pausing to consider the consequences of her action. Fortunately, apart from a jarring thump when she reaches the ground, there are none.