“I thought you died,” she says as she draws back, her heart-shaped face bright with relief.

Her honest emotion sends a guilty pang through me as I angle my head down to avoid Olilly’s gaze. I take Olilly in out of the corner of my eye, tension knotting my gut. Like Nym’ellia, she’s a changed girl, garbed in a lovely lavender Xishlon tunic the same hue as her skin, the silk embroidered with tiny purple flowers. Her hair has grown back a bit in the past months, her short locks decorated with violet-gemmed barrettes and a single purple orchid. And her ears—their edges are adorned with bejeweled silver tips that restore their graceful points.

Realizing I might draw more scrutiny staying quiet than answering, I launch into an attempt at normal conversation, modifying my voice by lowering and softening it. “How’s your mother and sister?” I ask Nym’ellia in Uriskal.

A faltering smile forms on Nym’ellia’s mouth as she indicates the rune-ship door she emerged from. “They’re here too. A Mage gave them medicine when we got through the border last night. He had a spider tattooed to his face. And then...they woke up this morning, already a bit better. Tibryl can take a deep breath!”

“They’re recovering from the Grippe,” Mora unnecessarily tells me. “But they’ve been given Norfure tincture.”

Gratitude for both my apothecary uncle Wrenfir and incredibly kind Mora’lee fair explodes in my chest. “I’m happy for you all, Nym’ellia,” I tell her, briefly meeting Bleddyn’s furtive look.

“What a great stroke of luck that you know each other!” Mora says to Nym’ellia and me, beaming, but then her smile dampens as she glances in the direction the Kin Hoang went. “I’m sorry our introductions happened this way.” She forces a small smile, as if attempting to shake off the stress of it all. “Olilly,” she says congenially, “as you’ve gathered, this is Ny’laea and Nym’ellia. They’ll be joining our little party of castaways for a day or two.” She winks at us. “Possibly more, if they’d like.”

Olilly gives me a welcoming smile as my heart thumps and I doggedly keep my head lowered.

“You look all decked out for Xishlon,” Bleddyn says to Olilly, overbright, in an obvious attempt to deflect her attention.

But Olilly doesn’t bite. She leans down a bit to take a better look at me, a sympathetic look on her lovely face. “Welcome, Ny’laea.” She extends her slender hand. “It’s nice to...”

The blood drains from my head as I watch the look of shocked recognition spread across Olilly’s features. I break into a cold sweat, my fate dropped into the palm of Olilly’s hand.

Mora’lee gives us both a shrewd, searching look. “Do you two know each other, as well?”