“He is my grandkindling,” Pyros said. “His spark and I agreed that it was time to let go of the old days. To accept the way things are. He remembers nothing but this world, the tunnels between the surface and the Heartfire. He does not carry the hatred of his ancestors on his shoulders.” Pyros sighed. “Though I fear he may learn it soon enough.”

Alice tried to imagine what it would be like, to be born with memories from hundreds or thousands of years ago, but her mind rebelled. She shook her head. Though they might be human-shaped, there were aspects to the fire-sprites that were as alien to her as the bluechill or the Swarm.

The bead curtain clattered, and Flicker appeared. His pale skin was slightly flushed, and his hair was brighter than normal, sparks of brilliant white floating across the strands. He was smiling, but his grin faded at the sight of Alice.

“You wanted to see me?” he said.

“I did.” Pyros pushed himself to his feet, shaking out his long white hair. “We should leave the Reader to her rest.”

Flicker glanced at Alice, then looked away. “You’re going to be all right?”

“I think so,” Alice said. “They told me you brought me back. Thank you.”

“I couldn’t let you die,” Flicker said with a scowl. “Geryon would be angry if he found out. But don’t think it means anything—”

“Flicker,” Pyros said from the door.

The boy nodded to Alice, then followed his elder out through the curtain. Alice lay back on the lumpy leather blanket and closed her eyes.

Maybe we’re not so different. Human parents taught their children what they believed, after all. What things were right and which were wrong. Stories about what had happened in the past. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?

Right and wrong. She closed her eyes. Sleep was not hard to find, but her father’s sad, disappointed face was waiting.

CHAPTER TEN

TO THE SURFACE

ACTINIA WOKE ALICE the next morning, carrying a pot of water with the extreme caution of a factory worker handling a vat of toxic waste. Alice drank gratefully, a process which the young fire-sprite watched in fascination, and then ate breakfast from among her supplies. She clicked open the silver pocket watch and tracked the second hand as it made its smooth circuit. Six days and a few hours to go.

While she was rooting through the torn bedsheet she’d tied into a pack, Actinia hesitantly spoke up.

“I got you this too.” The boy held out a leather bundle. “I saw that your pack was torn, and we had an old one.”

Alice took the bundle and unfolded it. It was a proper backpack, all stitched from leather with thick, tough thread. The clasp was made of black glass, worked into the shape of a tiny flame.

“Thank you,” she said. The bedsheet wouldn’t have lasted much longer.