Ketty had given him his name, calling him as ugly as a potato when he was born. She said it so often that “Tate” stuck, even though everyone knew it wasn’t true. But sometimes, when Leelo’s mother was nursing him to sleep in the middle of the night, Leelo heard her call him Ilu, “precious one,” with a faraway look in her eyes that Leelo had never seen before.

“Come on, then,” Leelo said, waving her brother closer. “You can help me make a crown for the festival.”

He grinned, happy to be involved however he could. Islanders like Tate—incantu, they were called, or “voiceless”—weren’t allowed to attend the festival, even though he wasn’t quite old enough to be affected by the magic yet. Once an islander reached adolescence, generally around age twelve, they were susceptible. But even though she understood the reasoning behind it, Leelo hated the rule. As if the incantu didn’t feel like outcasts already.

They walked in silence for a while, until the trail faded into the undergrowth and they were forced to forge their own path. “What should I choose for my crown?” Leelo asked Tate. It was tradition for each young adult to decorate a crown honoring Endla’s flora or fauna, a way of symbolizing that they were all an important part of its ecosystem. Sage had decided on a deer. Mostly, Leelo surmised, as an excuse to wear something sharp.

Tate chewed on his lower lip for a moment, eager to come up with the right answer. “What about a fox?”

“Hmm... A bit too cunning for me, perhaps.”

He stared at his feet, thinking. “A squirrel?”

Leelo grinned and twitched her nose. “I was thinking of something a little less whiskery.” They had wandered close to the lake, but they weren’t in danger of encountering an outsider here, where the far shore was barely visible.

“A swan!” Tate said suddenly.

“Now, where would I get...” Leelo’s voice trailed off as she saw the cygnet floundering in the shallows. She glanced around, making sure they were alone, before picking up a muddy stick and hurrying toward the water.

“Careful!” Tate called, shrinking back. They were taught from the time they could walk to never go near the water, but the poison was always weaker at this time of year. Leelo suspected it had something to do with the ice melting, diluting the poison somehow, but she didn’t know for sure. All she knew was that the swan would die if she didn’t help it.

“Foolish fellow,” she said, trying to reach it with the stick. It had stopped struggling, its heart and lungs probably already damaged beyond repair. Finally, she managed to nudge the swan close enough that she could reach it.

Wrapping her hand in her cloak, she took a hold of the swan’s long, graceful neck. It was so weak it didn’t even struggle.