Raze takes a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll find another way.”

I wish he would stop being so calm. This situation is fixed against us in every way. We’re trapped mice, waiting to see whether it’ll be the fox or the snake that snatches us up in its jaws. “But what happens until then? What if we can’t make it back? Leira might hurt them, or, or anything could happen, Raze, I need to... I don’t—”

“Seelie, stop.” He’s looking at me again, and I don’t understand it. He should be furious with me. I’ve ruined everything, shattered our last chance, made everything a thousand times worse. What is wrong with him?

“Why aren’t you panicking?” I blurt. I’m still soaked and cold, and I feel myself shiver through the words.

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m scared, it’s just... We’ve gotten out of worse in the past few days. And I know you won’t give up until we get home. Or until you get paid.” He cracks a fraction of a smile, but we both know he’s only half joking about that last part. “All I’m trying to say is, well, we can figure it out together. If not, and if things get really bad, then you can try the portal again.”

I nod numbly, shaken to my core by his misplaced faith in me.

“Okay, then. First things first, we have to figure out where exactly we are. I had so many lessons about magic and the faerie realms, you’d think I’d be able to tell which this is, but... I guess my tutors didn’t count on me actually finding myself on the wrong side of a portal. So...”

I listen to his rambling, pushing back the tightness that makes me want to seal my lips forever. I only have to say it once. I can do anything once.

My voice is still too quiet, too tight with unshed tears, too shaky, but I manage to croak out the one word I need.

“Unseelie.”

His eyes widen, and he fights to control his face. “Well,” he says, slowly, carefully, like he’s talking to a wild animal. “What do you want to do?”

I want to go back.

I want to go home.

I want to tell Isolde I’m sorry.

I want to eat something.

I want to sit in my bunk and listen to the clink of metal on metal as Isolde sorts whatever she stole that day and Birch purrs on the hearth.

“I want to dry off.”

We back away from the shore to the aspen tree, which is taller than any tree I’ve ever seen back home, its leaves a brighter green. I sit at its roots, pull my knees up to my chest, and sit with my arms over my head, listening to my stomach growl, tracing the slow drip, drip, drip of water down my skin.

“You’re never going to get dry like that.”

I turn to look at Raze, ready to argue, and cut myself off. He’s hung his shirt up on a branch. His boots and socks are a few feet away, stretched out in the sun, leaving him down to just his trousers.