Our resident brownie came to us in the disguise of a kitten, but he spends at least half his time invisible. After we’d let him in, it had been impossible to convince the house spirit to leave—despite our protests that the Destiny isn’t really a house.

We could have chased him off with charms or salt, but our parents raised us better than that. Even though brownies and other faerie creatures are less powerful than the fae themselves, they’re still not to be trifled with—and besides, many of them have lived in the Mortal Realm long enough to consider it home. So we leave little pieces of leftover food in front of the stove, and in return, he helps out with the dishes and scolds us for leaving things out of order. He’s fond of my baking, especially anything with lemon.

I’m going to have to dig the rest of the mashed-up cake crumbs out of my pockets sooner or later, but I manage to find two pieces that weren’t completely obliterated in our escape, along with one smaller, brownie-size portion, which I place on a napkin by the stove. It’s not the same as the elaborate homemade birthday cakes that Papa and I used to make, but there’s still comfort in the familiar motions. I’ve always loved the process of baking as much as the end result, clearing a moment for a tiny slice of joy, sharing that joy with someone else, even if it only lasts a short time. Each plate gets a drizzle of honey and a sprinkle of cinnamon, which does very little to hide the beating they took in my pocket.

Isolde sits deep in concentration, splitting up the night’s profits into messy piles grouped by function or material or some other factor I can’t quite grip. A wave of emotion washes over me when I look at her. She’s been taking care of me, fighting all my battles, since we were kids. I just want to be able to return the favor.

“Come on,” I say softly. “Let’s go sit outside. Just like old times.”

chapter six

When I said the Destiny’s stage is small, I wasn’t kidding. We can dangle our feet off the edge and lean our backs against the caravan, heads tilted to the inky-blue sky.

The air is cool out here without the fire and the tight press of bodies, alleviating the stuffy humidity of the last days of summer. A breeze sweeps in from the countryside, blowing the city smells away from us. The distant diamond stars wink at us as we bite into the cake. It’s almost better than before it was smashed: soft and sweet, with a warm hint of spice.

But it’s not the same as home—our real home.

“Hey... Seels.” I don’t like the look in Isolde’s eyes, the nearly black color of rain-soaked earth. It looks too much like pity. She puts her fork down. “Everything okay?”

I hadn’t realized she was watching me. I must have let my disguise slip, let all the places I was falling apart leak through the cracks as I thought about home and everything we’ve lost. My fingers curl around the vial on its leather cord, pulling it out from under my neckline.