It doesn’t take much magic to replenish the Destiny, since we haven’t budged from our spot on the bank in so long. I’m pretty sure the only time the wagon has moved in the past six months is when it got bored and decided to roll itself into a sunnier patch or drift sideways at an angle that would better display its paint job. The only downside of having an enchanted wagon is that the magic gives it a bit of personality, which makes it charmingly unpredictable.

After everything else tonight, I feel like I should be spent from the effort of pouring magic into the wagon, but if anything... I almost feel refreshed when I pull my fingers away from the cool brass and latch the top back on the box.

No. No, I can’t enjoy this. Even when I was a little kid, I did everything I could to push magic away. I’d had to hide my ability to blend in. I couldn’t get sucked into it now. All I want is a normal life, to pick back up exactly where I left off the last time we dropped everything and ran.

Not that enchanters are that rare, but my faerie side is a deep cave that I have no plans of exploring as long as I can help it.

I hop past the little stash of gold Isolde left out for the wandering faeries, spring up the steps, miss the landing, and grip the side of the wagon to swing myself back on balance.

Something cold prickles on the back of my neck. I turn, looking over my shoulder.

A cool breeze kicks up around me, scented with warm summer grass, campfires, and a promise of rain. The stink of people and alcohol and magically overperfumed flowers is far away now, with the lights of the parties still going on across the river. I know Raze and Olani will be after us, but since they have no idea about the Destiny, the riverbank is the last place they’ll look. For just a few hours, we’re still safe here.

I fill my lungs, go inside, and latch the door.

Isolde looks younger in her sleep, tucked on the top bunk into a messy nest of blankets that twist around her arms and legs when she tosses and turns. The lantern is still burning, casting the whole inside of the caravan in soft amber light, but it’s so late I can’t blame her.

Besides, Isolde can fall asleep anytime and anywhere. It’s like...well, magic.

Following the same thoughtless rhythm I do every night, I slip my hair out of its braid and pull my dress over my head, draping it with my apron at the foot of my bed. I settle into my own neatly made bunk, sitting with my back pressed against the wall.

Across the wagon, Birch sleeps in outstretched feline form on the hearth, next to an empty plate. He looks so small and sweet that it’s hard to remember that he isn’t actually a cat. Especially with the adorable silvery-pink pads of his paws turned out to me, just begging to be squished.