I let myself flop down on my pillow, pulling the blankets tight around me. I didn’t realize until just now how cold I am—freezing. The air around me is warm and still, but the cold is in my bones.

I know I’m exhausted, but I’ve never felt more awake. Too much happened today, and too much will happen tomorrow, and I can’t believe I’ve agreed to this reckless, near-impossible quest.

But if it means I might get to go home...

My hands fold together again, tracing circles over the design without looking. The repetitive movement is comforting, absorbing my attention and calming the frantic beat of my heart. I slowly sink into sleep so smoothly I don’t even notice the moment everything goes black. Everything is dark and quiet and close, with the blankets pulled tight around me.

It would need to be a changeling, wouldn’t it?

The voice is familiar, sending a bolt of panic down my spine. My heart stutters, and my eyes try to fly open, but it feels like something is pressing down on my chest, holding me in sleep.

Shh, shh. Just relax. Don’t mind me. I’m just along for the ride.

I know that voice. I heard it earlier today, in that room in the manor, bored and aloof one moment, desperate the next. But just like the compass went from metal to magic, the presence has changed, too, from something I could physically see to a voice I don’t hear as much as feel vibrating in the back of my mind. Too close to touch, cold as winter wind.

Where’s your magic? Don’t tell me you’re the world’s only changeling without magic.

It feels like my throat is closing. I want to wake up, to scream, but I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. I have magic, I think back at the voice. Maybe if I can appease it, it’ll leave me alone. I just don’t use it.

Chilly condescension washes over me. You must have used it at some point. Come now, let me see.

I want to protest, but I’m already slipping away from myself, reaching for words that aren’t there. I scrabble uselessly at the edges of my own consciousness...

My own memories fold me in like heavy blankets, pulled up over my head by unfamiliar hands and a soft, freezing voice.

chapter eight

The first time I saw the Destiny, it was painted sky-blue with marigold accents.

I’ve relived this day time and time again in my nightmares, watching the Destiny rumble on spoked wheels down the dusty road, as if for the very first time. I had seen enchanted caravans before, but this one caught in my mind and wouldn’t let go, for two reasons.

The first was the craftsmanship. Even before I had ever seen the inside of the caravan, I could tell how beautifully made it was.

The second was the giant gold lettering on the side advertising REDBROOK’S FIRST-CLASS HEALTH POTIONS AND FAE PREVENTION MEASURES, which was and is a mouthful.