“If you can only love a child that exists within the boundaries of your expectations—if you would harm them to make them what you want—then you have no business being a parent at all.” I’d heard my mother say this a hundred times. “There’s no cure for changelings, and you shouldn’t let this quack convince you otherwise. We deserve to live the way we are!”

Something gripped tight around my arm. I turned to see Redbrook had hopped down from the stage and was now standing over me, holding my arm so I couldn’t move. “That’s enough of that,” he snarled quietly. Then, to the crowd, “I would say that the misguided creature has proven my point. Changelings have no place in our world, and this tonic is a guaranteed solution!” I twisted viciously, trying to pull away, but I was small and weak, and he was a grown man, crushing me with his full strength.

And the crowd—people I’d known my entire life, people who might have once thought of me as sweet or harmless—let him.

Isolde let out a cry of protest, pushing her way to the front. But she wasn’t a hardened criminal with years of practice taking down people much bigger than her. She wasn’t armed with a blade. She’d never even fought anyone except the kids who used to bully me. She had no idea what to do next.

“Now,” the man said pleasantly. He wasn’t speaking to me, really, just addressing me like one of his props. “How about a free sample?”

It was a valiant attempt, but there is literally no menacing way to say free sample. I almost might have laughed, if not for the vial that was waved in my face, the heady, eye-watering smell of something sharp enough to make me light-headed.

“No!” I struggled harder as he tried to force the bottle to my lips. All I managed to do was drag him sideways to the oak, away from his wagon, as he fought to keep a hold on me.

“Settle down, now—”

All my fear and anger boiled under my skin, building into a strange, tingling sensation. It pulled me along like a riptide, clearing everything except purpose, leaving my mind totally blank. With one furious burst of strength, I managed to elbow him in the gut and pull free. My burning hands flung out in a wide gesture.

A jet of flame arced in their path.

The heat seared my skin, startling me, but didn’t burn. The flames slammed into the oak tree hard enough to shake its roots and splinter the wood. It caught instantly, crackling loud in brilliant gold, angry and hungry.

Someone screamed, but the sharp, cracking sound of splitting wood was even louder.

I pulled my hands tight to my chest, fingers curled. I hadn’t meant to do that. I’d never shot fire out of my hands before. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. My mouth was dry, and violent trembling started overtaking my brief rush of bravery.