My splinted wrist still hurt, but the bone-deep stabbing was turning into fire tearing up the surface of my skin. Except it wasn’t just my wrist.

My palm is now frozen stiff, aching from the skin down to the delicate ice-cold bones.

This doesn’t feel right. This isn’t how the memory is supposed to go. The cold spreads up and down and burrows in deeper, sinking thousands of tiny teeth into my muscles.

There, now I’m all caught up. Was that so bad?

I think I’m opening my mouth to scream, but then the last bit of my mind is overtaken, and I sink into merciful oblivion.

For real this time.

chapter nine

I wake to a flash of light.

I’m sitting up before I’m even awake, cursing myself for falling asleep, buzzing with energy. I narrowly miss bumping my head on Isolde’s bunk.

Then the low roar of thunder rolls across the night sky, and I come to my senses. My left hand curls close to my chest, but the icy tingle of magic is gone. The roar of rain patters on the Destiny’s tin roof. The promise of a vicious late-summer storm is finally being fulfilled.

I only slept a couple of hours, but I’m fully awake now. The moments before I passed out are a blurred haze.

The cold.

The voice.

The breathless feeling of something on my chest.

I stretch my neck and shoulders, trying to ease the permanent knots of tension. It’s flat black outside the caravan’s windows, and inside, at least an hour until dawn. Not that there’s much to see. I know every inch by touch.

A scurrying sound flutters from the corner by the stove, like a trapped bird: Birch, suddenly shy, scurrying out of sight.

I lift the lid off our makeshift basin of washing water and splash my face to wake myself up a little. My fingers follow the water droplets down the planes and curves.

Isolde’s face. Stolen to fit me.

It’s too early to start thinking like that, I scold myself, creeping in bare feet to the front of the wagon. Or too late. Whatever.

At least I don’t have to worry about waking Isolde when I light the lantern. My sister could sleep through a wildfire.

The glow licks over my still-outstretched hand. It trembles in time with the flickering shadows as I slowly turn it over.

Silvery ink, spinning within my skin. Searching. Wobbling vaguely westward.

I land in the navigator’s seat, folding as the chair spins in place. The compass in my palm wavers but returns to the same point.

The Destiny’s navigation system looks more like it belongs in a boat than an ordinary wagon: a spinning leather chair bolted to the floor in front of a spoked wheel; several levers and switches along the front panel control speed and direction; and there’s a small built-in table to one side of the chair. We haven’t figured out what the table is supposed to be used for yet, but we use it for snacks.