The Destiny—my wagon, the only home I’ve had for the past three years—is gone. Birch must be so frightened, lost and alone in the countryside, all because of my unpredictable magic.

“It’s...” Words fail me.

I think that’s when I start crying. With the rain pouring down my face, it’s hard to tell.

Isolde figures out what I mean quickly. “It’s gone.”

I cover my face with my hands and bite down on one finger, trying not to start wailing, and shake with the effort. Olani and Raze try not to look too stricken.

“What’s gone?” Olani says tentatively.

Raze’s face is pale, his hair stringy and darkened by the water, falling in front of his eyes every time he tries to brush it away.

“Our wagon. Could be anywhere now.”

Olani is stony, unrelenting. “We don’t need your wagon.” Then she turns to talk straight over our heads, like we aren’t even here. “We need that compass. You heard what—”

“I can’t,” I interrupt. Shaking, I hold my hand up palm-out, so they can see the mark more clearly. I know they saw it, but I want them to see. To understand. Magic, woven into my skin.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t give your precious compass back.

“You will,” Olani replies. “If it means I have to take your hand and leave the rest of you bleeding out in the mud, you will give us that compass.”

Isolde draws her blade, but she’s still not fully steady. Even so, she says, “I’d like to see you try.”

And then Raze has a knife out, too, and this is all spiraling out of control again too quickly to follow, but I know that we can’t take another fight right now.

Another long silence follows as they all glare down blades at each other and the sound of rain gets louder and louder in my head. The headache that doesn’t seem like it’s going away anytime soon—holy hexes, lightning hurts—pounds behind my eyes, smashing to pieces the thought that’s trying to form.

“Listen,” I mumble. Everyone looks at me. My voice is weak and shaky, but I try again. “Listen.”

Their faces are expectant, but I can’t get anything else out.

“Listen,” I repeat. I tug on the end of my braid, which has mostly fallen apart at this point. It’s soaked with rain, everything’s soaked with rain, possibly down to my bones. “I... I...” The words build up at the back of my throat, choking me. Why can’t I speak?

Isolde sheathes her blade again with a sigh and crouches, squeezing my hand in hers and gazing at me steadily. “It’s okay,” she says soothingly. “Take your time. You can do it.”

“I... I can’t,” I say. Good. That’s new words. “Get rid of it. The compass.” I squeeze my hand to demonstrate that it’s truly trapped in my skin, not sure if I’m making any sense.

Isolde is silent. Raze’s lips press together in a tight line. He and Olani exchange a glance, and she nods.