Isolde was right. I’ve only ever been called by my full name by our mother, and only when I was in trouble. Even though it doesn’t hold the danger on Raze’s lips that it might on a faerie’s, I’ve still made a huge mistake in handing it over. “That’s worse,” I inform him.

We both give up after that. We’re headed up a gradual incline, and the horse’s stride gets more and more uneven as the road gets rockier. I’m not an experienced rider, and I know I’m doing this wrong, but I don’t know what to do differently. I’m tense all over, trying to keep as much space between Raze and me as possible, and it’s using muscles I didn’t even know I had.

I wobble in the saddle and try to counterbalance it by throwing my weight the other way. All that does is make me wobble more, and then I’m so off-balance that I have to throw my hands to the sides to try to recover, and then my stomach flips because I’m falling—

I hear myself scream.

Instead of landing under the horse’s hooves, I’m stuck, tilted at an awkward angle until my wrung-out muscles inevitably give up. The horse flicks its ears in irritation at my incompetence as I reach desperately, trying to cling onto its neck for dear life, but every time I move I just make everything worse.

Just when I think I’m about to splash down into the mud, Raze is lifting me back into place, squeezing his arms tighter around me. Pain flares in every burn etched over my skin, but mostly I’m relieved. I let myself lean in to him, too tired and scared of falling again to resist.

“Please try a little harder not to die.” Raze’s mouth is way too close to my ear now, and I can’t tell if that’s softness in his tone or restrained irritation.

I’m tired, I can’t think clearly, and words are becoming more of a burden alongside the pain I can’t be distracted from any longer. “Just leave me alone, Raze.”

“I never told you my name.” Ugh, he’s close enough that I can feel his breath when he speaks. I can’t tell if it’s a realization or an accusation.

“I’m tricky like that,” I mutter.

“It’s Raze.” Yes, obviously. “Raze Wildborn.”

For a moment, I’m almost thankful for the crushing force of him holding me on the horse, because if he wasn’t, I’d probably fall off from surprise. He’s related to the Wild line, on his mother’s side. He’s connected to Leira Wildfall, to the same enormous mansion he was breaking into, to generations of untold political and magical power—probably as a distant cousin who’s spent about as much time with her as I have, but still.

For every question Raze’s family name answers, it raises ten more. Like, what was he doing pretending to be a servant in Gilt Row, wearing those ragged clothes? It’s no wonder he’s so desperate to get this treasure, but if it’s really his family legacy, why did he have to break into Leira’s house to take the compass? With a lineage like that he must be an enchanter, if not a shapeshifter himself...so why hadn’t he used magic when we fought earlier? Why is he here, with me, on a horse, in the middle of a rainstorm?