After leaning over the counter to put in an order for our dinner, he strikes up conversation with the girl easily, casually. As naturally as breathing.

Isolde mercifully breaks the awkward silence at the table. “What’s in that stuff you put on my head?” she asks Olani, touching a hand to the bandage. “I think it’s really helping.”

Olani shrugs. “You know, stuff. Apothecary stuff. It’s boring.” She studies her fingernails.

There’s another pause. I look down at the compass. The road here took us north, so now it’s pointing slightly more southwest. It’s strange how not-strange it feels.

Isolde tries again. “You said your parents were apothecaries. Where’d a healer like you learn to fight like that?”

Bright, high-pitched laughter rings out behind me. With a twinge of irritation, I glance back to see the dark-haired girl pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle the outburst, while Raze watches on, pleased with himself.

Olani doesn’t pay him any attention. Her mouth quirks up slightly in the shadow of a smile. “I have three older brothers. And one younger.”

“They taught you?” Isolde leans in, interested.

Olani scoffs. “No. They’re all gentle healers. Easy targets. I got sick of watching them get teased and beat up by the other kids. And...well, things kind of got out of hand from there.” Her free hand brushes the smooth wood of her quarterstaff propped against the wall behind her, almost subconsciously.

I glance at Isolde, begging her silently not to say, Yeah, I also started fighting to defend my useless sibling! She meets my eyes, and I think she understands. Maybe she’s just surprised she and Olani have something like that in common.

I need to turn this conversation, fast. “Is Raze’s family really... Wild line?” I blurt, before embarrassing secrets about our past can come tumbling out.

Olani gives me a funny look. “Yes.”

I guess some part of me had still thought—or hoped?—he was lying. “So he’s an enchanter, right? Why didn’t he... Why hasn’t he... Does he, you know—?”

“Is he a shapeshifter?” Isolde says, cutting to the heart of the question with the cold efficiency of an iron blade.

Olani doesn’t look at us. “Yes.”

Okay, then.

I look over my shoulder again, and I’m struck again by how much he doesn’t look like a shapeshifter—like anyone special, really. Currently, he’s standing by the blue-eyed girl, who giggles as she leans over the counter to ruffle her fingers through his messy red hair. It gleams gold as it catches the light. A tray loaded with what I can only assume is our dinner rests dangerously close to his elbow.

“Raze!” Olani calls harshly, just loud enough to snap him out of it without everyone else in the room turning to stare at us.

I watch Raze smoothly excuse himself, apologizing through soft laughter, and pick up the tray. Despite holding enough to feed four people, it looks so small and light in his hands. The girl stands on her toes, says something almost earnest with a teasing laugh quivering at the corner of her mouth, and turns back to the counter.