I want to say no. I want to say no so badly. There’s still so much unexplained, and when we started this, no one said anything about running for our lives. I want to walk away and pretend none of this ever happened.

Then I think of home again, of our parents, of plucking flowers from yarrow plants at my mother’s side, of the warm-earth smell of my father’s studio, of golden afternoon light streaming in the cottage windows. Of all four of our voices, mingling in laughter as we swap stories.

If that wasn’t enough, I know I can’t run now. I used so much magic earlier, and I don’t feel anything more than a slight ringing in my ears. The enchantment is woven in ink into my skin, magic seeping into my blood faster than I can get rid of it, and this is my only chance of freeing myself.

“If this gets us killed,” I manage, stumbling a little on the forced confidence in my voice, “I expect double payment.” Isolde reaches for my hand and squeezes it in her cold fingers, eyes shining with excitement. I try not to wince at the pain of my blistered skin crackling in her grip.

I meet Raze’s eyes briefly before mine flit away to somewhere that doesn’t hurt to focus on, at the tip of his nose. It twitches as a smile curves his mouth. “Sounds fair. So where to, Iselia?”

I glance at the compass again, even though I already know what I’ll see. The arrow is steady, but I sense its impatience. “West,” I say. “We head west. At least for now.”

Beneath my skin, the enchantment relaxes a little, reassured that I haven’t forgotten it.

chapter eighteen

The thing about eighty-four square feet is that it doesn’t fit four people—plus a brownie—comfortably. If you do the math, it evens out to about twenty-one square feet each, which might sound like plenty, but let me assure you, it isn’t.

Especially when two of the four people can barely stand without bumping their heads, and the limited square footage is also shared with everything you own.

Especially, especially when the four people don’t really get along.

Well, some more than others. Isolde and Olani quickly form a tentative friendship that mostly revolves around talking about creative ways to beat the stuffing out of people and long-buried, probably fictional, treasure. Raze, for once, is thoughtfully silent, which is fine by me.

Eventually, we have to stop for the night. We pull off the road into a little stand of trees. I don’t think Leira’s people will be able to catch up to us so quickly, but slipping into the shelter of the branches makes me breathe a little easier.

“Hey, Feathers, why don’t you find somewhere we can nest?” Olani says, shoving both of their bedrolls into Raze’s arms. Even though it’s framed as a question, it isn’t one.

“Olani,” he protests, blushing at the nickname. The hawk must be the form he favors most, besides human. I don’t know exactly why, but she’s finally managed to knock the good humor out of him with a little teasing.