Isolde and I take turns at the wheel, and when she isn’t driving, she and Raze take to playing cards. Their games always last either a suspiciously long or suspiciously short time, which leads me to believe they’re both cheating.

Sometimes, Raze shapeshifts so we all have a little more space. The hawk seems to be his favorite form, but he also takes turns as a raven, a sparrow, and, on one memorable night when he and Isolde have passed around the flask a few too many times, something called a toucan. I quietly note that each time he switches back and forth between animal and human form, it seems to wear him out.

As we travel farther inland, the terrain smooths into rolling hills, and the trees around the roads and towns grow taller and closer together. We do our best to skirt around civilization and avoid notice as much as possible.

Just as she promised, Olani gives me an ointment that I rub over the marks on my arms every night after I’ve practiced my magic enough to satisfy them. She even seems truly sorry that it doesn’t seem to help. If anything, the marks get worse, and eventually I just have disgusting blisters that my dress doesn’t quite cover, tracing over my arms and chest from fingertip to fingertip. By then, I’m hoping for scars.

“Do you think you could teach me to do that shield thing?” I ask tentatively one day, watching the scars move and flex with my arms. It’s just the three of us in the Destiny, Raze kicked out to give us a moment of privacy.

Olani seems surprised that I asked. Her lips press together as she finishes screwing the top on a jar, thinking. “I don’t know... I couldn’t figure it out until I’d mastered most of my healing spells.”

Isolde leans in from her spot on her bunk, feet kicking in the air. “So it’s healing magic?”

“Same principles.” She pauses, as if she wants to say more but isn’t sure how much. Eventually, she settles on, “My oldest brother invented the technique.”

Olani talks about her family so rarely. I know it’s a tender wound, but I can’t help asking, “And...he’s a healer?”

She nods. “The only one who could get me to practice. He and I are the most similar. It made lessons bearable.”

Isolde springs down from the bunk, lands lightly, and starts to carefully wind up a roll of freshly washed bandages. “What was so wrong with your lessons?”

“I just don’t like magic. Sitting still. Being thoughtful and precise all the time. It doesn’t suit me. And healing—it’s kind of my family’s whole deal. My parents literally met as apprentices to the same apothecary. Then my brothers all took after them. And then...there was me.”

I nod. “I know how it feels to be the odd one out.”

Olani’s mouth tilts. “They tried not to make me feel that way. Not that they really succeeded, but they did try.”