As she wrung out her hair, she caught sight of a large map spread out on a coffee table in front of the fire, trapped beneath a flat pane of glass. She walked over to it.

“I have some business to attend to this afternoon,” Emris was saying, “but I’ll be back in the morning, and we’ll begin your training in earnest.”

On the map, a large greenish shape was surrounded by blue and filled in with extraordinary detail. “Valorian Continent” the title declared.

“Ah,” Emris said, drawing closer as he noticed what she was looking at. “I suppose you haven’t seen one of these before.”

Lena peered closer. Slightly to the east of the continent’s central point, she recognized something: a congregation of hills, and a city detailed in the basin between. A seven-towered building, a dome, a pillared facade. “City of Kings,” she breathed, noticing the words curled around it to the north.

“That’s right.” He pointed to the far west of the continent, where a mountain range spilled a forest from its skirts. “And here is Duke’s Forest.”

Lena’s eyes ran over the other details of the map. The distance between Duke’s Forest and the city was nothing compared to the distance between the city and the islands to the south of the continent, labeled “The Wishes.” Even the wastelands in the northeast looked miles and miles away. The world is so big. And Duke’s Forest … Her eyes flicked back to the circle of dark forest surrounding her home. It’s so small.

A knock woke Lena. She was fully clothed, lying on top of the bed. She had one hand under her pillow, curled tightly around the stiff silver card from the magician, and the other hand around her butterfly. She loosened her fingers, the sharp edges of both items imprinted on her palms in vivid red. Pins and needles ran up and down her arm as she sat up. The card had lost its sheen and was curved, frayed at the corners.

She’d been dreaming of Duke’s Forest, she realized. She remembered lying on a stone tomb in the crypts, the Ancestors whispering with voices of dust and shadow as they drew closer, closer. She’d been crying, afraid. But when she raised her hands to catch her tears, a pair of glittering gems had fallen into her palms, smooth and heavy.

A cold sweat still clung to her neck, streaks of tears on her cheeks.

Another knock. The light filtering through the window was suspiciously weak and pale. Lena wiped her face.

“Hello?” she called.

Emris opened the door a little awkwardly with an elbow. In one hand, he held a paper bag full of something greasy and sweet-smelling—a pastry?—and a dark, bitter-smelling mug of coffee. In his other hand, he carried a different set of gray clothes, neatly folded.