We’re each allotted a coloured cloak: brown for Teddy, crimson for Maisy, tan for Lukas and white for Clementine. Thanks to my supposed ‘Darkness’ proclivity, my own cloak is black. When I slip it on, pockets of warmth rub like fingers down my spine.

‘Once your proclivities are tested,’ Bastian says, ‘keep your cloaks with you. The law says you’ve got to wear your colours. Got it?’

Clementine scowls at her cloak’s stark white, and I hear her mutter something to Maisy about it ‘washing her out’. But Bastian is already striding from the cabin, so we stumble into our boots in an effort to follow him.

We cross rickety chain bridges, balance upon platforms, and poke our noses into various cabins. The grain stores, the blacksmith’s cabin, the kitchen. I can’t help but peep over the railing, scouring the forest below for signs of movement. But the trees are still, and the undergrowth is silent. No sign of the hunter.

‘Danika, he’s dead,’ Lukas says gently, noticing my tension. ‘He couldn’t have known to climb into the trees at midnight.’

I nod. He’s right, of course, but still I’m unsettled.

The kitchen squats near the centre of the village, its walls lined with pipes and cooking fires. There are racks of spices and alchemical juices used to scorch different tastes into the food. Back in Rourton, I heard rumours of richie chefs hiring alchemists to achieve such effects, but the food was deemed too unstable for public consumption. It’s strange to think that here, in Víndurn, even the poorest villagers can afford such alchemy.

I watch the cook pour a vial of bronze smoke into the flame. It spits up a waft of warm scents, like freshly roasted apples – the same flavour that enhanced our porridge this morning. These people might be poor, but they’re not starving. Their diet seems mostly limited to grains and beans, perhaps with wild nuts and berries if they can find them, but a whiff of alchemical smoke turns even the plainest fare into a feast. Compared to an alleyway in downtown Rourton, this is a life of luxury.

Next, we venture into the stable. It’s a massive wooden treehouse with Bastian’s foxhawk roped inside. When I peer around the doorway, I’m met with the glare of a beady yellow eye.

‘Each clan is entitled to two sólfoxes,’ Bastian says. ‘One for work, you see, and one for urgent communication with the city.’

Sólfox. It takes me a moment to realise this must be the Víndurnic word for ‘foxhawk’. I roll the word over in my mind, determined to remember it. If we’re going to settle here, we need to fit in – and that means getting the details right.

‘Where’s your second one, then?’ Teddy says.

Bastian’s face tightens. With a lurch, I remember Tindra’s fatal flight above the rocks. That must have been the clan’s second sólfox – as dead and broken as the girl who rode it.

As we explore the treetop village, I keep an eye on the passing locals. Most are native Víndurnics, with the same pale skin and black hair as Tindra. But others share Bastian’s dark colouring, and a few heads sprout hair of pale white or scruffy ginger. People from a dozen lands, drawn here by Lord Farran’s stories.

‘There are many villages like this on the mountainside,’ Bastian says. ‘And countless more down in the fields behind us. The lower villagers build their houses upon stilts, see? To save them from the curse of midnight.’ He pauses. ‘When Lord Farran came to Víndurn, this land had very few citizens. Most people had left, I’d say, because of the dangers of the earth. But thanks to Lord Farran, we have enough workers to make this nation great. Some folk are farmers, growing grain and fruit to trade. Some are hunters. And some …’ He shrugs. ‘Some of us trade firestones.’

‘Firestones?’ I say.

Bastian nods. ‘We find them in the fields and forests, beneath the rocks and the soil. A decent stone is worth enough to feed the clan for a fortnight.’

‘Who buys them?’ Teddy says.

‘Stonetraders,’ Bastian says. ‘They work for Lord Farran, up in the city market. Selling firestones is one of the few times we’re permitted to enter the city. Lord Farran uses them in his experiments, see? Up on Skyfire Peak, to save us from the boiling earth.’

‘Could we come with you, sir?’ I say. ‘To see the city, I mean?’

Bastian turns, a hard look in his eyes. ‘Changed your mind already, lass? Fancy going to live in the spires?’

‘What? No!’ I shake my head. ‘I’m curious, that’s all. We’ve landed in the middle of this whole new culture, and we don’t know a lot about it.’

Bastian stares at me for a moment longer, then nods. ‘I’m heading up to the city tomorrow to trade the firestone that you found yesterday. It’s only low grade, but it’s the best we’ve found in weeks.’

‘And we can come? Sir?’ I add hastily.

Bastian shrugs. ‘Normally I’d take a sólfox, but I suppose I could hike for a change. Never hurts to stretch these old legs.’

As the day wears on, I begin to decipher the workings of the village. Although everyone has a low proclivity, there are various ranks and roles. People with Earth or Water proclivities, like Bastian, work as firestone scouts. They scour the nearby landscape for stones, and use their powers to pry the bounty from the ground.

Those with Flame proclivities, like Maisy, tend to work in the kitchen or the blacksmith’s cabin. And when they’ve proven themselves trustworthy, I suspect that Lukas and Teddy will be given charge of the sólfox stable.

But some proclivities are useless in this treetop society. If Clementine develops something like Dust or Reptile, she’ll face a life of mindless labour: scrubbing floors, washing dishes and hauling sacks of grain. And as for me …

Well, I’m lucky to have a life at all.

Meals are shared in the kitchen, under the eyes of the villagers. We eat bowls of steaming rice and nuts, finished with roseberries. No one speaks to me, but I spot a few nervous glances at the back of my neck. Víndurnics, it seems, don’t give their trust away easily. They hoard it carefully, as precious as firestones.

‘They still think you’ve got a temporal proclivity,’ Lukas whispers.

I force myself to shrug, trying to look casual. ‘They’ll see I’m not dangerous soon enough.’

‘And hey,’ Teddy says, through a bulging mouthful, ‘at least they’ve got some different flavours. I’ve had enough apricot syrup for a lifetime.’

In the afternoon, we’re allocated our first jobs. Maisy stokes the blacksmith’s fire, while Lukas is sent to harvest nuts from the forest. The rest of us work in the kitchen.

Since dinner isn’t for hours, we have the room to ourselves. I use the chance to practise my illusion skills. I try concealing a hand, or changing the colour of my hair. I force myself to hold each illusion for longer and longer – even up to five minutes, with a sheen of sweaty concentration.

‘Geez, Danika,’ Teddy says, noting my exhaustion. ‘You look like a guard’s been chasing you all over Rourton.’

I blow out a hard breath. ‘An illusion just saved my life, Teddy – and not for the first time.’

‘Yeah, but –’

‘I’ve got to keep practising.’ I hoist a sack of grain onto the scales. ‘No excuses. Not any more. If I’ve got an advantage, I’m damn well going to use it properly. What if it’s the difference between life and death?’

Teddy frowns, but doesn’t argue. We wait for the scale to measure the grain, and I paint my hands into a mirage of glinting glass.

‘Very nice,’ Clementine says.

I look up at her, a little surprised. The others take my illusions for granted now; no one ever comments on my performance. But Clementine is studying the skim of magic closely, with a faint smile on her lips.

‘It’s just an illusion,’ I say.

‘Yes, but it looks stronger than usual.’

I glance back down at my hands. The ripple of unnatural air does seem a little more solid than usual. A thicker sort of brushstroke on my flesh.

We peel potatoes and wash a sack of nutty brown rice, while Teddy volunteers for peanut duty. This is supposed to involve shelling the nuts to cook with the rice, but in Teddy’s case it includes ‘accidentally’ flicking bits of peanut shell in Clementine’s direction.

‘Stop it!’ she hisses, swatting at the air.

‘Sorry.’ Teddy grins. ‘Too powerful, I reckon. Don’t know my own strength.’

Another chunk of peanut shell goes flying.

Clementine raises her paring knife. ‘If one more piece of peanut gets stuck in my hair, Teddy Nort, you’ll have cause to worry about a different kind of nu–’

At that moment, Annalísa strides into the kitchen. Clementine drops her threat mid-word and looks quickly back down at her potatoes, flustered. I’m surprised to see the richie girl cowed so easily. Clearly, I’m not the only one to remember Annalísa’s words last night.

‘Well, my dears, I see you’re all still here.’ She gives me a hard look. ‘I had hoped for happier news.’

I’m tempted to snap back at her – ‘Sorry to disappoint you’, perhaps – but I bite my tongue. I can’t afford to antagonise these people, and especially not the ones who’ve already classified me as an enemy.

‘What is your proclivity, then?’ Annalísa says.

‘Beast,’ Teddy says cheerfully, before I have a chance to say anything. ‘And by the way, you’ve got a serious rat infestation in the –’

‘I was not talking to you, boy.’

Teddy raises an eyebrow. ‘Huh. Didn’t know you were running a deliberate rodent sanctuary. Real nice of you, I reckon – giving those rats a warm spot to kip.’

Annalísa ignores him. Her eyes are fixed on me. All I want is for her to leave us alone, so I figure it’s best to give her what she wants.

‘Darkness,’ I say.

Her gaze doesn’t flicker. ‘That is an ethereal proclivity. Why are you down here, instead of up in the spires?’

‘Because I wanted to share my life with –’

‘A bunch of rats?’ Teddy suggests.

‘With my friends,’ I say. ‘I didn’t want to leave my friends behind.’

Annalísa flinches, and I know instantly I’ve said the wrong thing. Her fury is physical now: a clenching in her muscles, a tightness in her eyes. I know what she’s thinking. You left my daughter behind.

But she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even nod. She turns stiffly and strides from the room. When she reaches the exit, her shadow lingers just a moment too long on the wall. As though she’s waiting behind to hear our whispers.

Waiting to catch us in a lie.

When night falls, we settle down to sleep. It’s a different feeling from last night. There’s no fear, no dread, no tightness in my chest. Just the exhaustion of a long day’s labour.

I’m dozing off when Lukas touches my shoulder. I blink, startled, and almost cry out before I recognise him in the shadows. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ he whispers. ‘There’s something I want to show you, down below.’

‘Down on the ground?’ I hesitate. ‘Is it safe?’

‘It’s still hours until midnight,’ Lukas says, offering me my cloak. ‘I promise we’ll be back before the earth starts boiling.’

On the forest floor, it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. I look around nervously, half-afraid that King Morrigan’s hunter might leap forth from the trees. But there’s nothing – just silent trunks, and the rustle of a breeze in the canopy. As the moments pass, my muscles slowly unclench.

He’s dead, I remind myself. He has to be. There’s no way he could have survived last night.

Lukas leads me into deeper foliage, away from the lights of the village. As we step between the trees, the frost looks almost crystalline: a forest of winking moonlight.

‘Very nice,’ I say.

Lukas smiles. ‘Just wait.’

He lights a handheld alchemy lamp. ‘When I was harvesting nuts today, I thought I’d better explore a bit,’ he says. ‘Escape routes, hiding places, that sort of thing. To see what we were dealing with, just in case we need to …’

Lukas trails off, but my mind fills in the rest of his sentence. Just in case we need to flee.

‘Didn’t find what I was looking for,’ he says. ‘But I found something you have to see.’

We reach an outcrop of rocky clay. A dark hole gapes at its base: a tunnel winding down into the darkness. I hesitate, suddenly nervous. My memory leaps back to the last tunnel I entered, down into the catacombs. I think of broken stone and wild water, tunnels flooding in the dark …

But this is different, isn’t it? We’re not descending deep underground. It’s just a flat stroll along a tunnel, and Lukas seems to know what lies at the other end. So I take a deep breath, fight down my nerves, and follow him into the dark.

The tunnel is cold, its walls spiked by frost. The lantern light bobs up and down, glinting on the walls. I pull my Víndurnic cloak tighter, my fingers a little numb, and warmth bursts like bubbles on my skin.

‘Watch your head,’ Lukas says.

The path curves to the right, arching up and around as though to re-emerge at a higher point of the mountainside.

Finally, moonlight. Our tunnel opens to stars and clouds, swirled like paint upon the black. Lukas leads me forward, his step a little more eager now. Ahead, the landscape slopes gently, and I realise we’re approaching the edge of a vast cliff. It stretches before us, wide and long and stark. Beyond, all is darkness.

We move towards the centre of the clifftop, into open air and the tingle of a breeze. Lukas steers me into position, a strange smile on his lips. ‘Just wait,’ he says. ‘It happens every few minutes.’

‘What does?’

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

Lights.

They wink on slowly, one at a time. Like fireflies in a cage at the market, or lanterns on a string. But these lights don’t fly or float. They shine up from the earth around us, their tops protruding slightly above the dirt. It’s as though someone has planted a field of alchemy lanterns – not corn, or apples, but lanterns – for a harvest in the dark.

Lukas slips his hand into mine. His fingers are soft and warm, knotted between my own. I feel every knuckle. Every clench. I want to clutch his hand so tightly that the darkness grows around me, flowing into the ripple of my own magic.

‘They’re firestones,’ Lukas says. ‘Second-hand firestones, after Lord Farran’s done using them for … whatever he uses them for. Once he’s done with them, he gives them back to the villagers to bury on the mountainside.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I asked Bastian about it. He caught me sneaking back through the tunnel – he wasn’t joking about the village watchmen being on alert.’ Lukas gives a rueful smile. ‘Anyway, I asked him about this place and he said it was part of Lord Farran’s experimentation.’

I frown, bewildered. ‘What for?’

Lukas shakes his head. ‘I don’t think people here question Farran’s orders. Not openly, at least.’ He pauses. ‘But I did learn one thing.’

‘What?’

‘Once a year,’ Lukas says, ‘every adult with a low proclivity has to gather on the plains. Bastian called it a “practice drill” – in case they’re ever called to fight in Víndurn’s defence. And they bring all the firestones buried near their villages.’

I stare across the field of mysterious lights. Hundreds of firestones, buried in the earth. Gathered only once a year, when the nation practises gathering for war … and then, presumably, the stones are reburied on the mountainside.

I remember what Maisy said when she first told us the legend of the firestones. The stones draw power from the earth itself, and must be stored in the earth to keep their power fresh.

‘So, the Víndurnics have army drills,’ I say. ‘Ready to be called into battle. And back home, King Morrigan’s obsessed with destroying this land.’ I release a weary breath. ‘Both sides have armies. Both sides are ready to fight. Did we ever have a hope of stopping this war?’

For a long while, there is silence. A breeze gusts across the cliff top. I part my lips to taste it, letting the Night roll across my tongue.

I could just step out into the dark, through the lights, and start walking. Not to anywhere in particular. Not to run to a distant land. Not to find a bin to scavenge for food, or a Valley to lead me far from home. Just … walk. No purpose. No fear.

Just the lights.

Just Lukas.

I sense his movement beside me and I turn to face him. My body curves slowly towards his: the flicker of a candle in the dark. I wrap my hands around the back of his neck and suddenly we’re sharing a breath.

Our lips brush into a kiss. Our noses touch. I feel the heat of his face beside mine: his cheek pressed softly against my own. Eyes closed, I breathe in the scent of his neck, his hair. There’s a faint sweetness around his mouth: the scent of roseberries from dinner.

‘Danika,’ he whispers. ‘I …’

He presses his face closer to my own. We stand there for a moment, our cheeks pressed together. Sharing each other’s warmth.

I open my eyes and I see the lights wink out. They flicker and dim, a slow fade into black. I suddenly think of what Lukas told me when I first discovered my proclivity was Night. ‘You can’t have light without the dark. And you can’t have stars without the night.’

Then I remember where those words came from. I break away, my stomach cold and nauseous with guilt. I can see his face now, hurt and confused, but I feel so sick with myself that I can barely stand to look at him.

‘Danika, what’s wrong?’ Lukas says.

‘Nothing.’

The word comes out as a whisper. My brain stings with thoughts of Silver, Lukas’s grandmother. Silver, whose proclivity was Night – just like me. Silver, who said those words to Lukas when he was a child. Silver, whose death I’m still keeping a secret.

How can I even think of kissing Lukas when I’m withholding such a secret? I know the truth of his grandmother’s death, and I’m too cowardly to admit it. What am I going to do – kiss him, run away with him, marry him? Spend my entire life with a guilty secret trapped behind my teeth?

‘What’s wrong?’ Lukas repeats.

I look at him. I don’t just glance his way, or check his expression. I really look at him. There is so much of Silver in him: not just the eyes, but the shape of his nose, the arch of his forehead.

I have to tell him the truth.

‘Your grandmother,’ I say. ‘The one who said that line about the stars. She died when you were little, right?’

Lukas nods slowly. ‘She was a good person. She was more than just a Morrigan.’

If anything, this makes the sickness in my stomach deepen. I have a sudden flash of Annalísa in our cabin, her face twisted in rage. ‘You let her die!’ Is that how Lukas will see me – the girl who let his grandmother die?

‘She didn’t die, Lukas,’ I say. ‘Not when you think she did. She faked her own death and ran away to join the smugglers.’

Lukas stares at me.

‘We met her in the borderlands,’ I say. ‘She looked after us for a while. She … she was the one who gave her proclivity to this charm.’

I hold up my mother’s bracelet for him to see. The star charm glints in the light of our lantern. This charm saved our lives, conjuring light and heat in the depths of the catacombs. Alchemy charms are enchanted with a spark of a dying soul – a twist of the magic that forms their proclivity. And this one …

‘I couldn’t save her,’ I say. ‘She died right in front of me.’

Lukas just stands there. Silent. He stares straight into the breeze, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide open. Any moment now, he’ll turn on me. Tell me that he hates me, he never wants to see me again, or –

‘Thank you,’ he says.

I stare at him. Has he heard me correctly?

Lukas takes a slow breath. ‘For trying to save her. I’m glad you were with her, Danika. I’m glad she didn’t die alone.’ Then he laughs. ‘Faked her own death? I should’ve known. She was too smart to let my father have his way.’ He hesitates. ‘Do you think she had a good life? With the smugglers?’

I nod slowly. I’m not sure if I’m capable of forming words. Lukas’s forgiveness is too much to take in, let alone his being glad at the news. Glad to hear that his grandmother lied to him, let him think she was dead.

But on the other hand, she outwitted King Morrigan. She escaped him forever. She paved the course that Lukas is now treading: a course away from their family’s brutality.

‘She was happy.’ My voice is hoarse, so I wet my lips and try again. ‘She was happy, Lukas. She had her own boat, and she made a good living. She was free.’

Lukas’s fingers tighten around my own. ‘I’m glad.’

As we watch, the lights flicker on again. They light up one by one: stars awakening from their slumber. You can’t have stars without the night.

I rest my head on Lukas’s shoulder. Oddly, I feel even closer to him than I did when we were kissing. It’s a different sort of energy between us now – not that urgent, physical energy, but something else. Something deeper.

Trust.

It’s been a long time since I felt it so deeply. Maybe not since my family burned. At this moment, I feel I could tell Lukas anything and he wouldn’t reject me. He wouldn’t howl or scream or spit blame like Annalísa. He’d just listen, and nod, and accept.

And in a land where trust is as precious as firestones, perhaps that’s enough to see us through.