Two days later, punishing rain beat down on Brantley and me, soaking through my cloak. Although it was midday, clouds blocked both suns and created a gloom like a shuttered chamber. The ground roiled unpredictably under my feet, nothing like the subtle shifts of the Order’s grounds. I struggled to avoid falling.

Ahead of me, Brantley sprang over a large fallen tree and tromped forward at a relentless pace. I struggled over the trunk, tangling in the long, narrow skirt of my peasant garb.

“I can’t move in this,” I muttered, missing the freedom of the tunic and leggings I’d worn most of my life. The wind cast my words forward for Brantley to hear.

“You should be grateful Starfire found you a disguise,” he tossed over his shoulder without slowing.

I was grateful. Grateful for her help and his. Even though I’d complicated his rescue of Nolana, ultimately he was too kindhearted to leave me behind. After he sent his sister and niece safely on their way, he let me accompany him as he fled the town a different direction. We crisscrossed pastures and forests, stopping only for quick drinks or a bite of saltcake. His plan was working. The soldiers struggled to follow our trail.

The hard pace hadn’t bothered me, but the raw earth and open spaces made my stomach churn. Trees and underbrush grew in haphazard clusters so different from the tidy arrangement of the cultivated stone beds in the Order’s gardens. Everything was foreign. Nature was wild and fierce and uncontrolled.

Today’s thunder reinforced that impression as it grumbled downward. Pine trees shook like wet hounds, flinging more water into our faces. In the past two days, the weather seemed to attack us at every turn. Was the High Saltar ordering the dancers to produce storm patterns to punish me for leaving? Or was the Order’s ability to shape the weather another lie and this was simply a normal hardship of traveling in the wild? If only I knew what to believe.

“Stay here,” Brantley said.

I dragged my gaze upward, dashing raindrops from my face and tucking wet strands of hair under the equally wet hood of my cloak. Brantley waited beside a low outcropping of jagged stone. I hurried under the small shelter, crouching to escape the downpour. “I need to check how close the patrol is,” he said, then disappeared before I could protest.

Why risk stumbling into the middle of armed soldiers? Brantley was far too reckless. Surely we’d kept our pursuers busy long enough with our circuitous route. Wasn’t a steady pace rimward the best plan now?

Even if Brantley had waited for my response, I wouldn’t have raised those queries. Years as a novitiate had taught me unquestioning obedience. The attitude served me well traveling with the landkeeper. Brantley’s earlier exasperation and reluctance toward me had mellowed into grudging tolerance because I refused to slow his pace or complain.

Except about this wretched dress. I hiked up the hem to wring water from it, a futile effort when everything I wore was soaked.

Footsteps sounded nearby. That was fast. Perhaps Brantley had decided not to venture too far back in this miserable weather.

I was about to call out to him, but men’s voices and heavy footsteps stopped me. Cold dread clenched all my muscles, and I crouched even lower in the rocky alcove, trembling in the effort to hold still.

“I’m telling you, we’ve lost her trail,” one man said, so near I could hear him brushing rain off his leather-clad arms.

“I’m not telling the High Saltar that,” said another.

“But she could be anywhere in the wide world. For all we know the dancer could still be hiding in Middlemost.” The man’s voice took on a whine like an untrained first-form child. “What’s so special about this one, anyway? We bring the Order new girls all the time. So what if a few run off?”

“Dunno, but Saltar High and Mighty sure has a nettle in her backside about this one.”

Leather creaked and their steps moved back the way they’d come. Their retreat could be a ruse to draw me out, so I pulled farther back under the stone, trying to shape my body into the rock, to dissolve into it like salt into dough. I would never leave this haven. I’d hide here until I grew old and gray.

They won’t take me back. They won’t take me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, only to confront images of the outcomes I feared most: soldiers dragging me back through the doors of the Order, a sharp knife cutting my tendon as Tiarel smiled, being forced out onto the central ground while the voice of the world thundered and condemned me.

I shrank into a tighter ball. Why was I even running? I had nowhere to go. Nowhere to belong. I was only delaying the inevitable. The cold stone offered no comfort, and my body trembled.

Minutes or hours later, Brantley found me shaking uncontrollably in the crevice. He peered into the darkness. “You all right? Dancer?”

He’d never bothered to call me Calara. The rare times he spoke to me, he called me ‘dancer,’ in a tone that made the title sound like a curse. This time, though, his voice held only concern. My throat clogged and my eyes burned. I couldn’t speak.

His hand thrust toward me, and I recoiled.

He eased as far under the outcropping as he could. The warmth of his body reached out to me like a comforting fireplace.

Still, I couldn’t stop shivering.

“They’ve gone,” he crooned. “Let’s move. Now’s our chance to lose them for good.”

I nodded, but my limbs wouldn’t unlock.

He placed a cautious hand on my shoulder. When I didn’t flinch away, he rubbed small circles and made tsking sounds that reminded me of Ginerva comforting me after an exhausting rehearsal.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wouldn’t have left you if I’d known they were so close. Gave you a start, did they?”

I blew out a breath, my muscles beginning to soften into usefulness again. Somehow I found words. “Did you hear them? They’re going back to the Order.”

He gathered my hands in his, rubbing warmth and life into them. “Great news. So let’s cover some ground. We’re not far from Foleshill. We could stay there tonight.”

I frowned. He wanted to reach a village so he could leave me behind. “No, not Foleshill. They weren’t paying their Order tax, so it’s likely Tiarel has sent more soldiers there.”

His hands stilled. “And how would you know that?” Even in the shadow of the overhang, I could see his speculative gaze, hardened with renewed suspicions.

My ribs sagged. Was there anywhere in this world I could go where I wouldn’t be thought of as an enemy? “I was a novitiate. I heard about rebellions sometimes.”

Brantley edged back. “So where do you suggest we head, dancer?” The sneer had returned.

I convinced my legs to move and followed him out of the shelter. Rubbing my finger and thumb together, I remembered the smooth texture of a small corner of parchment, long since lost, and the tantalizing words I’d once penned. “Undertow.”

His eyebrows disappeared under the tangle of hair that dripped over his forehead. “A rim village? Why?”

I hated to share my fragile and uncertain hope, but if I didn’t give him a reason, he’d abandon me in Foleshill. “I’m not sure, but I think it may be where they took me from.” One tear escaped, blending with the rain covering my face. I scuffed a few of the moldy leaves underfoot. “I may even have family.”

A heavy silence followed my admission. Then Brantley sighed. “You couldn’t have mentioned that before? Do you understand it will take us weeks to reach the rim? And now we’re on the wrong side of the island.”

“Did you have another place in mind?” I asked.

“My plan was to lead any searchers away from the road to Windswell until it would be safe for me to return.”

“So in the meantime, we could journey to Undertow?”

He gave me a long look, but didn’t answer. Instead, he hefted his pack and trudged forward, muttering and complaining to himself and occasionally kicking a stick out of his way.

I followed behind, a sudden gladness casting off the gloom of the day. In the wake of his irritation, his flare of suspicion had washed away, and we now had a destination.

Over the next few days, he continued to mumble about all the trouble I’d caused and never missed an opportunity to cast aspersions on the Order and all dancers, yet we settled into a grudging partnership. I tended the fire and foraged for cattail roots and edible greens, grateful for the botanical lessons I’d had as a student in form seven. Brantley rustled through bushes trying to flush out small game. One evening a bog rat peered from the underbrush on the edge of our camp. Brantley flung his knife with impressive accuracy, and we had spit-roasted meat for our supper. As we sat in the glow of the small fire, licking our lips and savoring a warm meal, the world seemed to shrink into the small circle of flame, safety, and companionship.

“So tell me about your family.” Brantley’s tone held none of his usual contempt, only curiosity.

I swallowed my last bite and hugged my knees. “I can’t remember much. We weren’t allowed to think about anything that came before the Order.”

He made a scoffing sound, but without his customary fury, so I dared to continue.

“I have glimmers of riding my father’s shoulders. Of my mother. I remember her reaching, crying.” I shivered. “I hadn’t thought about my home village in years.”

Brantley unrolled a blanket from his pack and draped it around my shoulders. “So you were my niece’s age when you were taken?”

Was that a hint of compassion?

“Younger. They told me my family sold me, didn’t want me, and that the Order was now my family. And they gave me a purpose.”

And what of that purpose now? A skewer twisted inside my ribs. Would I ever find a place to belong again? Eager to change the subject, I poked a stick at our fire, drawing pops and sizzles. “Your turn. Tell me about your family.”

I didn’t look at him, but his voice held a smile. “My mother is a force of the sea, steering the waves and constant as the horizon. She raised us to defend the weak.”

“Us?”

“My brother Cole and me.” As if a hand tightened around his throat, his words choked off.

“Brianna’s husband?”

“Mm-hm.” The companionable mood had splintered and the silence hung heavy now, broken only by crackles from the dying fire.

The stretching time threatened to snap, so I braved another question. “What happened to him?”

“The Order happened to him.” He surged to his feet, snatching up his pack, and moved to the far side of the fire. He curled up with his back to me.

I huddled under the blanket while the cold of the ground seeped into my soul. I shouldn’t fool myself. His resentment may have faded a little, but I was still the enemy in his eyes. How would I endure the coming days? I still needed his help to find Undertow. And what then? Would anyone there remember me?

I turned my face to the stars, feeling lost among their multitudes.

After we were far from any midrange villages and curious eyes, I changed back into my dancer garb. The fabric was hopelessly stained, and Brantley insisted I rub dirt on the parts still white so I wouldn’t attract attention. Ginerva would be horrified at the state of my clothes, but at least I was able to climb trees and gather fruit with more ease.

I’d never gone so many days without taking class, and my body began to protest. One morning I left Brantley dozing by our fire and slipped away to stretch. I didn’t dare perform full patterns, but I at least regained some suppleness in my muscles. I settled into a daily routine of early waking, washing beside whatever river or pond we’d camped near, limbering my body, then returning to help Brantley strike camp.

I lost track of the days. Sometimes I believed I’d always slept under the stars and spent every waking hour of my life hiking through forests and across prairies. Ages ago when I’d stared out of the upper window of the Order, I’d wondered where the roads led. Now I’d traveled those paths and far beyond.

One evening, dusty clouds gathered overhead like an angry mob, hiding the sinking suns. Gusts of wind harassed our small fire. Brantley added a few dry twigs to the blaze and settled with a sigh. I pulled my rough cloak around my body and huddled closer to the flame.

“You’re very quiet.” Brantley poked at the fire and sparks flew up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t a complaint. Just an observation.”

I shrugged, not sure how to respond. Our fire needed more sticks, so I opened my cloak along the ground, protecting my hands from the earth as I pushed myself up.

Brantley chuckled.

“What?” I asked.

“You always do that. You’re coated with grime, but you don’t let your prim little hands touch the ground.”

I sniffed and headed off to gather more wood. He didn’t need to know the truth. I wore my light slippers constantly and avoided touching the bare earth with my hands so that I wouldn’t be assaulted again by the voice of our world. Perhaps out here, far from the central ground, the connection with our island wouldn’t be as strong, but I couldn’t risk it. Madness lay that way.

I wound deeper into the woods, collecting any dry limbs the trees had cast off. Many were too damp to burn, but I was determined to find a good supply. It was one way to earn my keep. Besides, I was tired of Brantley’s frequent mocking and teasing. What would it take for him to respect me?

The trees parted and I entered a small clearing, then pulled up short. The sticks fell from my hands.

Across the clearing, a huge forest hound bristled, clearly as startled as I. His eyes gleamed gold and alert in the twilight. He was the size of a pony, his haunches almost at eye level. His muzzle wrinkled as he bared his teeth.

I held my breath, fear snarling around my limbs. I’d never seen one of these creatures, although their mournful calls rose in the distance on nights when I’d prowled the Order’s gardens. As young novitiates, we were told stories about the many people slain by these furious beasts.

Never taking his gaze from me, he moved silently to the right, then rolled his shoulder and paced to the left. Back and forth, each zigzag brought him nearer. He was hunting me. His hypnotic, silent advance was meant to paralyze his victim, and it was working.

I couldn’t outrun him, and I held no weapon.

You are a dancer.

The thought brushed through my mind, bringing with it the memory of patterns I’d learned to affect every aspect of our world. Could it work with this creature? No one had ever taught me a forest hound pattern.

Softly, I began to mirror his walk, stalking first to one side and then the other, always meeting his stare, always drawing slightly closer. His crinkled muzzle relaxed and his ears pricked forward. As his hostility lessened, my own fear also fled.

“That’s right. There’s no need to be angry,” I breathed. “This is your land. I’m only passing through.”

Soon I was within a handbreadth of him, close enough to smell the musky odor of his coat. His thick fur was multi-colored and would surely gleam in the glories of sunlight. Even in the dimness I caught hints of bronze and copper mingled among the grays and browns.

Nose to nose, his hot breath poured over me like a blessing. I opened my arms. “You are a beauty, aren’t you?”

He dipped his head and nuzzled against my chest. I giggled, welcoming his affection and echoing his actions. I hugged him, rubbing my face against the soft underfur of his neck.

A twig cracked somewhere behind me, and the forest hound pulled back, every hair standing up. In two mighty bounds he disappeared into the trees.

I stared after him, awestruck and grateful for the encounter. Then the enormity of the experience snipped the invisible string holding me upright and I sank, boneless, to the ground.

“What . . . ?” Brantley sounded as if someone were strangling him.

I turned to look at him. One hand pressed against a sturdy tree trunk, his other held his knife. His skin shone pale and bloodless. “What were you doing?” he choked out.

I understood his shock, but his horrified expression made me want to laugh. I eased to my feet and walked back to where my pile of kindling waited. “I startled him, but I explained I didn’t mean him any harm.”

“You explained?” A vein throbbed on his temple.

I picked up the branches and padded back to our fire.

Brantley followed, every stomp punctuating a firm rebuke. “Don’t wander off like that. You could have been eaten. Or you could have run into a patrol. You wouldn’t manage to tame a bunch of soldiers with your strange . . . whatever it is you do.”

He kept talking, and I hid a smile. I poked new branches into the flames and let warmth swell inside my chest.

He’d been worried for me.

Not only that, I’d discovered that even though I had no place to belong, perhaps my dancing still had a purpose. I kindled that precious ember of hope.