Priestess Sytrene deposits us in a burrow and tosses a globe of faerie light into the air to illuminate the underground hovel. After she leaves, roots stretch across the opening, locking us inside. I've never felt the absence of my magic more. All I want to do is call a puddle from the ground and mumble the ancient words. All I want to do is catch one glimpse of Erick's face in the scrying water, enough to let me know he's okay, enough to reassure me that he survived.

By my side, Nymia whimpers.

I spin, noticing her pain for the first time as shame burns in my gut. These past few weeks have made me selfish. Even now, all I think about is myself.

"Nymia?" I whisper, voice hoarse.

She takes an uneven breath, shaking her head slightly, unable to look up from the floor. I take her hand in mine and squeeze gently. When she finally lifts her head, tears glisten on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Aerewyn. I'm so sorry. I didn't— I never— I—"

She breaks off as her voice cracks, and I draw her into my arms. After all this, she's sorry to me? For me? I'm not sure I deserve such faith and loyalty.

"You didn’t do anything wrong," I murmur into her hair. "You were only doing what you thought was best. This is my fault. It’s all my fault."

"No. No—I think…" She pulls back and meets my gaze. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but I think maybe, on some level, I wanted to get caught, Aerewyn." I suck in a sharp breath and she rushes to continue. "I saw those humans and I saw we were surrounded and I couldn't see a way out. Still, I knew that if I called for help, Priestess Sytrene would know we'd snuck out of faerie lands without her knowing. On some level, I think maybe I hoped getting caught would end all the lying, but I never thought—I never dreamed—she'd find out about the cave, about your human. I've never seen a spell like that before."

"Me neither."

Priestess Sytrene was right—we're just children. I have magic in my skin, but I barely know how to use it. Tonight, I tasted true power, the kind thousands of years in the making. We didn't stand a chance, especially with these metal cuffs that leave us barren.

I wonder if that's how humans always feel in the face of magic—helpless, awed, afraid. The very thought makes me shiver.

"Can you ever forgive me?" Nymia asks.

I blink, returning to the present, to my sister. "Of course I forgive you. You've done everything I've ever asked. You kept my secrets, and tonight, I know you were just trying to keep me safe. I probably would've been captured by the humans if you hadn't been there, watching my back the way you always do. I'm the one who should be begging for forgiveness. The only reason you're stuck in here is me."

"I'd rather be in here with you, locked up and magicless, than out there on my own."

We both turn toward the muddy walls. My thoughts travel beyond them, across the sacred meadow, through the forests, and to the cave that's now little more than rubble. I close my eyes against the picture forming inside my head, painted by nightmares and dread.

"Do you think he's all right?" I hate how my voice quivers, but I can't help it. "Do you think—"

"He is," Nymia cuts in before I break, and wraps her arms around my shoulders. "He is, I know he is. You swore the oath. Priestess Sytrene would never break her promise. He's probably home by now, safe and sound."

I want to believe her.

I do.

But I can't stop the flood of doubts rushing like an avalanche down the side of a mountain, burying me in uncertainty. Suddenly, it takes all my strength just to breathe. My throat constricts as my chest pulls tight. I sink and my sister falls with me, trying to stop the tremors. A sob barrels up my throat, so swift I fear I might choke on it. Nymia holds me, letting me cry until my tears soak the rosy petals of her dress. Now that I've started, I don’t know how to stop. The night crashes over me, a tidal wave ripping my roots from the ground.

I can never speak to Erick again.

No more stories.

No more laughter.

No more stolen kisses in the dark.

"What am I going to do? Oh, Nymia, what am I going to do?"

"Shh," she soothes, running her fingers through my hair while I weep into her chest. "It'll be okay. We'll get our magic back. You'll move on from this. Before long, it'll seem like a distant memory."

I stiffen, but bite my tongue.

She doesn’t understand. Despite all those nights helping me sneak out and all those times witnessing the diamonds in my eyes, she still thinks it's a passing phase, something to get out of my system. She doesn’t see that he's become a part of me, woven into my soul. She doesn’t understand that though I have no wound, I bleed so deep I may as well lie limp across the floor. She may have watched us in the meadow, may have seen his lips against my lips, but she didn’t hear the words we spoke.

I won't forget him.

So long as I live, he'll remain a part of me.

I don't know how to let him go.

Nymia holds me the rest of the night, until we fall into an exhausted sleep, still wrapped in each other's arms. We don't speak again. I don’t know what to say, what to tell her, how to explain what to me seems so obvious. It matters little anyway. Without our magic, there's nothing we can do.

Priestess Sytrene fetches us the next afternoon, when the sun is high and hot enough to sting my skin when I step outside. I wonder if Mother is sending me a message, but I can’t tell if she means to reprimand me or to stoke the defiance burning inside my heart. I choose to believe the latter, though judging by the faces of the women all around me, I'm not sure I should.

Word has obviously spread.

The priestesses watch me with scorn, disgust written across their faces. The girls look with a mix of fascination and horror. When I meet Nymia's eyes, they're filled with love. Is it strange that I feel an odd mix of all those things inside my own heart?

For the next week, we're kept in isolation—not allowed to mix with the other girls, lest we taint them. Instead of lessons, we spend our hours in the gardens, toiling with the dirt the way a human might, digging until our nails turn brittle and our muscles ache.

The week after that, we're allowed back with the group, though I wonder if that in and of itself is another form of punishment. The girls whisper, same as they always have, but now it's to our faces instead of behind our backs.

"Did you really meet with a human?"

"What was he like?"

"Did you let him touch you?"

"Were you afraid?"

I don't answer—partly because I can hardly breathe at the mere thought of Erick, partly because I refuse to give them any fodder to use against me. By the third week of our punishment, the whispers have changed, as I suspected they would all along.

"Human-lover."

"Faerie-traitor."

"Worse than a fungus."

"Rotten to the core."

"Cursed."

Good thing Nymia and I have a long history of ignoring their barbs, though I can’t pretend they don't sting a little. Defiance thickens my hide.

It's not until the start of the fourth week that it finally gets to me—not until Priestess Sytrene walks us up to the immortal fire, sticks Nymia's hand inside the flames, melting the metal cuff, and then sends her away. My sister tosses a nervous glance over her shoulder, but I nod in encouragement, relieved at least to see a little life enter her eyes with the return of her magic.

Then I'm alone.

No magic.

No sister.

No hope.

I'm sent back to the gardens to weed and pluck and plant. I sleep alone surrounded by the dark, missing the silver glow of the moon. Priestess Sytrene greets me every morning and bids me farewell every night, never saying a word, yet speaking volumes with her eyes. When those amber orbs study me, I freeze, praying to the Mother for redemption, for release. So far, I've been found unworthy.

Still, the priestesses let me return to lessons. I'm kept separate from Nymia, but the sight of her does more to lift my spirits than I think even the return of my magic would. We don't need words—we never have. One glance and I feel all her heartache, all her sympathy, all her sorrow, and all her joy, just as she does with me. After a few days, the binds loosen a little more. We're allowed to talk, under supervision. They're testing me, trying to make sure I won't force Nymia to use her magic, that I won't cajole her to do my bidding while I'm still powerless, that I won't influence her the way I have before.

In watching me so closely, they neglect to watch her.

Six weeks after that marvelous and horrid night, it's Nymia who comes to me in the middle of a lesson, leaning close to whisper in my ear.

"He's alive."

I'm not at all surprised by the words. I've been waiting for them. In fact, I'm beginning to think I'm the only faerie in the world who'd never underestimate the strength of my sister's spirit and the size of her heart. "How do you know? What did you see?"

"I scried for him in the water," she murmurs, casting a sidelong glance at the priestess leading us across the forest to a den of shapeshifter foxes, injured and homeless after a recent human raid laid waste to their home. "He's uninjured and well. The hound is too. I know you've been desperate for news."

I have been.

So desperate that for a moment I forget how to breathe.

"Don't say anything more," she orders. I couldn't if I tried. "I have a plan."

She squeezes my hand and then breaks away to hurry to the front of the line, leaving me alone in the rear. For the first time in weeks, the solitude is a welcome change. The sun shines brighter. The birds chirp sweet music. The wind sweeps through the leaves, rustling my hair, and even though no magic runs through my veins, I'm at peace.

Erick is alive.

When I suck a long stream of air into my lungs, it tastes of pine and mist and new beginnings. I float through the forest like a cloud across the sky, light and airy, no longer weighed down by rain. While the other girls use their magic to grow food for the shifters and to build them new shelters, I play with the pups. Some are furry and on all fours. Others run around like gremlins, nearly human. When two of the younger pups growl in my direction, I roll onto my hands and knees and growl back. A little shifter boy jumps onto my shoulders, while a girl jets beneath my belly. Soon the whole lot of them are on top of me, a mix of fur and skin and magic and mayhem I can’t begin to unravel. So I don’t try. I tickle one. I nip at another. I give as good as I get, and when I can't take it anymore, I throw my head back, look at the sun, and let go. I'm not sure how long it's been since I've laughed—long enough my cheeks ache from the unfamiliar exertion.

Soon their parents call them back.

I roll to my feet and brush the dirt from my skirts, catching Priestess Ondyne's eyes when I glance up. She's smiling. Not overly so, just the slightest lift at the edge of her lip, but I know it's directed at me because she nods to tell me so right before she turns back to the rest of the girls and calls for a break.

Nymia rushes to my side, holding out an overgrown leaf wet with dew. "Drink?"

I'm so distracted by that small smile, I don't catch the undertone of her words. When I look down I nearly scream.

"Shh! Try to act normal for once," she orders, flinching as water sloshes over her fingers. I hastily jerk my palms beneath hers, holding the small pool steady as I stare at the image glimmering across the crystal surface.

Erick.

She scried for him.

She actually scried for him.

My sister—the practical, neurotic, rule-following faerie I know and love—used forbidden magic, right here in the middle of a lesson, under the watchful eye of a priestess and a dozen of our peers, in the bright light of the sun. I glance up, meeting her blue eyes, clear with determination, fully aware my own are lit with awe. Is it possible Nymia is even more rebellious than me?

"Be quick." She frowns and pointedly juts her chin toward Priestess Ondyne. "I can't hold it for very long."

I grin and dip my lips toward her palms, pretending to take a sip of water when really I'm trying to get as close to Erick as possible. Though the image is small, I immediately notice how weary he looks. Deep purple bags droop beneath his eyes. A thick layer of scruff coats his cheeks and neck. His shoulders hunch and frown lines pull at his lips. I can't see where he is, the image is zoomed too close, but it doesn't matter. His gaze is fogged over and unseeing.

Is this how I've looked these past few weeks?

Hollow? Vacant? Like a shadow of myself?

Suddenly, I understand what Priestess Ondyne's smile meant and why Priestess Sytrene comes to my hovel every night, staring deep into my eyes as though searching for something. I thought she'd been searching for my virtue, my worth, for some hint that the Mother still approves of me. But she hasn’t been looking for anything so demanding. She's simply been looking for me. She's been waiting to stare into my eyes and see the faerie girl she knows staring back, the same way I'm looking into Erick's now, pleading for the boy I know—full of wonder and life—to look back.

The priestesses fear contact with a human has irrevocably changed me.

They worry he's warped my mind and my senses.

They're not trying to punish me—they’re trying to retrieve me.

Can they not see that Erick brings out the real me? One word about him, one glance of his face, and I feel more myself than I have in weeks. I've come back to my senses because of him, not in spite of him. Yet if I tried to tell them that, they'd never believe me. None of it makes sense. I want to laugh from the absurdity of it all. I want to cry.

I do neither.

One of the girls says Nymia's name, and she flinches so hard the leaf slams into my face, dunking me completely beneath the liquid and erasing Erick clean away. The other girls snicker, watching what I'll do. If I had my magic, I'd drop a waterfall on her head in retaliation. As it is, I do the next best thing and grab a handful of water from the spring, then launch it at her head. When the cold water smacks her cheeks, Nymia freezes and gasps. I snort, fighting a laugh. I can't help it. My sister grins. A second later, I'm under attack, with no power of my own to fight back. So another girl helps, sending a blast of magic Nymia's way. Soon enough, it's all-out war—a cacophony of magic and giggles and youth. When I look at Priestess Ondyne, her expression is warm with nostalgia and love.

I know how to get my magic back.

The answer is so simple I almost can't believe it.

I just need to be myself.

And then, I'll turn my focus on Erick. I can't cross into human lands. I can't meet him in our cave. I can't even speak to him. But, by the Mother, I will find a way to breathe life into him, the way he's just done for me.