“Why do I feel so empty? Everything has been made right.” I squirmed as Ginerva applied another poultice to my ankle the next afternoon. I’d lain down for a nap and slept through the night. Rest had restored some of my strength, but my melancholy hadn’t eased. I felt guilty for my heavy gloom. The whole Order seemed to ring with new hope, but I hid inside the walls of the borrowed dancer cell. I had every reason for joy, but the sharp ache of my leg permeated my whole being. I wrinkled my nose against the overly sweet scent of the poultice. “I know I should feel grateful.”

She wiped her hands on a linen towel and gave me a nurturing squeeze. “You’re exhausted, is all. And yes, much has been made right, but it hasn’t been without cost. Feel what you need to feel. The Maker understands.”

I managed a half-hearted nod.

She pressed a mug into my hand. “Have some soup. Saltar Kemp would like to meet with you, but I told her you needed some hot food first. Oh, and that young man of yours has been hovering around. He met with the rimmers, and they’ve returned to their camps and inns in Middlemost, but he refuses to leave.”

A heavier wave of sorrow rolled through my chest. “He wants to say goodbye.”

Ginerva snorted. “He doesn’t have the look of a man waiting to fare thee well.”

A flicker of curiosity cut through my lassitude. “What does he look like?”

“Eat.” She guided the mug of soup to my lips.

I submitted, rolling bits of cooked tubers around my tongue. Not as refreshing as rimmer soups made with fresh seawater, but the meal did strengthen me, at least enough to unravel the reasons I felt deflated. I’d focused so long on reaching the Order, on fulfilling the impossible task of freeing our world, on sharing the letter, but I’d never thought beyond. Now that the confrontation was over, I had no idea what to do next. Would the Maker ever meet with me again? Was my usefulness at an end? I was certain that refusing to become High Saltar was the right decision. My old mentor would fill the role far better than I ever could. But what would become of me now?

I lowered my foot to the floor and tried putting weight on it, then winced.

“Stop that,” Ginerva said. “Give it time to rest.”

I managed a wan smile. “I’ll have nothing but time now. But you know rest won’t repair a hobbled tendon, not enough for me to dance again.”

Her mouth pursed, opened, then she thought better of what she had planned to say and sighed instead. With a last pat on my shoulder, she bustled to the door. “Remember. Saltar Kemp is waiting at the office when you’re ready.”

I lingered over the soup and brought my questions to the Maker. I told Him how difficult it was for me to recover from the marvels He’d performed, the depths of fear and heights of ecstasy I’d experienced, and my confusion about where I fit now. I didn’t hear the mighty Voice but did sense gentle arms wrap me in love. With that light touch, I was finally ready to take my staff and limp to the office.

In the doorway, I couldn’t help but remember being called here as a novitiate, when a busy Saltar Kemp had assigned me a teaching task. I’d been consumed with reverence for the High Saltar, full of eagerness to prove my worth, and horrified I might make a misstep. I shook my head. I’d been so young, so indoctrinated. Maker, if the current novitiates stay, let them serve in truth and joy and humility instead of the fear and competition that dogged my every step.

In the outer office, a handful of attendants were cleaning and reorganizing desks, and several saltars interrupted their animated discussion to smile and nod at me. I hobbled through to the High Saltar’s office. Saltar Kemp stood by the full-length window facing the center ground, watching with the soft smile of a grandmother observing children at play. Instead of the formal embroidered robes of the High Saltar, she wore a simple white tunic and leggings. The drummers were back at work with a vigorous harvest pattern. Dancers performed the steps but added occasional spontaneous improvisations. An attendant and even a young novitiate also gamboled along the daygrass near the edges.

Saltar Kemp turned her sparkling eyes toward me. “What do you think? Can we still value training and work together as a community, while also allowing a place for freedom and welcome for anyone to dance?”

My heart swelled. “It seems like a beautiful combination.”

She beckoned me toward a chair, and we settled in for a long and fruitful conversation. She had uncovered lost patterns that had been designed as thanks and worship to the Maker, and wanted to teach these to the novitiates from their earliest age. Her ambitious plans included a larger garden to provide more food for the Order, so they would rely less on gifts and taxes from the villages. She had already abolished the policy of stealing children for the Order. We discussed allowing families to move inland to be near their children who wished to train in the Order.

I shared everything I’d learned on my travels: the attacks on Foleshill and Undertow, the suffering even the midrange villages faced because of heavy taxes, the distrust of the rimmers. Most of the saltars had never known the extent of Tiarel’s abuses.

I learned that after frantic efforts to regain control, Saltar River had stormed from the Order, along with four prefects who were loyal to her, and a handful of the saltars. My brow furrowed. “Was it wise to let her leave? Seems she’ll cause trouble in the future.”

Saltar Kemp’s face fell, but she hastened to reassure me. “If we forced her to stay, we’d be no better than the former Order. I doubt she’ll find much support wherever she goes.”

Maybe she was right. How could Saltar River interfere anymore? Too much had altered along with the massive shift of our world.

Saltar Kemp was eager to tell me that the negotiations with the representatives from the rim villages had been fruitful. “One of the rimmers has offered to help us create parchments, so we can produce many copies of the Maker’s letter. Did you meet Brianna of Windswell on your travels?”

I beamed. “Yes, I did.” I marveled that Bri could extend forgiveness after the Order had wounded her family. Enough forgiveness even to offer her help.

Maker, you free our hearts as well as our world.

“If we focus on teaching writing skills in the younger forms, by the time they are in the tenth form they could spend some time each day working on that project.” As we talked, it was clear the Maker had restored a vision to her of what the Order could truly be—worshiping Him, serving the people of Meriel, and helping share His letter. Some dancers had chosen to leave the Order and find their home villages, but enough were staying to continue to aid our world from the central ground. A sense of peace began to brush away the remnants of wistful sadness I’d been feeling. Until her next question.

“And what are your plans, Carya of Undertow?”

My ribs contracted, and I fingered the hem of the white tunic Ginerva had provided. “I don’t know.”

“I would love your help teaching the new patterns to the children who stay with us.”

Her offer was sincere and touching, but as I weighed that option, I finally sensed a hint of direction—a different direction.

My shoulders eased back. “Thank you. Perhaps one day. Right now I think my place is with my birth village. Once my leg is strong enough to travel, I’d like to return there and help where I can.”

Sympathy swam in her eyes. “All the better,” she said. “We need representatives from the Order to help the rim villages. They have years of struggle to overcome. Let me know how I can help you and your village.”

We talked for hours more, and my spirits continued to lift as I saw the ripples of goodness that the Maker’s intervention had brought. When I took my leave, she was dusting off more old books of forsaken patterns. Her eagerness made me smile.

I wandered out to the gardens, dreaming about the expansion she had planned. She’d need new landkeepers. Too bad Brantley didn’t actually have those skills.

Uneven fences had been hastily constructed along the edge of the new canyon. Dislodged cobblestones littered the area where the earth had split. I limped as close as I dared. I could only wonder why the Maker had carved this mark across half our island.

A scrabbling sound drew me forward, and I peered down to the water below. Someone had ignored the fences and found uneven footholds to climb down. Fair, tousled hair glinted in the late-afternoon subsun. “Brantley!”

He looked up and flashed a grin. “Wait there. I’ll help you down.”

Again, I found myself wanting to skitter away from a challenge that he coaxed me to face. I couldn’t resist him. With his steady arm supporting me, I picked my way down to the river. A splash erupted and a familiar long neck and floppy ears rose from the water.

“Navar!” I reached forward and hugged her. “How did you get here?”

Brantley all but swaggered as he stepped onto her back. “She’s the fastest stenella I’ve seen. I whistled for her after the big confrontation yesterday morning, and she followed the new river up in mere hours. Do you realize what this means? Herders from the rim can travel back and forth in a day instead of weeks using this river.”

More incredible changes. The Order would no longer be an isolated tower but connected to the shore and the ocean that cradled our world.

I settled on the ground and traced my fingers through the water. Muffled by the canyon walls, the drums finished one pattern and began another. For most of my memory, those drums had provided the heartbeat of my life. Always present in the background. Strong and reliable.

I glanced up. Brantley pressed his face against Navar’s neck and crooned praises. His formal tunic had already rumpled and gathered smudges from his climbing. Water splattered his trousers. Affection swelled under my ribs, followed by a sharp pang. In these past months, he’d become like the drums. Steady, trusted, and so constant that I hadn’t realized how much I relied on him until I pictured his absence. Yet now our traveling together was over.

As if feeling my perusal, Brantley turned his gaze toward me. With a last pat for Navar, he stepped back onto land and settled beside me. “So did Saltar Kemp convince you to stay?”

I shook my head. “I’ll help her for a few weeks while my ankle heals, but then I plan to go home and serve my village.”

He drew a deep, satisfied breath. “A fine plan. Then again, and I hate to admit it, this”—his gesture took in my neat head scarf, clean tunic and leggings—“suits you. When I saw you in the center ground . . .” He cleared his throat. “You’re meant to dance like a bird is meant to fly.”

I pulled my knees closer and touched the bandage around my ankle. “Not anymore.”

Shadows danced in the depths of his eyes, and he rested a hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t stomach the compassion, so I pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t want your pity.” The words sounded harsh as they came through the tangle in my throat.

He laughed. “Pity? I’ve never met a woman less in need of pity.”

I searched his face, looking for the lie, but could find none.

Instead, a warm smile met me openly. “You still don’t realize what you’ve done, do you? You don’t realize who you are. You’ve more courage than the wildest herder. Yet you also have a heart as big as the ocean.”

His words unraveled the knot in my chest, and a flood of warmth swept me. His respect and approval meant more to me than the praise of a High Saltar.

My skin flushed, and I adjusted a fold on my bandage. “I’m glad I found you before you left. I wanted to tell you that I’m grateful for all your help.”

“Grateful?” He leaned back on his elbows, and as lines bunched at his brow, I feared I’d made him angry. But then he laughed hard enough that his blond waves of hair bounced. “All right. Grateful. I’ll take that for now.”

“For now?” Confusion throbbed behind my forehead. He’d once been insulted by my expression of gratitude, but today he seemed only amused.

He chuckled again. “I guess it’s how the Order trained you. When you’re focused on one thing, you don’t notice anything else around you, do you?”

“I . . . I suppose.” What on Meriel was he talking about?

He shifted, kneeling in front of me. One hand smoothed a wrinkle in my scarf and lingered against my face. “Carya of Undertow, we both have our villages to serve. I understand that. But we’re going to find a way to serve them together.”

A honeybird fluttered beneath my breastbone. “Together?” My whisper floated on the breeze and hung between us.

He shrugged and offered a crooked grin. “I’ve gotten used to having you around.” Then the mask of humor fell away, and his ocean-blue gaze grabbed mine, all the depths of his soul exposed for a fleeting moment. “I don’t want another day to go by without you in my life.”

Heat rushed to my skin, my eyes widened.

He brushed a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m sorry. You’ve been through a lot and need some time. I shouldn’t have spoken so soon,” he added with a wry grin.

Together, he’d said. The picture flooded my imagination in vibrant color. The wings in my chest beat even more frantically, as if begging to be set free.

He was waiting for my response.

“I don’t know what to say. Of course I care for you . . .” And so much more. I admired him, trusted him, savored my memories of even the most brutal days on the trail because I’d been with him. I loved him. But even as I admitted the truth to myself, objections pinned my wings and placed my dreams firmly back in a nest. I had pledged to forsake all attachments. I no longer felt bound to serve the Order, but I wanted to—needed to—serve the Maker the rest of my life. Was this a horrible temptation I must fight, or was this a gift the Maker was offering me? What did Brantley and I have in common? And why would he saddle himself with a crippled wife who had no practical skills?

His gaze never left me, and I was certain that even my years of dancer training were failing to keep my emotions from flitting across my face. Love, longing, doubt, uncertainty.

His smile was tender and understanding. One callused finger rubbed away the worry lines from my forehead. “It’s a start,” he said. “I can wait.” He launched to his feet and helped me up. His eyes sparkled and his posture declared his confidence.

I wanted to explain why his dream would never work, prevent him from false hope, but I didn’t have the heart.

When we reached the lip of the canyon, we walked to the trellised archway and watched the last rays of subsun paint the buildings of Middlemost. Far beyond in the woods, a forest hound lifted a mournful howl.

Brantley shook his head. “That day in the clearing when you tamed the hound, I thought my heart would never beat normally again.”

I sighed at the happy memory of discovering I was still a dancer, even apart from the Order. Perhaps I was still a dancer even apart from healthy limbs. “He was sweet.”

“Maker, help me,” Brantley said under his breath. “What have I gotten myself into?”

The bell rang from within the Order, a frantic stream of sound, far too early for dinner. “Something’s wrong.” I planted my walking stick and hurried as best I could into the Order. Brantley edged along my other side and offered his arm. The support helped me limp quickly over the cobblestones.

Saltar Kemp met us in the entry hall. “The attendant on watch saw something strange. I’m heading up to the telescope now.”

“We’ll come with you,” Brantley said, not waiting for my response. I stiffened. If we planned to work together, I’d have to talk to him about his bossiness. At the thought of the clashes ahead between us, a secret joy bubbled in my chest.

My progress on the stairs was slow and painful, so Brantley swept me into his arms and carried me up the final flights to the roof. A young attendant squinted into the large brass instrument. When we approached, he backed away. “Look!”

Saltar Kemp peered through. “Did you check the lens? It looks like a smudge.”

The youth frowned. “The glass is clean. There’s something there.”

“But that’s impossible,” she said.

Brantley took a turn staring into the telescope and gave a low whistle. “Look at that.” His arm around my waist supported me as I positioned myself to take my turn.

Through the curved lenses, the whole world seemed to expand and move toward us. Disoriented by this glimpse, it took me a minute to see what had caused all the excitement.

Out to sea, some distance beyond the rim of our world, the outline of a large shape came into focus: shoreline, trees, a slope leading inland. My breath caught. “Another world.”

“But there is no other world,” Saltar Kemp said quietly. She shook her head. “How much more do we have to learn?”

Ignoring our consternation, Brantley leaned on the parapet and stared out to the horizon, as if he could see the new land with his naked eyes. “Meriel is free now. We must have drifted on the current near another world.” He turned and took my hand. “I’m going to explore it. Will you come with me?”

Who could guess what this new discovery meant? What adventures or dangers waited on that new island? Could this be part of the Maker’s plan?

I’m with you wherever you go.

The gentle reassurance quickened my pulse. I peeked again into the telescope. A new world. A new love. A new direction. My future sailed before me and I was ready to dive into the current. I stepped away and took a deep breath. With my weight on my good leg, I twirled once, lifting my hands to the smiling sky. Then I faced Brantley and took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”