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“Indeed,” I murmur. If Ukar were telling the story, he’d give some screed about the heroic deeds of his royal ancestors. But Ukar is asleep in an empty barrel somewhere, wisely banking his strength for what is to come.

“Niur was furious when he found out what Gadda did and turned him into a mortal as punishment. But before Gadda left for earth, he stole the brightest star from Heaven and gave its magic to humans. Now we believe the sparks of the first enchantments are what illuminate that star—Gadda’s light—a reminder of all he sacrificed so we might live.”

By the time I’m finished, Vanna is snoring quietly, wheezing slightly with each exhale. I press my face to the fur on her snow-white chest, rising and falling with her breath.

Ukar and I used to think the light in her heart was the same light that burned in Gadda’s star.

I press a kiss on my sister’s head and adjust her blanket. She doesn’t need one, but it makes me feel better to shield her.

I lie by her side. I miss the nights we used to sleep together like this. The nights Vanna would sneak into the kitchen, always with her wooden bowl under her arm. I’d keep a bag of peanuts for us to snack on, and fried fish skins too—when I had time to make them—and Mama’s cakes, to sweeten our dreams. Together, cocooned under our blankets, we’d gossip and complain and giggle until dawn.

“What’d you learn today?” I’d ask routinely, out of curiosity.

“I read an entire book on my own. It was about two lovers who turn into butterflies—”

I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess—the Epics of Su Dano. Ukar says books only get half the legends right, Vanna. Only the serpents know the truth.”

“It isn’t only the truth that’s worth reading about, Channi.” Vanna’s eyes were bright. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Even then, Vanna was always looking for an escape. She told me stories about worlds beyond our little kitchen on Sundau; she brought me books and, by candlelight, taught me to read and write. Today’s lesson was a bore, she’d say, but if I can share my assignments with you, that makes them a little more bearable.

So I get to be bored too?

That’s what sisters are for. My joys are your joys—

—and your miseries are my miseries. I made a face, but my heart hummed with warmth. I guess I ought to learn, if only so I can write down Ukar’s histories.

Learn I did, thanks to Vanna. And with her, night after night, we did escape to new worlds. Some I still visit when I sleep.

But tonight, when I close my eyes, I know that there is no place I can escape where Angma will not find me.

It is a small gift from the gods that I do not dream.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I’ve lived my whole life on Sundau, yet never have I seen it from the vantage of a ship approaching port. I see anew the landmarks I’ve known my whole life: the giant tree with its mushroom flare at the top, the white-sand beach with the gulls sitting on the hooked crag, the ravine that takes me to my first home, where Mama died.

Yet as my homeland emerges out of mist and fog, my gaze is fixed on the fiery firmament above. The moon is swollen red, and the sun has a bluish tinge as it fades into the clouds. The sight sends a shiver trailing down my spine.

All night, we’ve warred against the Kumala Sea, but now the waters taunt us with their silence. Not one fishing boat dots the coast. There are only shadows that creep over the land and sea, as thick and dark as the fear enfolding my heart.

I find Oshli by the rowers. The hollows under his eyes have deepened. How much blood did he give Vanna?

I pass him the last of my fried bread. He tries to give it back, but I shake my head. “You used to bring breakfast for me when you visited.”

He looks up. He does remember.

“Channi…”

I shake my head. This isn’t the time for reminiscing. “Eat,” I say, closing his fingers over the bread.

We’re minutes from making landfall. I can smell the trees, the dirt, the flowers. It’s a scent that calls to me. It beckons me. Home, Channi. You are home.

Even before our ship scrapes shore, I’m climbing off the rear deck. I lower myself into the shallow sea and wade across to the beach, almost running. Smoke presses down on me with every breath. Angma’s power is strong here. I can sense it permeating the entire island. But I don’t care. I could kiss the white sand under my feet.

Ukar is eager too. He burrows into the beach, burying himself until only his eyes are visible. Usually he loves the sand, loves disappearing under its grains, but now he resurfaces quickly and skitters onto a rock—his scales trembling, his color flickering. He is rattled, and I know why.

“Angma,” I murmur. I can feel it too. As can Hokzuh.