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Chapter1

Lore Alemeyu collected stories like the raven that lived above the apothecary hoarded shiny pebbles.

But her favorite was the one Mama told about a foolish god whose tricks led to the ruination of humanity. When Lore was little, Mama would use animated gestures, different voices, and accents that became more outrageous with every telling. Lore would fall into giggle fits on her sleeping mat, not caring that the thin layer of hay offered little protection from the packed earthen floor. She would scold the trickster god along with her mother. They would shout through the open window, ensuring their words were directed toward the heavens.

“You made a mistake, Yissa God!” they would shout. “Take us back to where we belong!”

Only much later did she realize that Mama’s version of the story acted as a balm to soothe the uncertainty and fear that coated the town of Duskmere like a dense, heavy fog. Nobody was immune to it, not even the children.

On festival days, which were few and far between, everyone would gather in the town square. Shops would turn their lanterns high, though the oil cost them dearly, and illuminate the blankets that families laid upon the ground. Hands would wraparound chipped, steaming clay mugs filled with spiced cider, and people would listen to the elders’ stories of malevolent gods.

Their stories differed from the tale Lore’s mama told her. She liked these less, for they made her cower, clutching Baba’s sleeve. These versions claimed that their ancestors had angered a powerful god, Brokyr. In retaliation, and to humble the humans, he had pulled them through a void, taken them from their rightful world, and banished them to a land of suffering.

According to the elders, the Cursed Crossing was not a mistake but a punishment.

This was usually where the elders would chime in about the importance of prayer, of hard work, and of being humble while keeping one’s eyes on the stars. One day, they would be returned to their rightful land, they claimed.

Lore would close her eyes tight and pray as fervently as she could. She wanted to be part of the first generation to leave their banishment and return to Shahassa, the motherland.

Then, the mood would shift, someone would sing a lighthearted ballad, and less devastating stories would be told until the children’s eyes grew heavy; they would soon fall asleep on their babas’ shoulders. Young lovers would slip away, their hands clasped tight against the cold.

But that had been years ago. Now, on the nights when Lore put the children to bed at the shelter, she would close her eyes and think back to Mama’s stories. It was those versions that she recounted to the little ones as she smoothed their hair and blew out candles. She shared tales of too much wine and tricks and, most importantly, of hope, though she held very little of it herself.

Lore didn’t tell the children that surely no god or goddess was going to save them. The only person she told this to was Grey.

“What makes you think the elders are right and the answers lie in the stars?” her oldest friend asked, his brow furrowed as he worked at mending his warmest pair of pants.

“There are many legends, but they all have one thing in common: the sky. That’s why we look through the skyglass on our eighth nameday. It’s why our church has no roof. The answers lie there, I’m sure of it,” Lore replied. She was pouring hot wax into molds. She had spent the last year perfecting the scent of her juniper and sage candles and never tired of making them.

“Well, you know what I think,” Grey said, his raspy voice muffled by the thread between his teeth. He tied off the last stitch.

“That the answers are to be found outside Duskmere?”

“Why else aren’t we allowed to leave?” he asked, raising the trousers to inspect them.

“Because the fae are cruel?” she suggested.

He couldn’t argue with her there.

“I just don’t see how the answers could be out there if we’re the only humans in Alytheria,” she continued. “Most of our history was lost in the crossing between worlds. We won’t find it in this one.”

“That’s not what you used to believe. You were the one who put this in my head—this need to escape and to search out there for answers.”

Lore shrugged. “I told you. My feelings have changed. There isn’t any point in trying to leave Duskmere. That’s a child’s dream.”

The words tasted of ash and Lore had to glance away as she began to trim the wicks on the batch of candles that had already set. She was no longer a child. There was no leaving Duskmere. For hundreds of years, they’d been confined to the town because the Alytherian fae would never let them leave.

Believing otherwise was a waste of time.

“Well, why won’t you tell me what changed? Aging out of the shelter, packing a bag, and scouring the world for answers used to be all you would talk about. You used to beg me to come with you.”

“That was a long time ago. Now I have to be here to helpAunty and Uncle—they’re getting much too old to take care of all fifteen children.”

“You’re telling me you’re content to stay here? To live above the apothecary until you eventually move back into the shelter and take Eshe and Salim’s place?” Grey’s voice was exasperated. They had had this conversation before, and he already knew her answer.

“There is honor in caring for those who cannot care for themselves, Grey. And besides, I love it here.”