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But without my memories, every question I asked was a dead end.

During my first week imprisoned in the mine, I searched every bleak and filthy face to see if the Rathalans had captured my brother too. That’s when I first met Hen.

A group of us were working in an isolated section of the mine when I caught sight of a dark-haired boy being whipped by one of the guards.Brother!Blackness consumed the edges of my vision as I gripped my shovel and stalked toward the guard. I raised the tool to strike, fury and hatred coursing hot through my veins. I was seconds away from impacting the back of his skull when I was yanked off my warpath and dragged into the shadows.

“Watch yourself, ckara.”

“What are you doing?” I’d shrieked. “I’m trying to help him!”

“You’re helping no one.” She shoved me deeper into the shadows, and I lost my footing and stumbled to the ground.

“No,” I snapped, glaring up at the girl who was scolding me. “You’rehelping no one by just standing there.”

“What do you think will happen? You attack the guard, and that boy will be safe? All will be right in the world again?No. If you attack the guard, he’ll punish that boymorefor your actionsandmake you watch. Then he’ll drag you over there and do the same to you.” She jerked her chin toward the platform in the middle of the mine floor where the minemaster regularly stood to give orders. “And then he’ll come after me and anyone else in this place who’s dared to glance your way.”

“But—”

“Keep your head down. Eyes to yourself. Don’t talk to anyone. That’s how you survive in this place. That’s how youhelp,” the girl said in a harsh whisper, just loud enough for me to hear over the thundering of hammers and pickaxes that reverberated off the high cavern ceiling.

I glanced past her toward the dark-haired boy. Even with the fresh bloodstains smeared across his face, I could tell that he wasn’t my lost brother like I’d thought. My heart sank.

“Get up,” the girl said as she retrieved both our shovels. Her muscular shoulders and callused hands indicated she’d been a worker for quite some time, but there was a lingering sharpness in her eyes and fullness to her lips that said the mine hadn’t stolen all her youth.

When I didn’t move, she squatted down beside me, voice tense. “Look, you aren’t going to win against the Rathalans by getting yourself killed, all right?” I noticed a faded scar on her cheekbone that made me wonder if she’d once tried to fight back too. “If you want to survive down here, you’re going to have to convince them that you’re weak, that you’re worthless, that you’re easily controlled.” She pressed something cold into my palm. “But you can keep this with you as a reminder you are strong.”

Had I known this was the only truly nice thing Hen would ever say to me, I might have smiled when I looked down to see a sharp nail in my hand.

“Hide it in the side of your shoe. Hurry.”

I did as she said.

“Now,get up.”

I got to my feet, my anger dissolving into hopelessness. The tears I’d been holding at bay for a week spilled silently onto my cheeks.

“And stop crying,” she chided, thrusting a shovel into my hands before pulling me back to the work area. She sank hershovel into the pile of gravel at our feet and dumped it into a wooden cart nearby. I followed her lead, swallowing the tears but not bothering to wipe them away. Because I knew more would eventually come.

“What’s your name?” the girl asked when the guard on duty moved away.

“Raven,” I said, grateful to remember that small part about myself.

“I’m Henna. You can call me Hen.” She didn’t look up as she spoke. I wondered if she kept her sea-green eyes permanently cast down to avoid the lecherous gazes of the guards. While most of the other workers were little more than walking wraiths, she seemed like an ember that still glowed long after the fire faded to ash. Something these guards were bound to notice—towant.

“What tribe are you from?” she asked, keeping her voice low so no one could overhear us.

Her attempt at conversation caught me off guard, especially after warning me to not talk to anyone. She was the only prisoner who’d spoken to me since I’d arrived, if I didn’t count “watch where you’re going” or “find your own shovel.” Did she have an agenda? Or was she just as lonely as I was? Either way, if I was going to survive in this place for long, I could use an ally.

“I—I don’t know,” I finally answered, the words sounding as hollow as I felt.

She glanced sideways at me, narrowing her eyes. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I can’t remember,” I told her, my voice frayed. I could tell the other prisoners here were from various tribes, but I couldn’t recall the names of the tribes or anything about them, and I wasn’t sure how I fit in. “Something happened to me. I can’t remember anything about my life before I arrived here. When I try to think back past a week ago, it’s like I … hit a blank wall.”

“Hmm.” Hen’s hard expression softened a bit. “Most of the people down here are Jakeens who were enslaved when the Rathalans seized this city. Then there are quite a few Ardens and Terrans who’ve been captured since then.” As she spoke, she nodded toward members of each of the tribes unlucky enough to have become the Rathalans’ prisoners. The Jakeens were easy to spot with their metallic golden or bronzed skin and eyes shaped like crescent moons. The Ardens were lean and tall, with intricate tattoos of flora on their skin and long hair that made them look like willow trees. The faded laugh lines on their faces were reminiscent of forgotten evenings of good food, song, and dance. The Terrans were shorter but appeared sturdier, like they were sculpted from the rugged earth, with rounder faces and stony eyes.

“You’re clearly not one of the Jakeens,” she continued. “The magic binds them to eron, a metal that makes their skin impenetrable, like armor. Meaning you’re probably an Arden or Terran. Though it’s possible you could be a Rider or Magi, but I doubt it. The Riders of Garandea can typically use their magic to evade the Rathalans on horseback. And the Magis are too cunning to be captured. That, and I’d wager the Rathalans are afraid of them. Probably worried the Magis will use shape-changing spells to turn them into toads or cockroaches.” She let out a dark chuckle.

If I turned out to be a Magi, I vowed to do much, much worse.