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Prologue

Once, in a land of seven kingdoms called the Star Lands—

Oh, wait.

That’s a different story.

That story is about a witch named Quicksilver, who embarked upon a perilous adventure to save all of witchkind from a villainous figure called the Wolf King—who was indeed villainous, but not in the way you might think.

This story is about another brave girl, though she would be the first to tell you that she’s not very brave at all.

And she would be wrong.

.1.

The Sun and Shadow Twins

Once, in a troubled realm known as the Vale, in the province of Westlin, in the capital city of Aeria, on the broad road called First Street, in the rooftop garden owned by the florist Nash Orendown, perched on the garden’s stone wall amid a soft green carpet of morning glories, a girl named Thorn searched the sky for signs of lightning.

And found none.

“Great storms,” Thorn cursed quietly, gripping her broom. “Brier will be in a terrible mood when she gets home. The skies are far too quiet.”

“Give them a minute,” said Mazby, wiggling his rump in the air before pouncing into a clump of morning glories. A dew-sprinkled dragonfly zipped away. Mazby’s beaked head poked out of the morning glories, his dark crown feathers gone askew. “Why don’t the dragonflies just let me eat them?”

“Would you just let yourself be eaten, if a thing twenty times your size were hunting you?”

“Only twenty times bigger?” He puffed out his chest and thrust his yellow beak into the air. “I’d say at least thirty.”

Thorn held out her palm. Never one to miss an opportunity for petting, Mazby jumped onto it. Thorn scratched his soft white chin, and Mazby’s eyes fell closed in blissful surrender. Purring, he gently kneaded his claws—eagle talons on the front feet, cat’s claws on the back—against her palm.

“On second thought,” Thorn conceded, with a small smile, “perhaps you’retwenty-fivetimes bigger than a dragonfly.”

“Quite right,” said the grifflet, and turned around three times in Thorn’s palm—just as an angry voice exploded from the street below.

“Thorn! I don’t pay you to dawdle and dream, do I? Get your sorry behind down here at once!”

Thorn jumped off the wall. “Coming, Master Tuwain!” sheshouted back, grabbing her cap. With Mazby clinging to her shoulder, she ran for the iron stairs that stretched from the roof to the road.

“That man always seems to know when I’m about to settle down for a nap,” the grifflet grumbled as Thorn hurried down, her broom’s handle clanking on each step. When she tumbled out through the creaking, vine-covered gate and onto First Street, she crashed to a stop at the feet of a tall brown-skinned man wearing a fine black coat and a bright red cravat.

Master Tuwain glared down at her, his bushy black eyebrows quivering with outrage.

Thorn peeked out from underneath the brim of her cap and offered an apologetic smile. “I was only taking a short break—”

“Tell me, Thorn Skystone,” Master Tuwain began, his voice smooth and gentle, “are sweeps meant to wander around rooftops and gaze at the sky? Or are they meant to stay in the gutters and clean our streets?”

Mazby, who hated when Master Tuwain used that unctuous tone of voice, poked his head out from under Thorn’s long, tangled brown hair. Thorn clamped his beak shut with her fingers. Mazby let out a muffled trill of indignation.

“They’re meant to stay in the gutters, sir,” Thorn answered.“It’s just that Mr. Orendown, he’s my father’s friend, you see, and he lets me take my breaks in his garden—”

Master Tuwain waved his hand. “At what age do I typically prefer to hire my sweeps?”

Thorn swallowed hard. “Fifteen years old, sir.”

“And how old are you?”

In that moment, with Master Tuwain looming over her, and people all up and down rain-soaked First Street looking over to see what the trouble was, Thorn felt like an errant dog being punished for doing its business on the rug instead of outside.