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A fist that shifted and burned.

When the fist opened, fingers all sharp and splayed out, the sensation nauseated her.

But when the fist closed, as though ready to punch, Thorn felt...

What was it?

She pressed her hands flat against her legs, struggled to smooth her breathing into steady ins and outs, and thought about it.

When the fist closed, Thorn felt ready to punch too. She felt clearer, and sharper, like all her life she had been a scratchy Thorn sketch dusted in pencil shavings, and suddenly someone had shaken free her page. Now she stood out in stark relief against the world—clean and outlined and impossible to ignore.

No, if anyone ignored Thorn when she felt like this, if anyone tossed trash at her while she was sweeping, she’d chase them down the street with her broom, and they’d try to run, but they wouldn’t be fast enough, not for this Thorn with the fist living in her belly—

A pained cough interrupted Thorn’s tumbling thoughts.

Thorn shook her head, blinked, and as the fist in her gut relaxed its clutching fingers, her mind cleared and focused.

Zaf.

Zaf, lying on the bed in front of her, eyes closed, breathing thin and soft, a sheen of sweat painting her pale skin silver.

A young man with fair hair and freckled skin who looked about Quicksilver’s age sat beside Zaf’s bed. His name was Sly Boots—a healer, Quicksilver had said, one of the best in the Star Lands. Thorn sat in a chair beside him, and Noro watched overher shoulder, fitting neatly into the small room in his strange, unicornish way.

On the other side of the bed stood Quicksilver, arms crossed. Her shaggy black dog, Bear, sat on the floor at her feet. Against the far wall, on another bed, lay Bartos, watching through his goggles as Sly Boots funneled a thick grass-green liquid into a cup and brought it to Zaf’s lips.

“Poison her,” said Bartos sharply, “and it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Sly Boots glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t know what life is like in the Vale, but here in the Star Lands, we don’t march about poisoning children.”

Quicksilver’s mouth quirked. “Now, Boots. Let’s not be rude to our guests.”

Sly Boots looked up at her with a soft smile on his face that made Thorn think of her parents, and Brier, and Mazby, and Flower House, and all of the sweet, warm things she had left behind in the Vale.

Tears filled her eyes, which didn’t surprise her. It didn’t matter what emotion it was—happiness, sadness, fear, anger. They all turned into crying. Thorn felt a thing, and the tears came at once. Brier was always teasing her about it.

This time, her gut lurched and cramped, like it had ingested something poisonous. And up from that sick, knotted feeling shot a surge of anger.

It was so immense, so sudden, that it made Thorn gasp. Heat jolted from her left palm down to her stomach. She jumped up from her chair, her limbs vibrating with the urge to punch the wall, to kick her chair and send it flying.

Instead she stood with her fists clenched—two at the ends of her arms; another, throbbing and furious in her belly—and snapped, “Will she be all right, or won’t she?”

Sly Boots looked up at her in surprise. Everyone did. Zaf’s eyes fluttered open.

“I think so.” Sly Boots wiped the corners of Zaf’s mouth with a cloth. “But I’m not exactly sure what’s wrong with her. I’ve never met a witch like her.”

“I’ll befine.” Zaf struggled to sit up. “I’ve just never done this sort of thing before. It takes a lot out of a girl.”

“What sort of thing is that?”

“I used the lightning lingering inside my body to zap myself and my friends across the world.” Zaf batted her lashes. “What haveyoudone today, Mr. Boots?”

“Treated an infant suffering from the coughing fever, set twobroken bones, and cut out an infectious lesion that, had it been allowed to fester, would have made the girl lose her leg.”

Zaf frowned. “Fine. You’re impressive enough, I suppose.”

Regally, Sly Boots inclined his head. “As are you.”

Quicksilver hid a smile behind her hand. “What kind of witch are you, Zaf?”