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Gone.

That was the word wavering on the tip of her tongue.

Thorn clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant to say those words, and certainly not with a voice likethat, so mean and cutting. She had never before considered herself ferocious. What a tasty feeling it was. Ferocious people were not ignored. Ferocious people did not live their lives in quiet shadows.

But that voice... it had not belonged to her. It was almostlike something had taken over her throat and tugged out another person’s words.

“Thorn,” said Noro quietly, “is there something you want to talk to me about?”

Yes.Yes.Thorn gripped Noro’s mane so hard that she expected to see fresh red cuts carved into her hands.

The voice had frightened her—almost like her own, but not quite. Feeling like her own words, and yet not.

She opened her mouth:I think I might be ill.

There’s something inside me—something new and strong, and growing, and terrifying, but also wonderful.

But if she confessed to Noro, what then?

Would he think her mad?

Or worse, would he take her to Sly Boots, and ask the healer for a tonic that would wipe her belly clean?

“I’m worried about you,” Noro said. “I’ve been thinking that maybe, in the swamp, when—”

“So, what will we do now?” Thorn asked loudly, forcing cheer into her voice. She had to distract Noro, make him forget what he was thinking. “You know, since Quicksilver’s turned out to be useless.”

“I’m not sure I’d describe her quite that way,” Noro repliedtensely, “but, to answer your question, I don’t know. We came here for a witch. Perhaps there’s another one who might be able to help us.”

Thorn snorted. “So we’ll just go hunting around the Star Lands, for storms know how long, until we find someone who wants to leave their home behind to come to a strange land of shadows and darkness and monsters? Someone powerful enough to actually be of use to us?”

Thorn slid off Noro’s back, marched to the bay’s edge, and glared out across the water. Starlit waves, amber and lavender and coral pink, lapped at her toes.

“We should justtakesomeone back with us, and as soon as possible,” she muttered. “Doing things the proper way will waste too much time.”

Noro went very still, in that cold, stony, ancient way he took on when he was too tired or angry to pretend he was tame. “Are you suggesting we take someone to the Vale against their will?”

“I’m suggesting we do whatever is required to save the Vale, instead of lingering for however long in Lord Vilmar’s castle, being polite and saying please and begging for our lives like a bunch of babies.”

“Well,” said a hard voice behind Noro, “that’s certainly an alarming thing to overhear.”

Thorn spun around.

Quicksilver stood there, arms crossed over her chest and a growling Bear beside her.

Flanking them were six of Lord Vilmar’s witch guards—and their crouched, glowing monsters, all of them ready to pounce.

Quicksilver didn’t allow Thorn to speak until they’d returned to Lord Vilmar’s castle.

They gathered in a sitting room in the east wing and waited in tense silence until Bartos, Sly Boots, and Zaf arrived.

The moment she stepped into the room, Zaf darted to Thorn, clasped her hand, and faced Quicksilver with a defiant gleam in her eye.

“Whatever she did,” Zaf said, “she didn’t mean it. And if you want to hurt her, you’ll have to go through me.”

Thorn decided to ignore the slight lingering wheeze in Zaf’s voice, which somewhat diminished the weight of her threat, and instead concentrate on how sweet it felt to have Zaf standing a little in front of her, as if to protect Thorn. Maybe the only stormwitch alive in the whole world, and she had chosenThornto be her friend.

Thorn stifled a smug smile. That was as it should be.