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Tanwen was a storm as she threw together a travel bag. Her thoughts were the rumblings of thunder, harsh and loud, visions of her father and brother abducted playing over and over in her mind. Her heartbeats were cracks of lightning in her chest, painful shouts, remorseful screams against her rib cage.

She had done nothing to stop them.

Nothing to keep her family from being torn in two.

I am a coward!

Selfish. A fool.

If I had only told my family sooner.

Tanwen’s guilt nearly buckled her knees as she clutched a sack of rice, shoving it into her pack. She was hardly aware of what she was pulling together. She only knew she had to pull something together.

Because Low Gods as her witness, she was falling apart.

“We can’t follow them,” reasoned her mother as she stood in the corner of their kitchen, eyes still swollen from tears, shirt and trousers plastered with dirt. Her gaze tracked Tanwen as she ran from cupboard to closet to bedroom. Eli was also there, perched on a chair’s back. His whiskers twitched in telling agitation. He was quiet, however.

Eli knew better than to interrupt Tanwen when she was on a mission.

“We can certainly try,” Tanwen ground out, dunking her canteen into one of their water troughs by the kitchen door. The cold seized her hand, momentarily clearing her frenzied mind.

Tanwen blinked back to her surroundings, noting the half-drunk tea of her father’s still on the counter, now cold. The bags he and her brother had been packing, now tipped over, abandoned.

After the soldiers had left, Tanwen and her mother had sat clutching one another for what felt like an eternity, the morning somehow shifting to afternoon. It wasn’t until a fox had poked its nose into Tanwen’s back, questioning if she was all right, that she stirred from her drowning grief.

But barely.

Tanwen was certainly not all right, but that would not stop her from correcting this wrong.

How was she to do that?

She wasn’t yet certain.

She knew only that it would include Prince Zolya suffering the same pain he was causing her now. Tanwen would be just as cold and uncaring when she unleashed her anger as he had been when he threatened her brother’s life and forced her father’s hand so heartlessly.

Humiliation burned along her skin.

How could she have thought he was any different from any other Volari?

When, in fact, he was the worst of his kind.

In a haze, Tanwen had helped her mother to her feet, then returned them to their den.

But once there, she realized her mistake. Their home now felt like a mausoleum.

She and her mother the reluctant mourners.

They needed to leave.

“No one can get onto Galia without the proper paperwork,” reasoned Aisling, her hoarse voice returning Tanwen to their kitchen, to where her mother regarded her. “And even if we could,” her mother went on, “how do you plan to infiltrate the palace? Or find where they might be keeping your father and brother? If they are even together? You have no plan, Wen. If we are packing, it should be to head north. It is no longer safe in Zomyad. We’ll go to the Low Gods’ territory, in Drygul, until we can figure out our next steps. There are places on its fringes where mortals can roam. That was always the plan your father and I—”

“Well, Father isn’t here anymore, is he?” Tanwen regretted her words instantly. Especially when her mother flinched as if Tanwen had thrown daggers rather than voiced her anger.

But by the twin moons, Tanwen was angry.

She was furious.

Scared.

Lost.

“I’m sorry,” said Tanwen, pulling up her now-filled canteen and placing it on the table. Water sloshed from the top, staining the wood grain below dark. She stared at the wet spot, watching as it was absorbed and vanished. Tanwen swallowed down the sob she felt reaching for freedom. She had cried enough. Could cry again later. Currently, she desperately needed to act. Do. But perhaps more importantly, she needed to understand.

“Mother ...” She hesitated. “Why did this happen? Why would the king need Father to make a new mine?”

As if the answer pained her, Aisling drew in her brows, glancing out the window to her right. The energetic buzz of insects and languid birdsong filtering through was a taunt to their tense moment.

“Do you remember how your father and I met?” she asked.

“You were a meddyg at the Dryfs Mine, where Father also worked,” said Tanwen, repeating the story she had been told many times since she was a child, one that always warmed their colder nights on the road. “He had helped carry in some workers who had been hurt, which had startled you, because you never see a Volari so openly offer their aid to Süra.”

“Nor do you see them freely enter such tight quarters like that of our meddyg hut,” added her mother, a fond faraway look in her gaze. “He knocked over half my supplies that day with his wings, making more of a mess for me to mend in the end.”

“But you found him charming,” added Tanwen with a smile, always liking that part of the story—imagining her father clumsy in the presence of her mother.

“I did,” she replied, small grin awakening. “Despite myself, I did.”

“That’s when he started to visit you more often, always with an injured worker, however.”

“Yes, and though he wasn’t meant to, he’d stay long after they had gone. He was fascinated with my work,” she added, features growing sober. “But most of all he wished to understand my hatred of the mine, to change my opinion. But I could not be swayed. Despite how the Dryfs gave me and my people work, it suppressed us more, killed us. It is the worst invention in the history of Cādra.”

Tanwen swallowed her discomfort, never liking when her parents disagreed, even if it was in a past life. “And he didn’t like that you thought that,” said Tanwen, knowing what came next. It was a part of the story she hated even though it was what ultimately brought her parents together. “You fought. Told him you never wanted to see him again. And then ...”

“The Great Collapse,” finished her mother, tone hollow. “I can still taste the dirt coating my throat from that day. The screams of men buried alive, dying.”

“And Father . . .”

“Was among the Süra digging for survivors, right there in the chaos, on the ground. Until he fell into an air pocket, rocks half covering him.”

“That’s how you came to tend to him and for him to confess his love for you, laid out on your meddyg table.”

Her mother nodded, meeting Tanwen’s gaze. “It is, but there is more to the story we never shared.”

Tanwen remained quiet, her unease awakening.

“There was a reason your father was so offended at my hatred for the Dryfs,” explained her mother. “And that is because he was not stationed there to oversee the workers like the other Volari. He invented the mine.”

Tanwen blinked, heartbeat stuttering. “Invented? As in ...”

“It was from his mind that the Dryfs came to exist.” Aisling’s features were hard. “He was King Réol’s engineer. His trusted inventor for over a century.”

Her mother’s words seeped into her skin, ice piercing veins. Disbelief rendered her frozen. Tanwen knew her father was old, but ... more than a century? And his mind was certainly great, but ... adviser to the king?

New words prickled awake in Tanwen’s mind, ones spoken by Prince Zolya to her father.

You are who King Réol has requested be reinstated as his royal engineer.

Understanding flickered awake.

“We have remained hidden for more than just Thol and I, haven’t we?” asked Tanwen, disquiet churning in her gut. “For more than a Volari falling in love with a Süra.”

“We have stayed cautious ,” clarified Aisling, “for many reasons.”

“Mother,” Tanwen pleaded. “There could not be a better time to tell me everything than now.”

Her mother let out a long exhale, as though she had been holding it in for years. “Yes,” she breathed. “You are right.” Her gaze seemed to grow unfocused as her mind tipped back to the past. “After the Great Collapse,” she began, “your father was ordered to rebuild the Dryfs, but he had finally seen the damage his invention could do to those who worked the mine. There were many areas his schematics had not accounted for. Conditions weren’t entirely safe, the hours of labor beneath ground unhealthy, the food provided unfit for the energy expended by the laborers. And pay, well, there is a reason the most desperate along with criminals work the mine. But the king would not agree to his proposed changes to make the Dryfs more suitable. It would have been too costly, he had told him. Too time consuming. The king wanted his mine rebuilt and rebuilt fast. Your father refused.”

Tanwen stared wide eyed at her mother. “Refused the king?”

Aisling nodded. “I have never been prouder of him than in that moment. It was shortly after that he and I were discovered. The king had Flyn— Gabreel ,” her mother corrected with a frown, “followed, suspicious for his insolence after decades of faithfully obeying orders. There had to be another reason, after all, than a man merely growing a conscience on his own. I was the reason the king eventually found for Gabreel’s transgression. I was the Süra harlot who poisoned his precious inventor’s mind. It was treason of the highest degree.”

Tanwen desperately grasped every word her mother set free, empty corners of her parents’ past filling in. “But why didn’t the king have Father killed?” asked Tanwen. “Why merely take his wings and banish him?”

“To take a Volari’s wings is like having them killed,” explained her mother. “In fact, some would argue it is worse than dying, being robbed of the air they were born to fly in. After all, it was what Ré had done to his sister, Maryth. But you are right to wonder why King Réol ended his vengeance there. It was a question your father also wondered about for a time. The king does not easily forgive, if at all, nor is he known for his benevolence. Treason or not, he must have seen the worth of your father’s mind. He has created many innovations for the king and Galia over the centuries. Despite your father leaving with his life, he feared a day would come when the king would seek him out again for his services. And as we’ve seen today”—her mother grew paler—“your father was right.”

“And you?” wondered Tanwen. “Why would the king spare you?”

A blunt question. One that was met head on by her mother.

“He didn’t,” said Aisling, chin lifting. “But you must remember, I am a soul born from the soil of Cādra, a Süra from Garw, and know better how to hide in dirt than winged creatures. Their hunt for me faded after a year. Thankfully, since during that time, I discovered I was carrying you and your brother.”

Despite her mother’s softening expression, Tanwen felt only a growing churn of fury. Perhaps because she was still grieving the events of this morning, still sifting through her disdain for Prince Zolya and guilt for potentially being a reason he had found them.

She hated how helpless she felt.

“Why did you never tell us this full story?” asked Tanwen. “Why only share parts?”

“It was your father’s wish,” said her mother. “He ... is deeply ashamed for the Dryfs. For what it has done to the Süra. The further divide it has instilled between the classes. He and I both wanted a fresh start with our family.”

“A fresh start?” scoffed Tanwen. “But all we have ever done since our earliest memories was run. Run from a past we had no part in!”

“Wen,” breathed her mother. “I understand why you are upset, but—”

“You understand nothing!” Tanwen snapped, her ever-pressing frustrations regarding her life again uncapping. “You know nothing about being scorned by the two races that make up your blood. The guilt of believing your life is what causes your family to be forced into seclusion.”

“Tanwen, stop .” Her mother grasped her shoulders, tugging her to her chest. Tanwen tried to push her away, but Aisling’s grip was iron strong. “You must stop,” she ordered again. “Please, it breaks me to hear you say such things.”

“But it is the truth ,” seethed Tanwen, ignoring the hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

“It is not mine.” Her mother met her gaze, features sharp. “You say I do not understand what it is like to be scorned? I am still a woman, Wen. One who fell in love with a Volari. I know what it is to disappoint, to be ostracized from a community, disowned by my own parents simply for following my heart. It wasn’t until we had you and Aberthol that your father and I realized the rest of the world could hang. So yes, we hid, we ran, we have stayed tucked away in this corner of the forest for safety, but we have also done so because we no longer agree with the structures of Galia. Why live close to neighbors who would so quickly turn on us for a bag of gem?” Her mother’s words echoed Tanwen’s earlier thoughts. “You and Thol may not be like me or your father,” she continued, determined. “But that’s because you are better. Your first breath as you left my womb was a gift from the gods. You are proof that something new and different can exist in this world. You are our future, Tanwen. You are—”

Their den shook, the sound of wood splintering as Tanwen tumbled back into her mother’s arms.

The Volari! They are back, thought Tanwen in terror as the walls of their kitchen bowed. She barely registered Eli jumping from his chair to scurry up and into her shirt’s pocket, burrowing deep.

“Mother!” shouted Tanwen, steadying them both as foliage burst through the floorboards, snaking across their kitchen. The air became sweeter, headier, glistening. Flowers bloomed, radiant; a multitude of bugs, large, colorful, and winged, invaded. They no longer stood inside their den but in a woodland cave of wonder. One that continued to bend and build from the center until a form made of vines and moss and mud shifted forward.

An unfurling face of leaves stared down at them, eyes so black they might as well not have been there.

“ Bosyg ,” whispered her mother as she pulled Tanwen to kneel. “Revered goddess of our home,” she said, head bowed. “Creator of all we honor and nourish, we are humbled to be before you.”

“I have interrupted a moment between you and your child,” stated the goddess, her voice the turning over of soil, rough and smooth at once.

“Nothing is of greater importance than the purpose of your visit,” said her mother.

Tanwen’s gaze was also on the floor, or what was once their floor. Now it was an ever-moving landscape of plants and bugs cycling through their birth and death.

Tanwen held in a shiver; the endless power she felt pressing against her was terrifying. She had never been in the presence of a god, and so far, she was not sure it was something she enjoyed.

“I have been dishonored this day,” said Bosyg, her roots shifting. “Those who are not meant to roam in my woods have stolen from it.”

“Yes,” answered her mother, voice breathless. “My mate and one of my children were taken from your sanctuary by Prince Zolya and his soldiers this morning.”

Their kitchen thickened with vines, a pressure of displeasure wafting from the goddess. “It is audacious of the children of the High Gods to believe themselves above the laws of my forest,” exclaimed Bosyg. “They may live in the clouds, closest to my cousins, but their rule ends at my tree line.”

Aisling remained quiet, no doubt unsure how to appease the Low Goddess without angering any of the High.

“I have spoken with your nyddoth and nydda, however,” continued Bosyg. “And I have heard their plight regarding the trade. While I have accepted it along with their repentance, I am not fully satisfied.”

“The trade?” questioned Tanwen. The words slipped out, unchecked and regrettable, as she glanced up.

To be in the presence of a god was one thing, but to stare into one was wholly another.

And it was indeed to stare into . For whatever magic made up Bosyg was consuming. A pulling of the mind to fall forward, as if leaping from a cliff’s edge to grasp the unobtainable. A bottomless descent of yearning.

Tanwen looked away, trying to calm her fast-beating heart as she focused on a sturdier branch.

“Offering up the king’s inventor has helped your clan gain more provisions from the yearly harvests,” explained Bosyg.

The room tilted farther. “Our nyddoth traded my father and brother for ... food ?”

“ Tanwen ,” admonished her mother before bowing lower before the goddess. “I apologize for my child’s outburst—”

“But this is insanity!” exclaimed Tanwen. “How are you not upset?”

“Of course I am upset,” Aisling hissed, cutting her a look. “But now is not the time to share such emotion.”

“Do not worry, Mother,” stated Bosyg, hand lazily stroking a python, which wove in and out of her viny abdomen. “I am not above understanding that your child’s anger is directed elsewhere. I may be eternal, but I know the nuances that make up the beings that live in my forest. Even the kind that are most rare.”

As the goddess’s gaze bore down on Tanwen, her skin dusted with goose bumps, terror seizing.

Even the kind that are most rare.

Mütra.

Bosyg knew what she was.

But of course she did.

She was a god.

Still, Tanwen didn’t know if she was meant to run or beg for forgiveness.

“You are safe here, little one,” said Bosyg, as if sensing her fright, her inner turmoil. “You are no threat to me or this forest.”

You are no threat. You are safe.

It was as if the air was knocked from Tanwen. Words she had not known she needed to hear grasped her heart, held it beating. A touch of acceptance. And from Bosyg, mother of their home. A Low Goddess.

Still, a flicker of anger ignited in Tanwen’s chest as she sensed the contradiction in the sentiment. “Then why allow us to be hunted in your forest?” challenged Tanwen.

“Why allow a deer to be felled by your blade?” returned Bosyg, head tilting. “Or flowers to be plucked by your hand? I do not dictate how life behaves in my woods. I merely nourish the soil it grows from.”

Tanwen wanted to sneer at the response, at the excuse, but instead she reluctantly understood. She was a small piece in the circle of life, and Bosyg was not responsible for where she fell in the pecking order.

Still, Tanwen’s cheeks burned in frustration. By the gods, she wished to change that. For once be in power, in control. To no longer hide or cower but soar free.

“However, I have always been curious why your kind became banned by King Réol,” Bosyg mused. “Life is not given unless for a reason. To fight nature is futile. It is ever changing, adapting, surviving, conquering.”

Around the room the foliage morphed and grew and receded with Bosyg’s words; time sped up, showing every stage of life in her forest. The effect was dizzying.

“Yes, how curious,” repeated Bosyg. “Why would King Réol want to prune what wishes to grow? Why would our almighty Ré grant him the power to do so?” The questions hung in the air. “Such actions are usually a sign of fear. But I wonder, little one”—the goddess’s endless black gaze bore down on her—“what about you would scare a god?”

The assessing silence shifted to scheming.

Unease filled Tanwen’s rapid heartbeats.

“I ... I do not know,” answered Tanwen.

She might have held unique abilities but nothing as spectacular as the children of gods had. Of the gods themselves, high or low.

“Hmm,” mused Bosyg thoughtfully. “No, I don’t suppose you do, which begs the question, Are you willing to find out?”

The hairs on Tanwen’s neck rose, the goddess’s inquiry a dangerous temptation.

What about you would scare a god? Are you willing to find out?

“Goddess,” interjected her mother, voice wary. “We thank you for your concern and are humbled for your time, but we understand an immortal power such as yourself has other, more important, matters to attend to.”

“I would not be here if I did not find this worthy of my attention,” said Bosyg. “Are you implying my judgment is flawed?”

“No,” her mother quickly replied. “Of course not, Goddess.”

“We have both been wronged this day,” said Bosyg. “I demand retribution. Let us see how my cousins’ children like to be stolen from. It appears they are in need of a reminder that without land, there is no sky. High or low, we are all gods. I am offering you the opportunity to return home your mate and child.”

Tanwen jolted in shock as her pulse kicked to racing.

I am offering you the opportunity to return home your mate and child.

Miraculous words.

“How?” breathed Tanwen, leaning forward.

Despite her better instincts not to bargain with a god, she knew this kind of opportunity would not be repeated.

And Tanwen and her mother were not currently in a position to be selective in where they found help.

“There are other ways to Galia than with wings,” explained Bosyg as she captured a dancing butterfly from the air, closing her palm around it. “Ways that will allow you to enter unnoticed but remain invited.” She opened her hand, letting free now dozens of butterflies, the original one lost in the crowd.

Tanwen’s mind churned.

There are other ways to Galia.

“The Recruitment,” whispered Tanwen, her heart a pounding drum beneath her rib cage.

Bosyg grinned.

“ No. ” Aisling shook her head, tone the slamming of a door. “No, Wen. Absolutely not. I won’t allow it. We will not become servants on Galia.”

“No, we won’t.” Tanwen met her mother’s hard gaze with her own. “Because you won’t be coming with me. I will sign up for the Recruitment, not you. We can’t risk you being recognized. Plus, they only ever want younger servants, anyway. And I am a meddyg, trained under the most gifted of meddygs. They will not pass up my skills, especially when they learn I can make docüra.”

“This is madness,” her mother seethed. “I will not allow you to sign your life away, Tanwen! There is no way out once enlisted. Please”—Aisling turned back to the goddess, eyes wide in her panic—“we truly thank you for your aid, but we will find another way. We will—”

“If my mother stays behind”—Tanwen cut off her mother’s desperate plea, this new plan quickly hardening her resolve—“where will she go? It is no longer safe for us in Zomyad.”

“Your clan does not know of what has transpired here this morning,” stated Bosyg. “Your nyddoth has ensured it. There is no harm in your mother staying, but even so, I will extend my influence for additional protection. For as long as your father and brother are gone, so will their memory be from your neighbors. Your mother and your home shall remain safe in your absence.”

Home.

Safe.

All Tanwen had ever wanted in life.

But with her whole family, together.

This was her opportunity to grasp that dream.

Still, Tanwen understood her mother’s wariness. There would be no way out of the Recruitment once in. Her life would be owned by Volari. She’d be at the mercy of the position she was enlisted into and in debt to a Low God.

But what other solution was there? What other plan would get her access to Galia and ensure her mother was protected?

Tanwen chewed her bottom lip. This was the only way.

“And for your offered safety?” Tanwen tentatively asked. “What is it you will require in return?”

“I will grant you this favor,” said Bosyg, “but a time will come when I will need a favor of my own.”

And there it was, the terms of their deal.

A favor for a favor.

But why a god might seek the aid of a mortal, and a half-bred one at that, Tanwen did not know.

She only understood she could not remain still this time. She would not hide.

Her parents had been her protectors her whole life; now it was time she repay their efforts by protecting them.

“So, little one,” asked Bosyg. “Do you accept this offer?” The goddess extended a single pale-pink dahlia that grew from the tip of her finger. “Shall we learn the might of a Mütra?”

“ Tanwen. ” Her mother grasped her shoulder, desperation in her tone. “Let us think on this.”

But Tanwen was already reaching out.

“Yes,” she answered the goddess as she plucked free the flower.

Bosyg’s smile was the stretching of moss growing over stones.

And then their surroundings blew apart, every vine and branch and plant and animal erupting before their kitchen snapped back to its original state.

Her father’s cold tea and discarded bags had returned.

Bosyg had left.

Yet her flower remained, pinched between Tanwen’s fingers.

A deal with a god sealed.