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M Y EYES SNAP OPEN . G ONE is the gloom of the labyrinth, its rigid walls and passages veiled by shadow. I stand before a plain of rolling hills, grass so abundantly green I’m convinced it must have been painted on. The damp air lacks the dust of Ammara. The ground, too, is unfamiliar: springy and moist, void of cracks and baked stone.

Although— is it unfamiliar? A murmuring hush draws my attention toward the east, where the sky has begun to darken, and a wide river interrupts the landscape. Its unhurried current carves a meandering path. Trees cast long shadows over the burbling water, and beneath the trees, crouched on the riverbank, is a small child.

I stare at that child, a young girl with dark hair, swallowed by the blue fabric of her dress. A sudden ache wedges my heart alongside my ribs. It can’t be, but… why not? That dress, I once wore it myself. Those mistrustful eyes and the fingertips marked by calluses, I know them too well. The smudge below her jawbone where the violin normally rests…

The child is me.

Quietly, I approach. Young Sarai lifts her tear-stained face, and I falter, suddenly uncertain of my place.

The girl straightens, expression immediately pinching into something far more hostile. Her brown skin is a bit paler than usual. I assume it is due to the many hours spent practicing indoors. “Who are you?” she demands.

I bite back a huff of unexpected laughter. Of course the question would possess all the enmity of a blade held to one’s throat. “I am a friend.”

Her gaze narrows. “How can we be friends when we have never met before?”

A valid question. “We met long ago.” Peering down at her, I allow my features to relax, if only to make her feel more at ease in my company. “You would not remember.” I glance around. Whatever this place, it holds a peace I find incredibly soothing. “May I sit?”

Young Sarai continues to regard me in wariness. She is perhaps ten years old, and even then, has already begun to establish high walls. “No. Go away.” And she faces forward, skinny arms crossed over her chest.

Well then.

I begin to walk in the opposite direction, not the least bit surprised by her response. I mean, she is me. And I can be absolutely ruthless when the situation calls for it.

But as I wander along the river, I think of this child, whom I once knew. She sits alone. Something troubles her. I always wished Father would sit with me, in silence or conversation. Most days, all I wanted was company.

The river broadens. I pick wildflowers from a shallow mound. On my return trip, I splash cool water onto my face, then go in search of my younger self. Her expression darkens in annoyance at my presence. As soon as she opens her mouth—likely to demand that I keep my distance—I offer the flowers.

The distrust in the girl’s eyes hurts my heart. I know without asking that she questions this gift, its motive, whether it is safe to receive. For a second time, I ask, “May I sit?”

Eventually, she accepts the flowers with a shrug. “You may do as you wish,” she grumbles. “I hold no ownership over the river.” But her eyes brighten as she lifts the scraggly bouquet to her nose.

With a grateful nod, I settle onto the grass. The river is calm. Its waters are clear. Smooth pebbles line the bottom of the riverbed. A silver fish darts upstream.

After some time, young Sarai glances sidelong at me. “Maybe you’re right,” she says. “Maybe we have met before. You look familiar. Are you one of the ladies at court?”

I temper my smile. I do not wish to scare her off. “Technically, yes.” Not that I ever relished the obligation.

She rears back in suspicion. “What do you mean technically ?”

“Just as you are a lady at court,” I reply calmly, “I am as well.”

“Were you at Father’s nameday celebration last month?”

“I was.”

“Prove it.”

If I am right in thinking that the girl is about ten, then Father would have been in his mid-fifties. The dress she wears… I spot a stain near the waist. Dark red—cherry juice. I wrack my brain, go further into my memories. I was supposed to wear that dress during a performance to celebrate Father’s nameday—a disaster. Amir and I fought. I stained my dress at breakfast. Fahim ignored everyone, except for the girl he chased around the ballroom. Nobody had paid much attention to my performance. Except the king.

“You and your teacher, Ibramin, performed a piece for King Halim on the violin,” I say. “He cried, your father.”

The girl harrumphs. “I suppose you were there, but I really don’t remember you.”

That’s all right. I do not need her to remember me. It is enough that I remember her.

“You are far from home,” I point out, as a songbird flits onto a nearby branch. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”

“You may ask.” She drops the bouquet onto her lap. “Doesn’t mean I’m obligated to answer you.”

Was I really like this as a child? My tongue dearly loves a duel, but it doesn’t seem productive to put my younger self in her place, especially when I know how fragile she really is. “Fair enough.”

Leaning back on my palms, I watch the grass ripple beneath a temperate breeze. It cools the perspiration beading along my nape. I look to the sky, for it is vast and unknowable, yet always my attention returns to the river, its gentle hush. Water carries its own rhythm. Though I attempt to predict the cadence, it will forever remain out of my grasp.

In the corner of my eye, young Sarai hunches further over her knees. She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. “I don’t know.”

I angle toward her. We sit near enough that I could easily rest a hand on her shoulder, were I to reach out. Although, knowing my temperament as a child, I can’t say I would trust that she wouldn’t retaliate. “What don’t you know?” I ask, my voice gentle, motherly.

“You asked what I’m doing here. My answer is I don’t know.” Her shoulders creep toward her ears, and she wipes at the stain on her dress to no avail. “I come here when I want to be alone. It’s quiet.”

Of course this would feel like a memory, because it is a memory. As a child, I would retreat inward. I traded fluted pillars and rigid marble for the expansive wilds of this space when the world became too much. I stared into the imaginary river and wondered where it might lead me: away from Father’s expectations? A place of freedom?

“You’re right,” I say. “It is quiet.” The birdsong, the river, the grassy hills. It holds its own magic.

“Was.” My younger self glowers at me. “It was quiet.”

I shake my head in amusement. “You’re quite talkative.”

She looks downright offended. “ I’m talkative?” She tosses a hand in an impressive display of dramatics. Roshar would be proud. “You’re the one who’s talking to me!”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Did I ask you to stop?”

“No.” I smile at her, but to my dismay, her expression crumples, and she shields it behind her hands. A soft cry reaches me.

“Sarai,” I whisper.

Her head snaps up, tear-filled gaze wide with bewilderment. “How do you know my name?”

I reach for her. How can I not? Taking that small hand in mine, I fold the chill of her fingers into the warmth of my palm, the only shelter I can provide. “Remember what I told you? We met long ago.” Gently, I squeeze her hand. “What’s wrong? Why do you cry?”

The little girl shakes her head. She can’t express it. It is too dangerous to show vulnerability. But— “Because I’m sad,” she whispers.

“About what?”

“Father. It was his birthday, remember? Amir and I were arguing, and somehow I didn’t see the attendant carrying the plates of food, and I knocked into him, and the plates shattered and the food spilled, and Amir was laughing at me, and I was crying, and Father was so, so angry, saying I embarrassed him, dishonored him.” Her chin wrinkles; tears slide down her cheeks. “When I tried to explain, he sent me to my room and…” A garbled wheeze catches behind her teeth. “It’s not fair. Why am I always the one to blame?”

I remember now. It hurt at the time. I questioned my sanity and my character. I wondered why Father couldn’t love me first.

“I just want a friend,” she whispers, pained. “A real friend I’m free to be myself with.”

“I’m your friend, Sarai.” My hands cradle her sweet, sad face. “You can be free with me. You can let go.”

As I draw the child into my arms, her voice cracks, and the sobs pour forth.

You are enough , I tell the girl, who feels slight and unworthy, desperate for a guide. You are deserving, loved, safe, understood. You are important. You are most precious to me.

Yet who is at fault, truly, that so young a spirit would believe herself to be expendable? Father did the best that he could. He carried his own traumas, his own failures, into parenthood. I can’t imagine the difficulty in raising three children alone while grieving the loss of his wife. But what of myself? What responsibility do I hold for my unrelenting grip on resentment? Will I continue to move through life in pieces, or will I begin to work toward wholeness?

Here is what I know. Father is gone. I might never heal the hole he left behind. But I’m still here, still fighting. No matter where the road leads, I can mend the relationship with myself. I can be my own home.

And so my arms tighten around the child. Things are hard now, I tell her, but you will get through this. You cannot be broken. I am here. I will never leave you. I will stay for as long as I am needed.

At this, the girl weeps harder, fingernails gouging my lower back. I absorb that pain into myself as I rock her, again and again, whispering into her ear how brave she is, how strong.

But mostly, I tell her this: I love you . I give voice to what she desperately craves, this promise rarely heard from family. And I think, too, of Fahim. Did he yearn for these words? Might he still be alive had Father offered him an embrace rather than a crown? I might never know. But I press these words into the child’s skin as rosin is pressed into the hair of a bow, until she has absorbed this truth into herself so that she never questions it again.

When her weeping has subsided, I pull away, brush the long strands of hair from her tear-dampened face. “Come with me,” I urge, dark eyes full of mettle.

Young Sarai hiccups, frowns. She is uncertain. She dares not trust. But she places her small hand in mine, and together, we rise.

“Sarai?”

I startle, the South Wind’s hoarse voice yanking me from the depths into which I sink. A rosy-gray light washes the walls of the labyrinth as Notus hovers over me, eyes wild, sweat and grime coating his skin, broad chest heaving for breath. Heat invades the space. The walls of the labyrinth have crumbled in places, opening a path to a doorway in the distance. Sunlight streams through the cracks that have appeared in the ancient stone.

“The beast,” I gasp. “Where is it?”

The South Wind swallows and drops his head in a gesture of defeat. My heart sinks, down and down and down. Did I fail and this is yet another illusion, these cracks and sunlight and doorway out? “Gone,” he whispers.

Gone? “As in dead, or…?”

“Escaped would be my guess,” he says. “It ran straight through you, like you were a mirage. It disappeared down the passage.”

Gingerly, I sit up, curling forward with a groan to relieve the pain seizing my lower back. “It worked,” I say. Pressing my palm to my heart, I marvel at the lightness there, that absence of weight. The beast couldn’t touch me. The darkness had no hold. Not when I finally embraced all that I was, every jagged-edged piece of myself, every cracked and weathered shard.

The South Wind regards me with worrisome solemnity. “You purposefully called the beast to you. Why? Sarai, I—” His fingers spear into his hair, as though they might rip those dark locks from their roots. “I thought I’d lost you. I believed you were gone. Dead. Do you know—” There is a sound I never wish to hear, a god giving in to an all-encompassing fear, a sound of finest cracks.

“I’m sorry.” Taking his hand, I hold it to my chest, sheltering it as I would an injured sparrow. “There wasn’t time to explain.”

“Clearly.” He’s shaking.

I ease nearer, rubbing his upper back. It was not my intention to worry the South Wind so. There’d been no time to decide. I could only act and hope for the best. “Notus, look at me.” I draw his chin up. Reluctantly, his eyes meet mine. “For the first time in years, I trusted myself. Do you know what that felt like?” I shake my head, mouth quirked in a wry softness. “It felt like coming home.”

Notus, however, doesn’t share the sentiment. His frown deepens. “Would it have killed you to inform me of your intentions beforehand?”

When he tries to yank his hand away, I hold tighter, saying, “It was as your brother said. I had to conquer the darkness in my heart and—” Then I gasp. “The violin!” I hurriedly glance around, but the instrument is nowhere to be seen. “Did it vanish?”

“Sarai,” he growls.

Unless Fahim’s violin was a part of my journey? If so, that explains why it’s gone. It was a tool to help me, but now that I’m finally helping myself, I no longer need it. “The beast grew stronger the more we fought against it. That was the trap, don’t you see? As long as we allowed fear to drive us, we were never going to escape. The beast is a symbol, a physical manifestation of the darkness we all carry. The only way to conquer it was to accept the whole of myself.”

“And if you had been wrong?”

Notus appears so pained that I pull him to me, wrapping my arms around his wide shoulders. The weight of his body is comforting. “That was a risk I was willing to take.”

“You are mortal, Sarai.” His voice grinds with a budding frustration. “It could have ended badly. The beast… it took some of my power, do you understand? Drained it. I’m no longer at full capacity. To watch as it charged you—”

“You’re angry with me, I know,” I whisper against his neck, where the desert scent is strongest. “But I am well. The curse is broken. We are free.” Pulling away, I gesture to the door at the end of the passage, light seeping through the bottom crack. Prince Balior claimed I would not escape the labyrinth alive. But he knew little of me and of my will. “We have a chance to save Ammara, Notus. We can save our home.”

Unwittingly, his eyes soften. “ Our home?”

A gentle warmth bathes my face, a pinkness below the skin. Of course he would notice the detail of a single word. “Yes.” Because what was once mine is now his, this place I am ready to share, and build upon.

“What happened?” he asks. “Where did you go?”

I can’t help but smile at the memory. “I saw myself,” I say. “As a child.” That precious girl, so lost and so small.

“I don’t understand.”

“I—” How to explain? “When I was younger, I would sometimes go to this imagined place inside my mind. I would sit by the river and keep myself company. It was where I found tranquility, where I could just be . But this time, I wasn’t alone. A young girl was there, sitting by the river—me. And she was desperate for connection.”

A tear tracks down my cheek, which Notus wipes away with his thumb. I didn’t realize the ways I had neglected myself. I’d unconsciously made myself small in order to gain Father’s approval. I’d hammered my corners and smoothed my uneven patches. But I wasn’t me.

“How could I have been so blind to my own needs?” I whisper hoarsely. “Sitting with that part of me, holding her—it was incredibly healing.”

Notus reaches for my hands. He wraps them inside his own, and draws them to his chest, flattening them to his heart, whose rhythm beats alongside my own. “I’m glad you were able to get closure,” he says. “You are worthy of kindness and compassion and love. You deserve peace in your life.”

For so long, I’d believed the opposite. My upbringing was the most ruthless knife. It carved me from impenetrable stone. But this shape was never mine to decide. Now look at me. A woman who doesn’t know herself, and likely never has.

“I know Father meant well,” I whisper, and the grief, still fresh from his passing, hollows my lungs. “But sometimes I wanted to scream for how little he knew me.”

“I know,” Notus says, likely thinking of his own childhood. “It hurts when those we love fail to see us. But we’re all trying the best we can. Your father loved you as much as he could for a man carrying the weight of a realm. Don’t let the resentment harden you.” Reaching out, he cradles my cheek in one large palm. “I would not see your light dimmed.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I have hardened myself for too long, I think.”

The South Wind studies me for a long while. This is perhaps the first bit of contentment I have experienced in… I’m not sure how long. Years, to be certain.

“I’m proud of you, Sarai. I know you’ll find peace, one way or another.” Then he brushes his mouth across my cheek.

I lost myself in the labyrinth, yet I found myself, too, in pieces, which I collected and placed lovingly into something given order and shape. Something resembling my true self. Now I must decide what comes next. Peril still threatens Ammara, somewhere beyond the door at the end of the light-filled passage. Prince Balior, and the beast, a threat I fear is too powerful to conquer. But I am not alone.

Reaching toward the South Wind, I ask him, “Will you walk with me?”

Something gentles in his expression. “Sarai,” he says. “That is something you never need ask.”