“You didn’t need to knock the poor girl out,” Alara said.

Raquel and Emaru lifted the dazed girl into the cart that had just arrived from the Haven. She hadn’t spoken and was holding a hand to her head where Raquel had hit her with the sandbag-tipped arrow.

Raquel shrugged, looking back at Alara. “I thought she was a bruya.”

Alara motioned toward the embroidered dress that the girl was still wearing. The fabric was rough, but clean and well fitting. The skirt hit the girl at the knee and flared out from her waist. Bruyas didn’t wear any particular uniform, but the ones that Alara had seen were always disheveled and dirty, and their females did not wear brightly embroidered dresses.

“Does she seriously look like she’s been living in hiding in the cloud forest to you?” Alara said, noticing the village girl’s eyes flickering awake.

“She’s so much older than magites normally are,” Raquel said, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Why hasn’t she been found before in the testings?”

This last question was directed toward Emaru, who was climbing out of the cart. Her lips were pursed and eyes narrowed. She ignored the question and walked away to speak with a group of gathered villagers.

Raquel turned back to Alara, her brown eyes flashing. “You sure she has magia? You’re not exactly flawless with your powers.”

Alara couldn’t quite argue that point. “Emaru tested her, too. She definitely has abilities.”

She looked toward the wagon again. The girl was now hunched in the wagon, eyes cast downward. Her dark, tightly curled hair stuck up a bit haphazardly, and there was a streak of mud on her chin. But she still managed to look defiant, a grim expression on her face. She was also tall, her shoulders broad with muscle. Alara wondered what kind of job she did around the village.

“That’s the father, I assume,” Raquel said, moving her head toward the man Emaru was talking with.

Looking him over, Alara could see the resemblance. He had the same dark skin and curly hair, cropped close to his ears. While he was taller than even his daughter, his body was round and soft, making him look less formidable than her. Dull eyes hid beneath bushy eyebrows, his soft chin lined with a graying beard.

The man’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he shook his head as Emaru spoke. Alara and Raquel occasionally looked back at the wagon where the girl sat stone silent. Finally, Alara saw the man give a curt nod before turning away, not even sparing a glance toward the wagon.

“I don’t think he knew,” Alara said.

“El’dyo,” Raquel rolled her eyes. “Blameless villagers can be so stupid.”

Emaru returned to the wagon and looked up at the girl, who still sat hunched and silent. “Quenti,” she said softly.

The girl’s—Quenti’s—honey eyes flashed, and she finally swiveled them sharply toward Emaru. They sparkled with something that Alara couldn’t quite read.

“You have nothing to fear, child,” Emaru said. “My name is Senya Linda Emaru, and I am in charge of the school at the Haven. I have spoken with your father and he understands the situation. He’s packing your things and then we will be on our way to your new home.”

No response. Alara couldn’t tell if this was a sign of defiance or confusion on the girl’s part.

“I imagine this is all a bit of a shock for you, but we’ll have plenty of time to talk on the journey.” If the girl’s silence and lack of decorum bothered her, she didn’t show it. Emaru flashed an enormous smile. “This is the beginning of your new life!”

Quenti still didn’t respond, but Alara thought she saw the spark of anger in her eyes as she turned away and let her hair fall in front of her face.

***

Alara must have fallen asleep at some point, because the sun was already high in the sky, the air thick with the afternoon heat, when she opened her eyes.

The cart bumped along the Via Sura, jostling her and Quenti, who sat silently in the back. Other than the two of them, along with the village girl’s small canvas bag of belongings, the cart was empty, having dropped off its supplies at Hurazon with the replacement guards.

The recent rains had made the stone path slick, but the l’lamas were surefooted as they pulled them along. Emaru and the few councilguards returning to the Haven rode alongside the cart on the council-bred l’lamagas—which stood at least four hands taller than the ones pulling the cart and were significantly larger than any of the l’lamas ranchers raised in the outskirts of Sombria.

Alara looked over at Quenti, whose eyes stared straight ahead of her, focused on the l’lamas pattering in front of them. Alara leaned over, trying to catch the girl’s eye. “So… that was your father back there?”

Quenti’s eyes flickered to Alara’s and then back to the l’lamas.

“Did he know you had magia?” Alara paused for a moment. “Did you know? How did you not get picked up in the annual testings? I’ve never heard of magia coming out so late.”

Quenti sighed deeply, but remained silent.

“I don’t even remember when my magia started,” Alara said, leaning back against the cart’s tailboard. “I guess I always assumed I had it. What powers do you have?”

Nothing.

“I’m a fire mage and a mind-stalker—not very good on either account,” Alara clarified.

She knew she was rambling, but the silence was making her uncomfortable and she was still too tired to properly censor herself. But Quenti gave her nothing. After the initial recognition that told Alara the girl could hear her, she hadn’t glanced at her once. She may as well have been speaking another language.

Giving a huff, Alara crossed her arms and looked away from Quenti. Fine. She made eye contact with one of the councilguards riding along next to them and gave him a smile.

Ardo, one of Emaru’s personal guards, pulled up alongside the cart where Alara sat.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Ardo’s smile was large and bright, and his pale gray eyes wrinkled at the corners.

“Haha.”

“You missed all the excitement.”

“I’m sure. What was it? A wild guinea pig crossing the trail? I haven’t seen one of those in a whole day.”

“You missed the pumisi attack earlier. It jumped in the cart and tried to eat you, mistaking you for a dead body. But don’t worry, I fought it off single-handedly.” His eyes flashed with amusement at this own joke. “You can thank me later.”

“My hero.” Alara said dryly, but she smirked back at him. Ardo was only a few years older than her, but that hadn’t stopped the two of them from becoming fast friends. He also so happened to be one of the best physical fighters among the councilguard, despite being a blameless, and Alara couldn’t help but admire him for that. In her never-ending desire to prove worth to Senya Emaru, she had originally sought out the strongest opponent she could find so she could take him down—proof of her superior ability without magia. While she never defeated Ardo in one-on-one combat, she had gained his respect, despite her lower magite ranking.

“How’s the new girl?” he asked, gesturing to Quenti, who was still ignoring them.

Alara shrugged. “I think she’ll settle in over time. I can’t imagine being picked up at this age—with a life already built somewhere else.”

Ardo nodded solemnly. “It’s hard to say goodbye to your home.”

It took her a moment to remember that Ardo hadn’t grown up in the Haven or even Cielo. She actually wasn’t even sure where he was from. She opened her mouth to ask, but Emaru’s voice cut her off.

“Ardo, can you scout ahead for a place to rest and water the l’lamas and l’lamagas? I think we’re all starting to slow down a bit.”

“Duty calls.” Ardo gave Alara a quick wink before pushing his l’lamaga forward in a trot, away from the group.

Alara turned back to the village girl. “The roads seems bumpier than on the way here, huh? Although I guess you wouldn’t know.”

Quenti didn’t bother to look her way and Alara slumped back into the cart and closed her eyes.

By the time they made camp for the night, all she got from the girl was a sideways glare. This was going to be a long trip. She would have much preferred to be riding on a l’lamaga alongside Ardo and the other councilguards, but there were no extra mounts that could carry her.

A long trip indeed.

***

A few mornings later, when they woke up at their camp, Alara could almost feel the rain coming. The air sat heavy with humidity and haze whited out the treetops in the distance. Her hair curled stubbornly and she had to pull it back a few times to keep it from sticking to her forehead.

At breakfast, Alara watched Quenti sit, still sullen and silent as the others ate and talked around her—a pattern that had developed over the past few days. After that first day, no one bothered trying to speak with her, and she seemed perfectly content with this.

Dark circles sat under Quenti’s eyes. Alara noticed them on the first morning, and they’d had only been getting deeper as the journey continued. Multiple days in, they were now dark purple bruises residing under bloodshot eyes.

Had the girl slept at all since they’d left Hurazon?

Leaning over to her, Alara shoved the warm tortilla in her hand under Quenti’s nose. Her eyes met Alara’s for a moment before she looked back down. Without speaking, she grabbed the warm snack and stuffed it down hungrily in three bites.

“Thanks.” The words were soft and quick, but Alara took it as a win.

They ate without speaking, but as Alara passed Quenti more tortillas, the silence seemed at least a little less oppressive.

“When did you get taken? To the Haven, that is.”

Alara gave a small start at the sound of Quenti’s voice. It was deep and a little hoarse, having gone unused for a few days now.

“Um…” Alara said, pondering the question. “I was four—I think.”

After breakfast, they packed up again, and as Alara and Quenti jumped into the cart, Emaru climbed in behind them. Alara suppressed a giggle at the way Emaru sat stiff and awkward, her long legs folded under her not quite gracefully. A woman of her ranking was used to sitting in chairs or atop l’lamaga mounts, not on the floor with blameless or magite peasants.

“We should arrive at the Haven before mid-meal,” Emaru said. “How’s the ride been so far? It’s quite a long trip from the outskirts.”

Quenti shrugged and predictably didn’t respond.

“Well, when we get to the Haven, I know you’ll likely be excited to settle in and rest, but I also want to prepare you for a few things and make sure you have a lay of the land.” Emaru ignored Quenti’s stubborn silence.

“We will be going through to the schools where the dorms are and where you’ll be staying,” Emaru said. “Everyone starts in the school of researchers, but depending on where your talents, strengths, or passions lie, you can move to train at the other schools later. We’ll have to figure out where to place you in terms of level — we rarely get magites your age coming through. I’m sorry to say you’ll likely end up with the six and seven-year-olds for now.”

She paused and eyed Quenti. “I spoke with your father. He didn’t know you had abilities.”

Quenti shrugged.

“I’ll admit he didn’t seem to be the most attentive fellow,” Emaru said, “but it did seem strange that he remembered no odd details. Usually, those with abilities at least exhibit telltale signs that their guardians pick up on. I’ve never seen a parent so blatantly oblivious to a child’s magia before.” Emaru let the unspoken implication linger in the air for several seconds.

Quenti paled slightly, but her expression didn’t change and she shrugged.

“Do you know what abilities you have?” Emaru asked.

Quenti’s eyes narrowed and Alara waited for Emaru to realize that she wasn’t going to answer, but then Quenti surprised her. With a sharp wave of her hand, the haze in the surrounding air thickened until a small cloud formed, hovering just above them in the cart. Another wave of her hand and a light sprinkle of rain began. Alara gave a small gasp of surprise as the cool water hit her face.

But before she could really appreciate the rain, Emaru blew the cloud away with a wave of her hand. “Impressive.”

Quenti shrugged. “I don’t have much control. I’m sure others could do better.”

Emaru smiled brightly. “Control we can teach.”

Alara was about to ask if Quenti could make another rain cloud, but the unspoken request was made moot when a loud crack of thunder vibrated through the forest and the sky opened up with a roar. The councilguards let out a grumble and pulled the hoods of their ponchos up, but Alara let out a childish “whoop!” and turned her face up to the sky. The dried dirt that caked her skin from the last couple of days melted into mud and fell in rivulets from her skin.

She spent most of her days underground in the Haven, and it was a rare joy to enjoy the rain. Emaru gave the magite a wry look as she pulled her own hood over her head, but said nothing as Alara’s brown hair plastered to her face.

Her clothes were heavy and soaked through by the time the rain stopped and the clouds dispersed. The forest also thinned around them, allowing more sunlight to filter in through the trees. Before long, they broke through the greenery and into open fields. The din of Cielo drifted across the fields and Alara gazed upon the distant city as they approached.

They were joined on the road by other travelers. Some pulled carts with l’lamas and others trekked on foot, their sandals and boots slapping against the wet stone of the path. Out of the corner of her eye, Alara saw Quenti’s eyes widen at the sight.

From afar, Cielo resembled an oddly colorful mountain, but as they approach, Alara could make out the terraces that wove around the city, covered in colorful stone buildings and bright wool tents. Speckles of movement could also be seen as the citizens of Cielo bustled around the narrow streets. Based on the din and commotion, it was a market day. Alara couldn’t help but smile at the look in Quenti’s eyes as they got closer—Cielo really was breathtaking.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Alara said.

“It’s… big.” Quenti said, her eyes not moving away from landscaped mountain. Alara frowned slightly at the coldness in the other girl’s voice, so mismatched with Alara’s own joy at seeing home.

As they neared the city walls, their cart and convoy separated out from the crowd onto a small path, toward an enormous set of doors built into the stone walls, away from the open gate of Cielo. Two councilguards pushed the doors open and Alara let out a small gasp as a wave of cool air hit her wet skin.

The cart made its way into a dark tunnel, which connected to the twisting underground tunnels of the Haven buried under Cielo. Alara let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the cavern and looked back at Quenti, whose awed expression had been wiped away. Her back was stiff and her face drawn as the cart came to a stop.

“Welcome to the Haven,” Emaru said, her smile bright in the torchlight.