Page 89 of The Brightest Fell

I turned. May was running toward me, arms already open. Sylvester was following at a more sedate pace, but still hurrying, and Jin was coming down the path after him, slowed by her short legs, her wings buzzing frantically as she hurried to keep up.

Then May slammed into me, her arms locking tight around my upper body. She buried her face against my shoulder, whispering, “You came back. You came back. I wasn’t sure you were going to.”

“As fast as I could,” I said. “I got there and back by the light of a candle.” Only I hadn’t, because Simon still had our candle: he had taken it with him when he lost his own way. Maybe it would burn forever now, unable to ever guide him home.

May sniffled, pushing me away. She plucked at a lock of my hair. “This is different.”

“I found my sister—our sister. Turns out Mom never taught her to play nice.” I shrugged, trying to look unconcerned, trying to look like this was the sort of thing that happened every day. In a way, it sort of was. “Madden’s letting Arden know I need to borrow the hope chest. I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” she said. Formalities observed, she turned finally to look at the statue where Jazz perched, still wary, still frozen. May sniffled. “Does she really not know who she is?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Tybalt . . .” May looked back to me. Whatever she saw in my face must have answered the question she hadn’t yet asked, because she stopped, and nodded, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“October.” Sylvester had been hanging back, giving us our moment. Now that it was done, he walked forward, offering me his hands, and asked, “What can I do?”

“I don’t know.” It was getting harder to keep myself from crying. “She locked them in cages that hurt them, that were too small to let them transform, and then she left them alone in the dark for days with nothing to eat or drink. I don’t know what to do.”

Jin visibly relaxed. “Oh,” she said, coming closer. “Is that all?”

May and I both turned to stare at her, united in our shock and horror. She shook her head, wings snapping open to punctuate the gesture.

“Shapeshifting—all shapeshifting, whether it’s inborn or aided by a Selkie skin or cloak of feathers—is magic. Magic is a muscle that exists inside and outside the body at the same time. That’s why practice makes you stronger. You’re working that muscle behind the magic. Your mother . . .” Jin paused, mouth twisting in a moue of distaste. “What she did was cruel and unreasonable, and they’re currently experiencing the magical equivalent of a muscle cramp.”

“Can you fix it?” May demanded, barely a heartbeat before I was going to ask the same question.

“If they let me,” said Jin. She smiled, clearly trying to be encouraging. “Ellyllon are very good at muscles, both physical and non. That’s why we go into medicine. It’s where the muscles are.”

“Please, help them,” May said, and there was nothing else for me to say, so I stayed where I was, with my squire, my liege, and my real sister, the one I’d chosen, the one who’d chosen me, to see what happened next.

Jin walked slowly toward Jazz, her hands open at her sides, her wings flat against her back. Jazz shifted uneasily from foot to foot, watching the Ellyllon approach. She gave a warning croak. Jin stopped, holding her position until she was confident that Jazz wasn’t going to fly away. Then, and only then, did Jin start forward again. She spread her wings as she walked, leaving traceries of red glitter in the air. Jazz watched warily.

“Peace,” said Jin.

Jazz cawed.

“Sleep,” said Jin. She made an elaborate motion with her hands, and Jazz toppled sideways off the statue, plummeting like a stone. She never hit the ground: Jin was there before she had the chance, plucking her from the air and bearing her gently down to the garden path.

Jin looked up, turning toward us. She beckoned May forward, and May went, slowly at first, then with increasing speed, stopping only when she reached Jin’s side. Her eyes were fixed on Jazz, and only on Jazz.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“Sit,” said Jin.

May sat.

“Hold her,” said Jin.

May gathered Jazz in her arms with such delicacy that it hurt to watch, cradling her sleeping girlfriend. Jin opened her wings again, the air around them growing thick with red dust, and began moving her hands through the air, tracing patterns I could neither see nor understand.

“Your hands,” said Sylvester. I glanced at him, startled. He frowned. “What did you do to your hands?”

“The cages,” I said. “The thorns. I’m too human to heal the way I should right now. I’ll be fine.” We’d fix Jazz and Tybalt. We’d take them home. Arden would loan me her hope chest, and I’d be fine. I had to be. We had to be. I had worked too long and too hard for the life I had now, and this wasn’t how I was going to lose it. It wasn’t. I refused.

My hands ached. I flexed them. The punctures burned more than they should have, like they’d been coated in a stinging sap. But Tybalt and Jazz were fine, and they had been in those cages. They had been . . .