It was when she was little. Not even ten, not even having heard of the Academy of the Graces yet.

  That day, she had been scolded by both her teacher and her mother for not having prepared the proper spells for class. She had memorized the wrong ones, wrote up the wrong rotations, and then had gotten upset and cast a dangerous spell out of spite.

  In tears, she had run away into the forest, the tiny and irresponsible child she was. She found a patch of faraway shrubs and trees to sit between and cry, exhausted at being alive and for doing everything wrong. Being expected to do so much, being told she had so much potential when she couldn’t even get the smallest thing right.

  Smoldering in her own pity, she cried until night descended, unafraid of the promise of monsters outside at night—she was the monster, after all. Everyone should have been afraid of her.

  No one came.

  In the darkness, after what felt like forever, she stood up on shaky legs and started to stumble forward. She didn’t know which way home was, or where she was walking. But it was better than nothing.

  After a while, seeing that she was lost, she started crying again. But she kept walking and walking, as if she’d get somewhere as long as she kept going.

  Did she want to go home? Did she want to apologize? Did she want to try again, to be better, or to give up like the failure she felt like she was? It had been too long, and the feelings had long ago escaped her, no matter how good her memory was. But she must have felt something.

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  She walked and walked, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the world to give her something. The Earth Mother and her Graces would not let her go so easily, the abomination she was.

  And then, as if She had heard her, there was singing.

  “And when I’m gone, just look above…”

  Like a siren beckoning its prey, the voice lured her in, and there was a bright light that came from afar.

  Walking closer, unafraid, the child felt her pace quicken as she approached, desperate to get close enough to distinguish the song’s lyrics. The spell was in her language for once, not the Ancients’.

  “…guide your way.”

  And then the light faded, and she stopped in her tracks. She blinked a few times, wondering if had all been in her head, when there was a sudden burst of light that shattered the ceiling of the sky as she looked at the figure in the center of it all: her mother, standing in front of their home by the hill with her arms outstretched toward the skies, surrounded by the waves, the forest, and a never-ending sea of stars.

  “Welcome home.”

  Who taught you that song?

  Your mother did.

  But you’re my mother.

  No, your real mother.

  Why haven’t I seen that spell before?

  It’s because it’s very special.

  What do you mean?

  Your mother made this spell, you know. She was my best friend, and I met her at school. We were in the same class, and she was my class lead. She was one of the brightest people I knew, and I loved her very much. But she also loved someone else very, very much. Someone she wasn’t supposed to. They had you. And when they left me with you, your mother gave me a page with this spell. She told me that she made it for you. Your father must have helped, too; it takes a lot of time and patience, after all. They loved you so much, Ty. You are so, so loved.

  Can you teach me?