“Of course they cannot say who they are, Temul. Not with all these Devoteds roaming around, wreaking havoc, killing children, looking for them.” The old man spoke now.

Mara’s face was blank as a mask, but he thought he heard her breath catch.

“You are the mages these Devoteds are looking for,” he said.

Mara said nothing. As in the confrontation with his mother, perhaps she was unable to say anything. It certainly wouldn’t help to own up to it.

“Be gone. You have already done us enough harm.”

“No,” Mara insisted.

“Yes,” the old man hissed. The camp fell silent. Two men were coming out of the wagon the old man had peered into before, carrying someone on a palette made from fabric and two branches.

It was a child. A boy.

Aven took two steps toward him without thinking. Mara put her hand on his arm to still him.

“They haven’t stopped looking for you, but they headed south again. You’re lucky you missed them. We were not so lucky,” the old man said gravely. “Now if you cannot help us, go.”

There it was. Aven had felt sure something was coming, that the nomad hadn’t been planning to just turn them away. He’d just wanted to make a show of it. This old man knew they could help, or was betting they could. He must know something of magic. He was hoping to pressure them into offering their help.

He turned to Mara and whispered, “Could you heal the boy?”

She clenched her jaw. “Well, yes, but—”

“No. If you can heal him, we must do it.” He could see the old man, who was pretending not to listen, perk up.

“I’m exhausted, Aven,” she hissed through gritted teeth as quietly as she could. “Even on a good day, when I didn’t need to heal, when we hadn’t slept on the damn floor as chipmunks all night and eaten needles and pinecones—”

“What about the trees? Or take the energy from me, then.”

“No. It’s still not enough.” She glared at him.

He glared right back. In that moment, he suddenly felt the heat of the sun on his skin. He pointed up at it. “You said I can pull it from the sun. I’ve done it before.”

“Only once. Are you mad?”

“I did it last night, too. I can do it.”

“No. Aven, you—” Her voice was getting louder.

“What has more energy than the sun?”

“I could kill you. If you don’t pull at just the right rate, you’ll go mad—or go dead. I won’t. I could kill you.”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, looking at her, face hard.

“We can’t risk—”

“That boy’s going to die because of us,” he hissed, lowering his voice so the man couldn’t hear him, preparing to beg her. “We must do it, Mara.”

“But—”

“They’re my people,” Aven said more gently now. “Take me wherever you must, Mara, but can’t you at least let me help them once? While I still can?”

Aven’s voice was a mixture of command and vulnerability, both demanding and pleading. Much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Her bond would almost certainly keep her from killing either of them. The ordeal could probably make them both terribly weak, though.

But he was even more right that it was the right thing to do. The last thing she wanted to do with her newfound freedom from the Devoted Knights was risk it to these nomads she’d never met. If she was incapacitated, which was likely, who knew what they would do? And healing a life-threatening injury was usually the work of a team of skilled healers, sometimes as many as ten. She was talented but not necessarily that talented. She would likely be unconscious by the end of it.

She glanced from Aven’s stern glare to the old man’s and back again.

She sighed. At least she and Aven had lost everything these nomads could potentially steal.

“Fine. Damn you. I told you you’d get us both killed,” she grunted at him.

“What if we could help you, old man?” Aven called.

The nomad turned, smiling, one eyebrow raised.

“The Devoted took our packs and horses. We need food, water, rest. If we try to help the boy, will you give us that in exchange?”

The old man nodded. “Come. The boy is dying. He lives, and you can have all of those.” He motioned them forward.

“And if we can’t save him?” Mara asked.

“We shall see.”

Aven trotted ahead of her toward the boy, and she launched into a jog to keep up with him. The nomads had lowered his cot to the ground outside the wagon. The middle of the road was hardly a discreet place to do magic—let alone such intense magic—especially when there were Devoted Knights hunting them. It was stupid.

But they needed light, and time was precious. The middle of the road was as good as they were going to get. She said a quick prayer to Anara that they might actually be able to do this. Let the boy be younger and smaller than she guessed. Let pine needles be more nutritious than they tasted. Let Aven be an even more talented mage than she suspected he was. He was definitely more persuasive than she’d bargained for.

Or perhaps she was just falling in love with him. Almost certainly, that was what turned her into a confident wet noodle that would assuredly do whatever he wanted. No time to ponder that now, though. At least he, unlike others, was determined to turn her power toward good.

“What happened to him?” Aven asked.

“Arrow to the chest,” a young blond woman answered, speaking only to Aven as he took to one knee. “We removed it, but he’s having trouble breathing and has lost a lot of blood. Knights said they didn’t like how he looked. Said they smelled magic on him.” The woman took a ragged breath. “Can you actually help him?” Aven turned and looked up at Mara.

“Yes,” she said. “We can.” On another day she might have wavered, but something about the look in his eyes… She didn’t want to fuss or hedge. She just knew. They would because they had to. She knelt down beside Aven and looked at him solemnly. “Are you ready?” He nodded. “All right, let’s do this. I’ll start with the trees and critters around here, but I can only go so far without leaving a blackened crater of death. Then I’ll rely on you. Put this hand on my neck. Yes, that’s right.” She moved his fingers to cover the back of her neck fully. She put her hands on the boy’s arm, his skin cold and clammy under her fingers. “I suggest you close your eyes, but look toward the sun. See it behind your eyelids. Do what feels right, whatever you must to keep focused on the energy and pulling it. You can’t stop.” He nodded somberly. “When it is done, I will pull away from you—or more likely fall away. That’s when you know you can stop.”