Book 5: Separate Carriages

Amval

The day after the Festival of First Wind, I wake with a smile on my face for the first time in a long time. I was right. Coming here was painful—until Ingrid intervened. Sailing those ridiculous little boats made me feel the most like myself that I have since waking up in Yalim’s cart, and she didn’t even stop after that. I bit into the breezeloaf Esen and Hova managed to switch with an extremely convincing replica made of clay. I cheered Liwar and Sibel to the finish line, even though someone from Kubilay actually won in the end. Joli asked me to help her sneak the clay loaf back onto Esen or Hova’s plate, convincing them to fall for their own prank.

And I danced. For hours and hours, my feet lighter than air but still not lighter than the music. Even Ingrid spun through my grasp.

“I usually hate dancing,” she confessed, “and parties.”

I didn’t ask what made this one different. I already know. Kubilay—First Wind—it’s special. She fit i