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now, waves crashing against jagged stones where a moment ago we sailed through calm seas.
    Magic. I think the word aloud without meaning to, awed by an enchantment so stable and powerful it can mask a whole city from sight.
    I jerk awake as suddenly as if someone slammed a door in my face.
    Stunned, I sit up, staring unseeing at the lake before me. The sunlight reflects off the water, burning my eyes. Only a dream. I rub my face, press my fingers into my eye sockets.
    Except that I’ve had such dreams before.
    “It’s not really possible,” I tell the mountain air. It’s wishful thinking, the hope that I could maintain some contact with the one other person I remember as well as Stormwind. No magic would allow as simple a connection as these dreams. There are those who learn to spirit walk, but that takes great training and even greater effort. I slip into these dreams, the five or six I’ve had, as easily as if I were stepping into the lake for a swim. One moment I’m dry, the next , immersed. Besides, if it were magic, Stormwind would have discovered me long ago.
    “Just dreams,” I say to assure myself.
    Neither the mountains nor the lake make any answer.

    I spend the afternoon on the roof. Yesterday I repaired a third of the north face with its low overhang. Today, working much more quickly and with far less concern for detail, I finish mending the remainder of the north side. Stormwind and I had worked on the south face together, and I take only a few minutes to inspect our repairs. The roof will hold for the winter, whether we’re here or not, and I have more pressing concerns.
    As evening sets in, I finish the last of my chores and settle in to read Magical Wards and Defenses , making note of the sections that might help me enhance my wards. I won’t be able to commit even a fraction of what I read to memory, but at least I’ll have gained a greater understanding of the various spells, and can select what I want to work on next.
    I keep the mirror beside me as I work. Stormwind should have reached the portal at the nearest town, Sonapur, sometime today, but Stonefall will likely take her straight through to the portal to Fidanya. She won’t have a room to rest in, or the privacy to contact me, until very late. In all likelihood, she’ll wait till tomorrow. Still, I can’t help checking the mirror now and then.
    Before I retire for the night, I gather up three of our daily-use glowstones, replenish their store of magic, and carry them up the ladder to tuck into my own daypack. Standing there in the magic-brightened cocoon of the loft, the house empty below me and charms and wards in my hand, I can no longer avoid the why of what I’m doing.
    I don’t believe Stormwind will come back. Regardless of her innocence or guilt, Blackflame will not allow the possibility of losing.
    There’s so much I don’t know, but this much is certain to me: Stormwind is gone. Without someone outside of the High Council to break her free, she’ll never return.
    The only question left is whether I pursue her or follow her instructions to remain here, living alone and teaching myself. And when I can bear the isolation no more, will I go in search of a family I don’t know, and from whom I’ll always have to keep my talent a secret? How will I live with myself, knowing the choices I’ve made?
    I curl up on my pallet, staring at the darkness until I slip into a dreamless sleep.

    I spend the following day improving my string of wards and collecting dead wood from the forest. With our harvest already in, there’s little else to worry me other than caring for the animals. I find myself checking the mirror regularly as the day progresses, but no matter how often I look, it offers me nothing more than my own reflection.
    As used to solitude as I thought I’d become, the silence left behind in Stormwind’s wake feels heavy and smothering. My movements sound overloud in the small confines of the cottage; the walls seem a