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The woman frowned again, deeper, before closing the distance between us. She slowly lowered to a crouch, as she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, carefully avoiding the still-tender place the Archmage had touched. Her eyes locked on mine. Up close, they looked even more like blood. Dark and thick, like the irises were almost liquid themselves. Panic clawed deeper.

“It’s all right if you’re from one of those places,” she said quietly. “There is no shame in it. Many before you have come from the kingdoms across the sea. According to the history, the tickets for participation are placed at the guidance of Freia herself. There are omegas that come from all over Avicourt. It is part of what makes the Rite so unique, so important to our kingdoms here.”

Tickets… did she mean the mirror? But then, how did an object like that end up on the shoreline of Maine when this so clearly wasn’t Earth? How did we get back to Earth? I had work, and Sloane had the kids’ dress rehearsal for the summer recital. Could we even get back? Maybe that mirror was a two-way road, and we could use it to get back home. If we could find it. And it actually could get us back. It would be just like my luck if it was a one-way ticket instead.

I swallowed compulsively, trying to sort through all the questions while my head grew heavier.

How did someone even start to ask about magical objects forcing them into a different world without sounding like a complete imbecile?

Sloane stirred on the bed before I managed to come up with an answer. My eyes flicked to her. God, this was not the time to spiral. Like most shitty situations I’d endured, I shoved everything into a box and threw it as far back in my mind as possible. Maybe I’d deal with it later, but probably not. It was easier to just ignore all the boxes.

I licked my lips and settled on the most neutral option I could think of. “Right. Of course.”

Her smile was softer this time as she stood and started back toward Sloane.

“So… what’s the Passage?” I cleared my throat. “Why are we going there?”

“Oh, if you’re from the Far Lands, you probably didn’t understand when they explained everything to you when they first brought you inside.” She pulled the blanket off Sloane and carefully refolded it. “Now what’s the official piece they tell you? Right, I think it’s something like… You’ve been chosen by Freia to participate in the Grand Rite!” She set the blanket aside. “The Archmage is taking you to the Passage so you can meet with the Votarists and receive the Mark of Freia to enter Magefall without consequence. You both are such lovely women, and I’m sure alphas will think the same, so don’t worry about being undesirable. Now, the Archmage told Gareth he’d given you the translation for Alwesh as well as Sorín and Dorónmarc, so you shouldn’t have any issues understanding whoever selects you.”

That was a lot to unpack. My head spun with all the names. I tried to internalize them, but there were too many given the state of my head currently. Magefall sounded like a building of some kind, especially since we’d need some kind of mark to be able to enter safely. What kind of security detail did it have, then, if the soldiers here only had swords? I nearly snorted at the thought. Only had swords. As if they wouldn’t be able to kill me with those just as effectively as a gun given my unarmed state.

Wait. Choosing us? Was it an auction of some kind where we were the cattle?

Bile rose at the thought.

The woman didn’t see my internal spiral, touching Sloane’s arm and gently waking her up. As she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, the woman turned back to me, her lips pursed.

“Well, I suppose if someone from Espar chooses you, it might not be quite enough languages,” she said in a thoughtful tone that mirrored her look. “But the Archmage doesn’t know those ones, so it’s not like he could impart them with the spell. I’m sure that if someone in Senona or Tousir chooses you, they’ll have a mage that can give you translations for their language.”

My mind stopped holding onto any of the names, and I didn’t try to fight it.

She turned back to Sloane, helping her out of the bed and onto the floor beside me. She waited until Sloane had taken a piece of the bread, laden with some kind of meat from the tray. Then she busied herself, humming under her breath. She remade the bed, laying both extra blankets at the foot, before bringing in a new log for the fire, gently setting it atop the glowing coals. She held her hand above it, and the flames licked to life, engulfing the new log in a matter of seconds.

Warmth billowed from the fire, and I shivered.

“How did you do that?” Sloane asked, her voice full of awe. Trust my sister to put aside the insanity of us being somewhere that isn’t Earth and ask about random bullshit around us.

The woman blushed, looking toward the closed door.

“Oh, well, I suppose I’m not really supposed to do that, but trying to get a fire to behave when it’s nothing but coals is frustrating, and I want you girls nice and comfortable for when the Archmage comes for you. Transportation is even more unruly than that translation imbuement most of the time.”

Sloane handed the piece of bread to me, her gaze thoughtful.

“You’re not supposed to use magic?” She tripped over the word, but the woman didn’t seem to notice as she grimaced.

“Well, no, I can use magic. Just not… this type. The King doesn’t like for this type to be used.”

“Why not?” I couldn’t help but ask, slowly sitting up before taking a bite.

The bread was delicious, crunchy and sour like the best sourdough we’d eaten in San Francisco a few years before. The meat was sweeter than I expected, the texture soft and supple despite it looking like jerky. My stomach growled again even as I practically inhaled the piece.

The woman pursed her lips before sighing.

“If I may speak frankly,” she started, looking between the two of us. Sloane nodded, bumping her shoulder into mine. The woman grabbed a hairbrush stashed on the tray of food and began working it through Sloane’s hair. “Fire magic—at least, the kind that I have—comes from my mom’s people, the Sylvoria. It’s the only thing I received from her aside from my hair and my ears.”

She frowned even as her hands worked through Sloane’s hair with a practiced ease.

“They are a detested people here, especially by the kingdom’s court, those with the most power. It is considered shaming to use the magic of her people,” she admitted after a while. “Please don’t tell the Archmage.”