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“Are you hungry?” Remy asks.

Tin fed me well earlier in the day, but I could use the comfort of a warm meal and a bottle of spicy pumpkin ale.

“If you’re offering to feed me, I will absolutely take you up on that.”

A half hour later, I’m sitting with Blue by a blazing fire, a bowl of stew in front of me and a bottle of ale in my hand. He’s already three bottles in.

“So what now, kid?” Blue asks.

I drag a crusty piece of buttered bread through the brown gravy and bite into it. The stew’s base is rich and a little sweet, and mixed with the saltiness of the butter, it’s absolute heaven.

“I don’t want to think about any of it,” I admit and I expect him to let me get away with that answer because up until now he’s shown no interest in literally anything. Even me.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I frown at him.

“You’ve started something. Now you must finish it.”

I dunk another tear of bread. “Since I’ve arrived here, death has followed me everywhere.” The words come out of me almost unconsciously. But once they are out, the truth of them settles in. My heart sinks. “If I do anything more, I’m worried I may ruin the lives of too many people. I don’t know the first thing about being … me.”

The words witch and god come instantly to mind, but they don’t feel like they belong to me, even though all the evidence is pointing to it.

“I don’t know how to use magic, let alone use it for good. All I seem to manage is death.”

Blue rocks back on the two back legs of his chair. “Have you considered the fact that you’re self-sabotaging?”

“Excuse me?” I ask, my voice rising.

“I only ask because I’m an expert in it.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“What does a therapist do? Weave clothing?”

“No. She’s like a counselor. A healer for the mind.”

“Ahh.”

“She told me I wasn’t allowing myself to love and be loved.”

“Self-sabotage,” he says again.

I frown, but immediately an image of Edward comes to mind.

There were moments in our relationship where I drove him away, terrified of multitudes. I was terrified of breaking his heart. Terrified of losing him. Terrified of having him.

Right now, one could easily argue the same thing is happening with my identity, any power I may have (do have), any future I might have in Oz, any future with Rook and Tin in it.

I am so terrified, I feel like I could break.

“I can’t save Oz,” I say.

“I didn’t ask if you could.”

I scoop up a potato with the spoon. “I know what you’re implying.”

“What am I implying?”