Our clan’s settlement had been set back against the Twisting River, which surrounded us on three sides with the wall to guard us from the forest. I could have walked the familiar streets blindfolded, making my way from Mirdal’s family home to Bansaerin’s post beside the stables to my aunt and uncle’s home near the center of town.

  I had been too young to build most of the structures, though Uncle had allowed me to feel helpful in gathering rocks for a firepit or setting out sticks as an outline for the gardens which we kept at the back of the settlement, near the chief and Aveela’s homes.

  We’d felled most of the trees in the area we’d selected, leaving small clumps to serve as windbreaks during storms as well as perches for the few birds who lived this far to the north. There had been a bright blue bird that lived outside my parents’ house, before the Great Displacement sent us all in different directions, where the Lifkin who had survived the soldiers’ attacks following my parents’ failed rebellion had been divided up into smaller clans and dispersed. Mother had named the bird Daffodil after a yellow feather. Iredella had been quite distressed by the nonsensical nature of this naming—she’d wanted the bird’s name to reflect its blue coloring. Mama would only laugh—“there is more to all our natures than that which meets the eye, little one,” she would say.

  Papa would grin at me during these disagreements between the two of them. They were the more outgoing of our family and tended to bicker while Papa and I watched on in peace.

  I didn’t know why thoughts of them would return to me now of all times. I took a deep breath as I approached the house, releasing it slowly and allowing the memories to fade with my exhale. Blue-feathered birds did not even live this far north.

  My attempts at regaining my composure were interrupted by the door bursting forth and my cousins pouring out, squealing in delight at my return. Aunt stood behind them, baby Orabella balanced on her hip.

  I hugged each of my cousins in turn and promised to tell them of my adventure all in good time. Finally, I made it to my aunt’s free side and embraced her before scooping Orabella into my arms and squeezing the plump baby against me. Something about her—we’d shared a fondness for one another since the beginning.

  My cousins squealed again as Aunt revealed that they would be allowed to help with my hair as soon as my tattoo was finished. She ushered them outside, sending Eletria to find Uncle and alert him to my return.

  Our clan’s tattoo artist had worked with Uncle and me to design my induction mark. I wished for an intricate swirl upon my right shoulder and down to my elbow. Come to think of it, there had been a similar pattern upon the seed, but I wished to tell Uncle and Aunt of my journey together.

  “If we are to be finished before nightfall, we should begin now, Rugan,” the artist said to my aunt.

  Hesitantly, I agreed, but my concern was short-lived as Uncle appeared a few minutes later, just as the needles were prepped. I rushed over and embraced him, and Damon scooped me into the air the way he used to when I was small. He cupped my face in his hands. “You have the sense of a story about you, Draeza. Tell me all.”

  The fire-cleansed needles began to burn rather like the mournling’s shadow-blade fingers had after a while, but recounting my story to aunt and uncle helped me to take my mind off the discomfort. As we finished with the ink and the artist wrapped my arm to set it, my cousins were allowed back inside to help me finish getting ready for the ceremony. Mirdal, I knew, would already be growing anxious for the celebration to start, though most of the rest of the Clan would still be finishing their work for the day.

  My cousins helped with the braids, beads, and feathers in my hair. Aunt insisted upon adding as many blue and purple accents as possible—blue to accentuate the streaks in my hair and purple, after my story, for the Old Ones.

  “There.” Aunt smiled at me and sat back, admiring her handiwork. “You look beautiful, Draeza. Just like—well—” Her eyes were shining, and she turned away from me, pressing her fingers to her lips and allowing my cousins to coo over me instead.

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  Just like your mother was what she would not allow herself to say, even though I knew it was not true, not entirely. Iredella looked like Mama. I had some of her features and Father’s copper eyes. “You are your own creature,” Uncle always found a way to whisper to me when Aunt grew sentimental like this. He preferred as much space between our life now and the sister he had lost as possible.

  The sounds in the street outside grew louder as the Second Circle Clan gathered outside Uncle’s home. I lifted baby Orabella from Aunt Rugan’s arms again, bouncing her chunky weight against my hip and planting a kiss into her plump cheek. She giggled, drooling on herself and catching her drool upon her round belly. Aunt and Uncle had been lucky in their offspring—they’d carefully put stores aside through the years for the lean times. Many here and in Shakerton both had babies thin as late-winter ibex, gaunt with wide eyes, waiting for the spring.

  I closed my eyes, steadying myself, and turned back to my aunt.

  “You are ready, tir’eaza.” Dearest one, she called me—my mother’s nickname for me, a personalization of the Lifkin word for beloved, the same one by which Mama had devised my name in the first place. She who is beloved of her people.

  With her reassurance, I turned back toward the door and signaled to my cousins that they could open it. With giggles and wide eyes, they did, to a resounding cheer from our gathered clan.

  So many faces, assembled just outside. I took a half-step back, but Aunt was there beside me, her hand on my low back to urge me forward. I checked in the pocket of my over-shawl. The Seed was there. Aunt had already begun to complain of its presence—half the dried stores in her pantry cabinet had sprouted leaves and shoots and tripled themselves in size. “We shall soon have a mess!”

  A ripple rustled across the front of the crowd and Mirdal appeared, smiling widely. He rushed to our door, seized my hand, and pulled me into the celebration.

  As with all coming of age celebrations, there would music, wine, and dancing. The vintner had taken special care of procuring my favorite—a dry, strawberry wine of which we’d only been able to make a few bottles the year before. He presented one to me at the feast and had one tucked away for the dancing afterward. Aunt prevented Mirdal from filling my cup a second time before my presentation of my gift to the clan, which would come directly after the feasting.

  My stomach churned, and I made distracted conversation with the members of the Nightblades who came by to wish me well. But soon enough, we had eaten our fill. The chief rose, calling all eyes to the center of the circle gathering. After a few words of welcome, he bade me to come forward and present my gift.

  I drew in another slow breath, drawing to myself the speech I had practiced over and again on my journey back home. I stood beside the chief who was as broad around as two of me and over a foot taller as well. He took a half-step back so that I might not be kept in shadow. I raised my gaze and faced my clan. My people. As both my parents had done, and their parents before them, all the way back to the Bright Age and the time of the islas when the tradition began, long before the fall. I lifted my chin. “My name is Draeza sai’Lune. I have returned from the northern wilds with my gift to the Second Circle Clan.” I recited how I had traveled high into the mountains and faced down a mournling.

  “A spirit spoke to me from the depths of the caves—the remains of a fallen isla. He called himself Alapatour, and he explained that the gift I have brought is our birthright.” From the pocket of my over-shawl, I withdrew the Seed. A series of gasps echoed about the assembled camp.

  With the Seed held overhead, I turned behind me to the chief’s table and picked up a potato Aunt had left there for me for this purpose. The gasps gave way to a few titters of laughter. I ignored these as best I could though I could not help the color that rose to my face.

  I lowered the Seed to my waist and, slowly, brought it toward the potato. In a flare of green light and the sound of hundreds of rustling leaves falling all at once, vines and sprouts burst out from the potato—it was no longer a single potato but an entire plant, one that would continue producing up until the deepest frosts.

  More gasps echoed. “Again!” Someone shouted from the back of the assembly. One of the children hurried forward, potato in hand, and I repeated the gesture. This time, everyone cheered.

  The chief stepped forward again, clapping his hands together. He gestured my aunt and uncle to join us in the center of the crowd. Behind where he stood, Aveela, the spirit-speaker, slowly pulled herself up to her feet and hobbled to stand alongside us.

  The chief spoke loudly, reciting the words I had been waiting for so long to hear, “On behalf of Damon and Rugan, I present to you, your newest member, Draeza Lif-sai’Lune.” I grinned as they cheered again, relief returning the feeling to my limbs and my fast-beating heart. Mirdal hurried forward, embracing me as soon as the chief, Aveela, and my aunt and uncle had done the same. I entrusted the Seed to my uncle’s care, and Mirdal dragged me off to where the musicians had gathered for the dancing. He’d tucked the bottle of the vintner’s special wine under his arm, and we shared it as we danced, a celebration that went long into the night.