“You can keep writing,” Cora said, stepping out of the sunlight so it could illuminate the parchment again. “I’ll wait until you are finished.”
Salinda shook her head and set her quill and stack of papers inside a leather sheath, then motioned for Cora to follow her inside the tent. It was the same size as the one she shared with Maiya but far messier. Furs, papers, and clothing were draped all over. Salinda’s husband—and Maiya’s father—had passed away some years ago. Whenever Cora had glimpsed Salinda’s living space, she’d wonder if the mess helped distract her from the absence of her missing half.
Salinda took a seat on a pile of furs and poured two mugs of herb-infused water. Cora sat down across from her and took one of the clay mugs. The water tasted of mint and rosemary, two aromas she’d always associate with her foster mother.
As she lowered the cup, she noticed Salinda’s gaze had fallen to the crook of her arm. “Yourinsigmorahas grown since you’ve been gone.”
Cora’s eyes went wide. She’d almost forgotten the strange spiral she’d noticed in the elders’ tent. “How is that possible?”
Salinda gave her a sly smile. “You didn’t think all of our tattoos were inked by hand, did you?”
She blinked back at her. “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought.”
“For many of us, it’s true. For others…well, some of us have deep enough connections to our magic that ourinsigmoragrow of their own volition.”
“But it’s a Faeryn tradition,” Cora said. “I’m not Faeryn. I’m just a witch.”
“Justa witch,” Salinda said with a scoff. “When are you going to appreciate your magic for what it is?”
Cora opened her mouth but snapped it shut. In truth, she’d been learning to appreciate her quiet magic more and more.
“You overcame a challenge that was directly related to your magic, didn’t you?”
“I did. A couple of them.”
“And your magic grew stronger?”
Cora nodded. “It was…frustrating,” she said, remembering how difficult it had been to work against her own resistance.
“Your journey with the Arts has taken a new path, and yourinsigmorahas reflected that.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “And here I thought I’d be the one to guide you on the path of the empath.”
“Empath.” Cora pulled her head back. “I don’t feel like my magic has grownthatstrong.”
“Are you sure about that? Since you’ve been away, has there not been one new thing you’ve learned to do that no one else can?” Cora opened her mouth to deny it, but Salinda said, “Think. Is there anything you couldn’t do before? Anything that has to do with emotions or sensations?”
Her ability to speak with Valorre came to mind, but she’d never considered whether that had anything to do with advanced clairsentience. If anything, she’d credited the phenomenon to Valorre being a fae creature. It wasn’t like she was suddenly able to speak with every chipmunk, rabbit, and squirrel she came across. But it also didn’t explain why Valorre couldn’t seem to speak with anyone else but her.
Salinda nodded knowingly. “You’ve experienced something.”
“Perhaps,” Cora said slowly.
“As you step more and more into your role of empath, you will face even more challenges.”
Cora grimaced at that. Not that it was a surprise. She only hoped it would get easier to accept such challenges instead of fighting against them. Then again, wasn’t that the point of a challenge in the first place? For it to be hard? “Does every witch face a challenge to grow their power?”
“Every strong witch, whether they’re following the path of the empath, oracle, seer, muse, alchemist, or narcuss.”
Cora frowned at the last word. It was the only one she wasn’t familiar with. “What’s a narcuss?”
“It’s a rare witch’s power,” Salinda said, tone grave. “One I believe this so-called Duke Morkai possesses. A narcuss is the shadow of an empath. Instead of feeling the emotions of others, taking them on, or absorbing them, a narcuss projects emotions outward. He can control and manipulate the people and objects around him. He can project what he wants others to see and feel. He is entirely focused on self-protection, self-advancement, and personal power.”
That certainly sounded like Morkai. “But he said he’s an Elvyn prince. You think he’s part witch too?”
“I believe so. But I doubt he’s faced the kind of challenge that would require him to become the strongest kind of narcuss. And Nalia was right about his Elvyn powers. If he were a true weaver, he wouldn’t need to rely so heavily on the forbidden Arts.”
Cora pondered that. She didn’t know much about Elvyn magic, only that they wove the Magic of the Sky—whatever that meant—while the Faeryn worked with the Magic of the Soil.
Salinda continued. “What Morkai is doing is a corruption of true weaving. Elvyn magic was never used for harm, just like Faeryn magic. The power Morkai seeks is the same power that started the war that destroyed the fae several hundreds of years ago.”
