The witch namedBernice sat before Mareleau in Salinda’s tent, burning a bundle of fragrant herbs in a clay pot. Cora had never been personally acquainted with the witch when she’d lived in the commune, but she recognized her curly red hair and her wide build. Bernice was clairalient and used scents to cast wards. Both Bernice and Mareleau kept their eyes closed while they sat on Salinda’s cot. Meanwhile, Salinda rocked Noah in her arms. He’d woken after Mareleau had dismounted Valorre—who was now wandering the woods nearby—and, after being nursed, was content enough to be held by a stranger.
The tent grew hazy with the smoke, but it was a comforting aroma. The blend of sage, rosemary, frankincense, and mugwort was commonly used for wards and protection. Cora could have selected them on her own, but she knew better than to think she could do what Bernice was doing. Cora could protect a physical space with herbs but she had no experience in shielding someone else’s magic. And Bernice was doing exactly that. The magic sizzled in the air, thickening around Mareleau as the witch guided the smoke around her. The Forest People called it quiet magic, and it was the kind Cora used to dismiss as unimpressive. Now quiet magic had become ingrained in Cora’s soul.
Bernice released a slow exhale. “It is done. It should hold until morning. After sunrise, I’ll cast it again if you’re still here.”
Mareleau opened her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, voice tight. Mareleau wasn’t used to interacting so freely with strangers, especially with those so far beneath her station. Yet she was being respectful. Or perhaps just quiet. She hadn’t said much since they’d arrived.
Salinda returned Noah to his mother’s arms and faced Bernice. “How is Nalia?”
Bernice rose from the cot, not meeting Salinda’s eyes. “The High Elder has asked me not to speak on her condition, so I won’t.”
Cora frowned, studying Bernice’s pursed lips, her suddenly tense shoulders. She expected to sense the same sorrow Salinda emitted, but Bernice seemed more annoyed than anything. Salinda gave the witch a sympathetic smile but didn’t press for more.
Bernice left the tent before Cora could make sense of the exchange.
“Now that we’ve taken care of your friend,” Salinda said, “will you tell me why you’re here?” If the edge in her tone wasn’t evidence enough of her apprehension, it flowed from her in waves. Gone was the joy of their reunion. Not that Salinda was angry. She was more wary, as she had a right to be. Cora was clearly not here for a casual chat.
Salinda settled on a pile of furs near a makeshift writing desk, upon which quills, ink pots, and dozens of loose papers were messily strewn. She gestured for Cora to take a seat on the cot next to Mareleau.
Cora did so, exchanging a hesitant glance with her friend before saying, “One of the reasons for my visit is as you already know; we need to mask Mareleau’s magic. She only recently discovered she’s a witch, and there have been…unfortunate consequences. We are grateful for Bernice’s help, but we were hoping someone can teach her to ward herself.”
“I see. And what are these unfortunate consequences?”
Cora swallowed hard. “That’s the second matter we’ve come here for. Has anyone in the commune reported dragon sightings?”
“So you’ve seen them too? A pair flew overhead yesterday morning. We could hardly believe what we were seeing.” She shook her head, expression bemused. “Though I suppose if unicorns can return from extinction, dragons can too.”
Cora pursed her lips. She needed to tell Salinda the truth about where the fae creatures had come from, that they’d emerged not from extinction but a different world. But there was so much more to explain before she could touch on that.
Salinda’s eyes narrowed, and her bewildered look turned to concern. “Are you suggesting the dragons are the unfortunate consequences of your friend’s magic?”
“In a way,” she confessed, and the weight of her tale settled all around her, lacing her bones with another wave of fatigue. She pushed past it and went on to explain what she could, starting with her unintentional visit to El’Ara and all she’d learned there. About Satsara, Darius, and Ailan. About the Veil and the Blight. How and why the unicorns had entered the human world, chased by dragons to find Ailan or her kin. Then—after casting a questioning look at Mareleau and receiving a subtle nod in return—she confessed to her companions’ identities. Not only was Mareleau the Queen of Vera, she was also the prophesied mother. The Blood of Ailan. And Noah was the true Morkara of El’Ara.
Salinda leaned back in her pile of furs, eyes distant. “That’s a lot to take in. None of us had ever surmised that Lela was a land from another realm. We thought our ancestors were from another time, not another place. We knew about the prophecy and the first Morkaius, but not in such detail. The Blood of Darius is a term known to us, but we’ve never heard the names Satsara or Ailan. And we hadn’t a clue Darius referred to a living king.”
Cora’s stomach dropped. She’d hoped Salinda would have more to share. That she’d admit that she knew everything Cora knew—and beyond—and that the elders had simply chosen to keep these historical facts a secret. She clung to one last strand of hope. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you know? When we spoke about Duke Morkai last spring, the elders seemed to know so much. Do you at least know where any of the Elvyn may have settled after the Veil was formed? The Faeryn became the Forest People, but where did the Elvyn go? If Darius is still alive, his sister might be too. If we can find her…”
“I’m sorry, Cora,” Salinda said, lips curled down at the corners. “At this point, it’s safe to say you know far more—”
Her words were drowned out by a distant shout.
Then another.
Salinda bolted upright and rushed from the tent. Cora scrambled after her, but she froze in place as she reached the tent flap.
That was when she felt it.
The clairsentient warning ringing through her blood.
That was when she heard it.
The rhythmic beat of wings.
26
The shouts from the camp rose to a crescendo, mingling with wingbeats and a distant, ear-splitting screech. Cora rushed the rest of the way through the tent flap, just as a gust of wind slammed against her, blowing her braided hair back. She turned her face to the sky as an enormous silhouette passed overhead. Then another shape, at the other end of camp near the common area. There, the white dragon—Ferrah—began to descend. Her feathered wings beat the air, extinguishing the cookfires and sending startled diners scrambling back, dropping clay bowls in their haste.
Salinda had stopped several paces ahead. She abruptly whirled toward Cora with accusation in her eyes. It was a look devoid of malice. Only fact.
