Her mouth fell open. “Oh…that bag is for me?”
“I figured we might have some items you wouldn’t have had where you’re from.”
She was right about that. She hadn’t heard of the latter three items. “Thank you. That’s…rather kind of you.”
Salinda smiled over her shoulder. “You may be a queen and part of some great prophecy, but you are still a mother. And he, whether the heir to a human kingdom or the Morkara of the fae realm, is still just a baby.”
For some reason, those words warmed Mareleau’s heart. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to be reminded that she was more than the subject of a prophecy. More than a royal. Her identity was her own.
Salinda put the last item in the bag and sat at the edge of her bed. “But that isn’t why you came here, is it?”
“No.” Mareleau shifted in her seat and Noah began to fuss.
“May I?” Salinda leaned forward, extending her heavily tattooed arms.
Mareleau didn’t love when other people held Noah, but she also could use a break. She hadn’t had one since Salinda held him last night. Carefully she transferred her son to Salinda, then nestled back into the furs. Salinda began bouncing and speaking to him in a sing-song voice, which halted his mewling protestations.
“I was hoping,” Mareleau said, “you could teach me about casting wards with my magic.”
Salinda cocked her head. “Now that the dragons are being dealt with, you don’t need to learn warding as urgently.”
“I may not need to cast wards around my own magic, but I’d like to learn how to cast them in general. I want to protect Noah.”
“There is very little I could teach you before you leave. Besides, even though I have both witch and Faeryn blood, my magic favors my Faeryn heritage. Faeryn magic works with the Magic of the Soil. Earth magic. You have Elvyn blood, which utilizes the Magic of the Sky. Weaving, in other words, like Ailan does. You’d have better luck talking to her.”
“I don’t want to talk to her yet.” Mareleau winced at her petulant tone. She simply didn’t like or trust Ailan, though that was mostly because Mareleau couldn’t help blaming her for everything that was happening now. “I’d at least like to know what kind of witch I might be. Cora uses emotion, and she believes my mother uses sound. I’d like to know which of the six senses my magic favors.”
“I suppose I can help with that,” she said, tone kind. “So tell me about your magic. Cora mentioned last night that she discovered you were a witch because you’d cast a glamour.”
Mareleau nodded. “I never knew that’s what I was doing. I’ve always called it my magic trick, but I didn’t think it was real magic.”
“Tell me more about it.”
She did, explaining how she’d always had a knack for donning a façade to appear a certain way to others. Most often, she used it to seem composed and regal. To gain respect. Then she explained how she’d honed that talent into something else, to rid herself of unwanted suitors. That was when she’d begun using the termmagic trick, for it had worked splendidly. Miraculously.
“All I needed to know,” Mareleau said, “was what my suitor wanted to see and what they feared to see.”
“How did you find out?”
“I just…knew. It didn’t take many conversations or encounters with my suitors to figure it out. I knew from what they talked about and what they didn’t talk about. I knew from how they acted and reacted.”
“That sounds like claircognizance—clear knowing. My daughter has that gift. She’s honing her Art for dream divination. Someone will tell her about their dream, and she simply knows its meaning. Other times, she suddenly knows something will or won’t happen. Like how she knew Cora would come yesterday.”
“I’ve never done anything nearly as impressive as that.”
“Explain more about what you have done then. How have you used what you know to craft a glamour?”
Mareleau shrugged. “In the past, I’ve simply portrayed the traits my suitors disliked or expressed myself in a way that countered what they did like. I’d make a suitor who wanted a cold and distant wife see me as clingy and smothering. I’d make a suitor who wanted a vapid, easy, and beautiful wife see me as cunning, difficult, and ugly.”
She’d crafted the latter glamour on the last suitor her parents had tried to pair her with before they’d agreed to let her host the Heart’s Hunt. Frederick had nearly won her over. Not her heart, of course, for that had always belonged to Larylis, even when she’d been tricked into thinking he’d abandoned her. Yet Frederick had almost won her hand, a marriage alliance built on common interests. That was before she’d discovered he’d been dallying with her best friend and lady’s maid, Katra, and had even promised to make the girl his mistress. She’d delighted in using her magic trick on him then, watching his face turn pale as she’d let her posture sag, let her expression shift into something hideous. Even now, the corners of her lips curled up, vindictive pride igniting in her chest.
Salinda narrowed her eyes. “Have you always cast glamours—or used this magic trick, as you call it—for personal gain?”
“I suppose so.” Why did she feel like she was admitting to a bad thing? Who wouldn’t use whatever was at their disposal for personal gain? Perhaps she delighted a little too much in tormenting the people who’d hurt her, but…well, she certainly wasn’t going to admit that.
Salinda’s brows knit together as she absently rocked a now-sleeping Noah. “Your mother is likely a clairaudient witch, and we know you inherited Ailan’s Elvyn blood from one of your parents. We can assume it was through your father.”
“Is that significant?”
