Which is why I’m here, she reminded herself. Not for comfort. For war.
The clearing became visible between the trees just ahead. She slowed her steps and halted as she heard a soft step behind her. Just as she’d expected, her intrusion was detected.
“Cora?” She knew the voice before she saw him. Slowly, she turned to face Roije. He lowered his bow, brow furrowed, but there was something knowing in his expression. “Maiya said you were coming.”
Her chest constricted at her friend’s name. “Maiya…knew?”
He nodded, then shifted his feet as if he wasn’t sure whether to block her path or welcome her back. She opened herself to his energy and found it cloudy. Hesitant.
“What is it?” she asked.
He lowered his voice. “The last group that went out to trade with the village…they brought back your poster.”
Her stomach took a dive. Perhaps she’d left the commune at the right time after all.
His expression turned apologetic. “I don’t think it’s the best idea that you’re here.”
“Nonsense.” Salinda stepped from between the trees. Her face was so warm, so kind, so motherly and familiar that Cora’s throat felt tight. She wasn’t sure who reached for who first, but the next thing she knew, they were wrapped in a tight embrace. Cora found herself sobbing on the woman’s shoulder despite her every effort to compose herself. “It’s all right,” Salinda soothed, rubbing her back like she’d done every night during the first inconsolable weeks after the Forest People had found her. “You’re home. You’re home.”
Cora wished they could stay like that forever. That she could forget what Roije had said about the Forest People’s knowledge of her Wanted poster, about the dark tidings she carried on her shoulders. She wished she could pull away from Salinda and promise her she’d never leave again. But that was folly.
Once she managed to rein in her tears, she gently unraveled from Salinda’s comforting arms and delivered the words she needed to say. “I need to speak with the elders.”
Salinda frowned, her mouth falling open. No words came out, but Cora knew what the woman was poised to say—that Cora had no right to call such a meeting. Only another elder could, and Cora had lost that right when she refused to take the path Salinda had offered. Furthermore, she’d lost her right to even sit amongst the elders when she departed from the commune without a word. Even more so now that they knew she was a wanted fugitive.
A flash of panic struck her. If Salinda turned her away now, her visit would be all for naught. Her plans would be foiled.
Salinda’s lips curled into a sad smile. “You do have much to tell us, don’t you?” Then, with a heavy sigh that seemed to share the weight of Cora’s burden, she said, “I’ll gather the elders.”
Ten minutes later,Cora sat in the tent of the elders. It had taken some work sneaking Cora into camp without being seen, but Roije had brought her a cloak and used his connection to the Magic of the Soil to navigate the clearest path there. It was past midday, which meant most within the commune were busy with their daily tasks, leaving very few idle enough to stare. Now she just had to wait for Salinda to return with the elders.
She wandered the tent, focusing on her breath, on the aromas of herbs and oils filling the air, on anything that could distract her from the anxiety that plagued the back of her mind. The tent of elders was the largest in the camp, used for celebrations, elder meetings, andinsigmoraceremonies. Cora stared down at her forearm, remembering the last time she’d received a new design several months ago. She frowned as she stared down at her inner elbow crease. A dark spiral was there, an inch above her most recent tattoo. Surely that hadn’t been there before?—
Cora froze as the tent flap opened to reveal Salinda. She held the flap for the twelve other figures who followed. Nalia, the Forest People’s High Elder, brought up the rear. She was thin, hunched, and wrinkled, as ancient-looking as the oldest tree in the forest, and—surprisingly—without a singleinsigmora.
The silence was stifling as the thirteen elders took their places in a circle around the tent. Cora didn’t need to use her Art to know the elders weren’t pleased about being called into a meeting with her. It would have been one thing if she were simplyCora, Salinda’s foster daughter. It was another now that she was known as a murderer. She doubted they’d be any happier to learn the truth.
Once they were seated—six elder witches to Nalia’s left, the six elder Faeryn to her right—the High Elder motioned Cora to stand at the center of the circle. Trembling despite the warmth of her borrowed cloak, she did as told and took her place.
Nalia gave a bow of her head. “You may speak, child.”
She drew a long, shaking breath. “You know me as Cora, but my true name is Aveline Corasande Caelan. I’m the Princess of Khero. Fae magic is in danger.”
Whispers surrounded her.She’d delivered her story and now stood trembling in the wake of her truth. She kept her gaze above Nalia’s head, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes as they deliberated her tale. They’d remained respectfully silent as she’d explained who she truly was, where she’d come from all those years ago when they’d found her, and why she’d kept her identity to herself. She’d felt their trepidation turn to terror as she’d described the gruesome hunt for unicorns and how it was tied to Morkai’s magic and his Roizan. They’d stared unblinking as she’d revealed his plans for war in the name of harnessing fae magic.
Now she breathed deep, focusing on the canvas walls of the tent to keep from being overwhelmed by the emotions growing and clashing all around her. Soon the whispers turned to much louder questions and the voices of the elders rose to match the roar of feeling. Cora closed her eyes and tried to raise her shields against the cacophony, but her fatigue was too great.
“Enough,” Nalia said, her soft voice somehow cutting through the noise. “We will now peacefully discuss.”
“What is there to discuss?” asked one of the witches, a man named Druchan. “We live by simple rules, one of which is to never involve ourselves in royal matters.”
Salinda pinned him with a glare. “Did you not hear a word she said? This may be a royal matter, but it ultimately concerns magic.”
Another Faeryn elder nodded beside her. “He calls himself Morkai.King of Magic. He's trying to become the Morkaius. You know what that means.”
Nalia’s face went slack. “High King of Magic.”
Cora straightened at that. She’d never heard the termMorkaiusbefore, nor had she considered Morkai wasn’t the duke’s true name. She’d always known him as such. Only now did it seem strange to her that he hadn’t taken on the title of his duchy—Calloway—when Dimetreus named him duke.
