“If the prophecy is true,” one of the elder witches said, “the Morkaius cannot claim the magic without being destroyed by it.”
“He has created this…this Roizan thing!” argued another witch. “A channel between his body and the magic.”
Cora’s eyes darted between the arguing elders. “You know about the prophecy?” That was one part of her tale she’d kept vague. She hadn’t mentioned what he’d said about her role in the prophecy or the curse he’d laid upon her with his blood weaving. Her question, however, was drowned out beneath the sounds of further arguments.
“War is not our way. Let the armies do the fighting.”
“There will be no fighting if the royals surrender.”
“And if they surrender, the duke wins.”
“It doesn’t matter. We protect our own, that's all.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? We protect the land and the Arts. If the duke becomes Morkaius, he will have control over magic. He could take our Art from us. We must act.”
“What can we even do? He’s an Elvyn prince. A weaver?—”
“He is not a true weaver,” Nalia interrupted, voice fiercer than Cora had ever heard. “He may have Elvyn blood as he claims, but Elvyn weavers need only magic. This Morkai wields blood and animates spirits because he is no true weaver at all. He is weak. He relies on curses and tricks and the forbidden Arts.”
Cora wanted to argue that Morkai’s powers were hardly what she’d call weak. As far as she could tell, his blood sorcery was far stronger and more terrifying than the Forest People’s quiet magic.
“High Elder,” one of the Faeryn said, giving Nalia a respectful bow of her head, “that still doesn’t explain what we can do.”
“Nor do we know if we can trust a girl who’s been hiding a secret identity from us the entire time,” Druchan added.
“We can trust her,” Salinda shot back. “I’ve raised her since she was a child. She told us why she hid who she was. Can you blame her?”
“She should have left the minute she learned we don’t involve ourselves with royals.”
“She was twelve!”
“She could have brought danger to our camp at any time.”
“But she didn’t. When she realized her presence was a threat, she left.”
Druchan narrowed his eyes at Cora. “She should have stayed gone.”
“This isn’t about Cora,” Nalia said, silencing the tent once again. “This is about magic. This is about the fate of this land that we work to nurture and protect. I assure you, nothing good can come from the Blood of Darius. He will destroy not one realm but two. He will corrupt fae magic until there is nothing left of the lives we know.”
Cora felt the hairs on her arms rise. Who was the Blood of Darius? Was that…Morkai?
Druchan shrank down. “It’s just…stories, though. Isn’t it?”
Nalia slowly turned to look at him, her expression both hard and sad at once. “No. What you call stories are merely a fraction of the truth.”
Salinda nodded. “What can we do, High Elder?”
Nalia’s tone was resolute. “We must kill the duke.”
“How?” Druchan asked.
Nalia turned her gaze on Cora, expression penetrating. “What do you suggest, Your Highness?”
Cora’s throat constricted at the honorific. She nearly told her not to call her that but swallowed the words down. Perhaps it was time to be a princess after all. She had no desire to reclaim her title, but in coming to the Forest People with the truth, she’d already taken on that responsibility. If her brother couldn’t protect Khero, that left only her.
Lifting her chin, she said, “I know where Morkai is going to be next.”
44
