Morkaius.
All those words containedmorormorain some form, and they’d all come from the fae language, as far as she knew. She recalled thatMorkaimeantKing of MagicandMorkaiusmeantHigh King of Magic. She’d never been told there was any translation forinsigmora, but now she understood what part of it meant. Of course her tattoos were named for magic.
Now for her remaining questions. “What did you meanby Path? Was that the tunnel we walked through?”
Garot puffed out his chest with a proud nod. “I’m a pathweaver. I can navigate vast distances in a short time by weaving a portal.”
Her next question was on the tip of her tongue. She hesitated before speaking, ensuring her tone came out as nonchalant as she could manage. Anxiety still crawled up her throat while grief at losing her magic weighed heavy on her shoulders, but the hope of returning home once she reached this Veil helped her keep her composure. Or at least pretend to. “If I’m unable to return home through the Veil, could you take me by Path?—”
“No,” Garot said, his grin disappearing. He glanced at Fanon, still leading their party from far up ahead, and lowered his voice. “Traversing worlds is something only a worldwalker can do. And worldwalking is a repulsive, invasive magic.”
Damn it. She supposed there was no point appealing to his carefree nature in hopes that he might offer her aid. Still, she appreciated that he was at least answering her questions. “What isthe Blight?”
“Did you not see it when you entered?” Etrix said from her other side. Though she’d first deemed him the kindest of the three, she was starting to realize he was the keenest too. “If you entered through the Veil, you would have seen it.”
“I was asleep on Valorre’s back,” she rushed to say. “I didn’t realize what had happened until I’d woken up and found us in the meadow. That was when Valorre told me he’d accidentally taken me home by crossing the Veil.”
He studied her for several beats too long.
“You’ll see the Blight for yourself soon enough,” Garot said, pointing a finger straight ahead. “We’re almost there.”
Cora followed his line of sight to where the forest was beginning to thin. Thick tree trunks gave way to slim saplings, then disappeared into a gray fog. Where she stood now, a blue sky shone above the towering canopy of leaves, the sun comfortably warm, but at the edge of the woods, it almost looked like winter lay ahead. As they drew closer, Cora grew more unsettled. The saplings weren’t simply small. They were frail. Decaying. And the forest didn’t end in a fog; it lost color. Vibrancy. Life.
They emerged from the line of trees and stepped onto a gray path. From here on, there was no more mossy earth or glowing mushrooms. No more birdsong. No insects or pixies. The sky and golden sun were the only sources of color, and they did nothing to brighten the rotting landscape that stretched as far as Cora could see. The smell of rot filled her nostrils, making her wish her arms were free of their invisible restraints, if only to allow her to cover her nose and mouth.
She glanced at Garot. “This is the Blight?”
He gave her a somber nod. “It stretches all around the Veil and spreads farther into El’Ara daily.”
A dark shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun and casting them in momentary darkness. She froze, turning her eyes to the sky. An enormous beast with a long, sinuous body and a wide expanse of wings flew above them. It let out an ear-splitting screech that had Cora’s shoulders shooting toward her ears. That, in turn, shifted her collar, causing its sharp tines to tear at her pierced flesh. She forced her shoulders to relax, eyes locked on the flying beast. In a matter of seconds it was far ahead, leaving Cora trembling with awed terror.
Mother Goddess, that was a…a dragon.
Don’t like those, Valorre said.I remember that.
Did they create this? The Blight?Based on the faerytales Cora had grown up with, she knew dragons could wield flame. That could explain why the land was suddenly devoid of color. Perhaps it had been burned.
Don’t think so, Valorre said.But don’t remember.
Cora cast her gaze back to the path ahead and found Fanon striding on with his hurried pace as if the dragon were no concern. Garot trailed behind him, his steps somewhat less buoyant than before. Only Etrix remained at her side, watching the tiny speck that was the dragon until it was gone entirely.
“I thought perhaps she would come for the unicorn,” he said.
“She?”
“Ferrah. The dragon. She’s been seen chasing unicorns, especially any wandering through the Blight.”
“Why?”
“We aren’t certain. The dragons have been restless for months.”
Do not like, Valorre said.
Etrix gestured for her and Valorre to proceed. Before she had to suffer one of Fanon’s irritating tugs, she started walking again. She kept her eyes on the sky for several moments, worried the dragon might come back. She had no desire to find out what the creatures did to the unicorns they chased. When she saw no sign of its return, she dropped her gaze to the gray landscape. A wash of color and movement caught her eye.
Half hidden behind a patch of gnarled stumps was a cluster of humanoid figures. They crouched on the ground, palms pressed flat to the colorless earth. They were petite in stature with pointed ears, their skin in every shade of brown and tan, their hair and clothing in the richest earth tones. One was a male with long hair as black as midnight and a tunic of woven moss. Another had hair and eyes in shades of rich green, her leather dress adorned with sparkling beads of morning dew. The nearest figure, a male with hair made from autumn-colored leaves, lifted wide gray eyes to watch them pass. That was when Cora glimpsed the black patterns marking his arms and neck. In fact, all the figures bore such markings on every inch of skin not hidden by clothing. The symbols were more intricate than her own tattoos, but she recognized theinsigmora.
“Faeryn,” Cora said.
