“They try to heal the Blight,” Etrix said, “but their use ofmoradoes little to help. They merely manage to slow the Blight’s inevitable course.”
“What is the Blight from?”
“The Veil,” Etrix said and nothing more. She almost wished Garot was nearby again, for maybe he’d have given a more substantial answer.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the Faeryn as they walked by. Unlike the Elvyn, whom she knew little about, she’d heard so much about the Faeryn from the Forest People. The commune’s very way of life was dedicated to preserving the Faeryn’s ancient ways, their traditions, their harmony with nature. In a way, these figures were like family to her. Not by blood, of course, but an unseen bond.
A sudden spark of hope ignited in her chest. Perhaps if she ran to them, showed them herinsigmora, and implored them for help, they’d free her from her captors. But as each turned to watch her pass, she caught the ice in their collective gaze, the curl of their lips as they studied her human form. It was enough to tell her they thought no better of her than Fanon did, regardless of the markings on her arms.
She cursed under her breath. It was clear she’d find no allies here, in this realm where humans were feared. Hated. She couldn’t fully rely on her own knowledge of the fae either, for the stories the Forest People had told were obviously wrong. The fae weren’t extinct. The Elvyn and Faeryn hadn’t killed each other in a war five hundred years ago. They werehere. Alive. Just in another realm.
She could only rely on herself and Valorre, and their primary hope was to get to the Veil and pray to the Mother Goddess there really was a way to cross through.
Only then could she get back home and find some way to save Teryn—and her world—from Morkai.
46
After Morkai left the king’s study, Teryn rested his ethera. He had no desire to add more strain to his already failing body. But as soon as he awoke, drifting from his state of floating unconsciousness to bright awareness, he had but one thought. One need.
He opened his eyes and found himself in the illusion of Emylia’s temple bedroom. She sat cross-legged at his side, expression resigned as if she knew exactly what he was going to say.
“Show me the rest of your memories.”
With a trembling sigh, she nodded.
They rose to their feet. Emylia lifted her hand, and a fog rolled in, covering the floor, walls, and ceiling. When it dispersed, it left behind the muted tones of Desmond’s dark room at the inn. Teryn and Emylia stood at the far end while two figures sat at opposite sides of the small desk.
“Are you ready?” the Emylia of memory asked, an edge of excitement in her voice. “We’re getting so close, Des. I can feel it.”
Desmond nodded, but his expression held a hint of apprehension. “This is our last session before I return home to Syrus to report to my father. I hope what we’ve learned is enough for him.”
“How could it not be? We’ve done so much work on his behalf, more than he’s ever been able to do on his own, right?”
His lips quirked up at one corner. “When did you become such an optimist?”
“Only when it comes to you,” she said with a wide smile.
His face fell, voice deepening into a whisper. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Em. I hate not knowing when I’ll be back.”
Her smile remained, but it no longer reached her eyes. “Then let’s hurry. I don’t want to spend our last night together working.”
He nodded and anxiously ran his palms over his thighs while Emylia closed her eyes. Desmond kept his voice low and steady. “Where is the mother of the true Morkara now?”
Teryn’s breath caught, knowing this man was asking about Cora. The woman he loved.
Emylia, crystal in hand, remained still while her eyelids fluttered. “Unborn.”
“When will she be born?”
“The year of the Great Bear.”
Teryn was startled to realize how long ago this memory must have been from.
Desmond rubbed his dark brows. “That could be three years from now, thirteen, twenty-three, or more. How many years from now will she be born?”
Emylia remained silent.
Desmond released a frustrated groan. “Fine. What will she look like?”
