Salinda settled on a pile of furs near a makeshift writing desk, upon which quills, ink pots, and dozens of loose papers were messily strewn. She gestured for Cora to take a seat on the cot next to Mareleau.
Cora did so, exchanging a hesitant glance with her friend before saying, “One of the reasons for my visit is as you already know; we need to mask Mareleau’s magic. She only recently discovered she’s a witch, and there have been…unfortunate consequences. We are grateful for Bernice’s help, but we were hoping someone can teach her to ward herself.”
“I see. And what are these unfortunate consequences?”
Cora swallowed hard. “That’s the second matter we’ve come here for. Has anyone in the commune reported dragon sightings?”
“So you’ve seen them too? A pair flew overhead yesterday morning. We could hardly believe what we were seeing.” She shook her head, expression bemused. “Though I suppose if unicorns can return from extinction, dragons can too.”
Cora pursed her lips. She needed to tell Salinda the truth about where the fae creatures had come from, that they’d emerged not from extinction but a different world. But there was so much more to explain before she could touch on that.
Salinda’s eyes narrowed, and her bewildered look turned to concern. “Are you suggesting the dragons are the unfortunate consequences of your friend’s magic?”
“In a way,” she confessed, and the weight of her tale settled all around her, lacing her bones with another wave of fatigue. She pushed past it and went on to explain what she could, starting with her unintentional visit to El’Ara and all she’d learned there. About Satsara, Darius, and Ailan. About the Veil and the Blight. How and why the unicorns had entered the human world, chased by dragons to find Ailan or her kin. Then—after casting a questioning look at Mareleau and receiving a subtle nod in return—she confessed to her companions’ identities. Not only was Mareleau the Queen of Vera, she was also the prophesied mother. The Blood of Ailan. And Noah was the true Morkara of El’Ara.
Salinda leaned back in her pile of furs, eyes distant. “That’s a lot to take in. None of us had ever surmised that Lela was a land from another realm. We thought our ancestors were from another time, not another place. We knew about the prophecy and the first Morkaius, but not in such detail. The Blood of Darius is a term known to us, but we’ve never heard the names Satsara or Ailan. And we hadn’t a clue Darius referred to a living king.”
Cora’s stomach dropped. She’d hoped Salinda would have more to share. That she’d admit that she knew everything Cora knew—and beyond—and that the elders had simply chosen to keep these historical facts a secret. She clung to one last strand of hope. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you know? When we spoke about Duke Morkai last spring, the elders seemed to know so much. Do you at least know where any of the Elvyn may have settled after the Veil was formed? The Faeryn became the Forest People, but where did the Elvyn go? If Darius is still alive, his sister might be too. If we can find her…”
“I’m sorry, Cora,” Salinda said, lips curled down at the corners. “At this point, it’s safe to say you know far more?—”
Her words were drowned out by a distant shout.
Then another.
Salinda bolted upright and rushed from the tent. Cora scrambled after her, but she froze in place as she reached the tent flap.
That was when she felt it.
The clairsentient warning ringing through her blood.
That was when she heard it.
The rhythmic beat of wings.
26
The shouts from the camp rose to a crescendo, mingling with wingbeats and a distant, ear-splitting screech. Cora rushed the rest of the way through the tent flap, just as a gust of wind slammed against her, blowing her braided hair back. She turned her face to the sky as an enormous silhouette passed overhead. Then another shape, at the other end of camp near the common area. There, the white dragon—Ferrah—began to descend. Her feathered wings beat the air, extinguishing the cookfires and sending startled diners scrambling back, dropping clay bowls in their haste.
Salinda had stopped several paces ahead. She abruptly whirled toward Cora with accusation in her eyes. It was a look devoid of malice. Only fact.
Cora had brought this upon them.
Her legs nearly gave out at the realization. Bernice had said the ward would last until morning, but it apparently hadn’t been strong enough to mask Mareleau’s magic from the dragons. Guilt struck her chest, and with her mental shields still down, she felt the fear of the commune. It blanketed her mind, drowning out her sense of self.
Ferrah descended fully to the ground. Archers and spearmen surrounded her. Cora wanted to shout that the weapons wouldn’t work against the dragon and would only make her angry, but she couldn’t form a word, not with so much secondhand fear clouding her senses. Besides, her voice would never carry over the cacophony. The screams. The wingbeats. A second dragon—the black dragon—began to descend. The archers fell back.
Aimed.
Shot their arrows.
The arrowheads glanced off scales.
A violet glow emanated from the base of Ferrah’s throat, illuminated behind her opalescent scales. Then a red glow from the creature still mid-descent.
Cora!Valorre’s voice shattered the noise, broke through the outside emotions, and gave her something to cling to. She breathed deeply, steadying her feet, regaining control. With an exhale, she forced the outer emotions away and slammed a makeshift ward in place. It was enough to sharpen her mind and remind her of the solution she carried.
She plunged her hand into her cloak pocket.
