Mother never shared all the details of her work on the road. I always thought it was because she found it monotonous, working booths at market, hauling bottles of all’s-cure and grizzlefoot, meeting patients in run-down outwall cottages like ours. It must be lowly work for someone of her skill set who stood shoulder to shoulder with the greatest scholars in the Midlands. She’d share stories if they were interesting and of course taught me about her history, but she was quiet about her trips.
But I’ve started to wonder,Could Mother be assisting the rebellion?
I know her heart. Her whole life is devoted to the service of others. She gives and gives until she runs empty; she can’t stand to see anything in pain. If there were people in the insurgency who needed her help, any families that needed care, she’d feel duty bound to intervene. Maybe that’s the great tie that binds us. When I heard Finn screaming in the forest, I couldn’t stop myself from running. In a way, that’s what she’s been doing all her life: rescuing people who need help.
Didn’t she constantly deride the empire? Didn’t she pray steadfastly for the resurrection of Evermore? Endless talks about the great future I need to strive toward—one I sullenly refused to believe existed. She fits the profile of a rebel. Verdinae took everything from her. She is part of the last, most-robbed generation, the one whose lives were shattered in their youth, right at the turn of her adulthood. Mother watched her home burn. She saw her people exiled, scattered, driven to their knees. Wouldn’t she seek to fight back, with her bleeding heart? Her faithful dream of Evermore arisen…isn’t that worth fighting for?
But that also doesn’t make sense. If the Elven rebellion is tied to the plague Ursandor is orchestrating, Mother would never help them.
Would she?
I’m drawn to reconsider her lack of communication since my departure. Is Mother too distracted to make contact with me? Or have I taken a step too far? What secrets does she hold?
The carriage hits a bump in the road that jolts me back to the conversation. Daisy and Sandria are discussing fashion.
“For the best silk, you’ve got to go to Sontaag,” Sandria says. “There’s this one little shop I love in Cinnamon City, and they’ve got a patio in the back overlooking the coast. It’sgorgeous.”
“What about fur?” Daisy asks eagerly. “Where do you get your fur?”
“Oh, all the best fur is from Sulnik,” Sandria says idly. “But nobody’s buying there these days.”
Now she has my attention. I scrutinize the princess’s face—she looks placid as ever. An act?
“What do you mean, nobody’s buying from Sulnik?” Daisy presses.
“They’ve closed the border.” Sandria picks at her fingernails, and I wonder if she’s deliberately avoiding my gaze. “As of four weeks ago, the king of Sulnik stopped all trade. Nothing’s getting shipped out, but everything’s getting shipped in. Apparently, the Sulish Crown is ordering weapons as fast as they can ship them. Plenty of Ursandorn merchants are making a fortune. Blacksmiths, too.”
My brow furrows as I absorb this. Sulnik wouldn’t pick a fight with Verdinae, even if they want to, because of their prince’s engagement. So who is Sulnik arming against?
“Why? What are they preparing for?” I speak up.
Everyone looks at me.
Sandria’s eyes flicker. “That’s the mystery, isn’t it?”
My chest tightens. Elves seem an unfathomable enemy for Sulnik. Has Verdish ideology taken root in the frigid north, as it has here?
Daisy looks terrified by something that I haven’t grasped. “You don’t mean…”
Sandria nods. I see a crack in her courtier’s mask, a slip in that careful nonchalance. It conceals a very real fear. “There are some in Sulnik, the king’s advisors among them, who believe that the Four Wars Prophecy is coming to pass.”
Daisy emits a strange little squeak, like she’s choking. I glance at her in confusion. I’ve got no context for any of this.
“Have they been seeing the signs?” Daisy asks breathlessly.
“The Demeridian is receding,” Sandria says mildly, like she’s recalling the weather. “Last fall, a plague swept through most of Sulnik and a good portion of Ursandor, killing birds by the thousands. Songbirds mostly, but some big birds, too. In Sulnik, they use icehounds to send letters. But we use ravens in Ursandor, and people certainly took note when our whole ravenry dropped dead.”
At the wordplague, my blood runs cold.
Should I have been studying birds this whole time?
I turn backward through memories, reviewing conversations. I can’t remember either Davina or Mother mentioning an avian strain of the plague. Was the queen unaware? Did it slip her mind? Is Sandria confiding a secret I need to protect?
Birds.What do I know about birds?
There’s avian content in Ragglestaff’s notes—diagrams of cliffcrows. Is it possible those were the birds dropping dead? Are the two plagues related at all? But if they are, why would the avian strain impact Ursandor?
“I don’t understand,” I say. “What’s going on with the birds? What is the Four Wars Prophecy?”
