I raise a brow. “All that from one book?”
She flips it open again, revealing curling script and a faded sketch of women in cloaked robes. “Someone was diligent about keeping note of who was going where and when.”
I laugh. “I wasn’t aware that gossip was considered history.”
“Well, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that oftentimes powerful menwho are afraid of the truth getting out suppress the voices of the authentic.”
I sit up straighter. “Okay. I’m listening.”
She leans in, excitement returning to her voice. “This particular section talks about a small traveling band of mysterious women from Bastos. Supposedly, they journeyed through Terre Ferique before the plague of poisonous plants began spreading.”
“Doing what?”
“The opinions are mixed.” She lifts a shoulder. “Some say they caused the corruption. Others say they were trying to stop it. Either way, they were rumored to be powerful, wielding magic unlike anything that’s documented elsewhere. Not born magic like with fae or sirens. Learned magic. Witchcraft.”
The word floats around the room like dust in beams of sunlight.
“Witches traveling through Terre Ferique? I’m surprised they weren’t stopped.” Through the centuries, there’s been a big debate on witches. Many people believed that any magic not inherited was stolen. Twisted. That it came from somewhere dark and not from the gods.
“Eventually, theywerestopped.” She closes the book with athudthat resonates through the room. “They were killed by assassins once they’d reached the shores of the Batu Basah Ocean.”
“If the witches got that far, then they must not have been very good assassins.” I tilt my head. “Who hired the assassins?”
She lifts a brow. “No one knows.”
“That’s ominous.”
“Anyway, I thought it was interesting, mostly because that’s where my mother’s side of the family came from. Bastos. Particularly Cista.”
I’m guessing that’s what she meant byfamily drama. “You never told me that.”
She smiles crookedly. “My mother doesn’t talk about it. She was born in Delasurvia. Hetchling, to be exact. But her parents moved from Bastos before she was born. The only family I know of still living there is my great-aunt. Haven’t spoken to her since I was little. Haven’t spoken to anyone back home in Delasurvia in a while, either.”
Something cold twists in my chest. “Your mother hasn’t written since we moved here.”
“No,” she says, looking down. “Not even a message. But that’s not new. She doesn’t enjoy writing. She says she’s bad at it, but I think it’s just an excuse.”
“I’m sorry, Nadya.”
“It is what it is.” Nadya leans back in her chair, fingers drumming lightly against the closed cover of the book as her expression changes. “Can you imagine witches so powerful, they destroyed most of the world and wiped out the existence of dragons with poisonous plants?”
“That’s intense, yeah.”
She tilts her head after a moment. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have magic.”
I blink at her. “Magic like that?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I would never be that sinister, but, you know, some kind of mystical power. Something I could learn to control. To use.”
Though I’m struggling to figure out my own powers, I don’t dismiss her curiosity. I tilt my head. “What do you think you would do?”
A mischievous gleam lights in her eyes. “I think I would start small, just to test things out. Maybe I’d enchant the furniture in any room Indira enters to shift slightly so she’s always running into something. You know, just to keep her humble.”
I snort, covering my mouth to hide the laugh, but it escapes, anyway—light and unexpected. “That’s what you’d use ancient power for? Magical redecorating?”
“Imagine the chaos. Every court function ruined by a trail of bumps and grunts. Or if she’s hunting me down to scold me, I could easily outrun her.” She sighs wistfully.
I shake my head, but there’s a smile tugging at my lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
