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I made a note to thank the three of them for the thoughtfulness as I kneeled on the prayer mat I kept stored in the opposite corner from the cot. With a flick of my hand, the four white pillar candles lit in unison, their small flames flickering lazily in the stillness of my tent. The nerves lingering from being so close to the Grand Rite faded under their light. With a relieved sigh, I slid my eyes closed and focused inward, first on the magic in my veins and then the earth around me.

My magic felt as it always did, warm and weighty, the threads of it twisting through me like the roots of the Adaseya tree. My breathing relaxed as the magic slid out from my chest and into my fingers, ready to be used and shaped.

The earth beneath me, though, did not feel typical. It reached for me, long tendrils that slid around my legs and caressed my back like smoke, licking at me with a silent but incessant worry. Uneasiness uprooted the quiet contentment within me, and I held my breath, trying to understand the cause for the land’s movement beneath me.

Was it simply the place where we currently stood, so near the place of the Great Exodus all those centuries ago? Except it had not felt this way the previous morning when I’d given my daily prayers of thankfulness and beseeching. Could it be the land sensing we were so near to the time of the Grand Rite, and it was simply unsettled by the convergence of the five kingdoms around the island of Magefall? Or maybe it was something more systemic, perhaps someone a kingdom brought as part of their delegation or one of the omegas chosen by Freia to enter the Rite?

I let each question sit within me and asked it of the land, but it gave no response. The tendrils only continued their perusal of me, their reaching toward me. With a sigh, I moved on from them and offered my daily prayers to the gods, lingering longer with those to Freia and Tristyn, the Goddess of Abundance and the God of Thanksgiving. As I finished the last of them, a soft clearing of a throat cut through the silence.

Not even a moment to myself yet today.

“Your Highness,” Simeon said.

Holding back a sigh, I opened my eyes. I blew out the candles as I rose to my feet. The early morning light was just beginning to filter into the space, so I did not utilize one of the lighting jars placed strategically around the floor of the tent.

The uneasy tendrils of the earth fell away, but the worry they’d planted under my chest was still there. I kept my face carefully blank as I turned to my visitor. Simeon was not one who particularly felt the need to continue the old traditions, and he held little veneration for the magics of the earth itself.

“Good morning,” I offered.

He stood just inside the tent, leaning against one of the support pillars. His arms were held behind his back, leaving the simple yet elegant tunic on full display. The silver scrollwork and filigree on the lapels coordinated with the unassuming circlet he wore against his forehead. My eyes caught for a moment on the black stone held in the very middle—centered by the delicate metal—that denoted his status as a mage of the royal family. He and his wife had been with me for nearly thirty years, my own personal mages given to me when I took my place in the royal court of my father shortly after his ascension to the throne.

Simeon raised an eyebrow as he took in my state of half-dress, his green eyes keen.

“The Votarists will be here in another ten minutes to verify our numbers,” he said.

“We are the first, then.”

He nodded despite my comment not being questioning at all.

My prayers were to be my only time alone today, then. I bit back a groan of dissatisfaction and crossed to the small wardrobe wedged between the cot and my prayer mat, pulling a strip of leather from the bottom of it. Keeping my gaze averted, I pulled my hair away from my face and secured the leather around it at the nape of my neck. Then I pulled the most formal of the tunics I’d brought, the one designed for official court events and proceedings, and slid into it, carefully lacing the collar. It was nearly identical to Simeon’s, though the embroidery was more intricate than even his. The fabric was thick and warm, appropriate for the cold, wintery date, but the needlework along the hem and collar integrated true silver and opals in a blatant display of wealth.

I’d much rather wear the simple, unassuming tunics used within the Persynthian temple where I spent my formative years. However, being here, on the shore of the Hylopex Passage, the day before the Grand Rite was to take place, meant I needed to wear the official regalia of the court. It chafed at my skin, but the clear delineation between those of us within the court and those that worked for the crown was needed—especially with the Votarists already en route to mark us for entry onto the island.

It was the same expectation and reality for those who served as part of the guard, though that had more to do with internal safety rather than external appearance and validation. If something were to happen, it would be imperative that the guard be quickly identified among the rest of us.

I shook the thoughts away as I eased my own circlet onto my head. Our kingdom had been in a time of peace for over 300 years. And, despite rumblings that Sepra was growing restless and Varím sought to expand its influence farther north, there were no signs that the peace would fracture into anything as devastating as the Great War. I prayed to Liam, God of Peace, that it stayed that way. I’d spent years at my mother’s side, seeing firsthand the devastation and scars left by that terrible conflict even centuries later.

The land being so uneasy beneath did little to assuage my festering worry. Even now, it reached for me anew. With pursed lips, I put on the sheaths of both my daggers, letting the weight of them against my hips offer some modicum of comfort. Whatever was making the world uneasy, I would face it. There wasn’t any other choice.

“Mallory reports that all of the offerings made the trip unharmed,” Simeon said. “They’re making final preparations for the morning, and Cherise has already returned to Embercrest along with Sutton.”

“Good,” I said, turning toward him.

It was the proper response, but not entirely how I felt. If the omegas had arrived, it meant I would be limited to an incredibly small portion of our encampment until they were transported onto the island of Magefall ahead of the rest of us being allowed access tomorrow. It was against the terms of the Rite for any participating alpha to see an offered omega before setting foot on the sacred land.

But I knew better than to allow Simeon to see my discontent. He was always first to point out the ways in which I was not quite what a prince of Marish should be—had been—for the last six hundred years. Not even my father corrected me as heavily or as often as my appointed mage.

He took me in with an unreadable expression as I slid into my boots and stepped out of my tent into the dreary early morning. A mist hung along the shore of the Passage, but it faded as it crept closer to the camp. Another blessing of traveling with some of the best mages in either continent. My father invested heavily in the training of the newer magics and had cultivated the House of Calyr into a power all its own. My breath fogged in front of me, the air colder than I’d expected. I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep from crossing them, doing my best to remain unaffected, a pillar of strength and leadership. The clouds hung low in the sky, promising rain. We were too far from the mountains that towered in the distance for it to be snow, but freezing rain was horrid, too, without magic to ward it off.

And no magic was allowed use within Magefall.

There was commotion toward one edge of the camp. I started toward it, Simeon keeping a half-pace behind me without comment. Within a minute, before we’d passed through to the main pathway between the tents, one of the guards raced toward us, his face and shoulders tight with nerves. Simeon grunted his displeasure at the lapse in control.

“It’s fine,” I murmured.

It was the guard’s first Rite. Nerves were to be expected.

In fact, the majority of our retinue had never attended the Rite despite them happening every five years. But a prince of Marish had not participated in over a century, and thus the group who traveled with the participants was considerably smaller than the one who came with me. This level of accommodation had not been required for a very long time.