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“Welcome,” Feron called, and the music slowed to a halt. “It has been an honor to help our cousins make a home here these past few days. You all look lovely.”

The Shades erupted into cheers. “We love you, Nikolai!” someone screamed from across the clearing.

Nikolai stood and took a bow before pulling Dynara up to take her own. The entire city cheered and laughed as the Shades twirled in their new robes and dresses.

Feron raised his hand and the crowd quieted once more. He pointed to the large pedestal in front of him. “This stone is imbued with the memory of every bloodline to ever have walked along these lands.” His hands drifted over the red lines that trailed along thewhite stone like marbling. “It has the power to show which bloodline any Elverin is from.”

Feron poured a small cup of water onto the concave top of the pedestal. He nodded to Lash, who took a small knife from his belt and pricked his finger. The Fae held his hand over the water until a single drop of red blood sent a ripple through the small pool. The water began to churn and bubble. Then it rose into the air, churning into a deep red shade as it took the form of one of the blue birds I had seen on the way to Vellinth.

Feron pointed to the tree that was decorated in the long banner with the same totem. The Elverin underneath it cheered and whistled as the watery totem fell to the ground and disappeared.

Feron placed the waterskin on top of the pedestal and addressed the crowd once more. “I know you have spent months having your blood taken from you and gave much more in your years of service to false kings. If you do not wish to give any more, know that does not make you any less welcome.”

The tables of Shades murmured as they whispered to one another. “But for those who do,” Feron continued, “you can find your mother’s bloodline tonight.”

The Shades were struck into silence. Each of them, young and old, gazed at the pedestal with wide eyes. The ones whose families had left them to their fates stared in fear, while the ones who had never known their families stared in blatant curiosity. But none of them dared to move closer to it.

Fyrel stood from her table. “And what if you have a Mortal for a mother?”

My chest twinged as the crowd went silent. Such children were not talked about in the kingdom; it was rare for a Halfling to be born to a Mortal woman, and they were often met with violent ends. Fyrel herself had been left at the end of the glass bridge as anoffering to the Order. How she had come to know who her mother was, I didn’t know.

Feron didn’t hesitate to answer Fyrel’s question. There was nothing but kindness in his voice when he said, “Your father belongs to a bloodline too, young one. You would discover his mother’s totem.”

Fyrel sighed with relief and walked up to the pedestal. Feron laughed and filled it with a splash of water. Fyrel scratched her hand too deeply and a stream of blood fell into the pool. Lash pulled one of Nikolai’s handkerchiefs from his robe and passed it to her. Fyrel took it without looking at him, her eyes glued to the bubbling water suspended above her head.

It took the shape of an owl mid-flight with its wings extended and its horns projecting out. The table under the matching banner broke into a chorus of owl calls. Riven nudged my arm and glanced down at Syrra, who shuddered at the end of the table.

“Unnecessary,” she mumbled under her breath.

I watched as Shade after Shade completed the ritual. Tables of eagles, deer, fish, trees, and flowers erupted each time as their bloodlines grew. I recognized the little girl, Orrin, from the ship as she cautiously walked up to Feron and Lash.

Lash knelt and tickled her belly before pulling out a thin, sharp pin. “It will only hurt for a second,” he said as he held her hand.

“I’m not scared.”

Lash laughed and pricked her finger before lifting her up to the pedestal. The water shifted into a fire lion and the crowd gasped. I had only ever seen such a creature once. Feron smiled widely and pointed to a table at the far end of the grove. Their cheers hadn’t been heard over the shock of the crowd because only three Elverin sat at the table.

The little girl burst into a run and was tossed into the air by the Elf and two Halflings. Her giggles echoed through the trees.

I turned to Vrail. “What line do you belong to?”

“The wounded willow.” Her face fell. “Though I am the last of them now. My grandmother taught me everything she could about the libraries before she passed. In the years before Aemon, our clan ran all of them.”

“And now there are no scroll keepers at all?”

“There are still some from the other tree lines, but no keepers for Volcar.”

I leaned on Vrail’s shoulder and turned my sights on Riven. “And what are you? A chipmunk?”

“I could see it.” Nikolai smirked, tossing a toasted nut into his mouth.

Dynara narrowed her eyes. “He’s more of a field mouse, I think.”

Riven shook his head in amusement. “That isn’t even a totem.” He turned back to me. “I’m part of the wolf line. There are more of us than Vrail’s but most died in the Purges.”

“Warrior lines.” Nikolai tossed another nut into his mouth.

I glanced around the grove. “But Killian must be a wolf too.”