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Azura considered her for a long moment, her expression carefully blank. “Yule,” she finally said.

Taly looked up.

“You were born in the month of Yule,” Azura clarified softly. “You were, and still are, an only child. You look like your mother, though you inherited many of your most prominent personality traits from your father.”

You inherited your father’s recklessness.

Her mother’s words. Something warm settled in Taly’s chest, glowing inside her like an ignited ember as a few more pieces of who she was and who she had been settled into place.

“Walk with me,” Azura said, and Taly rose from her chair, following her out of the library and into the hallway beyond.

“I prefer the art galleries on nights when I can’t sleep,” Azura said as they turned down a corridor that stretched away to the right. “The palace’s collection of Draegon art cannot be rivaled.”

“Sarina used to say that Draegon art was incomprehensible.”

Azura snorted. “I think the more political term would be‘modern,’but yes… she makes a valid point.”

More orbs of fairy fire trailed behind them now, drifting on an invisible breeze. Taly held out a hand, and the same fairy that had taken to following her landed gently on her palm.

“Who were they?” Taly asked, gesturing to the ball of light. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked the question, nor would it be the last. Azura and Leto were very good at giving answers that revealed nothing.

“They were friends.” Azura said. It was a dull, hollow answer, filled with quiet misery.

And… a kernel of truth.

Taly tucked it away with the other bits and pieces of information she’d collected over the weeks. She opened her mouth, another question already poised, but Azura held up a hand.

“Let us not speak of such things,” she said. And though her tone was mild, almost pleasant, Taly knew an order when she heard one. “Tell me, dear—what has you out of bed at such a dark hour?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

Azura smiled at the obvious deflection. “I often find myself awake until it’s over.” She glanced at one of the windows they passed, the rain of ash still pelting the glass. “This was the worst day of my life, after all. You try sleeping through that.”

Another honest answer. Taly eyed the woman. She had given up asking “why.” Why shut down the gates? Why kill millions of people? Why topple an empire?

Those were questions the Queen was never going to answer, so she tucked away that piece of information, and answered with a simple, “Dreams,” as they rounded another corner. “I keep dreaming about Skye. Almost every night now.”

“Judging from your expression, I take it these aren’t the good sorts of dreams.”

Taly almost laughed. “Not unless seeing the people you care about get ripped apart by shades counts asgood.”

Azura grabbed her arm, bringing them to a stop. “How long has this been going on? How long have you been dreaming about your island?”

“Since I got here.”

“And why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”

Taly shrugged half-heartedly. “Because they’re just dreams.”

“Perhaps.” A pause. And a grimace, hastily concealed. “Perhaps not. Your premonitions, the visions you used to see—that was your Sight manifesting itself, but the Sight’s true power lies in dreams.”

Taly’s heart stuttered. “They aren’t real,” she insisted, as though saying it out loud could somehow make it true.

Azura gestured for them to continue forward. “The Sight is a very curious gift,” she began, patting Taly’s shoulder when she no doubt saw the rising panic leech the color from her cheeks, “and one that is sorely misunderstood. As time mages, we cannotseethe future because the future is inherently malleable. Each moment has an infinite number of variations, each one based on the decisions of an infinite number of players. TheSightallows us to see each of those variations and the key decisions that led to that outcome.”

Taly forced herself to breathe. “So… what you’re saying is that I’m seeing possibilities? Possible futures where Skye dies?”

“I believe so.”