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With a sigh, Taly turned to a blank page. There would be hell if she didn’t do as she was told. So, reaching for a nearby quill, she began to write.

Closing the door behind her, Azura leaned against it. Sometimes, it amazed her that she was still capable of feeling guilt over things that happened so long ago. But there it was. A familiar sickness hollowing out her chest.

War was never easy, and no one came out the same as they were before.

“Majesty?”

Azura turned to the haze of soft blue in her peripheral vision. “I don’t like how perceptive she’s becoming,” she said to the woman. “We will have to be more careful with our words. All knowledge has its time, and I’m only now just getting her to trust me. We can’t let that be undone.”

Leto’s light pulsed softly. An affirmation. “I have the names you asked for.”

Azura pushed herself to stand. “Good,” she said. She hated sending the fairies outside of this place. It degraded their sense of self, ate away at what was left of their anima. But sometimes—like now—it was necessary. “And they’re aware of the potential cruelty of this task?”

Leto nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said again. “Let’s go speak with them then. Certain events have already been set in motion, and we must make sure that all the essential players find their proper places.”

Chapter 13

-From the personal notes of Ivain Castaro, Marquess of Tempris

The 2ndday of the month Litha, during the 235thyear of the Empty Throne

Today, I did the thing I swore I’d never do again. After three years of letters and calls and thinly veiled bribes, I finally agreed to take on Adriana Emrys’ youngest son as my live-in student. I’m not sure how she knew that Sarina and I would be touring the Ghislain countryside, but she did, cornering us in a tavern in Eroun with her son in tow—a shy, quiet boy named Skylen.

Sarina fell in love immediately, and even I must admit he was not what I was expecting. Barely nine years old, but he’s powerful, smart, though it was plain to see that his tutors have been mishandling his education. Mages with that much aether—it’salways a balancing act of keeping them challenged without needlessly endangering their lives, and in the right hands, this boy could be molded into something special.

After Breena, I never thought I would take on another student. I regret that we never settled our differences before her death, but perhaps my sister is right. Teaching has been one of the greatest joys of my life, and maybe it’s time to stop punishing myself for that failure and start looking to the future.

Skye turned in a circle, taking in the scattering of fire lamps, the sprawling marble dance hall, the soaring towers of champagne flutes brimming with sparkling wine.

“I’m… home?” he murmured, his voice lost amid the crowd of Highborn fey that surrounded him on all sides.

Or rather… he was back in Ghislain, at his family’s mountain estate overlooking the Bay of Margo. Not home. No, this place hadn’t been home for a long time—not since he’d been sent to live and train with Ivain nearly sixteen years ago.

He searched his memory. The last thing he could remember was being in Della. It was cold and wet; the temperature had dropped that day, and even the wards on Ivain’s tent hadn’t been able to completely ward off the chill of night. He had been huddled inside his bedroll, shivering so hard his teeth chattered, and—

“I’m dreaming,” he concluded, eyeing the draped garlands and evergreen wreaths above thedoors and archways, the tiny sprigs of holly that decorated every dress and lapel, even his. He had to be. That was the only reasonable explanation for why he would suddenly find himself back in Ghislain for his family’s Yulemas celebration.

Skye began weaving through the crowd, flurries of magical snow dusting his shoulders and catching in his hair. The faces blurred together, and the walls seemed to shimmer as the dream warped around the outer edges of the room, almost like a bubble. There was music in the background, a combination of strings and flutes, but every time he tried to focus, attempting to pick out a tune or melody, the song would shift into something else equally unrecognizable.

“Excuse me,” he said, sidestepping a woman in a vibrant blue dress that nearly twirled into him as she exited the dancefloor.

He blinked, and her dress was suddenly crimson. The woman gave him a smile, her eyes hungry as she surveyed him from head to foot, taking in his black dress suit and white tie.

A heartbeat later, her dress had turned from red to lavender.

“Excuse me,” he said again, ignoring the pout that pulled at the corners of her gold-painted lips.

Skye felt a tug, gentle but insistent. Almost like there was a string attached to one of his ribs. It tugged again, and he froze, craning his neck to see over the milling crowd of nobles as he tried to pinpoint its source.

There.

A pair of wide, double doors marked the center of the back wall, leading to what memory told him was a balcony.

Another tug and Skye began to move. He carefully pushed his way through the crowd, but time seemed to stretch in this strange half-world. No matter how far or how long he walked, the entrance to the balcony was always just a few steps out of reach.

That thread continued to pull him forward, and he imagined himself grabbing it, twisting it between his fingers and wrenching whatever it was on the other side towards him.