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Kieran carried something. A small box. As we drew closer, Reaver landed among the wildflowers, shaking the nearby half-standing walls. His horned head swiveled in the direction of the approaching group. Emil and Perry wisely gave Reaver a wide berth while Kieran ignored the draken’s presence.

I knew something had happened the moment I saw the tension bracketing Kieran’s mouth, but I picked up nothing from him.

His emotions were shielded, and that wasn’t normal at all.

I looked at the others more closely. There was no half-wild grin or teasing glint in Emil’s golden eyes either. Tart uneasiness drifted from Perry. When Emil didn’t pause to make an elaborate display of kneeling, the unease tripled.

I glanced at the box again, and everything in me slowed. My heart. My breathing. The wooden box was no bigger than the length of the wolven dagger sheathed to my thigh but adorned with blood-red rubies. “What’s that?”

“A Royal Guard brought it to the Rise of Massene,” Emil answered, his knuckles bleached white from clutching the hilt of his sword. “He was alone. Said he traveled day and night from the capital. All he had was that small chest. He said it was for the Queen of Atlantia, from the Queen of Solis.”

The back of my neck tightened. “How did she know we were here?” I looked between them. “There’s no way word could’ve traveled to Carsodonia that quickly.”

“Good question,” Kieran said. “It would be impossible for her to know.”

But she did.

My gaze flicked to the box once more. “And where is the Royal Guard now?”

“Dead.” An icy blast accompanied Emil’s lingering shock. “As soon as he finished speaking, he stood right there and slit his damn throat wide open. I’d never seen anything like that.”

“That doesn’t bode well.” Tiny bumps erupted all over my skin as my gaze fell to the wooden box. A gift? “Have you opened it?”

Kieran shook his head. “The Royal Guard said only your blood could open it.”

I frowned as Reaver stretched his long neck, eyeing what Kieran held.

“He had to be talking about old magic—Primal magic.” Perry’s handsome features were drawn tight by tension. “If one knew how to use Primal magic, they could create wards or spells that would work in a way that only responded to certain blood or bloodlines. They could use the magic for almost anything, really.”

“It’s the same kind of Primal magic that created the Gyrms,” Kieran reminded me.

I suppressed a shudder at the image of the faceless creatures made of eather and dirt that were conjured forth. The Unseen had created them, but it was now abundantly clear that the Blood Queen had gained knowledge of the old magic—how to tap into the Primal essences that created the realms and was around us at all times.

My muscles tensed even further as I stared at the box. Malec would’ve known all about old Primal magic that was now forbidden. “What am I supposed to do? Cut a vein and bleed on it?”

“Let’s not cut a vein open,” Kieran advised.

“A drop or two of your blood will probably suffice,” Perry suggested as Delano moved between us, brushing against the Atlantian’s legs. Perry reached down, running his hand along the length of Delano’s back.

“How do you know so much about Primal magic?” I asked as I reached for the box. Kieran held on, clearly reluctant to let go. My gaze flew to his, my senses opening. Then I felt something from him. It was tart in the back of my throat. Unease. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he let go of the surprisingly lightweight box.

“My father,” Perry answered, and I thought of Lord Sven as I turned, looking for a flat surface on which to place the box. I found a portion of wall that stood about waist high. “He’s always been fascinated with the old Primal magic, collecting anything written about it that he could get his hands on.” There was a rough chuckle. “Spend any amount of time with him, and he’ll start telling you how there used to be spells that could guarantee a successful yielding of crops or make it rain.”

“Has he ever tried to use Primal magic?” I sat the box on the flattest section of a nearby wall.

“No, Your Highness.”

A shaky breath left me as I glanced at Perry. “You don’t have to call me that. We’re friends.”

“Thank you, Your—” He caught himself with a faint smile. “Thank you, Penellaphe.”

“Poppy,” I whispered absently.

“Poppy,” Perry repeated with a nod. “My father, he wouldn’t dare anger the Arae or even the sleeping gods by using such magic.”

“The Arae?” It took a moment for the image of Priestess Analia and the heavy tome called The History of The War of Two Kings and the Kingdom of Solis to creep into my thoughts. I remembered. “The Fates.”