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She turned and fled, weaving through the shelves with the silent swiftness of a shadow. The books threatened to slip from her grasp with each step, but she held on, dodging corners, twisting down unfamiliar aisles.

Until she crashed straight into someone’s chest.

The impact sent her stumbling back, books slipping from her grasp as a startled scream tore through the quiet.

The drakonian scholar she had barreled into gaped at her, wide-eyed and frozen in sheer disbelief.

Wren blinked up at him.

Then, on instinct, she screamed too .

The scholar flinched, caught off guard, leaving her just enough time to snatch the nearest book off the floor and run .

She did not look back.

She bolted for the ladder, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste, scrambling up onto the wooden platform. Another set of rungs, another desperate climb, until she was bursting back onto the rooftop.

The air hit her like a wall—hot, dry, thick with the weight of the sun.

She gasped, dragging in lungfuls of stifling heat, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

Only then did she dare glance down at the lone tome in her hands—the only one she had managed to take.

Not enough .

But it would have to do.

High above, silhouetted against the afternoon sky, the crow of smoke glided effortlessly through the air, its path steady, leading the way.

She followed.

Kage was waiting for her in the shadows of an alleyway, his back against the stone, arms crossed. His dark eyes flicked over her disheveled state, the book clutched in her hands, the flush of exertion still painting her cheeks.

And then, in the kind of bored, infuriating tone only Kage Blackburn could manage, he said, ‘Took you long enough.’

‘How did ya get out?’ she asked, glancing up at him with unfiltered curiosity.

Kage merely shrugged, his expression unreadable. ‘I told them I thought you were a scholar who had offered to assist me.’

His dark gaze drifted downward, tracing the length of her arm until it settled on the single tome she clutched in her hand—the only prize she had managed to steal.

‘Your work as a thief is not very impressive,’ he said flatly. ‘I do hope you’re better at being a Seer.’

Wren couldn’t help it—she laughed. A bright, uninhibited sound, free as the wind rolling over the icy plains of her homeland.

‘I’ve neva had any complaints so far,’ she mused, falling into step beside him as they made their way back towards the castle.

‘Then again, I’ve neva had anyone complain about me stealing skills, so…

who knows.’ She nudged him with her elbow, playful and unrelenting.

‘Ya ought to be a thief yerself, Kage Bl ackburn. Not bad work at all, if I may say so meself.’

‘You may not.’

Wren grinned. ‘Well, I think ya had a little bit of fun. Ya just don’t want to admit it.’

‘I did not.’

‘Well, I think—’

Kage abruptly stopped, turning towards her with a sharp glare. ‘ Stop thinking .’

Wren placed a hand over her heart, feigning offense. ‘I can’t do that. Me brain would implode and then I’d die.’

He stared at her, mouth slightly ajar, his entire being caught between disbelief and exasperation.

Wren clicked her tongue and reached up, pressing her fingers under his chin to snap his mouth shut.

‘Ya shouldn’t gape at people like that. I knew a boy that knew another boy that once met an old man who swallowed a fly becas he was standing with his mouth open.

And ya might think, well, Wren, that ain’t such a crazy story, now is it?

But then, wouldn’t ya know—this boy that knew a boy that knew da old man died da very next day .

’ She sighed, shaking her head in mock solemnity.

‘Could’ve been da disease that wiped out most of da town, but it does make ya think, don’t it? ’

Kage pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly, as if attempting to summon a level of patience he did not possess. ‘Do you ever stop rambling ?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ She flashed him a grin, completely unbothered.

‘Me papa says it’s becas I’m a Seer, so weird fuzzy things happen in me mind and I need to externalise it somehow.

I don’t always understand what he’s saying, but they do say he’s real smart, so I just nod and agree— definitely me brain, and definitely da fuzzy things inside. ’

Her gaze lifted skyward for a moment, thoughtful.

‘I’ve wondered sometimes what me brain looks like.

Haven’t ya? If maybe it might be a different colour or size.

Yers would probably be black and rather large to fit that big head ya’ve got.

’ She gestured vaguely at him, smirking.

‘It’s probably so big becas ya seem real smart.

’ Kage gave her a sidelong glance, unimpressed.

Wren pressed on, undeterred. ‘Some people don’t mind me talking this much, becas they are lonely and me talking keeps them company.

I think that’s rather nice, don’t ya think?

That yer true power in life is to make someone a little less lonely.

I think that’s really nice. So I like talking. ’

And so she did.

She talked the entire walk back, filling the silence with every thought that crossed her mind, every whimsical story she could summon, every stray observation she felt like sharing.

And though Kage Blackburn never once spoke—though he never responded to her endless stream of chatter—she noticed, just barely, the way the corner of his lips curled upward.

Almost—just almost—as if he didn’t mind the company at all.

…

Mal’s gaze fell upon the book Wren and Kage had left upon her table, a flutter of disappointment curling in her chest before she forced it away.

She had hoped for more. More sources, more knowledge—anything that could illuminate the path forward, unraveling the curse that clung to the Eight Kingdoms like a shadow.

But this would have to do.

‘We were outsmarted by scholars,’ Wren declared, her tone carrying more amusement than shame.

Kage snorted.

Mal sighed, but a small, grateful smile tugged at her lips. ‘Well, I suppose it will have to do. Thank you.’ She settled into a chair, tracing a thoughtful finger over the worn cover before flipping it open. The title, embossed in faded gold, gleamed beneath the candlelight.

‘The History of the Eight Kingdoms.’ Her lips pressed together. ‘It could be useful. We read something similar back home, did we not, Kage?’

He nodded, though his expression was unreadable.

‘Perhaps this tome contains some different information.’

Kage did not look convinced.

Before Mal could speak again, Wren leaned over and unceremoniously yanked a black notebook from the back of her trousers, dropping it onto the table beside the history book.

‘I haven’t had da notebook in me trousers all day, in case ya were wondering.’

‘We weren’t,’ Kage muttered.

‘I went back to me room as soon as we got back and took it out its hiding place.’

‘No one asked,’ he added.

Mal ignored them both as she picked up the notebook, thumbing through its pages.

The ink sprawled across the parchment was strange—uneven, distorted.

Words melted into one another, like ghosts of phrases written over time, concealing something beneath.

‘It’s a diary...’ Her eyes flicked up to Wren in question.

‘Of ya maid Klara,’ Wren explained, tapping the cover. ‘Had it well hidden in her trunk.’

Mal narrowed her eyes, scanning the warped script. There was something beneath the visible words—something hidden, shifting just beyond her reach.

‘It’s been glamoured,’ Wren said.

‘Glamoured?’ Mal’s fingers curled around the book.

‘It’s what witches do. They glamour things. I have no idea how they do it, becas am not a witch. But I knew a girl that had met a witch a while back who said that witches are really good at glamouring things— so they can make it look different to us non-witch folk.’

‘How do we un glamour it?’ Mal’s mind spun, but she kept her expression neutral. Wren had not mentioned having a vision of Mal using magic. Did she know? Or was she oblivious to what Mal had begun to suspect about herself?

For now, Mal would keep that secret locked away.

Without hesitation, Wren snatched the notebook from her hands. ‘We go to da source. It was in ya maid’s room, so we go to her and ask her why she’s keeping a magical notebook in her trunk. She’s probably another witch just like Vera.’

‘Very well.’ Mal stood up. ‘But we ought to approach her tomorrow when she comes to clean the room. It’s very late and the Fire Prince—I mean, my husband , will be coming back soon to rest.’ Wren nodded, offering an exaggerated salute before bounding towards the door, disappearing into the corridor with a flurry of enthusiasm.

Silence settled in her absence.

‘She is insufferable,’ Kage muttered.

‘And yet, I’ve never seen you speaking so much.’ Mal smiled sweetly at him. Kage shot her a withering look, but she pressed on, teasing. ‘Perhaps a few more days in her company and you will be talking as much as her.’

His exhale was slow, weary, as if the sheer effort of enduring Wren’s presence had left him depleted.

His dark eyes swept the room, lingering over the intricately carved furniture, the flickering candlelight, the familiar wyverian designs woven into every detail. He did not move from where he stood—a shadow draped in midnight, unmoving but observant.

‘The prince made all of this for you?’ He gestured with a long, pale finger, his voice unreadable.

Mal turned away, nodding.

‘Hmm.’

There was something different in the sound. A strange weight pressing against the single syllable.

‘What is it?’ she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Kage merely shrugged.

It was a slow, indifferent motion—the kind of gesture that belonged to a man who had never found much worth in movement unless it served a purpose.

But his voice—his voice held something else entirely.

Something unspoken .

‘The gods can be rather cruel sometimes,’ he whispered, his gaze trailing across the room, heavy with something close to sorrow.

‘What do you mean?’

Kage did not answer. Instead, he turned, slipping from the room without another word.

Mal remained where she was, alone in the dim candlelight, her arms wrapping around herself as her eyes roamed the room—the space Ash had made for her.

The gift that should have felt like a burden, a weight.

Instead, it felt like a kindness.

And as she stood there, staring at the home she had been given in a land that was not her own, she could not help but wonder if her brother was right.

The gods were, indeed, rather cruel.