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A s promised, Cora stayed with Mareleau throughout the entire ordeal. She’d attended numerous births amongst the Forest People and had even assisted with them. But this one was different, for it was her friend on the bed, her friend in pain. She wished she could play a more proactive role in helping her, but between the four midwives, Mareleau’s three maids, and Queen Mother Helena, there was little for Cora to do aside from what Mareleau had asked of her: simply being there for her.

Cora held her hand through every contraction. Depending on Mareleau’s ever-changing mood, she chanted encouragement or whispered words of soothing. Despite her best efforts, Cora found her mental shields growing weaker as the hours stretched on and on, not a wink of sleep behind her. Delirium took over, and she wasn’t sure it belonged more to her or to Mareleau. Their emotions were entwined by morning. Mareleau’s pain was Cora’s pain. Her fatigue, Cora’s fatigue. Her fear, Cora’s fear.

There were times the latter emotion grew unbearably strong, dipping into sorrow and panic when Mareleau would mutter that her baby was too early, that this was too arduous, too long, that surely something was wrong. It almost made Cora wish she had the power of the narcuss.

Morkai’s power.

She hated that she even thought of it, but if she had his magic, she could impress calmer thoughts upon Mareleau. A narcuss was the inverse of her power. Where Cora could feel the emotions of others, a narcuss could change what another felt and perceived. Particularly in the minds of the weak or fearful.

Cora banished these thoughts whenever they crept upon her, for what good would they do? She wasn’t a narcuss. The only one she’d ever met was Morkai, and he was dead. Cora couldn’t force Mareleau’s pain and fear away, and even if she could, what right did she have? Those emotions belonged to her friend. All she could do was feel them with her. Help her through to the other side.

The other side finally came.

After twelve hours, a baby boy took his first breath in the world, followed by a tiny, wailing cry. It was just past noon. The room remained dim, the curtains drawn shut. After half a day and no sleep from anyone—save Mareleau’s three ladies, who’d left to doze in the sitting room hours ago—the blaring light of day was an unwelcome intruder.

The baby’s cry filled the room, such a soft yet sharp sound. Such a signal of joy and relief. It was strange how the cry somehow made everything seem quieter. Calmer. Like the entire world had gone to sleep and now orbited that sweet small sound.

Cora sagged against the edge of the bed, knees on the floor, arms draped over the side of the mattress. Her lungs opened wide, allowing her to breathe easier for the first time in twelve hours, but she still felt the haze of delirium.

Mareleau sobbed as a midwife placed the swaddled babe in her arms, and Cora found her eyes glazing as she watched them, watched her friend’s lips widen in a smile, watched as Helena sat beside her daughter on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“He’s so tiny,” Mareleau said, a tremor in her voice.

“He is small, Majesty,” the midwife agreed, “but he’s healthy.”

Helena leaned closer to her daughter until their foreheads touched. “He’s beautiful.”

Mareleau’s grin widened. “He is.”

Cora smiled, watching Mareleau interact with her mother. Despite Mareleau’s worries, Helena hadn’t harped on her daughter at all. She’d been stunned silent for most of the ordeal. For the first time, Cora had seen the queen mother as timid, as if the woman was desperate not to upset her daughter and make things harder for her.

“Would you like to try to nurse him?” the midwife asked.

Mareleau nodded, equal parts joy and trepidation on her face.

Cora opened her mouth to ask if she should leave, but before she could utter a word, Mareleau whispered, “Stay. Please.”

So instead, she rested her head on her arms, closed her eyes, and gave her friend a moment of privacy.

Cora woke to the sound of song.

She lifted her head and found the room was no longer dim, the curtains parted over the far window to let in the light of an overcast afternoon sky. She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, but the room had been tidied and the midwives were no longer there. Mareleau and Helena were in almost the same positions they’d been before Cora had closed her eyes, nestled side by side. The music Cora had awoken to was coming from Helena. The queen mother sang a lovely, lilting lullaby, her voice a soothing soprano.

Cora straightened, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Though fatigue still weighed down on her, she found much of her delirium had cleared, enough that she could connect to the elements and strengthen her mental wards again. With her shields in place, she met her friend’s eyes.

Mareleau brightened. “You’re awake,” she whispered over her mother’s song.

Cora nodded, and Helena finished her lullaby, her final note ringing out long and sweet. Cora cleared her dry throat before she spoke. “I had no idea you sang so well, Helena.”

The queen mother beamed at the compliment. “I’ve always had a talent for music. When I was younger, I was praised for having perfect pitch.”

“Oh, don’t get her started on her perfect pitch,” Mareleau said with a roll of her eyes, a gesture that was tempered by the smile she wore. It seemed the two were still getting along.

“I played harp and piano,” Helena said, sitting a little straighter. “I could perfectly recite any song by ear after hearing it only once. I was such a prodigy, my father used to call me his Little Siren .”

Mareleau said the last two words in unison with her mother, but in a deep and mocking tone.

Cora chuckled, though she was thoroughly impressed, if the queen mother wasn’t exaggerating. Musical talents weren’t Cora’s forte, but she’d always admired musicians. Especially those amongst the Forest People. She’d known several clairaudient witches who’d expressed their magic through song, using their impressive hearing to compose or replicate beautiful music they would play for the commune. If Helena was as much of a prodigy as she suggested, there was a chance she had a magical gift and didn’t even know it. Not every witch came to know their own magic for what it was, for many expressed their abilities in ways that blended seamlessly with societal norms.

Cora held a secret smile. Perhaps she wasn’t the only queen who was also a witch.

“Do you want to see him?” Mareleau’s question pulled Cora from her thoughts. She angled her head at the empty space beside her, opposite Helena.

“Of course,” Cora said with more enthusiasm than she felt. More than anything, she wanted to curl up on a soft surface and go back to sleep. Yet she wanted to enjoy this moment with her friend. Of course she did.

Reluctantly, she dragged herself off the ground, her body aching from her unfortunate sleeping position, and settled in beside Mareleau. She was careful not to get too close lest she wake the sleeping baby in her friend’s arms. Perhaps she was a touch anxious too, though she wasn’t sure why. She’d been around plenty of infants and children when she’d lived with the Forest People. Even so, she wouldn’t call her maternal instincts strong. Maiya, her dear friend and foster sister, had excelled in that regard, scooping up the little ones and swinging them around while Cora kept a modest distance. Then again, Cora had kept nearly everyone in the commune at arm’s length.

Mareleau leaned slightly closer to Cora, showing off her bundle. A tiny, wrinkled face was all Cora could see in the swaddling, and though she should say he was beautiful, he looked…less so.

Her maternal instincts were awful indeed.

“He’s lovely,” Cora said, forcing her voice to sound wistful.

Mareleau furrowed her brow, and for a moment, Cora feared she’d oversold the compliment. But Mareleau’s next words held a note of concern. “Is this painful for you? To…to see him? To be in this situation with me?”

Cora’s stomach plummeted as she realized what Mareleau was implying. She was concerned for Cora’s well-being because of the curse that had been placed upon her. Because this experience was one Cora might never have. To be honest, Cora hadn’t given it much thought while she’d been aiding Mareleau through her labor, but now…

The unicorns. The mother. The child. Who do you think you are in that prophecy?

No, she still didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to revisit what Morkai had done to her. Didn’t want to reflect on all the information she’d learned from Teryn, pieces of the prophecy that proved, without a doubt, she had been the prophesied mother Morkai had sought.

Blood of the witch, blood of the Elvyn, and blood of the crown. The unicorn will signify her awakening .

More than that, she didn’t want to think about what her curse meant for El’Ara. Without their true Morkara, there was no one to command the flow of the mora —the fae word for magic—and keep it from seeping out into the human world. No one to stop the Blight that was slowly consuming the realm.

It wasn’t sorrow that kept her from these thoughts, nor was it grief.

No, it was something darker.

Something she didn’t want to admit.

Apathy.

An emotion that lingered in the wake of her time in El’Ara, when she’d been treated like a criminal by the Elvyn who’d found her. Two of the males, Etrix and Garot, had been kind to her, but Fanon had nearly gotten her killed. Had nearly killed her himself. Even the Faeryn, the race of High Fae the Forest People were descended from, did nothing but eye her with disdain when she’d come across a group of them trying to heal the Blight.

If she looked too close at that apathy, if she recognized even an ounce of truth in it, she’d have to consider that maybe she wasn’t such a good person.

Cora forced a smile to her lips. “I’m fine, Mare.” Her eyes darted to Helena, who was watching them intently.

Mareleau stiffened, as if only now remembering her mother’s presence. She angled her head toward the queen mother, but Helena already seemed to understand. Scooting off the bed, she said, “I should see if your husband is awake yet.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Mareleau’s voice held more gratitude than Cora was used to hearing from her friend. “If he’s still asleep, let him stay that way, just a little longer. He was awake all morning.”

Helena nodded, then left the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

Once they were alone, Mareleau faced Cora again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up in front of Mother. She doesn’t know about…”

“My curse,” Cora finished for her, voice flat.

Mareleau spoke again. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t think of you, that I didn’t worry about you until this moment.”

Cora let out a long breath, and when she attempted her smile once more, it was genuine. “I can’t possibly condemn you for not thinking of me until now. I wasn’t thinking of myself either.”

“Still, I’ll ask you again. Is this painful for you?”

“I’m all right,” Cora said, not bothering to hide the weary edge in her voice this time.

“Good.” Mareleau cast her eyes back to her baby. A light laugh left her lips. “You know, newborn babies aren’t quite as cute as we’re led to believe, are they?”

Cora snorted a laugh. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I mean, he is beautiful in my eyes. Completely and utterly beautiful. And yet…he does look a bit like a wrinkly old man. Don’t you, Noah?”

Surprise rippled through Cora. “You named him?”

“It’s a name Larylis and I both liked for a boy. I suppose I’ll find out if my husband still approves of it once he gets here. Speaking of…” She turned toward Cora with a grimace. “How ugly am I?”

Cora leveled a glare at her. “You’re never ugly.”

“But my hair must look terrible. What about my eyes? Are they red and swollen from crying? Do I look half dead or more like three-quarters? I’m open to the truth.”

Cora rolled her eyes. Her friend’s hair was admittedly a tangled mess, but this was hardly the time for vanity.

Mareleau sighed. “No, of course you won’t tell me. I’d use my magic trick, but Larylis can probably see right through it.”

“Magic trick?”

“Oh, it’s not real magic. It’s this thing I do where I pretend I can change my outer appearance and influence how another perceives me. I used to do it all the time when I was trying to get out of unwanted engagements. It’s just a matter of altering my posture and expression, and it doesn’t work on everyone.”

“What do you mean? Show me?” Cora was both curious and amused.

“I’ll try. But remember, it might not work.” Mareleau adjusted her son in her arms and sat a little straighter. Then she held still for a few seconds, staring straight ahead, eyes unfocused. Slowly, a soft smile melted over her lips and she angled her face toward Cora. Her countenance was nearly glowing, her sapphire eyes as bright as the sea, the apples of her cheeks perfectly rosy. She didn’t look at all like someone who hadn’t slept?—

Mareleau shook her head, averting her gaze. “Ah, I’m too tired. I can’t do it.”

Cora blinked at her, at her profile, at cheeks that had held such a rosy hue for all of a second. At eyes that had momentarily lost their puffiness and the dark circles that hung beneath them.

Had Cora merely hallucinated? Was she so fatigued that her mind had played along with Mareleau’s game?

That was when she felt the tingle in her palms, sparking every inked line of her insigmora . Was Cora sensing…magic? A heavy warmth settled in her stomach, followed by a lifting sensation in her chest—a medley of clairsentient feeling that said truth .

Mareleau…had magic.

Again that feeling in her stomach, her chest.

Truth .

Mareleau could cast a glamour.

Truth .

Mareleau was a witch.

Truth .