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A bow in Cora’s hand always felt like home. And a belted dagger at her waist felt like safety. Strength. Practical defense to fill the many gaps in her magic. There was only so much a clairsentient witch could do. Cora was determined to do more. To be more.

She donned her cloak and gathered her weapons from inside her tent, shouldering her bow and quiver of arrows, then securing her belt with its sheathed dagger. There was no doubt Cora had missed the day’s hunt, considering she’d slept in so late, but she could at least practice her archery. She rarely missed a day using her bow. Besides, she needed to harvest more valerian root for her sleeping tonic. She knew she could get some from the potions tent, but the Forest People kept up a stringent inventory of their ingredients during harvesting, stocking, and brewing. If Cora asked for yet another pouch of valerian, people would start talking. They’d know just how strong she’d begun to brew it. Which was why it was even more frustrating that her nightmares had become so persistent.

She left the tent but only made it a few steps before she pulled up short. Maiya stood just outside with her arms crossed. She was dressed in her most brightly patterned skirts and had pink cherry blossoms woven through two long black braids. An amused smile danced over her lips as she assessed Cora’s much plainer ensemble. “Really, Cora? On Beltane?”

Cora grimaced. “I forgot it’s Beltane.”

“Some witch you are,” Maiya said with a chuckle. She hesitated then, some of the mirth leaving her eyes as she shifted from foot to foot. “So…did you sleep all right?”

“I’m fine, Maiya,” Cora said with what she hoped was a reassuring grin. “You can stop looking at me like I’m made of glass.”

Maiya gave Cora’s shoulder a playful shove. “I just worry about you, that's all. I'm here if you want to talk. My mother is here for you too. Salinda’s an elder. She has more wisdom than anyone.”

“I know she does.” Cora started off toward the edge of camp. Maiya shadowed her every step, silent although Cora knew she was dying to say more. From the corner of her eye, she could see her friend opening and closing her hands—Maiya’s telltale anxious gesture. The girl’s palms were inked with only a single tattoo at the center of each, a design made from several overlapping circles and triangles that vaguely resembled a flower. She was a year younger than Cora and only just beginning to explore her talents with the Arts. While Maiya’s mother was half witch and half Faeryn, Maiya’s magic seemed to favor her witch heritage. She was claircognizant and used her keen knowing to divine meaning from dreams.

“You could let me practice on you,” Maiya said, voice brimming with innocence. “It would be good for me. And…and I think it would be good for you too.”

Cora halted and faced her friend. She knew Maiya meant well. Knew in her deepest heart that Maiya’s prying was done with nothing but love. Still, it had to stop. Maiya didn’t understand what she was asking to get involved in. “Just drop it, all right? Please.”

Maiya nibbled her lip. “I only want to know that you’re really okay. I know something is bothering you.”

“It’s nothing.”

Maiya reached for her hand. As soon as their fingers made contact, Cora was overwhelmed with a sense of worry and desperation—Maiya’s feelings. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden onslaught of emotion. Wrenching her hand away, she took a stumbling step back.

Maiya’s eyes turned down at the corners, her sympathy palpable. “Cora?—”

“You are not going to believe it!”

Cora startled at the voice, but it was a welcome interruption. It severed her involuntary connection to her friend’s feelings. Her breathing eased as she faced the figure darting their way.

Gisele stopped before them, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “It’s Roije. He’s back!”

Maiya’s face went blank, her preoccupation with Cora’s wellbeing instantly forgotten. The name Gisele had mentioned was probably the only word in the history of the spoken language that could wipe all prior thought from Maiya’s mind. Her voice turned wistful. Anxious. “Roije…he’s…he’s really back?”

“I thought you'd want to know,” Gisele said with a wink. “Come on!”

Before Cora could argue, Gisele linked her arms through both of theirs and dragged them across camp. They came upon a crowd gathering near the picket line where the Forest People’s horses were kept. A familiar young man stood at the far end, hitching his horse. Cora’s first glimpse at Roije showed he’d grown at least three inches taller since he’d left the Forest People a year ago. His hair had grown too, no longer cropped close to his head but in black waves that fell over his dark eyes. She turned her attention to his clothes and discovered more changes to admire. Instead of the leather britches and wool tunic most of the men wore around camp, he was dressed in a fine linen shirt and black trousers. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal inked forearms—proof of his skill in the Arts. But as Cora drew closer, she noticed something else about his shirt—a haphazard spatter of rusty reddish brown. Blood.

Strange appearance aside, Cora was surprised Roije was back. He’d grown up with the Forest People, but his father was not of their commune. When his mother took ill and died a year ago, he left to find the man who had sired him. His loss was felt by many, especially since his tracking skills were second to none. His Art was the Magic of the Soil, thanks to his Faeryn heritage, and he used it to speak to the earth. Before he left, he was considered the most marriageable bachelor in the commune. Now that he was back, Cora was curious to know why. She wasn’t the only one, based on the size of the crowd.

Cora expected to come upon giddy conversation, but the closer she and her two companions drew, the more obvious it was that something was wrong. It was too quiet. Roije had never been a frivolous man by any means, even before he came of age. He was never one of the youths who snuck off to the nearest towns to drink at pubs or steal kisses from farm girls. He took his tracking duties seriously and had gone to great lengths to care for his mother in her dying days. Even so, the look in his eyes was unlike anything she’d seen in them before. They seemed…haunted.

He unsaddled his horse with slow motions, wincing now and then as if he were injured.

“Roije!” Gisele released Cora’s arm to wave frantically for his attention, clearly unable to read the mood. “Where did you go? Did you find your father?”

Roije paused his ministrations and ran a hand over his face. He gave a solemn nod. “I found him. Turns out he…he was a butcher in Kubera.”

“What’s Kubera like?” Gisele asked. “Is it a large village? A wealthy one?”

It took all of Cora’s restraint not to stomp on the girl’s foot to quiet her. A single word nestled within Roije’s answer said everything she needed to know. Was . His father was a butcher. She held no optimism that his usage of past tense suggested a change in occupation. His emotions were written clearly on his face, in the tilt of his eyes, and the dark circles beneath them.

Even if his expression had been blank, Cora would have known, for his emotions were so strong they slipped past her shields, much like what had happened with Maiya minutes ago. Grief flooded her heart, followed by shame. It made her feel heavy. Dizzy. Disconnected.

Breathing deep, she turned her attention to her own emotions, her own body. She focused on the cool spring air against her skin. The smell of earth and pine. Soon the unwanted emotions began to fade. She breathed deeply again, imagining the air around her growing thicker, gathering roots from the soil beneath her feet, soaking up water from earth, from the molecules in the air, then absorbing the bright light of the sun, the warmth of its fiery rays. Welcoming all four elements, she imagined them dancing, weaving, forming an invisible wall that hummed with energy all around her.

With her mental shields strengthened, she returned her attention to Roije.

“I’m so sorry,” Maiya said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze cut to her, and his expression softened. Their eyes held for a heated moment that made Cora want to look away.

Gisele glanced from Maiya to Roije. “What? I don’t understand. What happened?”

“My father accepted me into his home,” Roije said, his eyes finally leaving Maiya’s. “When I tracked him down, I knew there was a chance he’d turn me away, but he didn’t. He remembered my mother and was eager to get to know me. Then they came.”

“Who’s they?” asked one of the men in the crowd.

“King Dimetreus’ soldiers. They came to Kubera.”

Every muscle in Cora’s body stiffened at the mention of the King of Khero. A spike of anger burned her blood, but she tried not to let it show on her face. She wasn’t the only one who seemed unsettled by the news, however. Some stared with hard looks while others exchanged wary glances. It wasn’t hard to understand why. The Forest People may have resided primarily in the Kingdom of Khero, but they served the land, not its king. They owed their allegiance to no monarch and avoided royal politics like a plague.

Roije continued. “They were recruiting young men to join the army by force. Father begged me to hide, said they wouldn’t know I’d ever been there. Two soldiers came to the shop while I hid in the cellar. Rumors about me had spread. Father refused to give me up so they…they killed him.” His expression hardened, taking the breath from Cora’s lungs. She knew that look. Terror meets a thirst for vengeance. It was as familiar to her as her own skin.

“Oh, Roije,” Gisele cooed, “that’s so terrible. But I’m glad you made it out alive.”

“Barely,” he muttered. “I had to take the two men out with me.” With that, he turned back to his horse and began brushing him down, a silent dismissal of his audience.

The tension was heavy in the air as the crowd dispersed. Gisele remained in place with a pout on her lips, but Maiya tugged her arm. “We should give him some space.”

Gisele cast one more longing glance at Roije before obeying. Cora was more than happy to follow, but before she could take a step, Roije’s voice called out. “Cora.”

With a frown, she turned back to face him, her cheeks burning beneath the sudden scrutiny of her companions. Gisele looked scandalized while Maiya’s expression flickered with hurt. Maiya had always held a secret affection for the man while Cora had never been close with him at all. It made little sense why she’d be the one he wanted to speak to after returning. She gave Maiya an apologetic smile and then approached him. Dread filled her stomach as a terrifying possibility occurred to her. Could his summons be romantic in nature? Goddess above, she hoped not. But why else would he single her out? It was Beltane, after all. Then again, why would he harbor romantic thoughts when he was clearly grieving?

Cora sent out a silent prayer that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his summons that had nothing to do with courtship. It wasn’t because she was unattracted to him. He was without a doubt the handsomest young man in the commune. But she knew how Maiya felt. Besides, romance was something Cora sought to avoid. Love needed to be built on trust and honesty. And for a girl with a past shrouded in blood and secrecy…

“What is it?” she asked, trying to smile but managing only a grimace.

He continued to brush his horse, keeping his voice low as he spoke. “I just wanted to tell you to be careful.”

She frowned, not sure how to respond to that. “All right.” When he didn’t say more, she took a step away. “Welcome back?—”

“Avoid the villages.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know you normally stay at camp when we trade with the local towns, and…that’s smart. You should keep doing that.” He paused and met her eyes. The gravity in his expression sent Cora’s heart hammering against her ribs.

All she could think was, He knows. Goddess above, he knows who I am.

Before he could say anything more, she turned away, once again haunted by dark castles and blood. And a question. The question that haunted her mind, twisted her heart.

What have you done?

Her footsteps quickened until they kicked up into a jog, then a run, as she made a beeline for the edge of camp.

She didn’t stop until she disappeared into the shadows beneath the trees.