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C ora could feel her destination drawing near. Her heart grew warmer with every racing step Valorre took across the forest floor. He’d hardly slowed his pace after escaping the pursuit of the Roizan three days prior. They’d stopped only to rest and eat, although without Cora’s bow or belt of necessities, she’d been limited to whatever she could harvest with her hands or an arrow. She was weak. Hungry. But at least she had Valorre. He carried her to the Ishvonn Woods where they first met. Where she hoped beyond hope that the Forest People had remained since she’d parted from them. Thankfully, it was not yet summer, so the commune had little reason to have departed.

As Valorre galloped past the hot spring caves, weaving along the familiar path she’d trod mere weeks ago, she felt the call of home. Of family.

Of people who might turn her away the minute they saw her face.

We’re here , Cora thought to Valorre when she sensed the commune’s proximity. He slowed his pace and paused near a thicket of trees. Cora dismounted, wincing at the soreness in her thighs, the ache in her legs, the hollow in her stomach. She felt a sudden stab of self-consciousness when she realized what she must look like. Dressed only in her corset and shift, no petticoats, no overskirt, filthy, her hair a mass of tangles…she imagined she appeared half mad.

I’ll stay close , Valorre said and trotted away.

She felt cold without her friend, but she knew it would be best to enter the camp alone. Her mission would be much easier if the others weren’t gawking at a unicorn. Then again, perhaps if they had him to gawk at, they wouldn’t do so at her.

With a deep breath, she made her way toward the camp.

Familiar smells of herbs, food, and campfire invaded her nostrils, sending her stomach growling. What she wouldn’t give for one of Chandra’s stews. The yearning almost sent tears to her eyes, along with a hefty dose of regret. What would it have been like if she hadn’t left? If she hadn’t even gone to the hot spring caves at all that night? Remorse sank her heart, but she was surprised that it didn’t linger. If she hadn’t gone to the caves, she wouldn’t have met Valorre or Teryn or been captured by Morkai.

But that would only have changed things for her.

Morkai’s mission would have stayed the same. Without Teryn to hold as a hostage, without her to have brought the entire mess together…no one would have a clue the duke’s war was coming.

Which is why I’m here , she reminded herself. Not for comfort. For war.

The clearing became visible between the trees just ahead. She slowed her steps and halted as she heard a soft step behind her. Just as she’d expected, her intrusion was detected.

“Cora?” She knew the voice before she saw him. Slowly, she turned to face Roije. He lowered his bow, brow furrowed, but there was something knowing in his expression. “Maiya said you were coming.”

Her chest constricted at her friend’s name. “Maiya…knew?”

He nodded, then shifted his feet as if he wasn’t sure whether to block her path or welcome her back. She opened herself to his energy and found it cloudy. Hesitant.

“What is it?” she asked.

He lowered his voice. “The last group that went out to trade with the village…they brought back your poster.”

Her stomach took a dive. Perhaps she’d left the commune at the right time after all.

His expression turned apologetic. “I don’t think it’s the best idea that you’re here.”

“Nonsense.” Salinda stepped from between the trees. Her face was so warm, so kind, so motherly and familiar that Cora’s throat felt tight. She wasn’t sure who reached for who first, but the next thing she knew, they were wrapped in a tight embrace. Cora found herself sobbing on the woman’s shoulder despite her every effort to compose herself. “It’s all right,” Salinda soothed, rubbing her back like she’d done every night during the first inconsolable weeks after the Forest People had found her. “You’re home. You’re home.”

Cora wished they could stay like that forever. That she could forget what Roije had said about the Forest People’s knowledge of her Wanted poster, about the dark tidings she carried on her shoulders. She wished she could pull away from Salinda and promise her she’d never leave again. But that was folly.

Once she managed to rein in her tears, she gently unraveled from Salinda’s comforting arms and delivered the words she needed to say. “I need to speak with the elders.”

Salinda frowned, her mouth falling open. No words came out, but Cora knew what the woman was poised to say—that Cora had no right to call such a meeting. Only another elder could, and Cora had lost that right when she refused to take the path Salinda had offered. Furthermore, she’d lost her right to even sit amongst the elders when she departed from the commune without a word. Even more so now that they knew she was a wanted fugitive.

A flash of panic struck her. If Salinda turned her away now, her visit would be all for naught. Her plans would be foiled.

Salinda’s lips curled into a sad smile. “You do have much to tell us, don’t you?” Then, with a heavy sigh that seemed to share the weight of Cora’s burden, she said, “I’ll gather the elders.”

Ten minutes later, Cora sat in the tent of the elders. It had taken some work sneaking Cora into camp without being seen, but Roije had brought her a cloak and used his connection to the Magic of the Soil to navigate the clearest path there. It was past midday, which meant most within the commune were busy with their daily tasks, leaving very few idle enough to stare. Now she just had to wait for Salinda to return with the elders.

She wandered the tent, focusing on her breath, on the aromas of herbs and oils filling the air, on anything that could distract her from the anxiety that plagued the back of her mind. The tent of elders was the largest in the camp, used for celebrations, elder meetings, and insigmora ceremonies. Cora stared down at her forearm, remembering the last time she’d received a new design several months ago. She frowned as she stared down at her inner elbow crease. A dark spiral was there, an inch above her most recent tattoo. Surely that hadn’t been there before?—

Cora froze as the tent flap opened to reveal Salinda. She held the flap for the twelve other figures who followed. Nalia, the Forest People’s High Elder, brought up the rear. She was thin, hunched, and wrinkled, as ancient-looking as the oldest tree in the forest, and—surprisingly—without a single insigmora .

The silence was stifling as the thirteen elders took their places in a circle around the tent. Cora didn’t need to use her Art to know the elders weren’t pleased about being called into a meeting with her. It would have been one thing if she were simply Cora, Salinda’s foster daughter . It was another now that she was known as a murderer. She doubted they’d be any happier to learn the truth.

Once they were seated—six elder witches to Nalia’s left, the six elder Faeryn to her right—the High Elder motioned Cora to stand at the center of the circle. Trembling despite the warmth of her borrowed cloak, she did as told and took her place.

Nalia gave a bow of her head. “You may speak, child.”

She drew a long, shaking breath. “You know me as Cora, but my true name is Aveline Corasande Caelan. I’m the Princess of Khero. Fae magic is in danger.”

Whispers surrounded her. She’d delivered her story and now stood trembling in the wake of her truth. She kept her gaze above Nalia’s head, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes as they deliberated her tale. They’d remained respectfully silent as she’d explained who she truly was, where she’d come from all those years ago when they’d found her, and why she’d kept her identity to herself. She’d felt their trepidation turn to terror as she’d described the gruesome hunt for unicorns and how it was tied to Morkai’s magic and his Roizan. They’d stared unblinking as she’d revealed his plans for war in the name of harnessing fae magic.

Now she breathed deep, focusing on the canvas walls of the tent to keep from being overwhelmed by the emotions growing and clashing all around her. Soon the whispers turned to much louder questions and the voices of the elders rose to match the roar of feeling. Cora closed her eyes and tried to raise her shields against the cacophony, but her fatigue was too great.

“Enough,” Nalia said, her soft voice somehow cutting through the noise. “We will now peacefully discuss.”

“What is there to discuss?” asked one of the witches, a man named Druchan. “We live by simple rules, one of which is to never involve ourselves in royal matters.”

Salinda pinned him with a glare. “Did you not hear a word she said? This may be a royal matter, but it ultimately concerns magic.”

Another Faeryn elder nodded beside her. “He calls himself Morkai. King of Magic . He's trying to become the Morkaius. You know what that means.”

Nalia’s face went slack. “High King of Magic.”

Cora straightened at that. She’d never heard the term Morkaius before, nor had she considered Morkai wasn’t the duke’s true name. She’d always known him as such. Only now did it seem strange to her that he hadn’t taken on the title of his duchy—Calloway—when Dimetreus named him duke.

“If the prophecy is true,” one of the elder witches said, “the Morkaius cannot claim the magic without being destroyed by it.”

“He has created this…this Roizan thing!” argued another witch. “A channel between his body and the magic.”

Cora’s eyes darted between the arguing elders. “You know about the prophecy?” That was one part of her tale she’d kept vague. She hadn’t mentioned what he’d said about her role in the prophecy or the curse he’d laid upon her with his blood weaving. Her question, however, was drowned out beneath the sounds of further arguments.

“War is not our way. Let the armies do the fighting.”

“There will be no fighting if the royals surrender.”

“And if they surrender, the duke wins.”

“It doesn’t matter. We protect our own, that's all.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? We protect the land and the Arts. If the duke becomes Morkaius, he will have control over magic. He could take our Art from us. We must act.”

“What can we even do? He’s an Elvyn prince. A weaver?—”

“He is not a true weaver,” Nalia interrupted, voice fiercer than Cora had ever heard. “He may have Elvyn blood as he claims, but Elvyn weavers need only magic. This Morkai wields blood and animates spirits because he is no true weaver at all. He is weak. He relies on curses and tricks and the forbidden Arts.”

Cora wanted to argue that Morkai’s powers were hardly what she’d call weak. As far as she could tell, his blood sorcery was far stronger and more terrifying than the Forest People’s quiet magic.

“High Elder,” one of the Faeryn said, giving Nalia a respectful bow of her head, “that still doesn’t explain what we can do.”

“Nor do we know if we can trust a girl who’s been hiding a secret identity from us the entire time,” Druchan added.

“We can trust her,” Salinda shot back. “I’ve raised her since she was a child. She told us why she hid who she was. Can you blame her?”

“She should have left the minute she learned we don’t involve ourselves with royals.”

“She was twelve!”

“She could have brought danger to our camp at any time.”

“But she didn’t. When she realized her presence was a threat, she left.”

Druchan narrowed his eyes at Cora. “She should have stayed gone.”

“This isn’t about Cora,” Nalia said, silencing the tent once again. “This is about magic. This is about the fate of this land that we work to nurture and protect. I assure you, nothing good can come from the Blood of Darius. He will destroy not one realm but two. He will corrupt fae magic until there is nothing left of the lives we know.”

Cora felt the hairs on her arms rise. Who was the Blood of Darius? Was that…Morkai?

Druchan shrank down. “It’s just…stories, though. Isn’t it?”

Nalia slowly turned to look at him, her expression both hard and sad at once. “No. What you call stories are merely a fraction of the truth.”

Salinda nodded. “What can we do, High Elder?”

Nalia’s tone was resolute. “We must kill the duke.”

“How?” Druchan asked.

Nalia turned her gaze on Cora, expression penetrating. “What do you suggest, Your Highness?”

Cora’s throat constricted at the honorific. She nearly told her not to call her that but swallowed the words down. Perhaps it was time to be a princess after all. She had no desire to reclaim her title, but in coming to the Forest People with the truth, she’d already taken on that responsibility. If her brother couldn’t protect Khero, that left only her.

Lifting her chin, she said, “I know where Morkai is going to be next.”