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T wo hours later, after Cora had visited the bathing wagon and thoroughly washed her hair, she went to her old tent. Her chest felt tight when she noticed her side still held all of her things—her cot, her blankets, her clothes—as if Maiya had never given up on her returning. She changed into a fresh shift, bodice, and skirt, relishing the fragrant lavender that wafted off the clean textiles. Her heart yearned to bask in the comfort of being home again, but the sinking in her gut reminded her that she wouldn’t be staying for long. Druchan had been evidence enough that even though many amongst the Forest People would accept her return, there would be many others who would not. At least Salinda had promised to spread word that Cora wasn’t the outlaw her poster claimed she was. It wouldn’t be long before the entire camp learned what had occurred inside the elders’ tent too—that some of them were going to fight an Elvyn blood mage.

She rifled through more of her belongings, finding a spare belt, a knife, her extra bow, and more arrows for her quiver. As she began to stuff the arrows inside, something caught her eye. She peered into her quiver and saw the white unicorn-horn blade that had belonged to the deceased Prince Helios. She’d nearly forgotten about it, having not seen it since she took it from beside the dead body and tossed it in her quiver. A subtle pulse of dark energy entered her awareness, heavy and sorrowful.

“You aren’t leaving already, are you?”

Cora dropped the arrows the rest of the way inside, hiding the dagger and muting its dark resonance once again, and whirled to face Maiya. They collided in a hug that included much crying on Maiya’s part.

“I woke up this morning and knew you’d come,” said her friend. “Just like I knew that poster was wrong about you when the traders brought it back last week.”

They separated, and Cora studied Maiya’s face, curious what else she knew.

Maiya blushed and averted her gaze with a shy smile. “Should I call you Your Highness?”

Cora gave her shoulder a playful shove. “Don’t you dare.” If there was one person she wanted to continue to be Cora with, it was Maiya.

Maiya grinned but her expression quickly turned somber. “Mother told me about the meeting with the elders, but I still can hardly believe it. Mages, dark magic, war. It’s…terrifying.”

Cora could only manage a nod.

Maiya nibbled a corner of her lip and said, “I understand why you did it. Why you never told me who you truly were. Still, I wish you had. I could have been there for you.”

“You were there for me,” Cora said, gathering one of her friend’s hands and giving it a squeeze.

“Not as much as I could have been.”

“What else could you have done?”

Maiya sighed. “I just…I just wish I’d known. You must have been through a lot before you came to us.”

Cora wasn’t sure what to say about that. She had been through a lot, but her past wasn’t a topic she felt like talking about at the moment. Her mind was too wrapped up in the pasts of those she didn’t know. She was desperate to learn more about what the Forest People knew—about Morkai, about whoever the Blood of Darius was, about the prophecy. Thankfully, she was saved from having to shift the subject when the tent flap opened again.

Roije took one step inside and froze, his eyes darting between Cora and Maiya. He seemed flustered at finding them both there. Perhaps he’d been looking for Cora to ask more details about the dark tidings she’d brought. “I’ll come back,” he said as he began to back out of the tent.

Cora was about to tell him they could talk about anything in front of Maiya, but her friend spoke first.

“No, Roije, it’s all right.” With a flutter of her lashes, Maiya took his hand.

His eyes locked on hers. The soft grin that stretched across his lips made him look more boyish than Cora had ever seen. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I came to ask if you still wanted to go to the hot spring caves together.”

Cora’s cheeks burned as she suddenly realized what she was witnessing. Her eyes landed on the pair’s clasped hands, the nervous, desire-fueled emotions radiating off of them in droves, the implications of Roije’s invitation to the hot springs. Maiya and Roije were…courting.

Maiya glanced at Cora, brows knitted. Her energy clouded with regret. “I wanted to, Roije, but now that Cora’s back?—”

“It’s fine,” Cora said, her words coming out in a rush and with far too much enthusiasm. A strange blend of surprise and jealousy flooded through her. Her envy wasn’t of Maiya. She’d never fancied Roije and had always wished the two of them would confess their feelings for each other. It was more that she was struck with a sudden longing for what her friend was experiencing. Or perhaps it was only regret over not having been there for such an exciting development in Maiya’s life. Whatever the case, it brought a sudden memory of Teryn’s lips against hers?—

She shook her head, banishing the thought.

“Don’t worry about me,” Cora said, her voice back to normal. “I need to speak with your mother, anyway. Go have fun.”

Maiya grinned, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade. “You won’t leave tonight, will you?”

Cora had originally considered making camp with Valorre not too far away, but the pleading look in Maiya’s eyes made her reconsider. She almost asked if Maiya was planning to return to their tent tonight or stay with Roije, but she quickly swallowed the question. Her friend was shy enough. She’d probably be mortified by such an indelicate suggestion. Instead, Cora gave her a reassuring grin. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

After Maiya and Roije left for the hot springs, Cora made her way to Salinda’s tent. She found the woman sitting outside it, a quill and stack of parchment in hand. Salinda’s brow was furrowed as she wrote, her energy heavy and murky. Cora realized Salinda must be recording what had transpired today. As Keeper of Histories, it was Salinda’s duty to keep records of not only the past but any new events that dealt with the Arts. Salinda always put her stories to paper first before committing them to memory where she carried them thereafter. With the Forest People being nomadic, they didn’t have space or the means to carry physical tomes.

Salinda didn’t look up from her writing until Cora cast a shadow over her work. “Forgive me,” Salinda said with a smile as she looked up at her. “I was wrapped up in words.”

“You can keep writing,” Cora said, stepping out of the sunlight so it could illuminate the parchment again. “I’ll wait until you are finished.”

Salinda shook her head and set her quill and stack of papers inside a leather sheath, then motioned for Cora to follow her inside the tent. It was the same size as the one she shared with Maiya but far messier. Furs, papers, and clothing were draped all over. Salinda’s husband—and Maiya’s father—had passed away some years ago. Whenever Cora had glimpsed Salinda’s living space, she’d wonder if the mess helped distract her from the absence of her missing half.

Salinda took a seat on a pile of furs and poured two mugs of herb-infused water. Cora sat down across from her and took one of the clay mugs. The water tasted of mint and rosemary, two aromas she’d always associate with her foster mother.

As she lowered the cup, she noticed Salinda’s gaze had fallen to the crook of her arm. “Your insigmora has grown since you’ve been gone.”

Cora’s eyes went wide. She’d almost forgotten the strange spiral she’d noticed in the elders’ tent. “How is that possible?”

Salinda gave her a sly smile. “You didn’t think all of our tattoos were inked by hand, did you?”

She blinked back at her. “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought.”

“For many of us, it’s true. For others…well, some of us have deep enough connections to our magic that our insigmora grow of their own volition.”

“But it’s a Faeryn tradition,” Cora said. “I’m not Faeryn. I’m just a witch.”

“ Just a witch,” Salinda said with a scoff. “When are you going to appreciate your magic for what it is?”

Cora opened her mouth but snapped it shut. In truth, she’d been learning to appreciate her quiet magic more and more.

“You overcame a challenge that was directly related to your magic, didn’t you?”

“I did. A couple of them.”

“And your magic grew stronger?”

Cora nodded. “It was…frustrating,” she said, remembering how difficult it had been to work against her own resistance.

“Your journey with the Arts has taken a new path, and your insigmora has reflected that.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “And here I thought I’d be the one to guide you on the path of the empath.”

“Empath.” Cora pulled her head back. “I don’t feel like my magic has grown that strong.”

“Are you sure about that? Since you’ve been away, has there not been one new thing you’ve learned to do that no one else can?” Cora opened her mouth to deny it, but Salinda said, “Think. Is there anything you couldn’t do before? Anything that has to do with emotions or sensations?”

Her ability to speak with Valorre came to mind, but she’d never considered whether that had anything to do with advanced clairsentience. If anything, she’d credited the phenomenon to Valorre being a fae creature. It wasn’t like she was suddenly able to speak with every chipmunk, rabbit, and squirrel she came across. But it also didn’t explain why Valorre couldn’t seem to speak with anyone else but her.

Salinda nodded knowingly. “You’ve experienced something.”

“Perhaps,” Cora said slowly.

“As you step more and more into your role of empath, you will face even more challenges.”

Cora grimaced at that. Not that it was a surprise. She only hoped it would get easier to accept such challenges instead of fighting against them. Then again, wasn’t that the point of a challenge in the first place? For it to be hard? “Does every witch face a challenge to grow their power?”

“Every strong witch, whether they’re following the path of the empath, oracle, seer, muse, alchemist, or narcuss.”

Cora frowned at the last word. It was the only one she wasn’t familiar with. “What’s a narcuss?”

“It’s a rare witch’s power,” Salinda said, tone grave. “One I believe this so-called Duke Morkai possesses. A narcuss is the shadow of an empath. Instead of feeling the emotions of others, taking them on, or absorbing them, a narcuss projects emotions outward. He can control and manipulate the people and objects around him. He can project what he wants others to see and feel. He is entirely focused on self-protection, self-advancement, and personal power.”

That certainly sounded like Morkai. “But he said he’s an Elvyn prince. You think he’s part witch too?”

“I believe so. But I doubt he’s faced the kind of challenge that would require him to become the strongest kind of narcuss. And Nalia was right about his Elvyn powers. If he were a true weaver, he wouldn’t need to rely so heavily on the forbidden Arts.”

Cora pondered that. She didn’t know much about Elvyn magic, only that they wove the Magic of the Sky—whatever that meant—while the Faeryn worked with the Magic of the Soil.

Salinda continued. “What Morkai is doing is a corruption of true weaving. Elvyn magic was never used for harm, just like Faeryn magic. The power Morkai seeks is the same power that started the war that destroyed the fae several hundreds of years ago.”

“Does that have to do with what the elders said about a Morkaius?”

“Yes. This duke is not the first to have attempted becoming High King of Magic. If he truly is the Blood of Darius, then he will believe he has a right to Lela’s magic.”

“He doesn’t have a right to it,” Cora said, “does he?”

Salinda looked thoughtful for a moment. “That very question is the reason the ancient war began. It’s the reason the fae were destroyed.”

“But where did they go? Why are the unicorns returning? And if unicorns are back then where are all the other fae creatures?”

Salinda released a heavy sigh. “We don’t know, my dear. All we have are our stories.”

“What do the stories say about the Morkaius?”

“The first Morkaius was the illegitimate son of the Elvyn queen and her human witch lover. His full-Elvyn sister was chosen as heir over him, and he sought to overthrow her.”

A chill ran down Cora’s spine. Half Elvyn. Half witch. “You think the duke is this same man?” It should have been impossible. But was it? She already knew Morkai was ageless. When she’d asked him how he hadn’t aged, he’d answered blood . Had he meant his Elvyn blood kept him from aging? That he’d been alive for hundreds of years? Or had he simply been referring to blood magic?

Salinda shook her head. “No one knows for sure. Our stories claim the Morkaius was destroyed in the final battle. The fight ended at the Elvyn palace in a massive explosion that turned the structure into a ruin. A ruin that stands today. A ruin that our stories claim holds the source of what little fae magic flows out into the land.”

Cora furrowed her brow, wondering what ruin she was talking about. Then it hit her. “Centerpointe Rock.”

She’d never seen the rock before, only knew it was a landmark that stood at the very center of the three kingdoms, a neutral place where all three borders met. Cora had assumed that was the only reason the duke had chosen it for his meeting, but now she was starting to suspect more sinister motives.

“If Centerpointe Rock is the source of fae magic,” Cora said, “and he’s determined to harness the source…”

“You were right to come to us, Cora,” Salinda said. “Not everyone in the commune will agree, but I do. This is a matter of magic. Of a fate greater than any of us can comprehend. Even if the meeting of the royals culminates in peaceful surrender, it will not be peace that follows. It will be the beginning of the return of the Morkaius. The beginning of a reign of darkness.”

Cora’s fingers curled into fists. “We must kill him.”

Salinda nodded. “Thanks to the information you’ve given us, we stand a chance.”

Cora left Salinda’s tent filled with a new sense of burden and hope. This was so much bigger than she’d thought. She returned to her own tent with rest in mind, only to realize she still hadn’t brought up her place in the prophecy or asked what Salinda knew about it. But as she laid down on her cot, their plans for attack buzzing through her mind, she wondered if it might be better that she hadn’t confessed her role as some prophesied girl. A mother who’d been cursed to die childless. She ignored the ache in her chest when she considered what his blood weaving had taken from her and instead focused on hope.

For if all went to plan, Morkai would soon be dead.

And her place in the prophecy would die alongside him.