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“Maybe you deserve it. The way you torment poor Salahfar over there.”

Salahfar nods in agreement.

“Look at him,” I say. “Just look at how sad he is.”

“You’re wrong.” Salahfar furrows his brow, gesturing toward the sky. “I’m not sad. What are you even talking about? But to get back to what we were discussing… before this conversation went completely off track, there’s something odd about Netharu’el. I have to admit it.”

I tilt my head. “Sorry, but am I the only one who thinks Vaast is the strange one?”

Salahfar points at me. “Yes. Just you.”

“Something isn’t right with him, and I’ll figure out what it is.”

“Good luck with that.” Jelethia lets out that same grotesque, dwarf-like laugh. “He’s painfully normal. Honestly? A little boring. If anyone knows, it’s me.”

The hornbill croaks behind Jelethia, and its sound is distorted like a lynx cub’s cry.

I let go of Fax and turn toward it, pushing against the emptiness of its mind.

It meets my gaze. Goes still. Stops preening.

A silent challenge. Its body is sleek and dark as oil, its feathers smooth, but its beak is rough and weathered, like the bark of an ancient pine.

Staring into its eyes feels like gazing into a void of red nothingness. A void.

I spread my arms, trying to startle it away. It doesn’t move. Doesn’t even react.

Jelethia glances over, spotting the bird. “Ugh, get lost!”

That, it listens to. But not out of fear. It chooses to leave, as if after considering its options. As it takes flight, it throws one last look in my direction before disappearing into the sky.

“So, Zel?” Salahfar calls out, voice raised. “Are you in the mood to learn something today?

“Absolutely.”

He starts pacing, hands clasped behind his back. “Do you remember the rules you were supposed to memorize for today?”

“You can’t bring someone back to life with Arzakean.”

He nods, satisfied. “Exactly.”

“And you can’t heal anyone either. Not in any way.”

“And why’s that?” He stops, places his hands on his hips, and watches me. A few sunbeams break free from the clouds, streaking across his well-groomed beryl-green hair.

“Because Arzakean is black magic, and black magic is dangerous. Perfect for harming, not healing.”

He brushes his hair back behind one ear. “Go on.”

“You can’t control emotions, can’t take them, can’t give them.” I start circling him, matching his slow movements. “And you can’t transport yourself to other places.”

“And if someone tries to use Arzakean for those purposes?”

“They could die,” I say.

“Or worse.”

I narrow my eyes. “Worse, how?”

“No one knows for certain,” he says. “But I’ll tell you this: whatever it is, it’s horrific. Dark contracts with demons. Tasks they demand in return. They seem capable of binding your soul, twisting you into one of them. So be careful.”

“I will.”

“Consider the rules before speaking. Think about the consequences. And beyond the death rules, there are other guidelines you’ll need to follow.”

“Like?”

“Smaller rules, the ones that won’t kill you if you break them.”

“Good to know those exist.”

He nods, his mouth set in a firm line. “One rule is that you can’t change the material of objects or living beings.

Leather breeches will always remain leather, just as a kapok tree will always remain a kapok tree.

It’s not possible to turn Jelethia into a snake.

” He gestures toward her. “Even if I understand why that might be highly tempting.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” She hurls a stick at him.

He ducks, blinking as it flies past, missing entirely.

“What can you do?” I scrape my muddy toes against the grass. “There seems to be a rule for everything, doesn’t it?”

“You’re right, Iszaelda. There are rules for everything. But that doesn’t mean Arzakean isn’t still incredibly powerful.”

“What other lesser rules are there?”

“Ah.” He resumes pacing. “One important thing to remember. You can’t undo someone else’s spell if they’re stronger than you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me put it this way. If a highly skilled caster binds your feet to the ground using Arzakean, you can’t break free with your own magic, unless your power surpasses theirs.”

“What a useless rule.” So no matter how much Arzakean I master, I still won’t be able to break Merediath’s spell. Fiery frustrating. I hate being trapped against my will. I want control. I want to make my own choices.

“And you have to choose a god,” Jelethia says from her perch on the log, legs elegantly crossed. “One of the thirteen Arzakean gods of Saxx.”

“The demon gods?”

“Karatha is mine,” Jelethia says, flicking a finger toward her necklaces. “That’s why I wear these gorgeous horns around my neck. And the bone fragments—everyone honors Maevux, even if he isn’t their patron god. He’s the supreme demon god, the strongest of all.”

“Which god has tongues as their symbol?” I ask.

“That’d be Vaper, the god of murder,” Fax replies. “You have seen Netharu’el’s jewelry, haven’t you? Charming. Imagine what they must smell like.”

God of Murder?

A shiver crawls up my spine, even as more sunlight pierces through the clouds. I remember what Netharu’el said.

I’m not a good elf.

“Now I’m going to teach you more words.” Salahfar’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “You can choose your god later. No need to rush.”

We train and review rules for half a daytime. I learn a handful of new phrases, most of which are for vocabulary, but I decide to test a few right away.

“He gen we!” I call out.

A flicker of darkness stirs inside me, then vanishes when the words leave my lips.

Jelethia stumbles, arms flailing, and crashes onto the ground in a heap.

“Could you stop using me as a test subject?” she says with a groan, pushing herself up and dusting off her clothes before shooting me a stern glare.

“For now,” I say, turning toward Fax. “Bem pev er!”

He erupts into uncontrolled, breathless, wild laughter. His black hair flies in every direction as his body convulses, tears streaking his face. He tries to speak but can’t, only wheezing between gasping laughter, collapsing onto Acranta’s shoulder so hard she nearly falls over.

“Ow! Get off me!” she yells. “Move, Fax!”

“You’re a natural,” Salahfar remarks, pointing at me approvingly. “Just make sure to practice this before next time. That’s all I ask.”

I pat him on the back. “Glad to see you’re taking this seriously. Trust me, I’ll practice.”

Fax, still laughing, clutches my arm, his body trembling too much to stay upright. He flails a desperate hand in the air.

“Oh, sorry, Fax. Ih eh we.”

His laughter vanishes instantly. He sucks in a breath, pressing his hands over his throat. “That was intense. You need to dial down the force when you cast. Bel’Akra, I’m shaking. Look, goosebumps!”

I sling an arm around him. “Relax. Breathe. You do laugh like that all the time, don’t you?”

“It’s different, you see. Normally, I laugh because I want to. This was unnerving.” He shudders. “It’s definitely Acranta’s turn next.”