Leaving Maris to complain about certain people’s lack of manners, she led Remmie and Venette away from the barely stirring camp and into the surrounding woodland. Summoned glimfire to dispel the swiftly descending gloom and kept on walking the narrow, winding tracks, though there was muttering behind her.

“All right, Barl, we’ve gone far enough!” Remmie said at last, catching her arm. “Stop.”

She’d not spoken properly with either of them for days. Hadn’t spoken to anyone, save for that Olken girl from the coast, and Elder Chaffie. But that had been on purpose. She’d been afraid that if she let herself dwell on family, on friends—though it still felt odd to think of Venette Martain as a friend—she might surrender to cowardice and turn away from her task. She was afraid of that now. The fear in Remmie’s wide-eyed stare threatened to curdle her blood.

Venette sighed. “What have you done, Barl?”

Shifting her gaze from Remmie, she lifted her chin. “I’ve found a way to keep us all safe. I’m not finished, there’s a great deal of magework to complete, but—I have the bones of it. And the bones of it are sound.”

“That’s for us to decide,” Remmie snapped. “This isn’t something you’ll do on your own.”

Of course it was. It had to be. But he’d need time to accept that.

The hushed, glimlit gloom of the Black Woods cradled them. The ground beneath their feet thrummed softly with Olken magic, that strangely gentle power that was the key to all she would do. Jervale had said the land was wounded. She still couldn’t feel it. Had to trust that even if he was right, it wouldn’t make a difference.

Doranen magic is stronger. Ailing or not, I can bend the Olken’s magic to my will and purpose.

“Come, Barl,” Venette said, coaxing. Not sounding at all like the arrogant mage she used to be. “You’ve brought us out here to tell us.”

So she told them of the magework she’d imagined, the syllables and the sigils that would entirely change their world. And when she was finished, found a fallen tree and sat, exhausted.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Venette murmured. “Truly, Barl. You have astonished me. And to think you are an unranked mage.”

She felt a prickle of temper. That’s the Lady Martain I remember. “And I think we need to leave that kind of nonsense on the other side of the mountains, Venette. What I want to know is if you think the notion wise.”

“Wise?” Venette laughed. “My dear, it is the most magnificent folly. I can’t think of a single mage in our history who would even dream up such a thing—let alone possess the talent to create it.”

“I do.”

“Yes, most likely, and the arrogance to accompany it.”