“My brethren must be awakened if the Tapestry is to be healed,” the Magruwen continued. “And faeries must awaken too and learn what world they live in, or soon every forest will tumble under axe, every river will run black, and every devil will squirm free. No longer can you be alone against them. There must be other champions. This is no golden age of peace upon us, child, but it is a reawakening, and we will let neither devil nor dragon killer steal the world we made.”

Standing there, a bandaged twig of a sprout, Magpie clung to the hope that she would be equal to the life that lay ahead of her. “I’ll do my best, Lord,” she said.

He reached out one golden gauntlet and Magpie saw the familiar gleam of Skuldraig in his grip. She took the knife back, and the Djinn said, “Blessings fly with you, child.”

From Issrin, Magpie and the crows flew above the Deeps toward the healer’s cottage. Poppy, of course, attuned to the web of green whisperers that made up the forest, heard she was coming and raced to meet her. They collided in a mid-air hug and spun laughing among the trees. They settled back down to Orchidspike’s garden, and the lady and her apprentice checked Magpie’s shoulder and assured themselves Bellatrix had done a fine job of it, though not so fine as the healer might have. There would be scars.

Orchidspike told Poppy to go off and enjoy her friend’s company. “I’ve waited hundreds of years for you, lass. I can wait a few more days. Go play.”

The lasses flew to Rathersting Castle, and every warrior on the ramparts whooped and clamored as soon as they hove into view. “Hail, the Magruwen’s champion!” they cried, and Chief Grith came outside, eager to meet the lass who’d saved his life. When he dropped to one knee before her and bowed, Magpie blushed deep red. “A feast!” he cried. “We must have a feast! Come to the hall, lasses . . . Talon!” he bellowed. “Where is that lad?”