My throat tightened. From within the haze of a memory, the same gentle song lulled me off to sleep while slender fingers stroked my hair. Gammal sang it in the young house. Selena sang it while she baked.

To hear it from a Draven, an enemy I was raised to mistrust and despise, added a connection I did not want, a connection I resented, as though she’d stolen yet another thing.

“What is it you use on him?” I asked once her hands reached Kael’s throat.

“Ortläk.” Her eyes were like a sapphire sky, brilliant and fierce all at once. She couldn’t have been much older than me, but there was a hardness in her features, like she’d already lived three lifetimes.

“I don’t know of it.”

“Most don’t.” She hummed for a few more breaths, caking the herbs over Kael’s brow. “It is an old tonic made by my grandmother.”

“Draven made.”

She ignored the bite in my tone and nodded. “Craft does not have all the power. Sometimes our greatest gifts are found all around us in the water, the soil, the trees. This uses a moss that grows on the underside of logs. It seals wounds, reduces the chills of fever, and even extracts toxins from the blood.”

I arched a brow, intrigued but furious enough to feign indifference.

The woman barreled on with her explanation as though her own concoction fascinated her. “Much like firevine and rosewood burn toxic in crafter veins, this moss is amplified. I found it heals a great many ailments for our folk.”

“Our folk.” I snorted and looked to the empty sea. “You are Draven and nearly killed him. You’re not ours.”

“Not the first I’ve heard those words.” Her palms stilled. “I am born of both worlds and rejected for it. Because of this, I had to find my place and learn my craft. You will need to do the same. By using your craft to save him, the strength of it will grow. It is like it has awakened, and will flow in your blood. Should your craft go dormant again, it will fester.”

“Why should I believe you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t believe me. Believe the burn you felt when you touched that soul bone. Speak true: you felt a power unlike anything before.”

I looked away, refusing to admit the truth.

The woman sighed. “I learned my craft well, Melder. Stonegate can help in that way. Be grateful it was me in the great hall. Darkwin would not have gone to Salur under my hand.” With that, she stood and handed me the pouch. “If his fever remains, add more once the first layer has gone dry.”

With each step she took toward the stempost, she sang the somber lines of the song—at gafa skugga maðr…