“And what if I hadn’t come back? What would have happened then?”

“Then it would have shifted over to Delilah, just like the Arbiter’s role.”

But I had come back, just in time to ruin all the things for my cousin in one fell swoop.

“Why isn’t any of this in the Grimoire?” I demanded, massaging my throbbing temples. This changed everything about my place here, how I thought I fit into this town. We Harlows weren’t just the record keepers, after all, but something much bigger and stranger than that. And yet, I thought, with rising aggravation, I’d never even been told about any of it at all. “The Thistle Grove origin story we all get notably includes none of this. Why haven’t I ever heard any of this before?”

If I’d known, everything might have been different. Maybe I’d never have been the kind of person Gareth could hurt as badly as he had. Maybe I’d never even have left at all, too confident in my own worth to be rattled by someone like him.

And maybe, I considered, thinking about it even deeper, this was why the Blackmoores’ long reign hadn’t caused the Harlows any harm. Possibly, as conduits of the magic itself, we were immune to its Gauntlet-related fluctuations, even if we didn’t get to reap its benefits.

“It’s a bit of a sneaky test,” he admitted. “Elias thought of this role as a great privilege, an unparalleled honor. He didn’t want it squandered on someone who didn’t love this town enough to stay here, even without the communion serving as the ultimate prize for their fidelity. So if a Harlow heir were to leave, before the communion was passed down . . .”

“Then they never got to have it,” I said flatly. “Wow. What an utter crock.”

“My sentiments exactly,” my mother murmured into her cup, speaking up for the first time. “What, James? It’s the very worst sort of archaic nonsense to keep it under wraps, and it always has been. And you know it, too.”

“It’s tradition,” my father argued.

“It’s patriarchal codswallop,” she countered, eyebrows raised over the rim of her mug as she took an emphatic sip. “And it’s as though he didn’t even consider the consequences for his family’s standing. This town, as it is now, wouldn’t even exist without the Harlows—and it would do certain other families a great deal of good to recognize as much.”

“Wait, is this why we don’t compete in the Gauntlet, but only arbitrate?” I asked, even more inclined to fume. “Not that we’d win as often, but still, this is a definite advantage—and we don’t even get to try? Because, what, we’re just supposed to settle for our communion with the town, as if there are no other perks to being the Victor of the Gauntlet?”

“Elias believed that being the voice, the human soul of Thistle Grove, should be more than enough for any witch,” my father said, with a helpless shrug. “I imagine he didn’t think longevity, good luck, or any of the rest of it really stacked up in comparison.”