The next morning, Zofi followed the proprietor’s request. She departed well before dawn, her waterskin freshly filled and her belly full of cold leftover stew. On her way back to the merchant’s road, however, Zofi flashed her curse finger at Vinesland in general.

She had to stay focused. Find her mother, learn what in sands’ name kind of curse she’d taught Akeylah. Send Akeylah the cure as fast as possible. Only then did they stand a chance. With Andros healthy and restored to himself, her sisters might be able to buy more time. Fend off the heir.

If they couldn’t win the throne themselves, then at least they might be able to stop it from falling into the worst possible hands.

Back on the merchant’s road, for the first time in weeks, Zofi prayed. She prayed to the sands to keep her sisters strong. She prayed her own journey would grow easier soon. She’d already been on the road three days. Without a horse, she’d need a miracle to reach Mother’s camp before Andros’s time ran out.

Sands guide me to my mother swiftly. Let me find Father a cure.

And let Mother explain why she never told me she was a bloody curseworker.

Zofi always knew her mother had secrets. It was a game they played, when she was little. “How many secrets are you keeping?” Zofi would always ask.

And Mother would smile, her silver scar flashing under the moons. “As many as there are grains of sand in the desert.”

After learning she was the daughter of a king, Zofi supposed she shouldn’t put anything past her mother. But his status aside, hiding a father was not unusual. Unless a baby was fathered by another Traveler in the same band, the usual custom was to conceal his identity.

But selling cursework at underground festivals to strangers… How did Mother get into the Vulgar Arts in the first place? Who taught it to her, and why?

Perhaps Mother had been like Akeylah. Desperate, in need of a way to strike back at a relative who abused their bond. How much did Zofi really know about Mother’s past?

Her past, come to think of it. Anyone Mother might have learned to curse would be a relative of Zofi’s, too.

Her head throbbed. Too many possibilities. She couldn’t contemplate them all.

Hooves thundered on the road behind her. Zofi stood to the side, half-concealed in the underbrush, until a pair of merchants rode past, trailing a rattling wagon. She waited until they faded from sight ahead before she began to walk again.

A Traveler walking alone could never be too careful.