“The Arts. When they first appeared, Travelers collected information about their use from all over the Reaches, the same way we catalogued all knowledge. We recorded new tithes, unique uses for the Arts, all sorts of research. When King Ilian proposed to Claera, it was because of her experience with the Arts. He wanted that knowledge for himself—though of course Claera didn’t know it at the time. She trusted Ilian. Loved him.” Zofi’s voice hardened. “But after she was crowned and began to teach the Arts to more Kolonyans, rumors began to spread. Rumors about some of her practices being ungodly. About Travelers learning witchcraft, becoming evil curseworkers. It was because tithing was still new, of course. People always fear the new and different. The Arts weren’t embraced Reaches-wide yet, not the way they are today.”

“But they worked the Vulgar Arts, too,” Vidal said. “They knew curses. I can understand why that unsettled people.”

Zofi shook her head so hard her curls bounced against her cheeks. “Back then, there was no distinction between the Vulgar and the Blood Arts. Not until nearly a century later, when acolytes of the Sun laid out the edicts to govern ‘proper’ tithing.” Zofi made quotes with her fingers. “By then, of course, the damage had already been done.” She flashed him an angry glance. “People hated us. Just for the knowledge we tried to bring them.”

“If all that is true, though, without Travelers…”

“The Reaches wouldn’t be the continent we know today. No.” She smirked. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

Vidal fell silent for so long that this time, Zofi nearly burned the hare. She removed it from the fire, propped the stick in the sand to cool. By the time it had cooled enough for her to rip off a leg and pass it to him, Vidal was gazing into the flames, lost. Zofi elbowed him.

“It’s a very depressing story and all,” she said, “but you do still need to eat.”

He accepted the leg. Bit off a chunk and chewed. “Do you think it’s needed again?” he asked once he’d swallowed.

Zofi helped herself to a leg of her own. “What do you mean?”

“That knowledge. Not about tithes—about the Reaches. Our history. Our real history, not just the pieces Kolonya tells us.”

“I think it’s always needed.” She bit into the leg. A spurt of juice ran down her chin. She caught it and licked her finger. Sands. There was nothing quite like this. Meat fresh off the spit, with rain falling all around, and a warm, friendly body to share it with. Swapping stories over the fire as though she were already home.

Without thinking about it, she leaned closer to Vidal. She tried to tell herself it was for warmth.

She almost believed it.

“Maybe that’s what you need to do now,” Vidal said.

“What do you mean?” She chewed another mouthful of hare.