Heelyn’s dark eyes narrow on me and a shiver of anxiety rushes down my spine. My hue has been grayed and my eyes silvered, but the shape of my Black Witch features is unchanged.

“We’re searching for a Gardnerian woman,” she says. “Around nineteen years old. Sharp featured. Resembles the last Black Witch.”

I swallow. “I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

Except in the mirror.

She stares at me for an excruciatingly long moment as my stomach clenches. Then she loses the edge of her confrontational demeanor, her expression softening to what seems like jaded chagrin as she resheathes her weapon.

“Go back to where you came from,” she tells us, switching to the Common Tongue. “Border’s closed.”

A harsh intake of breath sounds behind me as I’m rendered speechless.

“When...when did that happen?” Nym’ellia falteringly asks.

The soldier—Heelyn—shoots her an unfriendly frown and pointedly ignores her.

“Closed to everyone?” I ask, stunned.

She meets my gaze once more, a trace of sympathy lighting her eyes that is absent when she looks at Nym’ellia and her family, and I can tell I’ve been slotted into the right cultural category in her mind, sympathy for the Elfhollen running high in Noilaan. Sympathy for an Urisk woman and her two Mage-blooded children, not so much.

Heelyn nods stiffly. “Border’s been closed for days,” she tells me. “The Noi Conclave ruled it so. You should turn back. There’s nothing for you here.” She pauses, her brow tensing. “If you’re thinking of crossing the Zonor River and Vo Mountains to get to the border, don’t. They’re dangerous. Kraken have been known to move through those waters. And in a few days, the wall of Zhilon’ile storms that lines the Vo Mountains will be extended over this entire area. Go home. It’s impassable. And it’s about to become even more deadly.”

Home? I want to spit at her. And where exactly would that be for Nym’ellia and Emberlyyn and Tibryl? Or for me?

“They’re sick,” the long-haired soldier says to Heelyn, her dark eyes searing.

Heelyn rolls her eyes and rounds on her. “I can see that, Ru Sol,” she spits out, switching back to the Noi tongue, clearly figuring that we won’t understand, not counting on the glamoured translation rune behind my ear. “But that doesn’t change the fact that they won’t be allowed through the border. Especially since they have the Grippe.”

“This is wrong,” Ru Sol counters, stubbornly remaining in the Common Tongue. “They need care.”

“You overstep, soldier,” Heelyn snaps in Noi. “Have you forgotten what we’re tasked with?”

Your cursed border is about to be struck down, I seethe. Because Vogel can destroy Noi military runes. And you’re worried about one small, desperate family getting in?