“We will find him as quickly as we can,” Fain assures me, taking my hand in his. “But we need a day or so to gather everyone in a way that won’t attract the attention of the Vu Trin.”

“We’ll likely need Rivyr’el Talonir,” Lucretia puts in.

The Alfsigr name surprises me—the same surname as the Elfin monarch, Iolrath Talonir. “Who’s that?” I ask.

“A renegade Elf,” Wrenfir explains. “Son of Alfsigr royalty. He joined the Resistance out West and pledged fealty to a Smaragdalfar freedom fighter, much to the horror of his illustrious family. Then he fled east with her and a group of subland refugees they rescued, most of them children. Once here, he joined the Vu Trin. He’s given the Alfsigr monarchy no end of headaches.”

“Yes, well, Rivyr’el gives me no end of headaches, as well,” Or’myr rejoins with a long-suffering sigh. “But he’s quite skilled when it comes to tracking spells and elemental siphoning.” His gaze narrows on Wrenfir. “We’ll need to gather some supplies from the Wyvernguard.”

“Smuggle them, you mean,” my uncle shoots back with a knowing smirk.

Or’myr grins. “‘Gather’ sounds so much nicer.”

Wrenfir spits out a dismissive laugh, then looks to Fain, growing serious. “You can’t keep her here for long.” His kohl-rimmed gaze flicks to me. “Not with the Vu Trin keeping an eye on anyone connected to her. And the Issani and Ishkart are likely to have sent out more than a few assassins to hunt down the Black Witch.”

“You should hide her in your Vonor,” Fain suggests to Or’myr. “It’s warded and impossible to locate.”

Or’myr arches a brow at him. “Which would be ideal, except for the glaring detail that she’s not intrinsically purple. So, essentially, we’d be flying her directly into a stone wall.”

“She has some light magery,” Fain counters, his expression turning sly.

Or’myr’s brows notch upward. He turns to me, gaze sharpening as if formulating a plot.

“You have a Vonor?” I ask Or’myr, surprised that my cousin is powerful enough to have his own secret sorcerer enclave, like Chi Nam did.

Or’myr nods. “I do. And once we have Sagellyn draw out the purple in your lightlines, we’ll be able to hide you there.”

“Finally,” Wrenfir exclaims before leveling a wry look at Or’myr, “someone will infiltrate your secret den of debauchery.”

I look questioningly at my cousin as he sends Wrenfir a quick glare of derision before turning back to me. “My Vonor’s glamour is linked to the purple stone at the pinnacle of this mountain range,” he states reasonably. “Only someone intrinsically purple can enter, or even feel or visualize it, so I haven’t had much by way of guests. You’d be the first.”