Tears pool in Olilly’s purple-lashed eyes. She wipes them away with a trembling hand. “Can you put them on me?” she asks in a rough whisper.

Mora feels the tears brimming in her own eyes as she fastens the ear-cuffs to Olilly’s ears, restoring the points with a resplendent purple glimmer. “I have a mirror,” Mora says. She ducks into her room and retrieves her hand mirror, then holds it up for Olilly to view.

Olilly pulls in a quavering breath, her fingers coming to the points, then down over her trembling mouth. “They helped me, you know,” she finally says as the tears spill over, face tensing.

“Who did?”

“Elloren Gardner and her brothers. Along with Bleddyn and the others. That night...the night they cut my ears.”

Mora considers the surprising actions of the first Black Witch’s progeny. “Bleddyn told me a little about that,” she says somberly. “You know, Trystan Gardner helped to rescue Ghor’li from drowning in the Zonor. I heard he almost drowned himself.”

“They’re not what people think,” Olilly insists, growing impassioned. “But...now Elloren’s in danger. I’ve seen the postings of her face. The Vu Trin are hunting her. But they shouldn’t be. She brought me medicine for the Grippe. Then she helped me get out of the West. My sister too. I was scared of her at first, but...she’s against Vogel, just like everyone here.”

“Olilly, they just want her brought to the Vu Trin if she’s found—”

“No,” Olilly counters, emphatic. “They don’t. I can tell. They’re hunting her.” Olilly’s violet eyes blaze with concern. “They’re hunting for her so they can kill her.”

CHAPTER TWO

EVIL WITCH

Elloren Grey

Voloi, Noilaan
Eastern Realm
One day prior to Xishlon

Bleddyn’s rune skiff touches down at the city’s docks just as dawn’s blue glow is reaching into the still-dark sky, the desire to survive and go after Lukas thrumming hot through my core.

Maritime activity bustles all around, my breath tightening as I note the port’s heavy military presence, the soldiers searching incoming vessels and standing guard along the dock’s adjacent boardwalk. I’m hyperaware of both my Elfhollen glamour and the runic weapons strapped under my Xishlon garb. And the Wand pressed into the side of my boot, its bolstering starlight tree firmly ensconced in the back of my mind.

Every type of ship and skiff is either docking or embarking as far as the eye can see, some of them piloted by female crews—something not seen in Gardneria. Many are festooned with strings of Xishlon runic orbs, decorated with violet flowers or gleaming, filigreed hearts and aglow with purple light. I glance skyward and take in the vertical city rising before us like an impossibly steep staircase. Rune ships dart overhead, the soaring vessels fogged with blue runic penumbras in the predawn light.