Worry tenses my brow as I take in how rune-based the city is, most of its infrastructure dependent on huge, sapphire-glowing circular support runes on the undersides of buildings, walkways, and suspended roads—runes powered by Noilaan’s dome-shield.

A chill races down my spine. Vogel could destroy this entire city with one swipe of his Shadow Wand.

Bleddyn finishes securing the skiff and then taps my arm, urging me to follow. We start off down the dock, all thought vaporizing as I take in the large posting nailed to a piling at its end.

Wanted by the Vu Trin Forces of Noilaan.

Elloren Grey, formerly Elloren Gardner.

Black Witch of Gardneria.

A dazed nausea rises as my gaze lowers to the line drawing of my face, a nail hammered through my forehead. My Gardnerian features are exaggerated—harsher and more angular than they actually are. But still, if I were unglamoured, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to identify me. My light-headed rush intensifies as I glance around, wanted postings tacked to almost every piling up and down the boardwalk’s length.

Bleddyn shoots me a harsh glare before grabbing my arm and pulling me back into motion. The posters fly by, one by one, some vandalized with slashing Noi script scrawled over me, my face clawed clear off another.

Bleddyn cocks an ironic brow at the faceless poster. “Rather defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” Something catches her eye and she stiffens. I follow her gaze toward the heavily armed soldiers marching toward us with an air of purpose.

My pulse quickening, I angle my head down. They’re clearly on duty, scanning the pier and the ships with searching eyes. Eyes that fixate on us as we near.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles as they pass. I let out a shuddering breath, following close on Bleddyn’s heels as she makes a sharp turn through a busy fish market, then into the expansive gardens that edge the city’s river-level tier.

On guard against the threats that could be bearing down, my eyes dart around the lush gardens, the flowers’ phosphorescent buds glowing every shade of violet against predawn’s cobalt luminance. Noi Wisteria trees close in around us, their pendulous, iridescent-purple fronds cascading down. Awareness touches my tangled lines like the brush of fingers, a palpable malice shivering to life and spreading through the grove.

Black Witch!

A vision of fronds slapping around my neck from all sides accosts me, so vivid I can almost feel the phantom stings. Ire rises in my throat, thick and hot. Tensing, I exhale hard, attempting to force my fire aura toward the trees in counter-attack, but quickly discover my magic is tangled so alarmingly tight I can barely summon a trace of its invisible aura.