Gardnerians and Alfsigr Elves are placed beside the Icaral figurine, their mouths twisted into sneers, violence in their eyes, their hands curled into claw-like fists around wands and bows and runic swords. The Gardnerians’ skin is painted a sickly green, the pale Alfsigr abnormally stretched out and ghoul-like.

The Evil Ones. All of us uniformly, irretrievably evil.

And there, lining the shelf behind the narrow table, is the most evil toy of all.

The Black Witch.

I reach out and take one in hand, fascinated even as my stomach heaves.

My face. Only distorted, even more so than in the wanted postings, into an evil and snarling visage. A dark wand in my upraised hand.

Feeling dazed, I run my fingers along the monstrous figurine’s wooden base as the unfamiliar Eastern Realm tree it’s fashioned from unfolds in my mind. Purple leaves. A dark, rough trunk. Wine-colored flowers. Such beauty underpinning something so terrifying. My gaze slides to the small wooden mallet tied to each Black Witch figurine with pale cotton string.

“Ny’laea,” Bleddyn says, her tone cautionary. I look up and meet her dire look as her eyes pointedly flick from the figurine to me.

“Would you like one, toiya?” the old woman asks.

I look to her, my heart thumping. “I... I’ve no money,” I stammer, moving to set it down.

The old woman’s brown wizened hands come around mine before I can. “Take it,” she says kindly. “A Xishlon gift.” Her eyes briefly flick toward the shoppe across the street and flash with what looks like a spark of defiance as her smile momentarily dims.

I follow her line of sight toward this shoppe’s owner, an older Noi man in a dark purple tunic stamped with an ivory dragon. He’s glowering at us, and a rush of fear shoots through my lines in response to the loathing in his pale blue eyes, my tangled fire magic sparking to fitful life.

Sweet Ancient One, does he suspect what I am?

A row of Noilaan flags line his stall’s roof, the white dragon on sapphire, as well as a large version of that mysterious purple sign.

“What does the sign say?” I ask Bleddyn as my apprehension mounts.

Bleddyn frowns as she and the man lock glares. “‘Noilaan for the Noi,’” she bites out.

The grim realization courses over me. He doesn’t hate me because he knows I’m the Black Witch. He hates me simply because I’m not Noi.

I’m both relieved and horrified at the same time.