Demons, she’d learned, couldn’t truly be killed. The knowledge had horrified her, but Odrin had reassured her that anything could be bested if you cut it into small enough pieces, whether or not those separated parts stayed alive.

“And if we don’t?”

“If we don’t what?” Odrin looked up from his papers to see what needed clarification.

“If we don’t cut them into smaller pieces?”

He nodded. “Many things can reattach, given enough time. Bury the head separately and you’ll be fine. We include a spade in your saddlebags to help with the digging.”

“Oh joy.”

It didn’t sound like she’d be fine, but he said it with such nonchalance that it made her believe he’d dealt with such things a time or two.

Odrin was gentle but firm with his lessons. His relief had been no secret when he discovered her wit to be sharp, with an iron-clad memory. If he was going to break decades of tradition and bring a young woman into the castle, at least he’d brought a girl with a warrior’s heart and a fox’s mind.

Every few weeks, Samael would intercept her as she left training and educate her on politics, history, and strategy. She’d had numerous questions about the fae, and he’d been a willing vessel for her inquiries. Perhaps some part of him felt an obligation in his bones to help lost fair folk find their place in this world. Occasionally Ash would join them, sweat still clinging to his copper brows from the morning’s practice, and listen while Samael spoke on Raascot or the Sulgrave Mountains. The older had smiled when he’d heard the girl called Ayla, but he hadn’t expressly said why. He’d kept a knowing twinkle in his eye, teaching them of the empires. While kings and queens were titles in Gyrradin’s kingdoms, Imperator had been the term amongst Sulgrave’s fae until they’d dissolved to self-govern under a Comte for each of their seven territories. There had been no Imperator in the mountain kingdom beyond the Straits for a thousand years, though on the other side of the world, the Etal Isles still had a long-beloved Imperatress sitting upon the fae throne.

“You said you’ve never been to Sulgrave, right?” Amaris had asked Samael.

“That’s correct. It’s a challenging pilgrimage, to say the least.”

“How do we know, then? How do we know how their government is run and things like that?”

“I said it’s challenging to visit. I didn’t say it was impossible. Fae do cross the Frozen Straits, though usually only in one direction or the other, as it’s too difficult to make the trek twice. It’s rare, but visitors and ambassadors will come from Sulgrave once every few hundred years.”

“And the Etal Isles?”

He’d shrugged rather nonchalantly and carried on with his lessons. It would take her years to learn all the things she should already know, but she was determined to make up for lost time.