“He did seem fond of the stuff,” Rua growled. “If it canceled out the power of the Immortal Blade, it might cancel out all of our powers.”

Lina patted the corner of her mouth with her napkin, the cream fabric staining burgundy from her painted lips, and Bri had to remind herself again not to stare.

She cleared her throat, unbuttoning the collar of her tunic. “We were chased by a poison smoke that looked much the same.”

“But that one didn’t nullify magic,” Carys said. “It killed people. The poison created caustic burns.”

Cole shook his head as he pushed the fish around his plate with his fork. “It’s possible there are different varieties. Maybe the smoke is the conduit for the violet witches’ spells?” He looked down the row of waiting faces. “So far most of the ingredients appear to be the same. It’s why finding an antidote to the powder itself has proved useless. It’s only one piece of the puzzle. Maybe the spell that enchants it determines how it is used?”

“Violet witches,” Lina murmured. “After all this time.”

“If my ancestor’s journal is to be believed,” Cole said. “There was a time when they wanted to rule over all other witch covens. Adisa Monroe thought the violet witches had enough power to do it. Her notes are filled with her anger about being discouraged from conducting her experiments. . . . She died hundreds of years ago, but perhaps that’s still the belief held by violet witches today.”

“And finally they have a young, desperate Prince to help them,” Hale said with a curl of his lip. “Augustus would promise them anything to regain his armies and his throne. He’ll let them cast all kinds of dark magic in order to get what he wants.”

“He doesn’t realize what beast he is unleashing,” Aneryn spat, looking at the amulet of Aelusien hanging around Remy’s neck and to the Shil-de ring on Hale’s finger. “There’s a reason those talismans were left in the past. Think what would happen to this realm if there were hundreds of them.”

“You said there were no more Monroes?” Bri asked Cole again.

“Yes?” Cole furrowed his brow. “That I know of, at least.”

“Monroe?” Hale leaned down the table, looking at Bri. “That’s my mother’s middle name.”

Her lips pinched to the side as she considered his words. Hale’s mother, Kira, was a fae, not a witch. Bri glanced at Renwick—though being able to tell who was part witch was harder than she’d realized. Maybe Kira knew something about Baba Monroe, the High Priestess.

Bri took a long swig of wine, letting it burn the back of her throat. There’s no way Kira would have conspired with a Norwood. It couldn’t be her. Something wasn’t adding up.