“Maybe it was sacked from a witch temple?” Bri mused, watching as he inspected the dagger.

“Perhaps.” He flipped it over in his hands. “This symbol here, brik, I know means ‘gift.’ ”

Bri shuddered. “Like the midon brik?”

“Yes,” Cole whispered. “The ‘gift of life.’ Have you ever seen it happen?”

“Unfortunately.”

She’d seen the ancient witch magic in practice so many times on the battlefield in Valtene. So many cursed blue witches sacrificed themselves, each swapping their own life for that of a fae. None of them were in control of their minds enough to spare themselves. And then there was Heather. . . . The thought alone made Bri’s heart ache. Heather had sacrificed her life to save Remy, swapping Remy’s fate for her own, a gift to Mother Moon. That sacrifice was the reason Remy became the High Mountain Queen—because a brown witch had loved her like a daughter.

“I can’t tell what this word is.” Cole squinted at the faded markings. “The etched symbols on the hilt have nearly rubbed off, but the amethyst ones are clear. Heart? Crown? I’m not sure.” He shook his head, handing it back to her. “A relic such as that would surely be in a witch’s book, though. I can ask Baba Omly if there is mention of any such dagger in the brown witch temple.”

“That would be much appreciated.” Bri bowed her head. She took four steps back down the trail before she paused and said, “Thank you for saving her. She said you put yourself in grave danger fighting off her attackers.”

Cole gave her a soft smile. “Helping people is what brown witches do.”

She couldn’t summon the will to return his smile. He was yet another brown witch willing to sacrifice everything for the fae around him. She clasped her hands behind her back, her eyes scanning over the sun boxes filled with exotic flowers. It was something so few fae truly knew the meaning of: sacrifice.

“You must have some skilled green witches to keep all these plants growing.” Bri leaned against the fence and swiftly pulled away as a tiny scorpion scuttled between the beams of wood.

Cole snickered. “One thing about Swifthill—always look before you lean on anything.” He placed another purple flower into his basket. “Oh, and always shake out your boots.”

“Learned that one the hard way?”

“Yes.” His cheeks dimpled. “But it’s a habit now.”

“How long have you been here?”

He blew out a long breath. “Over two decades. This place feels more like home than Valtene now.”

“Valtene?” Bri asked. “I have just come from there. The battle with Norwood and Balorn was in the swamps just north of the border.”

“Ah yes, the ever-moving border.” His tone was even but she could sense a touch of bitterness in it. “I left before the late Northern King started pushing into our town. My father had passed, and my second eldest sister, Rose, took over the family business . . . but we needed the money, so I took a job as a brown witch’s apprentice in Swifthill, and here I am.”