“That’s just my point,” Raisa said. “Nobody seems willing to forget the history that divides us. How long do wizards have to be here before you accept that they are here for good?”

“We remember for good reason,” Nightwalker said. “That’s what the songs and stories and dances are for—to make sure we never forget.”

“So it’s hopeless, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

Nightwalker shook his head. “Whether or not there is a war is in the hands of the Wizard Council. And you.”

“What do you mean?” Raisa asked.

“You are queen now,” Nightwalker said. “You can choose who to marry.”

“You mean I can choose not to marry a wizard,” Raisa said.

“I mean, you could choose to marry me,” Nightwalker said, taking her hands.

The words fell hard, like a stone between them.

It was eerily similar to the argument Micah Bayar had made, the day he had asked permission to court her.

For a thousand years, we have been imprisoned by the past. You have the power to make changes. The future is in your hands, if you will only seize it.

“You’re saying there’ll be a war if I don’t marry you?” Raisa ripped her hands free.

“That’s not what I meant,” Nightwalker said, raising his hands. “Please. Hear me out.”

“I’m listening,” Raisa said, folding her arms.

Nightwalker looked around as if help might come out of the trees. “I am not as good with words as some.”

“Agreed,” Raisa said tartly.

“Think about it,” Nightwalker said. “The clans were the first peoples in the Fells. We have lived here always, longer even than the Valefolk. And yet we have always been ruled by others. First by the Valefolk, who built wealth from their croplands. And later by the wizards, who conquered the Valefolk.”

He paused as if waiting for a response, and Raisa said, “Go on.”

“Wizards and clan are divided by our natures. Even our magical traditions put us in opposition. Wizards destroy the earth with their magics. We celebrate the natural world.” Nightwalker shrugged. “We will never surrender, Briar Rose. But that doesn’t mean there has to be bloodshed.”

He touched Raisa’s hand cautiously, as if aware that she might snatch it back. “It’s time the Spirit clans ruled the Fells, as we were meant to do. It begins with you.”

“How so?”

“You are of the Gray Wolf line, but you are also clan royalty, through Lord Demonai. Marry me, and our children will be three-quarters clan. Our children can marry into one of the other camps, strengthening the line further. Together, Valefolk and clan can rein in the excesses of the wizards.”

“By that reasoning, Lord Bayar would say that since I am already of mixed blood, I should marry a wizard, to join wizards to the throne.”

“Wizards had five hundred years of the Captivity to mingle their seed with the Gray Wolf line,” Nightwalker said, his voice low and bitter. “That’s enough.”