Thorne takes my hand when he senses my mood shift again. “What’s going through that mind of yours, witchling?” he asks, a familiar phrase at this point. I don’t know how to answer him, don’t know how to explain that sometimes it’s all just too much to process and think about. And lately, that too much feeling has only grown with the flower declining, then the rebels, then Nemesia. I say the only thing I know with certainty.

“I need to get out of this palace.” My voice cracks with emotion.

Thorne is instantly up, my hand in his. “Take me with you,” he implores. “Please.” Without answering, I aerstep us away.

Laurel

Any magic practiced without the aid of a conduit for aether—water, plants, air, metal, or light—is considered witchcraft and is forbidden. The most well-known witchcraft is blood magic. Blood magic refers to the act of using blood, typically fae blood, as a conduit for the aether. Very little is known about blood mages, but most scholars agree that the use of blood unlocks powerful and nearly limitless abilities, especially when combined with spellwork. For this reason, blood magic is an abomination, an evil practice that is illegal in all kingdoms of our realm.

The Unabridged History of Magical Orders, Volume I

We step into a clearing in the southernmost tip of Thayaria. It’s much warmer here, only a half day’s sail from the coast of Reshnar. The hotter temperatures mean the foliage has almost fully regrown after Abscission. Towering maple trees create a canopy over the small glade, and bright pink, white, and red azalea bushes bloom with tiny flowers in a circle around us.

“Where are we?” Thorne asks, eyes vivid with wonder.

“This is where my mother grew up. Humans live all over Thayaria, but they’re most concentrated on this small peninsula. My mother grew up in a small home built in this clearing. She planted these azalea bushes as a child—they were her favorite.”

“I always forget that your mother was raised by mortals. What happened to her home?”

“It fell apart. My parents were well into their third centuries when they had me. Structures built by human hands aren’t meant to last more than a few hundred years. It was gone before I was even born. But my parents kept this clearing undeveloped so my mother could come back here. Some of my earliest memories involve running around this little circle, my mother chasing me.” I smile, lost in the memory, and Thorne wraps his arms around my waist from behind. These small moments of physical intimacy are becoming more and more familiar between us.

“It’s beautiful here,” he whispers in my ear, then kisses my neck. I arch my back into him, and he tightens his grip.