Prince Hawthorne had written me a letter, demanding that I extend common courtesy and meet with him and his court. He’d also written several thinly veiled threats, hinting that if he continued to be pushed aside to advisors, he would write to his father, requesting to leave and citing Thayaria’s unwillingness to take any steps toward reconciliation. He had concluded the missive with, After yesterday’s upsetting events, I would hate for news of Thayaria’s internal struggles to cause my father to doubt the value in paying increased prices for thayar imports.

I would never allow a letter like that to leave the kingdom, and I have of course been monitoring his correspondence… But there’s always the possibility that Mazus has other ways of communicating with his son, and I certainly don’t want the King of Velmara finding out about the political tension in Thayaria.

As soon as I read the letter, I aerstepped to the northern coast of Thayaria, generally known as The Spined Moors. It’s the only place safe enough for me to practice my magic, especially when I’m this riled up from both the missive and yesterday’s attack. Massive, jagged bluffs dot the landscape, the pointed peaks so unlike the soft rolling hills near Arberly, though they’re hard to see this close to the coast and the mist barrier. Everything is hazy here, giving it an ominous look. With very few inhabitants, the region is wild, but something about it always feels like home.

The isolated and inaccessible region has been my magical refuge since I was nine years old and started displaying magic never seen before. My parents had lectured me relentlessly about keeping the true depth of my magic a secret, requiring that if I were to truly practice with my leymaster, Admon, we travel here. Admon and I spent countless hours out here, away from civilized society and keeping the secret my parents were so afraid to reveal to anyone.

With an exhale, I dig my feet into the soil beneath me and force myself to home in on the magical current of aether I feel coursing all around me. Most of that magic is concentrated in the leylines that cross the world, though I can sense aether in everything. It’s why I can tell that the magic of Thayaria is declining along with the thayar. The decreasing blooms of the flower that defines my kingdom is the symptom of a much larger problem that I haven’t told anyone about, not even Nemesia. I’m probably the only fae alive who can sense that less and less aether now rolls across Thayaria, and it terrifies me. I don’t know what’s caused it, but I fear it’s my fault. The mist barrier I erected must take massive amounts of aether to sustain itself, and I worry it’s slowly draining Thayaria of its magic. It’s the most logical explanation.