“Well, living in Duke’s Forest, I imagine you haven’t been around much magic—there’s the storm cloud, but that’s…” He paused. “Well, no one’s quite sure what it is—but it’s certainly different. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s stronger because natural magic is all around us now—both at the crossroads and here in the air, keeping us afloat.”

She gazed at the world far below, spinning under the horses’ hooves. Her mind raced. “So … what’s happening to me?” she said, turning the subject. Her breath plumed into the freezing air as she spoke, and she pulled the blanket closer. “Why are we in such a hurry?”

“You are a Rogue, Lena: a mage without the control of a god and a temple.” Emris looked at her seriously. “What do you know of magic? Do they tell you anything about it in Duke’s Forest?”

She shook her head. “Nobody speaks of it in Duke’s Forest, really…” But that wasn’t quite true, was it? “I mean … except in children’s tales.”

“Tell me one,” he said. “I’m curious.”

Lena nodded, remembering one in particular. Vigo had been good at stories. He’d sit at her side when she was little, at bedtime. Usually he’d be off to some duty or other, so he’d simply tell her good night, tuck her in tightly, and flick off the oil lamp beside her bed. But sometimes his eyes took on a faraway quality, and she would tingle in excitement, knowing he was about to tell her a story. “There’s one about a poor orphan boy in Duke’s Forest,” Lena said softly, conjuring the story from her memory. She shut her eyes and felt the thin, chilly breeze run through her hair. “It’s an old tale, from hundreds of years ago, before the King conquered the dukedom. The orphan boy found that he had magic. For six years he magicked everything he wanted: a great palace for a home, all the food he could eat, and friends to play with, and he lived a life of luxury and pleasure.” A gust of wind rushed past in a muted roar, and she opened her eyes. “But on the first day of the seventh year, he walked into his palace, and it was ash; he picked up his food, and it was dust; and when he went to play with his friends, he found only a nest of spiders.”

She gazed down at the glittering world below, remembering Vigo’s voice as he’d told her the tale. She remembered how he’d worded the next bit—it had stuck with her ever since.