They said something, and he bowed his head. The older one pulled out a sack of orange powder, and Tiberius stretched out his wing. The elf tossed the nebulis into the air, the shimmering dust floating down over his long, dark feathers. A laugh escaped my lips, and Ti whipped his big head to mine and leered.

Have fun with the foals. I winked.

We edged our way through the throng as eight mystics, identifiable by the large wreaths of berries on their heads, stood at the edge of the cliff with arms raised high.

“I wouldn’t bother getting close enough to hear,” Isla murmured next to me. “It’s the same every year… ‘Prayers and thanks to Aelius, Brother of the Sun, yada yada,’” she mimed.

We continued inching our way closer to the mystic ahead of us. A man, older than Bayne and the rest of the crew but not as ancient as the master of spells.

The crowd shifted as we grew near, those around us moving aside as Tiberius sidled up to me. The mystic’s gray-blue eyes caught on mine, and something flashed in his eyes as his lips tilted up in a deadly grin.

My stomach dropped as a familiar swirling liquid silver flashed in his eyes.