Page 95 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

And that worries me.

The temple stretches around me, its arched beams carved with ancient glyphs—or what I thought were glyphs. Now I see them for what they are. Not prayers for protection, but words.

Fae words.

Our enemy's language is etched into the bones of this sacred place like hidden scars. A language I can now decipher, thanks to Jaxon.

Jaxon, and that swirling, smoky concoction he prompted me to drink yesterday afternoon. A concoction that removed the shroud from my mind.

Between manifesting my magic outside my body and learning a dark curse has immobilized a powerful Fae, I’m not shocked by new, unfathomable displays of magic or power. As a healer, the miracles rendered by tonics can seem magical.

But Jaxon’s tonic revealed more than my ability to read a foreign language. It peeled back history.

At some point, people in Verdanthia wrote in the Fae language. It’s not a stretch to believe some could read and speak it. The question of when that changed tickles the back of my mind, but it’s swiftly overshadowed by the plethora of information I’ve gleaned from the Fae text.

The priest lifts his arms, white sleeves falling back to reveal ink-black markings across his forearms. More symbols. More secrets.

I stifle a yawn, then rise with the others seated on the worn pine pews. The floor creaks beneath the weight of the dozens of weary travelers from Nalderall and Hammond, their faces haggard from the journey. They’ve come to give thanks to the Gods for their safe arrival and to pray for peace and prosperity ahead of the Late King’s Festival.

I, too, have been praying for peace, but I find none.

My head throbs. I read deep into the night, poring over the Fae tome, its revelations confirming that it is indeed a text on the healing arts.

Plants I’ve never heard of. Tinctures used in ways I’ve never thought possible. Incredible information is at my fingertips, but I’m still uncertain how any of it will help Darius.

Annoyingly, Rian wasn’t at camp yesterday. Though I have no idea where he could’ve been.

Draven snapped when I asked where the Fae was while we were in the middle of sparring. Though sparring is a loose term for him raining down strike after strike, barely giving me enough time to block before another one flies my way.

My side still aches from where his staff landed against the soft flesh.

As if hearing my thoughts, my magic curls in the sore area, warming until no pain lingers.

Juniper nudges me with a pointed elbow. “You know, the temple is meant to bring you tranquility.”

I glance at her, guilt prickling. “Sorry.”

The priest’s voice rises in benediction, but my eyes drift to the carvings along the black slab covering the altar’s edge. The Fae words woven into the wood like veins beneath skin read:

All Bless The Mother. All Fear The Father.

A Fae prayer. Hidden in plain sight.

Is this temple built on the remnants of a Fae temple?

Impossible.

Fae never lived this far south. They stayed above the Veil until it shattered nearly fifty years ago. When life for humans changed forever.

Juniper slips something into my hands—a small, leather-bound book, worn soft with age. A thin leather string wraps around a metal clasp, holding it closed.

“What’s this?” I whisper.

“A better use of your time than faking devotion to the Gods,” she mutters.

I press my lips together and unwind the string, then crack open the soft cover. Dread courses through my veins.

“Are you insane?” I hiss, slamming it shut. “You can’t give this to me here.”