Page 102 of The Reaping Rose

“It’s a magical bind. You can’t see it. But it’s there. I feel it.”

“You’re saying a human is wielding magic?” Elorie’s eyes widen when Perame nods. “How?”

“There was a time Fae spent a great deal of time traveling between this realm and ours,” I explain. “Trading metals, wares, secrets, books. King Erdem was close with the queen who ruled before the Arches closed. At that time, some humans here studied magic. We don’t know how that information spread over the past century, or to who, but it’s unsurprising they’ve tapped into what little their realm holds. Just because they aren’t Fae doesn’t mean they can’t use objects for spells or to channel minor abilities.”

“Humans wielding magic.” There’s wonderment in Elorie’s eyes.

Sometimes I forget how new this all is for her when she’s been alive a mere twenty-four years.

“It’s dangerous,” Perame says, resting her hands on her hips. “There’s a reason humans need aeraliss to withstand the magic of our realm. Their bodies can’t handle it, even when channeled through an object.”

“That explains the gloves.” My gaze falls to the gloves covering the overlord’s hands and forearms. Rings decorate his fingers on the outside of them. “The rings must hold whatever magic he’s wielding.”

“Do you think if we get the ring that ties the void to the overlord, we can break it?”

“You can’t.” A voice comes from behind us, and the three of us turn to find the woman with the strange spiderweb marking on her face standing before us.

“How did you do that?” Perame’s eyebrows pinch. “How did you break free?”

“I didn’t.” She weaves her fingers, pushing them through the trunk of the tree beside her to prove she’s merely an illusion.

When I glance back at the parade, her body is seated beside the overlord in the carriage, although her gaze is distant.

“Projection,” Perame whispers.

The woman’s expression remains cold. “Who are you? Why are you following me? And why do you feel like… that?”

She licks her lips, moving her tongue like she tastes something in the air.

“I’m Elorie.” She steps forward first, pulling her hood back. “And this is Callum and Perame. We came from another place. One with more magic. Who are you?”

She lifts her chin, and her brown hair rustles. “Esen. But I suggest you go. If it’s true that you’re from another place, you won’t find anything good here.”

“Nothing good will find us there either.” Perame frowns, her purple eyes drifting off. “Where we’re from, the realms are dying.”

“Like ours?” Esen asks, following Perame’s gaze to the gray forest.

“Yes.” Perame looks at her. “It’s why we’re here; we were looking for something to fix it.”

Esen’s eyebrows pinch. “What here could possibly help?”

“You. Your magic.” Perame steps forward, and Esen takes a step back, shaking her head.

“It’s true.” Elorie cuts in, not moving as Esen’s illusion flickers. “There is something very powerful in our realm. It’s tearing it to pieces. Nothing contains it, but there might be a way to quiet it with your help. You⁠—”

“No.” Esen shakes her head. “You do not understand what I am.”

“Do you?” I ask, and Esen’s gaze shoots to me.

Her green eyes narrow. Not in anger but curiosity. Her head tilts. The thick braid on one side of her head shifts.

Esen’s teeth grind. The smallest tick as she watches me. “I am what the gods left behind.”

Cheers come from behind us, and we glance back as the crowd gets rowdy. They cheer and throw flowers while Esen’s body remains beside the overlord in the carriage.

“I am not someone who can heal or help. And I am not free to do so even if I wished to.” Esen draws our attention back to her.

Any warmth has drained from her cheeks. Light dulls in her gaze. She is here in spirit, with us physically, but her mind is somewhere else.