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“What do you want from me? Where is Tilila? Is she okay?” I asked.
“That was only an illusion,” the woman said. “I needed to get your attention. As for what I want from you, I wanted to talk to you, because you have been failing.”
“Failing?” I repeated, furrowing my brow. “What do you mean?”
“Magic is dying, Thimsal,” she said. “It’s losing its power in Manzimor. Have you not noticed its decline? Fertility is declining, rituals are more difficult to perform, and spell crafters are gaining more power. Their magic is more efficient and easier to use. It’s taking over.”
“The old ways are still strong,” I said. “People still believe.”
“But for how much longer?” she asked. “Without change, without new blood, without new ideas, magic will fade from Manzimor. And I cannot allow that to happen.”
“What do you want from me?” I asked. “What does this have to do with me?”
“I need you to help me,” she said. “I need you to restore my power.”
“How?” I asked. “I’m nothing special.”
“Do you want to hear that you are special? You are not. Throughout the centuries, many candidates could have married into House Finardsil, but you are the one who will. Which means you are the one with the power to restore magic.”
I frowned. “Why does that matter?”
“The visions I sent to the Elves, to the Midarians, to the Dryads, to the Naga, the Halflings, do you think they were coincident? I guided you all to this moment. I needed to make sure hearth casters gained power in the world again. And you, Thimsal, are the key to that. Unwittingly, you married into the Elvish royal family. You have a foot in both worlds, the spell crafter one and the hearth caster one. With your help, we can make sure magic thrives in Manzimor once again. We are losing our power in Manzimor, Thimsal. And unless something is done, we will disappear entirely.”
The fertility crisis the Elves endured, and the visions of our demise, that was all part of her plan. And I was the key to it all.
“The Elves abandoned me,” she said. “They stopped using magic and turned to the spell crafters. The Elves need to be reminded of their heritage. They need to remember who they are. And you, Thimsal, are going to help me do that.”
I swallowed hard. “You want me to banish spell crafters from Manzimor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t want you to banish anyone. I want you to restore the balance. Hearth casters need to be present in the Eternal Court again. We need to be respected. And you, Thimsal, are going to make that happen.”
“How?” I asked. “I’m just one person.”
“Figure it out,” she said. “I will not do all the work for you.”
“Does that mean Midar will fall?” I asked. “If I fail.”
“Are you still focused on that? All that I showed is potential. It’s not set in stone. But if you don’t try, if you don’t do something, then it will come to pass.”
“And Prince Maedras? Is he part of your plan?” I asked.
“He’s a means to an end,” she said. “You will need him to get what I want. But he is not the only one. You will need to find others who can help you. Trust your instincts. And don’t fail me. Not like today. A hearth caster with a spell crafter wedding. It’s an abomination.”
“What do you expect me to do?” I asked. “I’m not even sure I believe you.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “Or you’ll die. And you will if you don’t pay attention. Already, there are plans to poison your food. They will try to kill you, Thimsal.”
I frowned. “Who?”
“Those who wish to see hearth casters disappear,” she said. “Be careful. Be smart.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” I said.
She laughed. “You’ll figure it out. You’re smarter than you think.”
With a gasp, I woke up. I was back in my room, in the Aeglire. It was all just a dream. Or was it? I didn’t know what to think.
My limbs felt heavy, as if I had run for miles. My head was pounding. And my throat was dry.
