Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,11

help of elemental stones charged with magic. If we uncovered this knowledge again, we could first awaken Nevlaria, and use the stones to protect Whitecroft. Then, cut off Alfheimr from Tenebris. That would ensure that no immortal comes to the usurper's aid, and that they don’t get reinforcements."

I am too stunned to retort. Not only because Liken has answered me honestly without more prompting—because this plan could work. Would work. We may lose many lives if we were to fight hundreds of thousands of humans with less than ten thousand fae, but here on our land, protected by fae magic, we would be victorious.

And more importantly, Vlari would be free.

How is it I never knew that was the object of our research? I would have been outdoors every day with my rangers if I'd thought that was in the cards.

"Elemental stones?" My voice is mechanical. I'm taking in one piece of information at a time, willing myself to understand.

"Stones infused with raw elemental magic. There is one at the heart of each court, created by the first lords. Some of us had the presence of mind to bring them with us."

I think back to that day in the high court. How desperate Alven Oberon had been to retrieve what I dismissed as one broken piece of jewelry—a bright green stone. I remember his words. "There lies the one hope this kingdom still possesses.” Had it been one of the elemental stones?

"The book you need. What does it look like?"

Liken shrugs. "I don't think any of us were alive the last time it was used. At first, we thought it could be here, as Nyx might have built the shields around Whitecroft with it. But there are many other possibilities. And one…" He scratches his hairless chin. "One may be complicated. The bridge leading to the Wicked Court, with its three doorways, was most certainly created using its magic."

"So, there's a chance that it could be in the Shadow Peaks."

Where the usurper lives. Unfortunate as it might be, this theory makes sense. The Wicked Court, formerly the Court of Wind, carved deep in Hardrock, had been Nyx's home, her stronghold. If she was the last known fae to have that book, it makes sense that she’d have kept it near.

"Could we attempt to create the wards without it?"

Liken winces. "We could, but what if it doesn't work? We'd risk everything, and Alfheimr would take the opportunity to swallow us up. We either need the book, or someone who knows the spells. No one within our walls is old enough to remember the time of Nyx, except maybe the hag in the well. But she knows nothing of spells, and she cares little for our plights."

The hag in the well.

I almost smile.

In my school days, there had been plenty of rumors about the well at the edge of the grove behind the fields we used for our sports. In a land with warriors of legend teaching spoiled, overindulged sons and daughters of princes and knights, where our literary instructor used to sing for gods, the hag was known as the oldest, most wicked thing. Naturally, it was the fashionable sport to tease her, try her patience.

We were told she once ate up a gaggle of princesses in retaliation. In my school days, she never showed. She sleeps for hundreds of years, only coming out when she's ready for a hunt.

Beautiful one moment, old crones the next, her kind roam till they find their perfect prey: an innocent girl whose heart they can carve out and eat to feed their immortality.

I once threw a nest of wasps down her well. As that elicited no response, I concluded she was a myth, or if she once was real, she could have left these lands for one without so many bored and indulgent kids nearby.

"I see I've lost your interest." Liken seems amused. I suppose he talked to me, but my mind is elsewhere. "Very well. I'll gather what knowledge I can, and come back to you when we find another old library for you to raid."

"Yes, do that," I reply.

He touches his fingertips to his brow and bows gracefully, before turning his heels.

I stop by the weapons room to collect the bag I bring with me to any raid outside these walls, then I draw deeper in the ranger headquarters till I reach the training area. Two novices circle each other, one with a broken nose, the other a bleeding mouth. They're overseen by