“The blood of Tiergan will always rescue the blood of Thoarne.” Alora’s chin lifted. “On the battlefield or in a garden. This is for what the High One anointed us, Luscia. This is our charge. Your blood is sacred, precious. It cannot be spilled and wasted, like a member of your guard or one of the Najjan. You are not fodder. Niit, my niece, you are the remedy.”

“You said he couldn’t be cured,” Luscia challenged, hope teasing her chest.

“Dmitri’s cure is the continuation of his lineage,” she answered quietly. Alora untied the stained apron around her waist, folding it as she rotated toward her apothecary. “You may not be this king’s remedy, but in offering him time, you are Orynthia’s remedy. As his coronation nears, it is imperative you practice your Sight daily. The threads…the threads will tell us how to proceed.”

“Have you ever heard them, Ana’Mere?”

The question escaped Luscia’s lips before she could stop it.

Alora froze, her back to Luscia. Gradually, her face turned over her shoulder, though her eyes did not follow. “No one has ever communicated with the threads, except in the days of Tiergan himself. This I have already told you.”

Biting her lip, Luscia tread carefully. “Do you think my mother heard the lumin? The voices she talked about…”

Luscia trailed off as the side of Alora’s mouth pressed into a firm line. Stiffly, she set her folded apron atop the viridi chest housing her apothic elements, much larger than the box in Lusica’s quarters.

“Eoine thought she heard many things, but all of them were a delusion in the end.” Abruptly, Alora spun and tilted her head. “Have you experienced something similar?”

“Niit,” Luscia blurted.

At her outburst, Alora’s gaze narrowed and darted through the air around Luscia. Undoubtedly, her aunt was reading the threads in her own way, discerning fact from fiction. Luscia’s stomach clenched, hoping the luminescent energy would not betray her haunting secret, either in claiming the voice she’d heard, or worse, confirming she’d not heard it at all.

If the former, then the consciousness of the Other, full of mystery and power, tormented Luscia unlike any of her ancestors. If the latter, then she was cursed regardless. If she never heard the threads, if it was not the lumin who whispered, then she was heir to her mother’s fate. A fate which promised a lifetime of whispers, until she could someday bear no more. And, like her mother, she would be forced to make it cease.

“I assume this is why your men relay that you’ve neglected your daily meditation. I’m told you’ve not practiced since your arrival in Bastiion.” Pouring her newest concoction into three vials, Alora gathered them up and came beside the bed. “Are you still concerned your episodes are connected to what became of her?”

“You truly believe they’re unrelated?” Luscia searched her aunt’s eyes, seeing those of her mother.

“Niit. Just as I assured in your youth, I assure you again now. It is your choice to listen,” she urged, placing the vials in Luscia’s open palms. “We will keep improving upon your tonic. This season will be laden with instigation, likely full of triggers. It is time you put away this foolishness and trust my wisdom on the matter.”

Luscia’s fingers wrapped around the vials, their marshy contents darker than the previous batch. She prayed her aunt was right, but feared the alternative nearly as much. If her connection to the Other was wrong, unnatural and strange, it could hinder her succession. Alora, being a woman of principle and obligation, might disown her, abandoning their mentorship. Or, Luscia hoped, she might increase her oversight, were she willing to explore Luscia’s torment together.

Uncertainty stifled her bravery. She couldn’t lose a second mother.

“Meh fyreon, Ana’Mere,” Luscia submitted, “for my wayward thinking.”

“I will say this only once, my niece.” Alora’s shoulders set. “If your disobedience was revealed prior to these unthinkable events, then this would be a discussion of severe consequence. However, supremacy changes with the crown, and you no longer answer to me.” She paced around the bed calmly, head elevated with authority. “There will be consequences for your and Captaen Bailefore’s actions, just not from the rule of your own House. It will follow you onto the Quadren and, once seated, may one day entrap you.”

Alora’s eyes met Luscia’s at last. “Soon, it is you whom they will call the Great Mother of Boreal. My legacy will fade into the stars behind the others, adding to Aurynth’s tapestry of old.” Her graceful fingers fluttered as she turned to the door. “But mark my words. You are playing a perilous game on a much larger board than you realize, as if you see all the parts when you do not. After your succession, I will continue to offer you counsel, as your grandfather guided me.”

Alora grasping the handle, pulling the door open. Mutely, Luscia rose, acknowledging their meeting had ended. As she neared the threshold, her aunt gathered Luscia’s hands in hers and, with an abnormal fervor, gripped them tightly. Discomfort pulsed through her fingers as Alora pinned her inside the doorframe.

“And when I counsel you, Luscia,” she cautioned, “I pray you heed it. For the sake of us all.”

Gulping, Luscia nearly stopped breathing. Alora’s colorless Tiergan eye sparked furiously, glowing like it never had before.

Wrapped in cloud cover, Aurynth’s watchman permitted Luscia the solace of complete darkness as she prowled through the streets of Marketown. Dulled laughter and muffled music drifted toward her from the bosom of The Veiled Lady, where the wealthy alongside the poor eagerly took advantage of the moonless night, their comings and goings concealed.

A lamppost flickered in the distance, the dim torchlight splashing the flanks of the narrow backstreet. Luscia pocketed her lumilore, no longer needing its light. Her vision adjusted to the intermittent flame, focusing on the evidence of the destruction they’d wrought outside the bustling tavern.

With a feather-light step, her upturned boots carefully maneuvered through a pile of crumbled brick. Over the hunks of masonry, she found the hollow depression where Kasim’s body had been thrown into the adjacent building. Luscia looked up into the murky heavens, grateful she only had to answer for the death of one man, instead of two.

Further on, Luscia stopped beside the busted crates. She stooped low, crouching near the place of the killer’s demise—the place where at her hand, Lord Felix Ambrose departed this world to enter the next. The pools of rainwater had long dried up, leaving only squalid remnants from the night of the solstice. Splintered wood encircled an emptiness on the ground, coated in rancid soot. Guardedly, Luscia untied the veil shading her face. Gritting her teeth, she released a shaky breath and beckoned the Sight.

Hazy threads beamed into existence, wafting in the soft breeze. Luscia tensed, anticipating the pain in her skull, but it didn’t come. Neither did the whispers. In gratitude, she closed her eyes to thank the High One for her aunt’s skill.