Nicolina cocks her head, considering. “Can you draw a sketch of how the wells flow?” She opens her notebook and pushes her charcoal stick toward me.

I hesitate. This is valuable enough information that one of our ancestors, or maybe my father, tried to hide it, even from the family. But I need her expertise, so I draw a crude sketch of the Mountain Well, the Blood Well, and, after a long moment of hesitation, the Family Well.

Nicolina’s eyes widen slightly at the third well. She traces the path with her fingertip and sits back, closing her eyes.

After a long pause, she turns her attention back to me. “I suspect you’re looking at the answer. The well flow starts here in Mountain Haven, goes through town, to your Family Well, and then dumps out into the edge of the Drained Wood. You say that the secondary blood tithes are making the people restless—that there are more protests than ever. When the clan first came to the well and gained Vardek’s protection, they were happy to bleed in offering while they built the first small city walls around their settlement. Alistair Carren took care of them. No one was treated differently, and as more people entered the waters and were blessed with Divine gifts, he welcomed their assistance. More importantly, those who weren’t blessed were still tasked with good work and treated as equal members of the community—as they still are here at the fort. So we have to ask—what changed in the city?”

I look down at the map where her finger rests on the Blood Well.

“The unblessed started to be treated as lesser-than while we asked for more blood tithes,” I say.

Nicolina nods. “Your family and the other magical families of Lunameade believed that the unblessed had no magic. But there is a difference between an offering made with a willing and open heart and one made with anger and loathing. Perhaps they are not so magicless as we thought. Perhaps they are the true poison in the well and it’s affecting your family and the Drained.”

I stare at her in mute shock. It makes so much sense. My family has been steeping in all the unblessed people’s hatred and loathing. No one visits the well more than my father and Able after their nightly work of lighting the city wall with holy fire. Every day, they’re taking in more rage and disdain, and it’s only become worse since the secondary tithes.

“My advice is to stop the tithes altogether,” Nicolina says. “Make them voluntary again. Nothing is more potent than offerings made with free will.”

Everything she’s saying makes so much sense, but I can’t imagine how I’m going to convince my parents this is a good idea. I can already hear their arguments in my head. If she’s wrong, it will be almost impossible to get people to go back to paying tithes afterward. It could make things better, but it could also bring the simmering tension in town into an all-out rebellion. They were already bold enough to attack Carrenwell House during our engagement party. They’re willing to escalate the violence for the sake of their revolution.

I spin my teacup in its saucer and meet Nicolina’s eyes. “Do you think what has been done can be undone?”

She shrugs. “I couldn’t say. That’s in the hands of the Divine. Sometimes all you can do is mitigate the damage for the future.”

I run my fingertip around the rim of my cup and turn to Henry. “Could you give us a few minutes alone?”

He frowns, a wrinkle forming in his brow. He wants to argue, but he thinks better of it and simply nods and leaves us to it. As soon as he takes a spot at the bar across the room, I feel his eyes on me.

I ignore him, keeping my focus on the delicate black cup hand-painted with small orange flowers.

“Those flowers are hard to come by outside these walls,” Nicolina says. “They’re called Polm’s Opus. Quite a unique flower. The poison in those pretty petals isn’t deadly. When harvested, ground down to dust, and ingested, Polm’s Opus petals offer temporary influence over a person and their magic.” She casts a glance at Henry. “Should you need it.”

I arch a brow. “And if one wanted to find it?”

“They could visit the herbal garden on the fourth level of the fort. Or they could find a patch of it growing wild behind the sixth level, just on the east side of the central gate.”

I tuck that knowledge away for later, tracing the flower design with my finger. “Tell me about the Deathless,” I say.

Nicolina glances over my shoulder at Henry, sitting at the bar on the other side of the room. “Yes, I hear that you know what he is—that you’ve been claimed.” She leans back in her chair and takes a sip of her tea. “They are both of life and death, more base and instinctual than humans, but not so wild as the Drained. So long as they feed regularly, they stay that way. They are stronger than humans and they heal faster, but they’re not indestructible.”

I stare down into my teacup. It’s good to know that they’re not all as strong as Henry. If Stefan is one of them, I need to be able to kill him. I’ll just need to ensure that I use a lot of poison.

“I have known Henry since he was a boy,” Nicolina says, glancing at him. “We do not always see eye to eye with his family, but he is a good man. He cares about this community and he has given a lot of himself to hold us together. I don’t always agree with his methods, but the difference between the Havenwoods and—” she searches for the words, “other leadership is that they welcome dissent. They let us speak freely and we are better as a people because of it.”

She pours both of us more tea.

“People forget that. Those stories aren’t often requested because they’re not pretty, but over the years, smaller, more extreme sects of our communities have broken off and tried to form their own societies,” Nicolina continues. “There were those who denied Divine Kennymyra because they knew that she empowers people to enjoy pleasure instead of feeling shame about it. They know that empowered women who have ownership over their pleasure don’t need partners. Instead of evolving and putting in the work to build healthy relationships, they wanted an excuse to trap women. And do you know what happened?”

I shake my head.

“They died off, because even though they convinced women to buy into those ideals, there was no equity or joy in those relationships, and there is no life without pleasure,” Nicolina explains. “When a community is built on removing access to information—from disempowering its people—there is no one to save them when a bigger threat rises. The first civilizations to fall are the ones where no one speaks truth to power, where every voice must be part of a chorus or be silenced. In our histories from the time before our nomadic clans, we know well that those who do not embrace the diversity of their communities are doomed to die out.”

I take a long sip of my tea and assess the old woman over the rim of my cup. She’s Stefan’s aunt. Though she bears a physical resemblance to him, even with her graying hair and her crinkling skin, her eyes are full of intelligence and understanding instead of rage.

“I see you,” Nicolina says. “They think you are a pawn in this game, but I think you’re a player.”

It’s genuine appreciation that compels me to reach over and take her hand. “Thank you, Nicolina. For being honest with me. I know you have no love for my family, but I appreciate the vital work you do.”

She sits a little straighter. “It’s an honor to be considered a source of wisdom by the heir and his wife. Quite a magnetic match you make.”

“Yes, like fire to tinder.” I go to draw my hand away, but she grips my wrist.

“Just be sure that you’re the fire and not the one being burned.” She casts a meaningful look in Henry’s direction.

I rise and press a hand to my heart. “Thank you, Nicolina. For sharing your stories and wisdom.”

Henry ushers me out of the Raining Star Bar with one last glare over his shoulder at Nicolina. The night is cold in an arresting way. It’s not very late for the streets to be so empty, but everyone is probably resting before the start of Dark Star Festival. The fort will have its own celebration.