Page 148 of Of Masks and Fury

“I bet we could reach it quickly on dragonback,” Trew said.

I found understanding in Lexie’s eyes. She knew what finding Addie would mean to me. “When would you like to leave?”

“At dawn,” Trew said. “We have to sleep even for just a few hours or we’ll fall off our dragons. But we could send a scouting party instead. Small and fast.”

“I’m going.” My tone left no room for argument. “This is my mother’s secret and my sister who might be there. If there’s a chance we could do something about the veil, we have to take it.”

“Alright, no scouting party. Us.” His lips curved.

“We’re going with you, of course,” Derren said, the other two nodding.

Warmth spread through my bones. These people, who’d already risked so much for me, were willing to fly into the wasteland on the slim hope that we might find answers.

On the even slimmer chance that we might find Addie.

“The library maps we found only showed the spread of the wasteland,” I said.

“I have maps in my office,” Trew said. “Detailed surveys of the borderlands from before the wasteland formed. And Grayson is looking into it now in the archives. I’ll cross-reference the description with known geography and pinpoint likely locations before we leave.”

“So we’re going to search for mysterious property and rescue your people in the dungeon,” Lexie said. “All in eight days. Well, seven if we leave first thing tomorrow. And get back here in time to meet an attacking army.”

“We know how to stay busy,” I said.

Derren snorted. Kerralyn shook her head, her smile rueful.

Before anyone could say more, Kerralyn shifted at the foot of the bed and cleared her throat. The movement woke up Keek, who’d gone to sleep in her pocket. He poked his head out and peered around, blinking.

“Before we finalize travel plans,” Kerralyn said, “there’s more we need to discuss. I found information in the library about the history of the Day of Mercy.”

The warmth in my chest cooled.

Trew’s hand found mine, his fingers lacing through my own in a silent offer of support.

Kerralyn opened her journal on her lap, leaning close to study the notes she’d taken. Keek leaned forward, nearly falling out of her pocket, his whiskers twitching as if he could sense the shift in mood.

“I researched the Day of Mercy,” Kerralyn said, tracing her finger along a page. “It wasn’t easy. The books I tracked down were a mess. Someone had torn out pages, and others showed clear alterations. Text scratched out, sections rewritten in different ink.”Her mouth thinned. “Who writes in someone else’s book? The records I found didn’t agree with each other.”

My belly tightened. Someone had spent considerable effort making sure the truth stayed buried.

“Some sources say the practice has existed for two hundred and fifty years,” Kerralyn said. “Others claim three hundred. A few call it an ancient tradition without giving any specific date.” She turned a page in her journal. “But the early records I could find used different terminology. It wasn’t always called the Day of Mercy.”

Kerralyn met my gaze, sympathy clear in her eyes. “The text had been damaged in places, but I could make out references to ‘cleansing’ and ‘collection,’ though I don’t know the full context.”

So similar to what we’d found in the west tower.

Harvested as if people with magic were crops to be reaped. Diseases to be purged.

Trew’s arms tightened around me.

“The language shifted to ‘mercy’ about two hundred years ago,” Kerralyn said. “The execution records are incomplete too. Whole years are missing. It’s impossible to know how many people have actually died during these ceremonies over the centuries.”

Hundreds, I’d bet, murdered for the crime of being born different, for possessing the same abilities I carried in my blood.

How long had they been stealing their magic?

“It’s changed in my lifetime too.” My voice sounded distant, as if someone else was speaking. “When I was young, the Day of Mercy happened once a year, during mid-summer.”

I picked up a pastry, needing something to do with my hands. “It was terrible, but predictable. You knew when it was coming. You could…” I stopped, the words catching in my throat.