Page 219 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“You are…” Kora gasped, hand flying to her mouth as Yaoaya brushed her fingers across her grey eyes. When her hand passed over them, their color shifted, brightening into a vibrant green. “You are Tsuchitsan?”

Rensaya stared at her in open astonishment. “I should have sensed it sooner,” she murmured. “You have the feel of earth about you.”

Kora’s thoughts spun wildly. “Why did you never tell me? How did my father find you? Is that why you know so much about herbs? And all those little things that happened around me in my childhood, was that you? Were you—”

“Help now.” Yaoaya lifted a hand, shaking her head firmly. “Answers later.” She crossed to the patch of earth where Rensaya had been searching, waved her aside, then bent to the ground and hovered her palms above the soil. Her eyes began to glow. The earth stirred.

Slowly, impossibly, a thin blue vine pushed upward through the frost. Then another. Then several more. Small bushes spread outward, forming a healthy cluster of ashvael.

“By the moons…” Rensaya dropped beside her, breath stolen. “This would have taken years. Can you do the same for vaelthorn creeping vine?”

“Hanura’s gift works only for what is already there,” Yaoaya said simply. “What was already meant to happen.” She moved several feet along the riverbank and repeated the gesture. Life answered where winter should have silenced it.

Kora could not move. A lifetime of memories dissolved into an unrecognizable blur. The woman who had braided her hair, scolded her for climbing trees in the garden, and spent every evening by her side in Marrowgate. A fae.

“We dry the root. Pack it into small balls. Not for arrows. Too slow. Better to light and make smoke.” Yaoaya mimed a spark with her fingers. “Throw close to fae. Smoke makes them weak. Confusion stops compulsion.”

“And if enough of Valdir’s soldiers lose the compulsion at once, it could turn the battle.” Rensaya nodded quickly. “We may not even need to kill the fae.”

“No.” Yaoaya’s voice sharpened. “Better to still kill the Norrelians.” She spat the final word with clear hatred.

Kora felt as though she could hardly breathe, but Rensaya adjusted without argument. “Then we disorient them. Merrick can get close enough to drive a blade into their hearts.”

“Duncan will not agree to that,” Kora said, senses finally returning to the present. Somewhat.

Rensaya glanced at her sideways. “We will discuss our options when we return.”

Yaoaya’s mouth curved into a cautiously satisfied smile. She coaxed another bush to full size, then pushed herself upright and brushed her palms together. “This is enough.”

Rensaya knelt at once and began cutting the blue-hued roots cleanly, packing them into her satchel. Kora blinked, shook herself free from the remnants of her daze, and dropped beside Rensaya to help, willing her hands to be useful despite the storm inside her chest.

As they worked, Yaoaya retied her headwrap. With a small flick of her fingers, barely more than a whisper of motion, the glamour rippled back into place. Bright Tsuchitsan green dimmed to a familiar grey. It was such a small change, yet watching it felt like seeing a veil fall across an entire lifetime of hidden truth.

The path back to the war camp led them along the edge of Gryon through narrow lanes where terrified townsfolk peered from shuttered windows. Sounds of battle continued to roll across the land from a distance like an unending tide.

While Rensaya walked ahead with purposeful strides, scanning the ground even though their search was finished, Kora slowed until she fell into step beside Yaoaya. “You have always known, then,” she murmured. “That my eyes mean I have recent fae ancestry.”

“Not all fae know of this,” Yaoaya said, almost defensively. Her expression tightened with discomfort. Then, reluctantly, “But yes, I did.”

“Neither of my siblings nor my parents have green in their eyes,” Kora continued, more to herself than to Yaoaya. “Do you know if it comes from my mother’s side or my father’s?”

Yaoaya tilted her head slightly and gave a faint shrug.

“You… don’t know?” Kora asked, interpreting the motion.

Yaoaya looked away. “Fae colors can skip many generations. It is not uncommon.”

The response struck Kora as odd. But her thoughts were already too crowded. She let the feeling drift, storing the unease for later.

“I was thinking about the strange things that happen around me,” Kora said instead. “Wounds healing. Flowers blooming. The lushness of Marrowgate’s gardens even in the dead of winter.” She swallowed. “Initially, I thought your being fae finally explained it—that it had been you all along. But… those odd occurrences continued after I left you in Ardor.”

Yaoaya sighed. “Sometimes me,” she muttered. “Sometimes you.”

“Then I do not understand.” Kora’s frustration sharpened. “Fae magic lies dormant in humans, even those with colored eyes. It only awakens after consuming oraivane.”

Yaoaya pressed her lips together, weighing something. Then she lifted a hand and pointed toward Kora’s chest, where the amulet rested beneath her clothing. “That stone is like oraivane,” she said carefully. “It strengthens what is already there.”

Kora’s fingers rose unconsciously to brush the shape of the pendant through the fabric. “When I fell ill in Grayhollyn,” she said slowly, “you told me to put it back on. I thought you meant it for comfort. But it was the amulet that healed me?”