Before we have reached the thick of Poison Market, I know one thing for certain. It is not uncommon to see magic out in the open. Witches and wizards keep the land alive the farther we travel away from the bridge. It's as if winter never touched here. They're not difficult to discern from the crowd; their velvet robes and yawning sleeves keep potions hidden inside folds.

While we pass, they raise two fingers to crops and draw a symbol in the air. A moment later, leaves and stems grow larger and the beginnings of strawberries, carrots, and pumpkin crawl from the earth. Wizards apply their palms to bare trunks, and leaves return to spindled branches.

Magic of the Wise holds three categories of magic. Luminaries remain hidden, wizards act out in the open, and witches keep their dark broths of evil substance locked away. They're not kind, not holy, and often burned at the stake with their counterparts. Warlocks. But they fit into the same category of magic, only differing in gender.

The homes constructed of dirt and clay belong to the witches. They live in holes on the outskirts of Poison Market with grass and roots as their roof, a piece of driftwood for the front door. Golden eyes peek out from the cracks and watch Cloak's legion with wary salivation on their tongues.

The farther we ride into Poison Market, the more I realize how the name is misleading. This isn't a market, not anymore. It has expanded since the days of its upbringing, and a community has formed out of the sales themselves. Instead of market stalls, there are cottages. Instead of merchant wagons, we ride through parks of lush green. All of this—held together by the wizards in the community.

Every street we pass down is lined with market stalls or merchant wagons opened up like a ribcage to display their wares. Some offer furs and flax, others the rich fleeces of their sheep, horses, and cattle. We pass a farmer's stand full of eggs, butter, and cheese.

In a small wooden pen, green pigs and rainbow goats dig at the ground and munch on alfalfa stems. Livestock grazed by a wizard's hand. It is commonly said that their meat is more tender than the ordinary shades.

Through it all, the people of Poison Market watch us carefully. The Panjandrum Corps only targets Luminaries, but there is no surety they won't broaden their practice to falter a large massacre that ends Poison Market's domination over this land. If not for this, Magic of the Wise would fall. A large village rests to the east, far enough away from the shore that they're not slaughtered by the ocean dragons and serpents hoarding the coast for their nests.

Poison Market keeps this territory thriving. Keeps it alive. Without it, Magic of the Wise would become as desolate as the Void.

Clapping and cheering erupt as we take a rounded turn past a large market stall advertising fortune telling and palm reading. A dramatic hat spirals off the top of the old woman's head, covered in beads, golden chains, and emeralds. Dark cosmetics cover her eyelids, and when she looks up, her eyes are completely white. I stifle a gasp and look away.

Up ahead, past Cloak and Keaya riding side by side, I spot a large stable. Already, visiting travelers have stored their mounts within the green field of lush grass, surrounded by as much alfalfa hay as they can eat. "We'll explore Poison Market on foot," Cloak orders over his shoulder. "Stay close, pay attention, don't get lost in a witch's hut."

Worried murmurs break out through the many clustered bodies. What would occur if someone did end up in a witch's hut? Not good things, I imagine. Their huts are usually hotter than the sun, and darker nightmares. One can get lost in such treacherous conditions and end up in a cauldron with three of their fingers missing.

I'm almost reluctant to leave Pip. Something about walking through the market on my own power, without sitting taller than all the rest, raises the anxiety within me. I'm not the tallest, nor the largest. And a street performer walking on stilts might stomp right over me without so much as a second glance.

The Panjandrum Corps scatters. Even Gav has somewhere to be; he disappears with Keaya and heads for a juggler performing next to a stand loaded with foreign wine.

I spin around. Nothing catches my eye, and even though I haven't moved, I'm lost within the cluster of Poison Market. Someone shoves into my back with hardly an apology, and my first instinct is to grab onto the coin purse at my hip. Sure enough, the strings are loose. I frown at the hooded figure smirking at me from beyond the shadows of his cloak and decide I must move out of the way so I'm not robbed before taking one step.

Cloak meanders through the crowd without care. He looks at the wares, but more importantly, their sellers. I notice his tactic—go to as many merchant stalls that sell otherworldly items as he can. Crystals, demonic molds, exotic jewelry, potions, magic wands frequented by children rather than adults. Wizards haven't used wands in ages according to ancient texts.

We're supposed to look for Luminaries. The dispersing of his forces isn't exactly following the rules of their job. And Cloak doesn't fight it. I almost forget he's kind enough to allow his forces to stretch their legs and enjoy the market, rather than walk through with a keen, investigator's eye. For these moments, at least, they can take a breather and explore a market that is more mysterious and notorious than Exole's weekly trades and annual fair.

For the sake of practice, I unravel the dusty spool of my Luminary tether. A carriage clops by, but I don't feel a tug to the driver. Something past it. A stand Cloak is approaching. The one next to it, specializing in bejeweled hats with feathers stuck in the ribbon border, is the stand he stops at. Cloak picks through the hats, not caring for what they're offering.

The Luminary tether pulls me not towards the hat dealer, but the jewelry maker next to it. In the shadows, a muddled breed of elf and feliram picks at her sharp, long nails. I approach the wooden table covered in velvet cloth, a black sheet hanging over her the open door of the carriage and casting her selection in night. Sprints of light twinkle along the selection of expensive gems laid out before me.

Rings, necklaces, bracelets, chokers, earrings. Every piece stares back at me from their given selection. Simple bands of iron nearly overflow from a wooden crate off to the side, scuffed and rusted from past use. I question their stories; how they got here and who gave up their precious ring for something else. And what would they rather have?

The tether grows warmer in my chest, practically screaming at me that this woman is a Luminary. She hardly pays me any heed from the shadows. One leg crosses over the other and slips loose from her frilled skirt to reveal twisting tattoos wrapping around her brown calves.

Laid out on the table, a golden locket catches my eye. I almost missed it underneath a stack of ordinary, heart-shaped jewelry but the skull is familiar enough that I couldn't forget that small twinkle of recognition. I push through gently and pull up the raven locket from the cluster. The ruby eyes catch a ray of sunlight and greet me.

The seller rises, her chair creaking, and moves to the other side of the table, smiling like the dealer she is. Broad and fake. One front tooth is chipped, the others are cracked and yellow. Half her grey-brown hair is in tatters, the rest is gone entirely from the left side of her head. For someone that makes exquisite jewelry—or steals it—she does not bother with transitioning that beauty elsewhere. "You picked a lovely piece," she compliments, pointing one of her long, crooked fingers at the raven skull.

I take a moment to consider who this woman is. Witches are known for their ghastly looks, their inability to take care of themselves, and their mysterious dealings. If this woman is both Luminary and witch...

"Thank you." My voice is a rush of breath.

"But, I must say, it doesn't compare to the necklace around your throat." She taps a sharp nail onto her breast and I look down, suddenly realizing that the necklace Cloak gave me is out in the open. The raven pendant, the breathing and flying version of the dead grasped in my hands.

I bring my hand to it as I have many times before. My palm wraps perfectly around the rough border, fingers curling to grasp the back. One simple tug and I would be free of the leather cord, but I wouldn't dare take it off. This might be the last thing I have of Cloak, if not his friendship and trust.

From the next stall over, he has stopped looking through the hats. I feel the heat of his stare on the side of my face, watching me. Waiting for me to scream that this woman is a Luminary, if not horridly disgusting with breath belonging to the dead.

"How about a deal?" the seller hisses.

"A deal?" I squeak. She locks me in her trance with another sickening grin.

She stares down her broad nose at me. A single golden hoop cuts through her nostril. "I will give you that locket in exchange for your lovely necklace."

I laugh at the preposterous idea. "Why would you want this?"

Young elf, I know everything.

Wyetta's voice bangs around in my skull, but this woman is not the Void Queen that changed me that day. Broke Castiel's spine and killed my parents. No, this woman is just a Luminary. Something connects the two.

Either she reads my thoughts, or Cloak hasn't stopped staring at me long enough to give off an important hint. Her pale, milky eyes drift to him, her head slowly turning in his direction to acknowledge the prince's ghostly presence. "Gifts from princes are rare to come across," she bargains. "Especially one with heart. With thought." Her voice slithers across my skin, trailing to my fingers and that ghostly hand reaches out, grasping—

I stumble back and take a deep breath. She appears disappointed like I almost fell into her trap. Being that I'm a Luminary, she shouldn't see me as someone foolish enough to obey to her tricks. I suck in air and steel my nerves. The border of the raven pendant digs into my palm, indenting a permanent mark on my skin. "I won't sell this," I declare. "I would never think of handing this over." Quieter this time, I add, "Thank you, anyway."

I turn on my heel. "Wait, child." At least her voice doesn't resemble the dead anymore.

My body tells me to run, to hide, to get as far as I can away from this Luminary witch so I can be free of her bonds, but a brave part of my soul takes hold and turns me back towards her market stand with as little effort as it takes to turn my head. Outstretched in her palms, a silver bracelet extends towards me.

"Take this. It's on the house," she says.

I hesitate. "What is it for?"

"This bracelet is a token of bravery for revealing yourself a Luminary, especially in such ferocious company." Her eyes dart to Cloak's statue of mass unmoving from the hat stand. I'm surprised the seller hasn't swatted him away yet. No one dares approach someone so dangerous-looking; he's hindering all the sales.

The witch smiles, innocently this time, and urges me to take the bracelet. I do, pinching the thin silver cuff in my hand. A wolf's running body is carved into the side.

I glance back at Cloak and he looks away, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. Did he think I would hand over my raven pendant for something I could easily pay a few coins for? Clapping brings him back, coming from the juggler's corner, and a joker dressed in an ensemble of rainbow colors joins him on the stage. Gav and Keaya point and laugh.

I slide the cuff onto my wrist. It's large, dangling around my thin wrist, then...it shrinks. A gasp tightens in my throat as the silver rests flush against my skin, but doesn't constrict any tighter. A perfect fit. My head snaps up to the seller, and she winks at me, flashing her eyes a different color to indeed prove herself a Luminary. The right words elude me.

Cloak didn't see it. For her sake and my own, I smile without cringing and walk away, catching up with the prince. He grew bored with the hats and jewelry. I look back over my shoulder and both sellers are watching us depart. The hat dealer is more innocent-looking, and normal. She's a fladline with crisp white fur and long whiskers hanging from her soft cheeks. Is she a Luminary too?

When we're far enough away, Cloak asks, "Do you think she's a Luminary?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so." My hands continue to throb from her icy, phantom touch. I stuff them into the pockets of my coat.

Cloak hurries forward and breaks away from me. He places his hand on the back of an innocent bystander, moving past them with grace, and they mutter in shock, asking if that's the prince. Cloak is too far gone to answer, and I have to take a different route to maneuver around the swelled crowd.

I wish to tell them that the feliram they see is the prince. He's on duty, searching for magic. Not looking to harm, but to recruit. I wonder if they would join if they thought they would receive the chance to work with someone as notorious and dangerous as Cloak. This is Magic of the Wise, after all. These people practically beg for danger.