“I won’t waste time dancing around the truth,” Nehemia said. “I saved your life at the duel.”

She had a hazy memory of Nehemia’s fingers making strange symbols in the air. “I didn’t hallucinate all of that? And—and you saw everything, too?” Celaena tried to sit up a little higher, but found it too painful to even move an inch.

“No, you didn’t,” the princess said. “And yes, I saw everything that you saw; my gifts enable me to see what others normally cannot. Yesterday, the bloodbane Kaltain put in your wine made you see it, too: what lurks beyond the veil of this world. I don’t think Kaltain intended that effect, but it reacted to your blood in that way. Magic calls to magic.” Celaena shifted uncomfortably at the words.

“Why did you pretend to not understand our language all these months?” Celaena asked, eager to change the subject, but also wondering why the question stung as much as her wounds.

“It was originally a defense,” Nehemia said, gently setting her hand on Celaena’s good arm. “You’d be surprised how much people are willing to reveal when they think you can’t understand them. But with each day that I pretended to not know anything, being around you became harder and harder.”

“But why make me give you lessons?”

Nehemia looked up at the ceiling. “Because I wanted a friend. Because I liked you.”

“So you truly were reading that book when I came across you in the library.”

Nehemia nodded. “I . . . I was doing research. On the Wyrdmarks, as you call them in your language. I lied to you when I said I didn’t know anything about them. I know all about them. I know how to read them—and how to use them. My entire family does, but we keep it a secret, passed down from generation to generation. They are only to be used as a last defense against evil, or in the gravest of illnesses. And here, with magic banned . . . well, even though the Wyrdmarks are a different kind of power, I’m sure that if people discovered I was using them, I’d be imprisoned for it.”

Celaena tried to sit up straighter, cursing herself for being unable to move without wanting to faint from pain. “You were using them?”

Nehemia nodded gravely. “We keep them a secret because of the terrible power that they wield. Terrible, in that it can be used for good or evil—though most have used their power for wicked deeds. Since the moment I arrived here, I was aware that someone was using the Wyrdmarks to call forth demons from the Otherworlds—realms beyond our realm. That fool Cain knew enough about the Wyrdmarks to summon the creatures, but didn’t know how to control them and send them back. I’ve spent months banishing and destroying the creatures he summoned; that is why I’ve sometimes been so absent.”

Shame burned on Celaena’s cheeks. How could she ever have believed Nehemia was the one killing the Champions? Celaena lifted her right hand so she could see the scars on it. “That was why you didn’t ask questions the night my hand was bitten. You—you used the Wyrdmarks to heal me.”

“I still don’t know how or where you came across the ridderak—but I think that’s a tale for another time.” Nehemia clicked her tongue. “The marks you found under your bed were drawn by me.” Celaena jolted a bit at that. She hissed as her body gave a collective, miserable throb of pain.

“Those symbols are for protection. You have no idea what a nuisance it was to have to keep redrawing them every time you washed them away.” A smile tugged on the edges of Nehemia’s full lips. “Without them, I think the ridderak would have been drawn to you far sooner.”

“Why?”

“Because Cain hated you, of course. And wanted to eliminate you from the competition. I wish he weren’t dead, so I might ask him where he learned to rip open portals like that. When the poison made you hover between worlds, his very presence somehow brought those creatures to the In-Between to shred you apart. Though after all he’s done, I think he deserved Chaol running him through like that.”

Celaena looked toward the bedroom door. She still hadn’t seen Chaol since yesterday. Had the king punished him for all that he had done to help her?

“That man cares for you more than either of you realize,” Nehemia said, a smile in her voice. Celaena’s face burned.

Nehemia cleared her throat. “I suppose you wish to know how I saved you.”

“If you’re so willing,” Celaena said, and the princess grinned.

“With the Wyrdmarks, I was able to open a portal into one of the realms of the Otherworld—and let through Elena, first queen of Adarlan.”

“You know her?” Celaena raised an eyebrow.

“No—but she answered my call for help. Not all realms are full of darkness and death. Some are filled with creatures of good—beings that, if our need is great enough, will follow us into Erilea to help in our task. She heard your plea for help long before I opened the portal.”

“Is it . . . is it possible to go to these other worlds?” Celaena vaguely recalled the Wyrdgates that she’d stumbled across in that book months and months ago.

Nehemia studied her carefully. “I don’t know. My schooling isn’t yet completed. But the queen was both in and not in this world. She was in the In-Between, where she could not fully cross over, nor could the creatures that you saw. It takes an enormous amount of power to open a true portal to let something through—and even then, the portal will close after a moment. Cain could open it long enough for the ridderak to come through, but then it would shut. So I had to open it long enough to send it back. We’ve been playing a cat-and-mouse game for months.” She rubbed her temples. “You have no idea how exhausting it’s been.”

“Cain summoned all of those things at the duel, didn’t he?”

Nehemia contemplated the question. “Perhaps. They might have already been waiting.”

“But I could only see them because of the bloodbane that Kaltain gave me?”

“I don’t know, Elentiya.” Nehemia sighed and stood. “All I know is that Cain knew the secrets of my people’s power—power that has long been forgotten in the lands of the North. And that troubles me.”

“At least he’s dead,” Celaena offered, then swallowed. “But . . . but in that . . . place—Cain didn’t look like Cain. He looked like a demon. Why?”

“Perhaps the evil he kept summoning seeped into his soul and twisted him into something he was not.”

“He talked about me. Like he knew everything.” Celaena clenched the blankets.

Something flickered in Nehemia’s gaze. “Sometimes, the wicked will tell us things just to confuse us—to haunt our thoughts long after we’ve faced them. He would be delighted to know you’re still fretting over whatever nonsense he said.” Nehemia patted her hand. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s still troubling you; put those thoughts from your mind.”

“At least the king doesn’t know about any of this; I can’t imagine what he’d do if he had access to that kind of power.”

“I can imagine a great deal,” Nehemia said softly. “Do you know what the Wyrdmark is that burned on your forehead?”