Ember Frost’s POV

Elder Marcus exhaled softly, his expression clouded with worry. He didn’t argue or question anything; he simply fell silent, lifted his hands, and summoned a small flame that reduced the strand of hair to powder. Then he pricked the Northern Duke’s fingertip, took a drop of blood, and mixed it with the ashes. With steady fingers, she brushed the strange mixture across Seraphina’s forehead, shaping it into a star-like mark.

The effect was instantaneous. Whatever ...