The meadow grass whispered against Anne's skirts as she walked, the autumn sun warm on her shoulders. After weeks trapped indoors with a colicky baby, the open air tasted like freedom.

  She paused at the oak tree where Liant had tried teaching her levitation last fall. He'd given up and juggled acorns instead while she laughed until her sides ached.

  "You're hopeless at magic," he'd said, grinning. "Good thing I didn't marry you for your spellwork."

  Anne smiled at the memory, sharp enough to ache. That man—who made terrible jokes and burned every meal—was home now, probably humming off-key to Charlotte.

  A doe lifted its head as Anne passed, then returned to grazing. The rabbits near the trees didn't scatter. Even the birds kept singing.

  Everything felt safe.

  Anne turned toward home as the sun touched the horizon.

  The birds stopped singing.

  The rabbits vanished.

  The wind died.

  Anne's heart kicked. She walked faster, then ran as she cleared the trees. Above her cottage, a symbol blazed against the darkening sky—green fire shaped like a monster with a scorpion tail.

  Garka's mark.

  "No." She ran, skirts tangling. "No, no, no!"

  The cottage loomed dark. No lamps in the windows. No smoke from the chimney.

  Anne burst through the door. Furniture lay scattered. Tapestries hung in shreds. Merida the maid lay crumpled by the threshold, an arrow through her chest, eyes staring at nothing.

  Anne stumbled past, legs shaking. In the kitchen—Harold by the fireplace, face frozen in surprise. Old Thomas with a bent poker beside him.

  "Charlotte!" Anne's feet slipped on something wet. Blood. "Charlotte!"

  The nursery door hung splintered. Inside, everything was destroyed. The cradle Liant had carved lay in pieces. Scorch marks blackened the walls. The smell—sulfur and rot—made her gag.

  Maggie lay over the broken cradle, arms wrapped around something.

  "Please, please, please—" Anne fell to her knees, moved Maggie's body aside with shaking hands.

  Charlotte lay beneath. Breathing. Alive.

  But changed.

  A mark spread across the baby's cheek and over her eye—a scar shaped like a rose, so dark it looked black. When Charlotte's eyes opened, they weren't blue anymore.

  They were gold.

  Anne gathered her daughter close, pressing kisses to her forehead. "You're alive, you're alive, you're alive."

  Charlotte made a small sound, golden eyes focusing on Anne's face. She didn't cry.

  Where was Liant?

  Anne clutched Charlotte and stood. Their bedroom door gaped open down the hall. Scorch marks. Spent magic.

  "Liant?" Her voice cracked. "Liant?"

  She forced herself forward.

  He lay in blood, robes torn and burned, wand clutched in his hand. His face was gray, breathing wet and labored. But his eyes found hers.

  "Anne." Barely a whisper. "You're safe."

  "No, no, no!" Anne sank beside him, pressed her free hand against the wound in his chest. Blood seeped through her fingers, hot and slick. "I'll get help, I'll—"

  "No time." He coughed. Blood flecked his lips. "Garka came for Charlotte. The prophecy—he knows."

  "The baby's alive! Look!" Anne held Charlotte where he could see. "You saved her!"

  A ghost of his smile. "The rose mark... my protection spell. I couldn't stop his curse, but I redirected it. Changed it. The mark will stay, but she lives."

  "You're going to be fine, we'll get you to a healer—"

  "Listen." His hand found hers, surprisingly strong. "Charlotte is the prophesied child. Born under the blood moon, marked by dark magic but not corrupted. She will defeat Garka. But not now. Not as a baby."

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  Tears streamed down Anne's face. "Please don't leave me. Please, Liant—"

  "Hide her. Take her somewhere he'll never look. Somewhere ordinary. When the time comes, she'll know what to do. The light lives in her now."

  "The light?"

  "My last spell. I gave her part of my magic. My protection. That's why her eyes changed." He looked at Charlotte. "She carries my light now. She'll need it to face the darkness."

  Charlotte reached out with one tiny hand.

  "Hello, little one." Liant's voice was fading. "Be brave. Be strong. Make terrible jokes. Live." His eyes found Anne's. "I love you. I always will. Even when I'm gone."

  "Liant, no—"

  "Remember the acorns." He smiled. Then his chest rose once and stopped.

  "Liant!" Anne shook him. "Come back, please come back—"

  But he was gone.

  Anne knelt there, holding Charlotte with one arm while clutching her husband's hand. Her throat was raw.

  Charlotte began to fuss. Hungry. Scared.

  Garka could return any moment.

  Liant had died to save Charlotte. Anne couldn't let that mean nothing.

  "I'm sorry." She kissed Liant's forehead one last time. His skin was already cold. "I love you. I'll always love you."

  With Charlotte held tight, Anne ran.

  Past the bodies. Out into the night where Garka's mark still blazed. Across the meadow, into the woods, following paths she knew by heart. Branches tore at her clothes. Charlotte wailed. Anne's lungs burned, but she didn't stop.

  Behind her, the cottage began to burn, removing all traces of what happened and the bodies within.

  She ran until her legs gave out. Ran until she collapsed at the wood's edge, vomiting while Charlotte screamed. Ran until her feet bled.

  By the time she reached Jezzilie's cottage, the moon was high. Her dress was torn and muddy, soaked with Liant's blood. Charlotte was wailing.

  Warm light glowed in the cottage windows. Anne knocked three times, then sagged against the doorframe.

  "Coming! Who on earth knocks at a door at this time—" The door opened. Jezzilie's expression shifted from annoyance to alarm. "Anne? What happened? Come in, quickly!"

  Jezzilie pulled Anne inside. "You look half-dead. And the baby—what's that mark?"

  Anne opened her mouth. Only a sob came out. Her legs buckled. Jezzilie caught her, guided her to the sofa.

  "Sit. Let me take her." Jezzilie lifted Charlotte gently. The baby cried harder, golden eyes streaming tears. "She's not hurt, just hungry and frightened. But this scar... Anne, what is this?"

  "Dark magic." Anne's voice was hoarse. "Garka's curse. It should have killed her."

  Jezzilie went pale. She sank into a chair. "Start from the beginning."

  Anne told her. The words came haltingly, then in a rush. The peaceful walk. The mark above her home. The bodies. Finding Charlotte alive with the scar. And Liant—

  Her voice broke.

  "He defended her," Anne continued. "Used a protection spell. He couldn't stop the curse completely, but he redirected it. Changed it. The scar is where the dark magic touched her, but it didn't penetrate."

  "And her eyes?"

  "His last spell. He gave her part of his light magic. His protection. So she could survive." Anne's voice dropped. "The child born under the blood moon, marked but not broken, shall shatter the shadow's hold."

  Jezzilie closed her eyes. "Charlotte is the prophesied child."

  "Yes. And Garka knows. That's why he came." Anne leaned forward. "Jezzilie, I need your help. I can't keep her safe. If she's with me, he'll find her. Please—"

  "There is one way." Jezzilie's voice was quiet. "But Anne, you won't like it."

  "I'll do anything."

  "She needs to disappear. Completely." Jezzilie looked down at Charlotte. "Into the non-magical world, with a family that has no connection to us. We'll place enchantments to hide her magical signature. As far as anyone knows, she died in the attack tonight. She'll grow up ordinary, unnoticed, safe."

  Anne felt struck. "You're saying I have to give her up."

  "Yes."

  "For how long?"

  "Until she comes of age for schooling. Eleven years. Maybe longer."

  "I can't." Anne shook her head. "She's all I have left of him. She's my daughter—"

  "Anne." Jezzilie's voice was firm. "Liant died to save her. Don't let his sacrifice be for nothing."

  The words hit like a blow.

  Jezzilie was right. If she kept Charlotte, she was sentencing her daughter to death. Garka wouldn't stop hunting. Next time, there would be no Liant to protect them. Anne couldn't defend Charlotte against a dark sorcerer.

  But the thought of giving her baby away—never watching her grow, never hearing her first words—was unbearable.

  "I need time," Anne whispered. "Please. Just a few days. Let me see if there's another way."

  Jezzilie hesitated, then nodded. "Three days. But if there's any sign that Garka's people are searching—"

  "I know."

  Anne stayed at Jezzilie's cottage for three days. She held Charlotte constantly, memorizing everything—the weight of her, the warmth, the baby smell of her skin. She tried to think of alternatives. Running to another country. Changing their names. Hiding in the non-magical world herself.

  But every plan had the same flaw: Anne was known. She was Liant's wife. She had magical blood. Garka's people would find her eventually.

  Charlotte, though—Charlotte could disappear. A baby adopted into a non-magical family, with enchantments to hide her magical signature, would be invisible.

  On the third day, Anne made her decision.

  "I'll do it." Her voice was hollow. "Find her a family. A good family."

  "I will. I promise." Jezzilie paused. "What will you do?"

  "Leave the country. Start over somewhere he'll never think to look." Anne looked down at Charlotte, sleeping peacefully. "Don't tell me where you place her. It's better if I don't know. That way, if he finds me..."

  "He can't torture it out of you," Jezzilie finished. "I understand."

  Anne spent one more night holding her daughter. She sang to her—the same lullabies Liant used to hum off-key. She told her stories about her father, about the man who'd juggled acorns and made terrible jokes and loved them both more than life itself.

  "You have his light now," Anne whispered. "You have his strength. And one day, when you're older and ready to face the darkness, you'll understand why I did this. You'll understand that everything—everything—was to give you a chance to live."

  When morning came, Anne kissed Charlotte's forehead one last time. She traced the outline of the rose scar with one gentle finger.

  "Goodbye, my little light."

  Then she handed Charlotte to Jezzilie and walked out the door before she could change her mind.

  The morning was cold and gray. Anne made her way down the path, away from the cottage, away from Charlotte, away from everything she'd ever known. Behind her, she heard Jezzilie close the door with a soft click.

  Anne didn't look back. If she looked back, she'd run back inside, snatch Charlotte up, and doom them both.

  So she walked forward into the gray morning, her arms empty, her heart shattered, but with one small, desperate hope:

  That by losing everything, she'd saved the one thing that mattered most.