Elara wakes to pain in her left hand. She opens her palm. A black mark burns there, shaped like something between a rune and a scar. The edges pulse with heat. She presses it against the cold stone wall beside her bed, but the burning doesn't stop. This is new. The power has never left a mark before. She dresses quickly and climbs the spiral stairs to the tower where she keeps the books no one else is allowed to see. The room is small, with narrow windows that look out over the city. Ivy creeps through the cracks in the stone. She has written four letters here, each one to the vampire king, each one still sitting in her drawer. But now she has something the letters didn't have. She spreads her palm flat on the desk. The sigil gleams black against her skin. It looks old, older than anything in her collection. If the vampire king knows the text she's searching for, he'll know this mark too. She pulls out a fresh sheet of paper and begins the fifth letter. This time, she doesn't need words. She presses her burning palm to the page and lifts it away. The sigil transfers perfectly, black and unmistakable. She folds the paper before she can think better of it and seals it shut.