Harder than tipping nectar into the Drae’s mouth was getting him onto a horse without losing contact. I stood and helped lift Tyrrik upright and then climbed onto the horse while holding his hand. Then I leaned down, straightening as Kamoi and Dyter lifted the Drae and draped him in front of me and over the steed. I felt the warmth of his body where he overlapped on the tops of my knees.

“Tamah, Makoa, please resume your posts here,” Kamoi ordered. “Akani will escort us in and return tomorrow morning.”

The two Phaetyn dipped their heads and strode out toward the edges of the forest, facing the deadly wall and the brutal landscape just outside.

My horse trotted after the others with Dyter plodding behind on his horse.

“Dyter,” I called back. “What do you know of the Gemond King?” Now that the danger to Tyrrik had passed, and we were heading toward safety, my mind wandered back to what had caused all of this trouble in the first place.

“Can’t say I speak to many Gemondians, but those I do make no complaint against him. Their kingdom is a hungry kingdom, as Verald was. Those of their people who joined the rebellion were those wishing to overthrow the emperor.”

There he went again with the talk of overthrowing the emperor. I’d seen hundreds of rebels die in a single jet of Drae flame. How could Dyter even talk about another attempt so soon? I had just transformed, and Tyrrik—being nearly one hundred and ten years of age—possessed much more control and power. How much control and power did the emperor possess? If power increased with age, he would be tough to beat.

“I saw something before we fell,” I said, running my thumb over Tyrrik’s back. “There was a tribe of elderly Gemondian women fighting over a male, and the others . . . ate one of the women when she tried to take the man for herself.” Bile rose in my throat just thinking about it. “How could that happen? How could a king allow that kind of atrocity? Does he know that happens, and he does nothing? And, if he doesn’t know . . . how could he not know? They are his people, Dyter.”

Dyter took a deep breath, forehead wrinkling. He pursed his lips while he contemplated and then said, “We do not know much of Gemond, Ryn. We do not know the circumstances.”

I blinked several times as his words sunk in. I set my jaw, and with a shake of my head, I said, “I know what I saw.”

I thought of the people of Verald, and I couldn’t conceive of any reason they would debase themselves to cannibalism. But the women in the Gemondian camp didn’t seem to share my view. I couldn’t make sense of their madness.

The smaller trees disappeared as the canopy grew thicker from the foliage of the larger trees. Our horses wound between the enormous trunks in single file. I assumed the Phaetyn knew where we were going because the spots of sunlight beaming through the canopy disappeared, and only filtered light trickled through. It was impossible to use the sun’s position as a guide, and that would only help if I knew which direction we were supposed to be going.

I checked Tyrrik and shifted my legs as much as his weight allowed. The restlessness of my mind made no sense. “Tell me of Gemond, Dyter. Please.”

I couldn’t shake my repulsion over what I’d seen, and to me, the Gemond King and the emperor were pretty much on equal footing in terms of horrors induced on the helpless. Dyter couldn’t ask one villain to join his team against another.

“You know their kingdom is nestled deep in the Gemond Mountains at the northern tip of the realm?”

I nodded as his voice carried forward to me.

“They’re miners. They excavate everything from minerals, various rock, and precious gems. But, like we in Verald, the hunting of the Phaetyn resulted in the slow death of their kingdom. Their land is stripped just like Verald. Their population has also suffered loss—there are more women than men.”

I nodded. I understood all of that. We might grow some plants on our own, but the way Dyter spoke of Gemond, it didn’t seem that much different than Verald.

“Their society does have some distinct differences.”

“You mean besides eating each other?” I muttered.

Dyter continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Gemond is a polygamous society. Rather than have large numbers of single and widowed women, they adopted polygamy. It’s been that way for years . . . as long as I can remember.”

That was nothing like Verald. The idea of sharing—I sucked in a deep breath and realized I was gripping Tyrrik’s aketon. I forced myself to relax my hold as I thought of the rationale of that type of society. Was that worse than what I’d seen growing up? With the ratios of men to women, maybe not.

“But you’re referencing their eating habits, I assume.”

Eating habits? “That’s putting cannibalism mildly.”

“As I understand it,” he said, ignoring my quip, “In a bid to keep his people fed and his kingdom viable, King Zuli decreed women over the age of fifty and men over the age of seventy would have to leave the kingdom proper. Only those who can reproduce are kept fed by the kingdom; the rest are escorted into the depths of the Gemond Mountains to live out their remaining days as best they can.”

My mouth dropped open. “That’s horrible. He throws out the old people? How could he do such a thing? How can their families bear it?”

“I don’t know, Rynnie,” Dyter said softly. “King Zuli was the first king to institute the practice, and he left when he turned seventy, just like the others. His son, Zakai, is the king now.”

Obviously the king of Gemond was a monster, and his son was equally insane. Just as ours had been, a power-hungry tyrant who cared for no one.

As I sat simmering in anger, Kamoi called back to us, “Another two hours, and we shall reach the heart of Zivost and our people.”

Our people. The two words pulled me from my darkening thoughts. I was going to meet my people and learn Phaetyn ways. Maybe Kamoi could teach me how to make things grow without my spit or blood. That would be handy when I went back to Verald . . . or maybe while I was here by Gemond. “Will you teach me how to do the plant stuff?” I called ahead. “Like how can I make things grow, and how do we replenish the land? Oh, and can you explain the healing mojo, how that works?”

The two Phaetyn winced though the prince turned to me. With his features settled into a weary expression, he replied, “Yes, Ryn. Power like yours could do much good if properly honed. We will teach you all we can.”

All we can. “Can’t you teach me everything?”

Kamoi shifted in his saddle, facing back to the front, but not before I caught sight of his frown.

“Can’t you?” I pressed.

His voice was tight as his words floated back to me. “I’m afraid only time will tell us that.”

* * *

The air in the middle of the Zivost forest smelled of mint, pine, and citrus; the scent calming and clean. The clearing looked like a cross-section of the Market Circuit back in Verald—stalls of produce were interspersed with artisan crafts: ceramic bowls, tapestries, woven baskets, and bolts of fabrics in natural hues.

The Phaetyn varied in size and shape, but none appeared sickly or wan. Their pale skin practically glowed, and their glistening silver hair hung straight and lustrous; most of the men wore their hair pulled back at the napes of their necks while the women wore their locks loose.

As we passed, the murmur of their voices followed. Despite the melodic sound, there was a clipped edge to their whispered conversations. Many violet eyes widened as Kamoi escorted us toward a large tree in the center of the clearing in Zivost, or Phaetynville—as I’d dubbed it.

“What are they saying?” I asked Dyter. As if he would know.

He rolled his eyes at me, and I responded with a one-shouldered shrug. I couldn’t help my instinct to ask him. Until recently, I’d always assumed Dyter knew everything in the realm. In reality, he probably still knew way more than me.

I shifted Tyrrik’s body again. Despite his leanness, the Drae was heavy and his weight was putting my legs to sleep.

I met the gaze of a female Phaetyn around my age, but she broke off our shared stare and walked away. I tried the same thing with another Phaetyn, and another, yet as soon as I caught someone’s eye, they averted their gaze.

“Do I have something on my face, Dyter?” I asked.

Stupid question. I was a mess. My aketon was torn and bloody, both with Tyrrik’s black blood and my blue. I had an unconscious Drae draped across me, who was also a bloody mess, not to mention he was their sworn enemy. Could they tell what he was just by looking at him? To me, he’d never looked ‘of this world,’ too handsome, too world-weary, too fond of black clothing. But could they tell?

“Kamoi spoke with the elders as we neared,” Dyter told me in a whisper.

“How?”

“Through the trees.” The old man shrugged. I had to admire his ability to adapt. The girl he’d known from early childhood was both a Phaetyn and a Drae, and we were walking through a forest of sentient trees, and Dyter looked as calm as if he was serving stew and ale on a Thursday night.

“It’s likely word has spread about what you are. I’m sure they are just as curious about you as you are about them,” he added.

I was a mess and a novelty. Excellent. Great. Best news ever. And why was he whispering if they already knew? Alarm bells rang in my head, and my skin crawled as the Phaetyn’s eyes continued to avert upon landing on me, like I’d stepped in horse turd and no one wanted to tell me. “But we’re safe here, right?”

As if in response, a high-pitched whistle buzzed in my right ear, and I instinctively leaned forward, covering Tyrrik with my body.

A sharp pinch in my side made me gasp. Warmth spread from the area, and with it came a jolt of energy that made my heart race. What the hay?

I reached around my torso, and my hand brushed a feathered shaft . . . stuck in my body. In my body. Which would’ve been Tyrrik’s body if I hadn’t covered him. Mistress moons! That made me furious. Did they not know how much effort it took to save him?

I yanked the dart out and stared at the three inch needle. I could feel my skin knit back together. My simmering anger turned to rage in a heartbeat, and scales exploded up the sides of my neck. I had not gone through all that trouble to save Tyrrik only to have him killed here.

“Kamoi,” I said. Except a harsh growl came out instead, resounding through the clearing.

Someone screamed, and more erupted. Several Phaetyn darted out of the clearing and into the trees.

The gorgeous Phaetyn prince turned in his saddle, and I threw the dart at him. “You bloody well better not be intentionally betraying me, or I’ll personally make sure the Phaetyn are extinct.”

I breathed hard, trying not to Drae-out completely. That would be a bad thing, especially for Tyrrik.

Kamoi’s eyes widened, and his skin paled. “Leoleo, laina i luga,” he barked. “Taofi ia saogalemu, aemaise le fafine.”

A dozen male Phaetyn appeared, each with a spear in one hand and an expansive shield in the other. These men looked nothing like the civilians in the marketplace, obvious by their muscular bodies, their matching purple aketons, and the way they carried themselves. They wore fierce expressions, and their corded arms were sleeved in winding and intricate tattoos. They surrounded our party in a protective circle.

Kamoi faced me, his violet eyes glowing. “I’m so sorry, Kealani.”