“Did you hear that?” Ahlvie asked, his eyes scanning the mountains closing in all around them.

“You are making everyone jumpy,” Avoca ground out. “There is nothing in these mountains.”

“Actually—” Basille said from the front of the line.

“Shut it,” Cyrene snapped at him.

Ever since they had set foot in the Drop Pass, Basille had been hinting at ghost stories and monsters and all manner of creatures that would swoop in and destroy them. It was making everyone jittery. Even Matilde and Vera, who were never ruffled.

Cyrene heeled her horse forward to come to the outside of Vera. “Do you know what we’re looking for?”

“We’ll direct Master Selby in the right direction, but we were here many years ago, and the passage into the caves was completely obliterated,” Vera told her.

“Obliterated?” Cyrene asked uneasily.

“Blasted off the face of the earth.”

“How?”

“I believe you mean…by what?” Vera said grimly.

Cyrene leaned in closer. “Are you saying there actually are creatures that haunt this pass?”

“I’m saying that the stories aren’t for nothing.”

“Keep your eyes open and your senses sharp,” Matilde said.

“And your magic close,” Vera added.

“Wonderful,” Cyrene muttered under her breath.

She held her magic on a short leash as she moved back to Avoca’s side. Though the Pass wasn’t narrow by any means, the snowdrifts kept them two abreast as they tramped through the snow. And, even though it was daylight, time seemed to move differently here. Dark clouds hovered overhead. A storm was brewing. Cyrene could practically reach out and touch the intensity of the current. She had learned the hard way not to meddle in weather if she didn’t have to, but something about this called out to her.

“I seriously heard something this time,” Ahlvie said.

Cyrene groaned.

“His ears are sharper than ours,” Orden reminded them.

She hadn’t heard a thing, but Orden was right. Maybe Ahlvie could hear something they couldn’t. All she saw all around her were white snowdrifts, tall evergreen trees, and endless black granite that the Barren Mountains were known for. Its highest peak was called the Black Mountain of Death. Real cheery.

A twig snapped in the distance, and Cyrene’s eyes darted to where the sound had come from. “Okay, I heard that,” she whispered.

She held her magic taut, like a bow ready to fire, and waited. Avoca also grasped her magic, and a blade slid into her hand. Heeling Ceffy toward the source of the noise, Cyrene held her breath as she approached. Whatever was hiding in these mountains was making them all insane. She could feel the tension in her group. They needed to find these caves and get out of here. Nothing good could come from somewhere like this. And certainly not if they had to stop at every stray sound.

Another crack sounded a half-step from where she was standing on the tree line. With a quick jolt, she snapped her magic out at the unsuspecting victim. A yelp came from the trees, and then an average-sized white rabbit darted out of the clearing before hurrying out of view.

She released her breath in a gasp. A few chuckles were heard behind her.

“See? It’s nothing,” she assured them.

Ahlvie looked sheepish. “It felt like more than a rabbit.”

“Maybe your senses are wrong here,” she suggested, urging them forward again.

They had a lot of ground to cover.

“Everything feels wrong here,” Basille said from the front. “It always does.”

“But you’ve been through before. So, we’ll make it this time,” Cyrene said with feigned confidence.

The higher they got up in the mountains, the harder it was to breathe. The Pass was overrun with snow already this early in the season. Basille threw back a long rope once it became clear that, if they stepped off his trail, they could be lost in the snow. They each tied together their horses and moved single file through the cold. The weather was so damp and uncomfortable that even Matilde and Vera were helping to heat the whole party and their horses. A task they normally considered built character.

“Once we cross the high point, we’ll head toward Black Mountain,” Matilde called to Basille.

He turned back toward them and sneered. “There is no path to Black Mountain. I’ve already told you.”

“We’ll have to make one then.”

“There’s a reason it’s called the Black Mountain of Death.”

“Death was added as a scare tactic,” she said. “I assure you.”

“It worked,” he grumbled.

Cyrene couldn’t shake the feeling of dread settling over her. She didn’t know if it was the tall tales of the Drop Pass that she’d heard as a child. Horrible tales of creatures coming out, endless darkness turning people into ash, and ghosts. Always ghosts.

She shuddered at that thought. Even though she herself had been speaking to a two-thousand-year-old dead ancestor for the last year, the idea of ghosts made gooseflesh dance on her skin and the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“I still hear something,” Ahlvie muttered.

“It’s probably another rabbit,” Avoca said.

But, when Cyrene glanced back at her, she could see that wasn’t what Avoca believed at all.

By the time they were heading to the top of the Pass that afternoon, the cloud had darkened entirely. Each of the girls held a ball of Doma Fire in her hand to lead the way. But the darkness only escalated, as if it had a physical presence pushing in on their magic. The shadows began to shift. The night crept in. And, soon, the bunny was the least of their concerns.

“It’s not ghosts. It’s not ghosts. It’s not ghosts,” Cyrene whispered under her breath.

Lightning cracked overhead, illuminating the mountain for a brief moment. Everything looked normal. Just as it had appeared this morning. But, once the thunder boomed in warning, the answering call was clear.

There was something else out there.

And they were blind.

Then, she heard it.

Swoosh.

“Arrows!” she yelled. “Attack!”

But it was too late.

A distinct thunk said that the arrow had landed into its target. Avoca screamed behind Cyrene.

“Avoca!” Cyrene cried.

She reached for Avoca through the bond and probed for the wound. Through her shoulder. A direct hit, and she was already losing blood. Cyrene could sense the blood as well as her own magic.

Orden took charge in the madness, ordering them out of the open pass and up to the top of the mountain where they would have a better position. They hadn’t gotten to choose where this battle was fought, and it was leaving them at a distinct disadvantage.

Arrows whizzed past them as their horses heaved upward through the snow. Cyrene called wind to herself and blasted the arrows out of the way before they could fall on them again. Matilde and Vera were already working on setting up a barrier, but their group wasn’t stationary, and since they were drawn out across such a wide swath of space, it was difficult to keep in place.

Cyrene put up her own shield in front of Avoca, who couldn’t defend herself. She was doubled over on her horse, breathing heavily into her wound.

She held her Doma Fire at the same time, lighting the path before them, but it gave her no better view of who…or what was behind them. They needed to be able to see. They needed this storm to pass. She was already having difficulty managing too many spells at once. She would have to drop the shield around everyone to open up the sky for them. It wasn’t a risk she could take while Avoca was in danger.

Just before they reached the top of the Pass, an explosion rocked the ground before them. Basille wheeled around to escape the onslaught. His horse bucked and tried to free itself to escape. All of them pulled up tight together, their way barred.

Then, out of the smoke, came dark shadows that moved as smoothly as ghosts and struck fear into Cyrene’s heart.

She swallowed hard and herded Avoca behind her. Their group cut their lead line and then made a circle, facing off with the deadly shadow figures. With their shields up, they were prepared to unleash whatever power they had to stop these ghosts from killing them all.

“How do you kill a ghost?” Ahlvie muttered.

She could feel him bristling, ready to transform at a moment’s notice.

“Those aren’t ghosts,” Matilde said.

“An ambush,” Basille said, shaking his head. He had a thin blade in his hand that he held as if he had been born with it.

Cyrene would never have guessed that he would put himself in a position where he had to actually fight.

“Who are you?” Cyrene shouted into the dark. “Show yourself!”

Then, figures moved from the shadows and toward the light. Armed to the teeth, a woman entered the clearing. A woman Cyrene recognized.

“Guild,” she muttered like a curse.

“Did you think we would let you walk out of our city without paying for your transgressions?” the woman asked.

“Honorary!” the crowd cheered as one.

“So, you’re the Honorary,” Cyrene said, sizing her up.

She’d thought that the group of leaders at the Guild shared power or that they were the face for the true leader. No one had named her as such.

“Yes, of course I am the Honorary, leader of the Guild. And you are here to die.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Ahlvie said with a laugh.

“You’re a long way from your pack, dog,” she bit out.

Matilde moved, as if she were about to strike the Honorary down, but the Honorary held up a finger and wagged it back and forth.

“Uh-uh, I wouldn’t do that. Your magic might be fast, but our arrows are faster.”

“I doubt it,” Vera said boldly.

The Honorary waved her hand, and suddenly, all of their shields were gone. Cyrene startled and reached to replace hers. Once again, it disappeared.

“We can play this game all day,” the Honorary said. “You’re outmatched. Drop your weapons and come quietly. This will all be over soon.”

Her friends scoffed. As if they were going to turn themselves in to these monsters.

“How did you even know where we were going?” Cyrene asked.

“The commander told us, of course.”

Cyrene froze. No. He wouldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have.

The Honorary laughed. “Did you believe he cared for you? That he was on your side?”

Yes. No. Maybe she’d thought that. Despite all of his warnings that he would betray her, she still hadn’t believed that he would do it.

It hurt worse than she wanted to admit. He was right. It was much worse to be double-crossed after making your enemy a friend. She hoped that he had done it for a good reason, but right now, she couldn’t think of a single one. She just felt sad that, once again, her judgment was off.

She should have listened to Avoca. The commander had used her and set her up to be betrayed. He’d wanted knowledge about their magic, and after he had gotten it, he didn’t care.

Her heart constricted. Could it be that simple? Or was he protecting his people, his friends? Did he think she’d already be gone? Was she too hopeful that he wasn’t the villain he’d painted himself as?

“Don’t look so surprised. The commander is an excellent actor. Gaining your trust and then plotting against you once he got what he wanted from you. Truly inspired.”

“I don’t believe you,” Cyrene said.

Avoca groaned behind her. “Just kill the bastards.”

“Your choice,” the Honorary said with cold, dead eyes.

Cyrene didn’t think twice. She launched her energy toward the Honorary, but Matilde beat her to it. She blasted through the defenses the Honorary was holding up. Whatever magic the Honorary was capable of clearly outmatched what the commander had been trained in. Matilde effortlessly weaved the elements together, taking on the Honorary with skill and precision honed over thousands of years.

But Cyrene didn’t have time to watch her skill. They were soon engaged on all sides. More than a dozen Guild members threw themselves at them. These were the dazed and confused lot that had been training the day they met the Honorary. These were their top-notch assassins. The ones that gave the Guild their treasured name.

Ahlvie vaulted off his horse and exploded into fur and claws and fangs. He shredded through the first assassin with ease but was quickly crowded with fighters as he worked to keep people away from Avoca. Cyrene was doing the same thing. Avoca was wielding small amounts of magic, but Cyrene could practically feel the intense pain that she was in. They needed to get that arrow out of her shoulder and quick.

A Guild member threw himself at Cyrene. She reached for the fire sword that she had used all those months ago on Kael. She might not be a master swordsman by any means, but a flaming sword was its own trick. She had killed a Braj out of sheer force of will. She could hope to best this assassin.

She parried with her sword, but the assassin came at her with a whole other tactic. It was clear that she was out of her depth. But she drew on her wealth of magic and pushed back with air, blocked with water, slammed into him with earth, and lit him on fire as often as she could.

She was holding her own but lagging. And more kept coming. When she slew one, another one took its place. The battle became a song, a rhythm, a heartbeat. The tempo rose and fell, hit a crescendo, moved to a feverish pitch, and then settled into a dance.

Her mind and heart and soul all fell into perfect synchronization, and suddenly, she was free. Set sails and open skies and summer days and true love’s kiss. She was soaring in motion. Alight with energy and pulsing with the feel of it all.

It was terrifying and horrible. Blood and blood and blood. Destruction and torment and finite.

Yet she felt more alive than she ever had in her life. More alive than the first time she’d ever found her magic. This spoke to her in a way she’d never experienced. As if she were one with herself. Drinking in the energy all around her—Doma, elemental, blood—all of it crashing into her, using her as a vessel.

As she reveled in her own perfect equilibrium, she knew she was powerful enough to control it all. Strong enough to carve her own path. New path.

She had long wondered if she was the light or dark.

The good or the bad.

Perhaps to win this battle, to end this war, she needed to be both. To be more than separate halves and instead be whole.