Lyre grabbed the back of Clio’s top and hauled her out of the way as the dragon lunged at them. Its huge jaws snapped shut, missing her by inches. He shoved her in front of him, and she landed on her feet already running. He sprinted after her.

The dragon plunged back into the water, vanishing beneath the surface, but he didn’t trust its retreat. Clio flew down the fallen tree trunk ahead of him, her feet barely touching the bark. Her hair streamed behind her, blond that shone and shimmered like moonlight on water, and faint green markings on her ivory skin trailed up and down her arms and legs.

If they survived the next five minutes, he would love to get a better look at her daemon form.

They raced down the tree and leaped into calf-deep water. Splashing through the shallows, they ran out onto the wide gravel bank. Beyond it, a forest of towering trees stood like a dark wall.

Breathing hard, Clio stumbled to a stop and turned. Lyre glanced back, his heart hammering and his head spinning from the damn drugged tea. On the far bank, Sabir and the other jinn stood well back from the river’s edge. With the reflective surface of the water in their path, the jinns couldn’t shadow-step across the river. One problem solved.

A faint splash.

In a wild spray, the silver dragon charged out of the river. Lyre backpedaled. Without magic, he was useless.

Clio sprang in front of him and flung a spell at the beast’s face. It ducked its head. The magic hit its shimmering silver scales and sloughed right off.

Lyre tackled her around the middle, dragging her to the ground as the beast snapped its jaws shut where her head had been. The creature skidded to a stop, heavy finned tail whipping past and almost catching Lyre in the chest. It was right on top of them, deadly talons sinking into the gravel inches from their flesh.

Clio dove one way and Lyre rolled the other. As he lunged up, he shed his glamour. Strength flowed through him, washing away some of the dizziness. He still couldn’t grasp or use his magic, but at least he wasn’t as slow and weak.

The dragon whirled on Clio and snapped its huge jaws again. She danced back, grace and agility in every movement. As Lyre grabbed his bow off his shoulder and pulled an arrow, Clio sprang straight at the dragon’s face. She grabbed its muzzle and used it to launch herself over its head. She landed on its shoulders, jumped off it, and dropped beside Lyre.

He barely managed not to gape. Since when was his clumsy, accident-prone nymph so nimble?

Flipping an arrow onto his bow, he raised it and fired. The bolt hit the dragon in the chest and shattered. Bloody hell. He needed his weaves but he couldn’t use his magic to activate them.

The dragon lunged at him and Clio. She flung a binding at the beast that tangled its front legs. It stumbled, and Lyre used the extra moment to grab a dagger from the sheath on his thigh. He slashed at the beast’s face.

The blade hit the scales of its cheek and skidded across them—right over the creature’s eye.

Blood sprayed and the dragon lurched backward with a high-pitched whine. It stumbled again, front legs still bound. Lyre backed up, Clio beside him, and grabbed another arrow from his quiver—this one woven with his best armor-piercing weave. As he laid it on his bow, Clio touched the arrow and the weave activated.

He drew the string back and loosed the bolt.

It hit the dragon in the chest and sank in deep. Golden light flashed. The spell exploded in a spray of blood and the dragon screamed as it collapsed onto its belly. Lyre stumbled backward, catching his breath.

The light dimmed. He looked up as heavy clouds rolled across the planet’s face. The light reflecting off the river disappeared and the water went dark.

He jerked around to face the opposite shore, but the two jinns had already disappeared. He scanned the black water, his stomach clenching. They were coming.

Realizing it too, Clio cupped her hands, preparing another extra-bright light spell. Lyre drew a new arrow and raised his bow, waiting for a sign of where they might appear.

Clio sprang backward. Sabir materialized out of her shadow, his dagger flashing. It caught her forearm, cutting up the underside and across her wrist. Her half-formed light spell burst apart and the concussion slammed into Lyre, throwing him backward. Clio crashed to the ground nearby.

Jolting half upright, Lyre fired his arrow. Sabir melted into nothing, then reappeared a step away with his hand extended toward Clio, magic flashing. With no time to grab another arrow, Lyre desperately called on his own magic but only sick dizziness answered.

A scream erupted, rising shrilly.

The other jinn had shadow-stepped onto the riverbank as well, but he hadn’t joined the fight. He was alone on a stretch of gravel, on his knees and clutching his head. He didn’t appear injured, but he shrieked as though his head were being crushed in a vise, his voice rising even higher until it cracked.

His agonized cry cut off but he didn’t move, hands fisted in his hair and eyes squeezed shut. In the silence that followed, Lyre’s entire body went cold. It took him a moment to realize why.

The slosh of water lapping at the bank had vanished. The river had gone utterly silent. Had he gone deaf? The clouds shifted and silvery light streamed down, illuminating the river once more—and Lyre knew he hadn’t lost his hearing.

The water had gone as calm and still as glass. It reflected the sky like a perfect mirror, not a single ripple disturbing its surface.

And standing in the shallows of the unnaturally still river was a daemon.

The planet’s light shimmered on the jewel-like scales that covered most of his body in a rainbow of blues, greens, and purples, and deep green hair fell to his waist. Not a splash or ripple of water broke the silence as the daemon paced unhurriedly to the shore. His tail, ending in broad double fins, lifted from the water, breaking his contact with the river, and the surface erupted in ripples as the current returned all at once.

Lyre didn’t move. Couldn’t move. What kind of power was this? What kind of daemon could control a river’s current?

The daemon approached the immobilized jinn, still on his knees and clutching his head. Stopping in front of his victim, the daemon touched the jinn’s forehead. Blue light flickered under his fingertips. The jinn arched in silent agony, then collapsed backward.

Dead. Dead before he hit the ground.

Sabir gasped, a sound of pain and disbelief. Clutching his dagger, the blade coated in Clio’s blood, he melted into shadow.

The new daemon turned. His dark eyes slid across Lyre and Clio, and in the center of his forehead, three teardrop scales glowed, identical to the ones on the silver dragon.

“Ryujin,” Clio whispered hoarsely.

The daemon raised his hand, the motion smooth and graceful. Blue light danced over his fingers, their clawed tips shining, and the scales on his forehead brightened ominously.

He whirled, swift and deadly, and thrust his glowing claws at nothing.

Except in the same moment that the ryujin struck, Sabir appeared in his path. Those gleaming claws hooked into the jinn’s neck and, casual as that, the ryujin ripped his throat out.

Sabir staggered back a step, his dagger weaving drunkenly as though he couldn’t understand what had happened. Lyre couldn’t understand it either. How had the ryujin known where Sabir would appear?

The jinn crumpled to the ground and the ryujin pivoted again to face Lyre and Clio.

Still on his knees, Lyre grabbed an arrow from his quiver. As he slapped it into place, Clio reached to activate the spell, her injured arm pressed to her chest.

The ryujin swept both arms wide as though inviting the embrace of an invisible stranger.

Magic exploded out of him. The wave of fiery blue light hurtled across the riverbank. Clio lunged in front of Lyre and cast a green bubble shield over them. The blast, as powerful as anything Ash had unleashed on him, slammed into the shield, ripped it apart, and hit them, its force barely diminished.

The river and sky spun in his vision and he tumbled across the rocks, almost losing hold of his bow. Pain ricocheted through his limbs and his skull ached sickeningly. Scarcely able to move, he pushed onto his hands and knees and looked up. Clio was sprawled awkwardly a few feet away, unmoving, with a puddle of blood forming under her injured arm.

Two dozen yards away, the ryujin glided toward them, finned tail swishing behind him and odd, narrow appendages flaring out from its base. Lyre reached for his quiver but lost his balance and half fell.

The ryujin was coming. He had to do something. He had to fight the daemon. Somehow, he had to find a way. Beside him, Clio was unconscious and bleeding. He straightened and grabbed an arrow. His vision blurred and doubled, but he got the arrow in place by feel alone. With unsteady hands, he raised the bow.

The ryujin stopped. Their eyes met, and Lyre clenched his jaw as he drew the string back, knowing the arrow was as good as useless without magic to aid it.

A quiet whimper.

The ryujin’s head snapped toward the sound. The silver dragon Lyre had shot groaned again, its chest heaving for air.

Without so much as a glance at Lyre, the ryujin abandoned his course and sped to the dragon. Sinking to his knees, he pressed his hands to the beast’s chest, a blue glow lighting under his palms.

Lyre hesitated, bow drawn and arrow ready. The ryujin didn’t look up, his attention focused on the dragon. He was attempting to heal such a terrible wound? There was no way he could save the creature.

But if he intended to try, he would be busy for at least a few minutes.

Lyre stuffed the arrow back in his quiver, slung the bow over his shoulder, and heaved Clio’s limp form into his arms. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled toward the dark wall of trees.

Just before plunging into the forest shadows, he glanced back. The ryujin met his stare with strange eyes, solid black with no sclera or pupils, colder than the depths of an ocean. Then the daemon returned his attention to the dying dragon.

Lyre fled into the trees, knowing that once the dragon died under his hands, the ryujin would come for them again—even hungrier for their blood.

* * *

He shoved through the underbrush as fast as he could manage. Once he’d put a few hundred yards between him and the ryujin, he stopped, breathing hard, and laid Clio on the mossy ground. Blood smeared her arm and had splattered all over her pale skin.

He checked the wound, furious that he couldn’t access his magic to stop the bleeding. With no better options, he stripped off his shirt and undershirt, then shredded the latter and tightly bound her arm. After redressing and strapping on his bow and quiver again, he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and marched on, hoping she wouldn’t bleed out before he regained his magic. There was nothing else he could do.

He had no idea where he was going and he couldn’t cast a light. All he could do was hope he was heading east. The undergrowth was thick and tangled, full of strange plants and unfamiliar trees. He tried not to touch anything; throughout the previous day, Sabir and Clio had warned him about poisonous plant life. A muted symphony of chirping, buzzing, and croaking from insects and amphibians filled the darkness.

The Overworld was beautiful, he couldn’t deny that. But it seemed like the more beautiful something was, the deadlier it was as well.

Like those silver dragons. And the ryujin, with jeweled scales covering half his body. Beautiful but deadly. Clio hadn’t been sure how powerful the ryujin really were, but having recently fought a draconian, Lyre was confident the ryujin rivaled the most powerful Underworld caste.

Clio eventually stirred awake. They exchanged a few terse words before continuing. The ryujin knew trespassers had entered their territory. There was no stopping, no turning back. He and Clio had to keep going.

The long night stretched on, the planet above waxing until its full round face glared down at the land. The foothills stretched endlessly, and with no guide and only a general direction to travel in, he and Clio struggled to find passable terrain.

Lyre’s ability to use magic reawakened after a few hours, and he and Clio took their first real break so he could heal her arm. His healing skills were rudimentary at best and he knew he’d done a poor job, nothing like the perfect healing she’d performed on him. Her arm would scar, but otherwise, there would be no lasting damage.

They traveled onward. The foothills grew rockier and more impassable, forcing Lyre and Clio to detour back into ryujin territory. They trekked through a dark forest with tangled roots carpeting the ground and moss coating every surface, the sweet smell of rotting vegetation clogging their noses.

Their path carried them higher until they came out of the trees onto a ridge, not unlike the one where they’d fought the jinn. On one side was the valley they’d crossed, and on the other, the rocky terrain dropped in a sheer cliff. Across the gorge, a waterfall plunged into a narrow river where misty clouds shimmered faintly.

From the high vantage point, Lyre could see farther into the Kyo Kawa mountains than he’d yet been able to. He’d thought the Overworld was beautiful before—but he’d had no idea.

Miles of sweeping valley spread before them, and the dark forests were alight. Unidentifiable orbs shone softly, scattered through the trees like azure stars, and rising above the trees, thousands of lights in green, blue, pink, and purple danced and swirled.

“What …” he mumbled, awed but confused.

“Bell moths,” Clio answered, her voice hoarse with fatigue. “And the larger lights are wellata pods—the fruit of a vine. Incandescent at night.”

“It’s beautiful.”

She smiled tiredly, her pale skin radiant under the moonlight. He’d shifted back to his human glamour in case the ryujin could follow his unfamiliar Underworld magic, but she’d remained in her nymph form. Speaking of beautiful sights in this world …

“Irida is like that too. I think you’ll—” She broke off, her lips pressed tightly together as she stared at the river below them. “I can see blue auras in the water. Either dragons or ryujin. They might be tracking us.”

“Will they follow us into Irida?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then we’ll stay away from the water and keep going.”

She closed her eyes, gathering her strength—her shoulders straightening, chin lifting, hands curling into fists. He did the same, summoning the stamina and endurance he would need to make it out of this territory. Fear would have to keep him going.

The ryujin frightened him—scared him on a deeper, more visceral level than Ash’s manufactured terror ever could. The way the ryujin had mysteriously brought the jinn to his knees. The way the ryujin had calmly and callously murdered the daemon, and had just as calmly and easily ripped out Sabir’s throat. The way the ryujin had turned an entire river to still, silent glass.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he focused on their journey through valleys and up ridges, back down into valleys, always avoiding rivers where ryujin might be lurking. The rocky ground evolved into soft turf so gradually that Lyre missed the moment of transition, and now he found himself walking through a magical Overworld forest.

Softly glowing azure pods hung from tree branches, long tendrils dangling from the bases like pale streamers. The radiant moss that covered every surface cast an enchanting but eerie turquoise hue over the woods. Insects flitted and darted, danced and swirled, their wings or bodies glowing or flashing, some as large as his outspread hand or even bigger. Their wings whirred quietly, filling the still air with a quiet hum, and delicate chirps that could have been birds or frogs echoed nearby.

The trees had reached monstrous proportions and their heavy roots coiled across the ground in waves and arches so large that he and Clio walked beneath them as often as they walked over them. Flowers bloomed from low plants and climbing vines, some aglow with bright markings or with thick bodies that held a luminous liquid. The equally vibrant insects fluttered among them in a feeding ecstasy.

Lyre walked a step behind Clio, staring all around. In the canopy high above, a pair of large green eyes blinked at him from a branch, then the small, furry creature hopped into the foliage and disappeared. Movement from the corner of his eye had him turning toward a fat tree root where a centipede-like insect, as long as his arm and almost as thick, scurried across the bark with countless legs that flickered with neon yellow light.

Clio stopped and Lyre almost walked into her back. His gaze flashed around in alarm.

“Look,” she said breathlessly, pointing. “We made it.”

In the distance, almost obscured by the foliage, a double line of green lights stretched into the trees. Lyre squinted, trying to figure out what the lights were.

Before he could ask, she rushed forward with renewed energy, weaving among tree roots and tall plant stalks with iridescent violet poofs on their tops. Lyre hurried after her, then slowed to a stop, letting her go on without him.

Ahead were two simple wooden posts topped with pieces of rough crystal that glowed electric green with a spell. The posts marked the beginning of a wooden boardwalk that wound into the trees, the simple planks flowing up and over patches of heavy underbrush or dipping under the looping roots covered in soft moss and vines. Every dozen paces, another pair of crystal lamps guided travelers along the trail.

From the head of the boardwalk, two paths forked—the first roads he’d seen since entering this realm. One headed west toward the ryujin mountains and one angled north. A post, its top holding another glowing crystal, had three markings carved into it, each indicating a trail.

Clio raced to the signpost and stopped to scan the unfamiliar markings. He watched her, marveling at this stunning creature in a forest more enchanting than any magic he’d ever seen or woven before. She moved without a hint of self-consciousness despite her minimal clothing, absolutely comfortable walking barefoot through the forest. The markings on her skin—spots and whorls in the faintest green—were almost invisible, but when the light caught them, they shimmered. With every tiny movement, she was art in motion.

Exhaling slowly, he started forward again. As he approached, she turned, her silver-sheen hair fluttering around her and her huge eyes shining with unshed tears.

“We made it!” Joy bubbled in her voice, overcoming her weariness. “We’re in Irida!”

He smiled, enjoying her happiness. “You’re home.”

“Finally,” she whispered, a single tear spilling down her cheek. Her gaze flitted across his face, then she slid her arms around his neck and tilted her face up, inviting him to lean down.

He responded without thinking, capturing her lips with his. Her arms tightened, and he caressed her waist, his thumbs running over her smooth skin and finding the strange, slightly rougher texture of the markings that patterned her skin. He slid one hand up her back and into the silk of her hair, deepening the kiss until she melted against him.

In that moment, it really sank in that he was kissing an Overworlder. He, an incubus, held a nymph in his arms. Cordial relations between residents of the two daemon realms were so rare that he and Clio fell into a tiny minority. Somehow, that realization took his breath away more than the beauty of the forest had.

She drew back, her homeland’s lure too much for him to compete with. As she turned toward the boardwalk, she reached back and caught his hand, her fingers soft but her grip firm, holding him tight, keeping him close.

He stepped to her side, tracing the trail of lights as far into the distance as he could see. Irida. Finally. A painful knot of tension released from his spine. They were safe from the ryujin.

“If I remember correctly,” Clio murmured, “we’re about ten miles from the Iridian border with Kyo Kawa. It’ll take another day of travel from here to reach the capital.”

“Ten miles from the ryujin border already?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t remember crossing anything that looked like a border.”

“I don’t think anyone worries about exactly where the border is on this side. The ryujin don’t come here, so …” She shrugged.

“But isn’t Irida under threat of invasion from Ra?”

“I’m sure there are soldiers along that part of the border.”

He squinted thoughtfully. “I don’t know the lay of the land here, but it sounds like the territories of Ra, Kyo Kawa, and Irida all come together at some point. Wouldn’t that mean Ra could cut into ryujin territory to attack Irida from this side? Shouldn’t your king be guarding this area as well?”

She frowned. “Maybe … I don’t know.”

He glanced again at the empty forest behind them. Not a single soldier, scout, or guard. It was strange, but not their concern. He refocused on Clio. “Another day is more than I have in me. We need to rest—soon.”

“Sleeping in the open in this forest isn’t comfortable—the insects will drive us mad. We need shelter, but I’m not sure …” Her eyes went out of focus. “Oh.”

“Clio? What’s wrong?”

“I just realized … we aren’t that far from …”

“From where?”

She blinked slowly, her expression oddly slack as though too many emotions were crowding her at once. “Not that far from home.”

His brow furrowed. “Home?”

Her eyes brightened again and she smiled, but her hand tightened on his like she needed a lifeline. “My old home, I mean. Where I lived with my mother. It’s about eight miles northeast of here. We could rest there.”

“Is it a town or a village?”

“There’s a village two miles farther north, but the house is isolated. I don’t think … there’s a chance someone else might live there now, but I doubt it.”

“Sounds like our best bet,” he agreed, suppressing his wariness over her reaction to the place. He took a step, his boot thudding hollowly on the first plank.

Clio stared down at the boardwalk as though afraid to step onto it. Her joy at being home was fading, and beneath her cheerful optimism, he sensed different emotions fueling her hesitancy.

What exactly had driven her from her homeland two years ago?

He hadn’t yet asked her about her claim that she was the king’s illegitimate daughter. He wanted to—he was dying to get answers—but they hadn’t had the time or energy for that sort of discussion. She’d mentioned before that leaving Irida had been a favor to Bastian, the prince, but Lyre suspected there was more to it.

He was starting to suspect there was something ugly hidden in the unspoken details of her past, but he didn’t know how to ask—or if he should ask at all.

Stepping back onto the dirt path, he wrapped his arm around her. She looked at him, her brow furrowed and eyes scrunched with emotions she was trying to hide.

With gentle pressure, he pulled her forward and together they stepped onto the boardwalk. She halted again, her body stiff under his arm, then she relaxed. When she started forward, he moved with her, his fingers curled over her side.

If she’d longed so desperately to return … why did she seem so afraid?