A wave of recognition shifted Navi’s expression.

Eliana clung to the sight. “I came to you, in Sanctuary. I’d had a nightmare. You held me. You comforted me.”

Navi’s grip loosened. The scowl on her face uncurled.

“You told me to tell you something real. I told you about Harkan.”

Navi’s eyes brightened, twin candles flaring to life in a dark room. She scrambled away, shaking her head.

“No, no, no.” She raised shaking fingers to her temples, drew her knees to her chest. “Oh, God, what’s happening?”

Unsteadily, Eliana crawled toward her. “It’s all right. I’m here, I’m right here, I’m fine.”

“What did they do to me?” Navi huddled against the stone pillar dividing the cracked window from its unbroken neighbor. Shivering, her face drawn and hollowed from fatigue, her shorn head still bearing the marks of Fidelia’s knives, she turned imploring eyes toward Eliana. In the silence, her single sob broke like the crash of glass.

“What did they do to me?” she cried.

Down the gallery, past Simon, four guards turned the corner and hurried toward them, but Simon—hair tousled, weapons belt hastily thrown on over his trousers and sleep shirt—stopped them in their tracks with a single icy glare.

Eliana approached Navi as she might a wounded animal, her neck still throbbing. Blood trickled down her cheek. She wiped it away, realizing with a sick lurch, belly to throat, that, for the first time in her life, a wound wasn’t closing.

But then Navi looked up and cried out, and Eliana forgot everything but the sight of her friend’s tear-streaked face. Navi reached out for her, and Eliana gathered her tightly against her chest.

“Send for Princess Navana’s healers,” Simon instructed the guards.

Eliana tucked Navi’s head under her chin and met Simon’s furious blue gaze. She could see the reproach there—and the pity.

“Don’t say it,” she told him quietly. “Not tonight.”

He inclined his head and turned away to stand watch until the healers arrived.

But Eliana heard his unsaid words as plainly as if he’d whispered them against her ear: there is no hope for her.

The Navi we knew will soon be gone.

3

   Rielle

“Saint Grimvald the Mighty was the first to tame the great ice dragons of the far north, though in those days he was neither saint nor mighty. He was a dreamer, a metalmaster whose heart had not yet been hardened by war. He traveled the dark slopes of the Villmark, determined to see a godsbeast with his own eyes, though the creatures had not been seen in half an age. And it was this wonder, this purity of spirit, that brought him to their nests hidden high in the ice, and spared him his life.”

—The Book of the Saints

They had been in the air for the better part of an hour before Rielle’s mind cleared at last.

Behind her, Audric called out over the wind, “Where are we?” He sounded startled, groggy, as if just woken from a hard sleep.

Too angry to speak, Rielle guided Atheria into a small woodland lining a ridge of low hills. The godsbeast responded at once to even her slightest movements, and as soon as Atheria’s hooves hit soil, Rielle slid off her back, jumped to the ground, and rounded on Ludivine.

“How dare you? You forced us to leave. I didn’t want to, and you entered my mind without my permission and forced me.” She watched Audric dismount. He looked a bit dazed, but still managed to shoot Ludivine a glare of his own. “You were in Audric’s mind too, weren’t you? Lu, I’m so angry I can hardly look at you.”

Ludivine dismounted last, and once she’d stepped clear of Atheria, the chavaile snaked her head around and hissed, baring her sharp mouth of teeth and fluffing up her great black wings to look twice their normal size.

Smoothing down her skirts, Ludivine hurried away. “That’s a bit dramatic. You could have stayed, if you’d wanted to. I would not have forced you to do anything.”

“Perhaps,” Audric said, his voice tight and low, “as we’d already agreed, you could refrain from entering our minds unless in moments of absolute necessity. Such as giving us ample warning when people are approaching with the intent to kill?”

“There’s something to be said for theatrics,” Ludivine replied, unperturbed. “I wanted everyone gathered to see an unrehearsed demonstration of your power.” She glanced at Rielle. “Both of you, together. The people of Celdaria need to be reminded of your strength and your friendship as often as possible.”

Audric’s mouth twisted. He crossed his arms over his chest. “They need to be reminded that Rielle is loyal to the crown, and that the crown trusts her.”

Ever so slightly, Ludivine’s rigid posture relaxed. “Precisely.”

“A message that no doubt lost much of its impact when we fled five minutes later,” Rielle snapped, “leaving the people of Carduel to fend off whatever danger approaches on their own.”

“The danger in Carduel was for you, not for them,” said Ludivine, regarding Rielle calmly. “That was the first time Corien has spoken to you since the fire trial. Isn’t that right?”

Rielle felt Audric’s eyes upon her, and her face grew hot. She lifted her chin, meeting Ludivine’s gentle gaze without blinking. “Yes. He’s been completely absent from my mind.”

Which was the truth—and one that left Rielle’s chest knotted with too many contradictory emotions to untangle.

“And that he chose to speak to you through that man today is an announcement.” Ludivine touched Rielle’s hand. “He is proclaiming his return. If not an immediate return, then an impending one. So, no, I don’t regret fleeing. Putting distance between you and Corien is one of the most important things I can do to protect you, and everyone else.”

“Even though fleeing may have given him the impression that I’m frightened of his return?” Rielle pointed out. “That I’m vulnerable and easily affected by him?”

Aren’t you? Ludivine said gently.

Rielle walked away before the fury building behind her eyes manifested in a fashion she would regret.

She placed her hand against the trunk of an oak with shivering leaves and looked out over the riverlands below them—empty and verdantly green, save for dark clutches of woodlands, a lonely road, and a small village on the horizon, huddled on the banks of a narrow river. In the distance, the Varisian Mountains, at the southern end of which sat the capital of Âme de la Terre, reached solemnly for the afternoon sky.

For a long moment, no one spoke.