“The Maw?”
I nod, my gaze becoming distant as I access memories from a time long past. “It is an ancient forest, older than many human kingdoms. Things live in that darkness, Elza. Creatures that were old when the Vrakken first took to the sky. Spiders the size of horses, shadow cats that hunt without sound, and worse things. Things that have no name.”
I look back at her, at the dawning understanding and fear on her face. “The Matriarch’s forces would not follow your people in there. Not without a full legion and a dozen mages. Tarek is a cleverer strategist than I gave him credit for.”
I stand and walk to the doorway, looking out at the path that now lies before us. It is a path into a darkness that even my kind has learned to fear.
“They chose their hiding place well,” I say, my voice holding a new, grim respect for her second-in-command, and for the woman who inspired such loyalty. “Few would dare follow them there. And those who do, rarely return.”
29
ELZA
The Gloomwood is a living, breathing nightmare. For days, we have moved through its oppressive twilight, the thick, black-leafed canopy a ceiling that chokes the sun, leaving the forest floor in a perpetual state of gloom. Strange, unseen things slither in the undergrowth, and the silence is a heavy, watchful thing, broken only by the drip of moisture from the leaves and the sound of our own ragged breathing.
Lyren stays close, his hand often tucked into mine. Eoin moves with a silent, predatory grace that is somehow both comforting and terrifying. He is a part of this darkness, a creature born of shadows and silence. I, on the other hand, feel like an open wound, my Purna light a small, defiant flame that attracts the wrong kind of attention.
It happens without warning.
A blur of motion from the canopy above. I only have time to register a pair of glowing, green eyes before Eoin is moving, a silver-and-black flash of impossible speed. He shoves me and Lyren behind him, his body a living shield, a low, guttural snarl ripping from his throat.
A Shadow Cat, a creature of nightmare made manifest, lands where we were standing. It is as large as a tiger, its fur the color of pitch, its body unnaturally sleek and fluid. It moves without a sound, a predator of pure darkness. It fixes its hungry, green eyes on Lyren.
“Stay behind me,” Eoin commands, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
But I am not the helpless woman from the dungeon anymore. As the cat gathers itself to spring, I raise my hands. A brilliant, golden light flares from my palms, a concussive blast of Purna magic that slams into the beast, sending it staggering back with a hiss of pain and surprise.
The momentary distraction is all Eoin needs. He is on the creature in a heartbeat, his borrowed dagger a flash of steel. The fight is a brutal, terrifying dance of shadow and light. I keep the beast off-balance with blasts of my magic while Eoin moves in, his movements a deadly, efficient ballet of violence. He is faster, stronger, and in the end, it is no contest. He ends it with a final, clean thrust to the creature’s heart.
He stands over the body, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. He turns to me, his eyes burning in the gloom, and through the psychic link, I feel not just his protective fury, but a flicker of something else. A new, grudging respect. We did this together.
It is another two days before we find them. We see the faint, tell-tale wisp of woodsmoke first, and then we hear a voice, a familiar, welcome sound that makes my heart ache.
Tarek.
We break through the final line of trees and into a clearing. Before us are the ruins of Silvanus, crumbling stone walls and broken columns overgrown with moss and vines. And amidst the ruins, huddled around a small, smoky fire, are the survivorsof Haven. No more than fifty of them. A tattered, starving, but fiercely alive remnant of my people.
“Tarek!” I cry out, my voice breaking with a relief so profound it feels like a physical blow.
His head snaps up. His face, gaunt and bearded, breaks into a wide, disbelieving grin. “Elza! By the gods, we thought… we did not know if you had made it.”
He runs to me, and I meet him halfway, throwing my arms around him in a fierce, desperate hug. The others are on their feet now, shouting, crying, their faces a beautiful, heartbreaking mix of joy and grief. They surround me, hands reaching out to touch my arm, my shoulder, as if to confirm I am real. I see my people, my family, and for a moment, the queen’s composure shatters, and I am just Elza, a woman overwhelmed with gratitude for the lives that were not lost.
But the moment of joy is fleeting. It shatters like glass as Eoin, with Lyren at his side, steps out from the shadows of the forest.
The atmosphere turns to ice.
The joyful cries die in their throats, replaced by gasps of terror. In an instant, every man and woman with a weapon has it drawn. Swords, axes, bows—all of it is aimed at the Vrakken. Tarek pushes me behind him, his own sword a solid wall of steel between me and the monster who brought this doom upon us.
“Get behind me, my Queen,” Tarek snarls, his voice dripping with a venom I have never heard from him before. He takes a step toward Eoin. “You! You dare show your face here? After what you caused? After the people we lost?”
“Tarek, stop!” I command, my voice ringing with an authority that makes him pause.
“Elza, what are you doing? Step aside!” he pleads, his eyes wild with a protective fury.
“No.” I step out from behind him, my own hand on my dagger. But instead of drawing it, I do the one thing none of them expect. I step directly in front of Eoin, shielding his body with my own. The collective gasp from my people is a sharp, wounded sound.
“Lower your weapons,” I say, my voice clear and steady, leaving no room for argument. “All of you.”
