Reese.
If Alistair spoke true, if the Paragon had murdered my brother, murdered Ishii, and the village he’d tried to protect . . .
Then my brother’s death was more complicated than I’d ever imagined. Never would I have fathomed the path bringing me to a Paragon’s blade.
“Alright.” I stood. "Let's go.”
“Wait.” Ferris frowned at Agendra. “Do you have some way to convince the Lecovair? Or the Queen, or the Archbishop? I can’t imagine them demanding anything but Diar’s head.”
Agendra shifted from foot to foot. “Reese is one of them.”
“One of what?”
“The Lecovair, Ferris. His father sits at their head.”
Ferris sat back. “Oh.”
He was surprised. The prince knew the Paragon, shared some kind of warm history—history that had earned Ferris’ full trust—and even he had not known the truth.
Alistair was right. Nobody knew Reese. Who was he, really, behind the facade?
Chapter 47
Mare
Iclung to the spines of a dragon soaring above the Shadowlands. An alien world unfolded beneath me.
Saints, it was beautiful.
Flowering vines tumbled from floating islands, their petals glowing phosphorescent blue. Herds of deer, their sides etched with runes, pranced across the mountains and dove into forests of dark trees. Their branches twisted like vines, concealing whatever hid within.
Brighid clung to my waist, red hair flying in the wind. Quinn had taken Liam on a second scáde. Its wings flickered in the darkness ahead, becoming one with the black sky.
My scáde pulled up, soaring up a steep mountain’s ascent. Gritting my teeth, I gripped its spine with sweaty hands. The wind poured down onto my face.
Then we were over its peak. Light pooled in the basin tucked safely in the mountain’s embrace.
Lanterns. Dozens of them.
Brighid tightened her grip around my waist as the scáde soared down into the valley. A humming song vibrated in its neck, and harmonies rose from around the basin. My hair stood on end, listening to a pack of scádes sing.
Our scádes landed in the puddles of a wetland, claws sloshing through shallow water. Breathing out, I observed our destination.
It was a city of wooden huts clustered around the wetlands, connected by wooden pathways and bridges. Lanterns hung from posts, glowing with white fire.
And there were people—here, in the depths of the Shadowlands.
Quinn slid off his scáde and helped Liam down. My brother had been unresponsive since I’d found him. Fog danced in his eyes, and he never seemed to hear us.
Carefully climbing off the scáde, I chased after them and grabbed Liam’s other arm. Quinn shot me a glance, but said nothing. Blood had soaked through Liam’s coat and trickled down his side.
I hated this, having to trust this Solheart with my brother’s life. But Quinn had brought us this far, lent us his dragons when he could have thrown us from their backs.
I looked up—a watchtower loomed above us, and I could see two armored men monitoring us as we passed into the city's bounds.
“Where are we?” I asked.
Quinn nodded at the men above us. “You’ll see.”
