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“They can’t, but in the generations of Warhorses and Phoenixes they have each learned to look for subtle signs. Movements in the snow.” A bone-rattling shiver ran through me, and Aster’s hand shifted from the horse to my ribs, and his fingers pressed into me. I met his gaze, and it told me we would be fine, even though he couldn’t know that. “When they circle again, we ride hard.”

I didn’t have time to argue. Didn’t have time to think. I reached inside and started my breath training—I forced my pulse to calm.

Breathe.

Control what you can.

Aster’s words from long ago—the man I had lost and who was holding me tight.

Above us, a phoenix screamed again.

Snow sifted from the top of the ravine and thumped down the rocks, dusting over us in fine, cold powder. The horse shuddered under Aster’s hand, and his grip tightened.

“Stay,” he said again.

Then silence surrounded us. We waited to see if it was a pause before another onslaught or a reprieve. Aster was the first to breathe properly. “Let’s go,” he said. “They’ll find us, eventually. To take you to the border’s library. And when they find out how accomplished you are…” They wouldn’t let me leave; that’s what he meant. “But they can’t track a Warhorse and warrior by scent alone, so we’ll see if we can fix the book before they get here.”

He grabbed me by the waist and hauled me onto the horse’s back, and this time I was glad of it. We sped toward the arch, and the hoofbeats shuddered through my bones. Snow crunched under hoof, too loud now, and every sound sharpened the possibility that we’d lost the freedom we had only just found.

We thundered through the stone arch, and red stone shone from the symbols that I didn’t understand. In the distance, behind us, the phoenix cried again, and this time it was answered by another much farther off.

Aster bent low, voice at my ear. “When we get through that door. You go where I tell you.” His breath ghosted warm against the side of my neck. “Feather?”

The horse lunged the last few strides towards a towering wooden door, which opened as we approached and then slammed behind us once the Warhorse’s tail was through. The hall we entered was lit by one Skyworld flame at the far end, and it made shadows dance along the walls.

A hum came from our left.

We were not alone.

22

The buzz of magic deepened as if the very walls were alive. It pressed through the stone and into my skin. I didn’t move. But Aster’s arm tightened around my stomach, and then he gave one slow inhale. The horse shuddered and stomped its hoof, coming to a stop.

Aster swung down and reached up for me, and I let him help me down. I lowered slowly to the ground as my body slid down his—there was no reason for him to hold me other than he wanted me close. The fur on his cloak brushed my cheek as I glanced up at him.

“This is used as a safe house. We need to check who’s here. Now that you look like… you. Watch for shadows.”

It was such a simple statement—watch for shadows—but every time he used to say it to me, I would reply with, I’m always watching. Because what I meant was that I was always waiting for him to step out of them so I could breathe again. This time I didn’t say it, and his small huff told me that he’d wanted me to. I didn’t know how to handle that.

Old, watchful book magic infused the stone and made the books vibrate in recognition. I reached out my hand and let one of my fingers run along the smooth, icy surface of the wall. The action made the little book hum against my skin, telling me we were safe. I tapped it in reply—safe for you or for both of us?—was what I wanted to ask.

I followed Aster to the centre of a towering square hallway. On the far wall was one long, narrow corridor, veering off the hallway and up to the left. Aster tethered the horse to a hoop high on the wall—as if it were made for a Warhorse—beside a wrought-iron basket, which he filled with grain. There were two types of libraries in the kingdoms: one for Earthworld books and one for Skyworld books. Earthworld books were written by witches and mages with earth-infused ink, whereas the Skyworld scribes used a phoenix feather as a quill. That was why the books in room eight, which had come from my uncle’s collection, were so very unusual. They were written by Skyworld scribes about Earthworld magic and traditions.

The curse was hidden from the Earthworlders at first, until the whispers of the gods demanding the phoenixes come home grew too loud. Then the truth was out—Earthworld witches had set the curse. The witches denied it, and the Earthworld and the Skyworld kingdoms fractured. The Annatalia versus The Barren and The Northlands, with The Wilds and Settlecent drawn into choosing sides one minute and trying to stay neutral the next. The Kingdoms’ War was unavoidable.

The Masters of each kingdom searched for a cure to the curse. They needed their sky-bound armies. Everyone searched for the witch’s coven that had set the curse and paid the witches for answers. But the books I had restored only told of how the curse manifested. The way Riders had started behaving strangely at Yule, and then each Yule it got worse until madness and memory loss started to be recorded. Then, for some, the madness didn’t stop after the twelfth night. But never had I found the spell, or the culprits mentioned.

By the second year of my apprenticeship, I had read everything I could on the phoenixes and the curse. Longing to find a way to get Lex’s mind back, all I’d found was the vague mention of a codex or perhaps a grimoire. And that’s what had given me the idea to steal the codex and trade with it.

“I think we’re alone. Come.”

Alcoves lined the walls, each one holding a glass case covered in a thick layer of dust, but through the dust I could just make out leather-bound books. Some shone dimly. Others seemed like they would collapse into ash if you breathed too hard. I had stopped in front of one. The little book inside the glass was just like the one I had in my bag. I stepped back, not wanting Aster to notice. No one needed to know about my little humming book—that book was for me. Morlan had told me so, even if she’d thought what I had in my bag was the codex.

The corridor’s walls were smooth and cut with purpose, and they shone and mirrored our journey deeper into the abandoned space.

“They’re all filled with magic.” My fingertips prickled with magic and called to some deep-down part of me. It wasn’t fear that this ghost-like place elicited; it was wonder.

“They’re always awake,” Aster grumbled.