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ELYRIA

“Nox!”

Cries of surprise rang through the air. Many of the soldiers backed up, giving the group a wide berth as they surged toward the absent nocterrian, who was even taller than Elyria’s memory had painted them.

“You are well, Elyria?” Nox asked softly, so much uncharacteristic emotion in their voice that her throat felt suddenly tight. Had they ever even called her by her name before? She could only offer a tight nod in response.

Sid brushed against Elyria’s legs, her volacarnii wings folded against her back. The shadowcat’s tail flicked in the air as she padded away.

Elyria smiled at Nox. “My cat find you drifting through the shadows?”

“Something like that,” they replied, and Elyria thought they might have said more, but someone else stole their attention.

“Tenebris,” Kit breathed, a mix of relief and consternation and worry and something else written into the creases around her mismatched eyes as she approached.

Elyria did not miss the way the nocterrian’s crimson-black gaze softened, but the two of them did not get the chance to exchange further words.

Tenny skidded to a stop next to Kit, a stunned sort of delight on her face. “You came,” she said, chest heaving.

“Fuck me over the . . . Four bloody hells, what am I to say now? Jus’ fuck me, I guess,” Thraigg said, the new armor he wore grating against itself as he jogged over. “Took ye damn long enough to get back to us, ye blue-horned bastard.”

“My apologies,” said Nox, a hint of white fang flashing against their lips. “It is a . . . long story. One best suited for later.”

Elyria thought she saw something dark flash across their face, but before she could register it fully, Nox continued.

“As much as I would enjoy lounging in the knowledge that you all missed me this much,” they said, and several low chuckles filtered into the air, “I am afraid there is a larger problem at hand.”

They pointed a long indigo finger back toward the village. Elyria’s gaze followed it . . . and her stomach dropped.

The streets of Kinsgaith were no longer empty.

Figures poured out of doorways and from beneath awnings, draped in bloodred cloaks that dragged along the cobblestones. Dozens of them. More.

Pewter medallions glinted from their chests in the brightening daylight, and Elyria would’ve bet a thousand pieces of gold that there was a sharp wolven face on each and every one.

They converged on the main street and began walking in unison toward the encampment, which was already a flurry of motion as soldiers ran about, strapping on gear and pulling their weapons from the racks on which they rested.

“Motherfuckers,” muttered Thraigg, dashing back over to join his dwarven brethren as the lot of them handed out the remaining pieces of armor and weaponry from their stash. Jocelyn was with them, helping some of the soldiers buckle on their armor.

Elyria palmed the handle of her new dagger—the one item she’d ended up snagging from the dwarves’ offerings—in its sheath against her thigh. Her tempered shadows misted over her skin, a comforting embrace as she eyed the swarm of cultists. The crowns might have spent their power, but Elyria still had plenty of her own.

Cedric placed a bracing hand against the small of her back, and Elyria’s magic roiled. Her shadows turned as solid as the ring on her finger, forming plates that locked against her skin—a suit of dark armor.

She looked up, surveying the sea of red cloaks that filled the village street. Come try to take us, she wanted to shout at them. Only, they weren’t oncoming so much as . . . approaching—leisurely. Slowly. And then, once the first ones reached the top of the main street, stopping altogether.

“What are they doing?” Elyria asked. “What are they waiting for?”

“That’s where the edge of Malakar’s barrier is,” Tristan said, the words sending a chill down Elyria’s spine.

The full scene snapped into focus. The cultists had come to a stop just beyond the last row of cottages. From there, they’d still have to descend from the main street down the sloping road that led away from the village, then go past the encampment to reach the frozen meadow—the former location of the Chasm—where the soldiers were now gathered.

“They’re waiting for him to drop it,” Kit said with a sneer.

“Where is he?” Elyria spat. “Does anyone see him?”

“I don’t,” Tenny said. Elyria’s heart cracked a little at the mix of fear and hope in Tenny’s amber eyes as she scanned the cultists, presumably looking for some sign of her father’s form.

Kit grabbed Tenny’s forearm, pulling her attention to her. “You’ll stay back, yes?”