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Eleven crimson-cloaked cultists . . . and one who wore black.

Malakar turned to face Elyria, Cedric, and the others. The spring was perhaps two hundred feet from where they stood, from where the blood of his fallen followers soaked into the wintry ground, and Elyria had no problem making out the expression of manic glee on his face when he pulled his hood back.

Elyria saw red. Instinctively, reactively, she darted forward, taking several steps toward him.

The dark sorcerer took several toward her in return.

Still, he was far enough that she shouldn’t have been able to hear him clearly when he opened his mouth to speak. His voice cut through the distance between them as though he were standing right behind her all the same.

“We have missed you, regina,” he said, the words slithering into her ears. “We are so pleased you could make it. Thank you for coming.”

Elyria’s shadows roiled under and over her skin, a fire lighting in her veins. For a single, flashing, fleeting moment, she was back in Castle Lumin, blood dripping down her sides, him at her back, crooning in her ear. Her breath caught in her throat.

Cedric’s concern shimmered down the bond, and she blinked as he came up behind her.

She wasn’t there.

She was here.

That part was over.

But whatever this was . . . it was only beginning.

“Thank you all for coming,” Malakar repeated, opening his arms wide, as if welcoming every Arcanian and human standing on the field. “You performed so brilliantly. Efficiently. We should thank you for that too, we suppose.”

Elyria fought the urge to shudder and quickly realized everyone around her was doing the same. Cedric tensed. Kit’s jaw was tight. The soldiers at her back shifted warily. They could all hear him, and it was with a jolt that Elyria realized the blood at their feet was acting as a conduit for his words.

“What is he talking about?” Tristan asked quietly, and the way Malakar’s cruel grin widened confirmed Elyria’s suspicion that he could hear them just as easily as they could him.

“Don’t listen to a vile word slithering from his mouth. He is a madman. He just likes to hear himself speak.” Cedric’s voice was like a splash of cool water. It blunted the edge of the rage-filled inferno that was quickly taking Elyria over, just long enough to unblur her vision, gather her bearings.

“Move away,” she said, dashing another ten feet forward herself. When nobody responded, she turned and repeated, louder, “Move away from the bodies. From the blood.”

Nervous murmurs trickled through the groups of soldiers as everyone on the field began distancing themselves from the bleeding corpses of Malakar’s cultists. Cedric, Kit, Nox, Jocelyn, Tristan, Ollie, Zephyr, Thraigg, and the dwarves shuffled to the left, joining Elyria where she had whirled back around to face the dark sorcerer.

Vaguely, she could tell that Captain Gaius was yelling orders to the men, urging them to move more quickly, to form ranks, to get ready to fight once more.

She barely heard them.

The only sound she could focus on was the slow clap of Malakar’s hands echoing across the field.

“Very good. You always were so quick to figure things out, weren’t you, regina?” He spoke louder now.

“Stop fucking calling her that.” Cedric gripped Ashrender’s pommel so tight, Elyria wondered if it would snap.

Malakar’s expression darkened. “We will call her what she is, Sunbringer. Just look at her, after all. A queen of shadow. A true queen, unlike your traitorous grandmother.”

Cedric balked.

“Oh yes, we know who you are, Cedric Thorne, Sunfyre Heir. We know the claim you seek to make on this world.”

“I seek nothing but your quick and violent end.”

Malakar chuckled, then tilted his head, black eyes burning into Elyria. “It truly is a shame that it all had to happen like this, mi regina umbra. We could have done great things together, you must realize.”

“You will feel greater shame when you can no longer form words at all,” Cedric said.

Malakar’s brow creased with his unspoken question.