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The Umbralyn turned its head slightly, acknowledging the approaching threat. “They are not our concern. They hunt humans. You, and you alone.”

Maia leaned forward. “But I’ve your creatures attack Umbralyn before.”

The second Umbralyn shifted, tension threading through his stance. He smiled. “They are shadow-born, like us. Why would they attack?”

The third Umbralyn raised one hand without looking back. The hounds stopped as though the air had solidified around them.

Maia thought of Caelith’s ribs split open beneath the wraith’s claw, of silver blood dripping off her fingers. She did not believe them for a moment - she had watched a ‘shadow-born’ thing very nearly kill him - but she also understood, watching the third Umbralyn’s raised hand still the hounds mid-stride, that whatever leash controlled these creatures was real, and it was not one the wraith in the Archive had worn.

These had been tamed. Or bred to be.

Maia swallowed, her mind racing back to when they had seen them on the road to Meridon. Had Caelith called them? Could he control them, too?

“So will you let us go?” she said instead.

The first Umbralyn spoke again as he stepped towards them. “You can go. But I can’t guarantee that my pets won’t follow you. And they are hungry. And so are the rest of the creatures that live along the path.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Maia said. She could feel Julen shaking behind her.

“Maia,” he said through gritted teeth. “Please. We’ll die.”

“We’ll die anyway,” she said and kicked the horse lightly to start a canter.

As they left, they heard the Umbralyn laugh and faintly, so faintly, heard them say “they’ll be gone in minutes.”

They cantered forwards. Julen looked back, keeping an eye on the hounds. The Umbralyn hadn’t released them yet. Either they were being given a chance, or the hounds were no longer necessary, because something further up the path would do the job.

The horse suddenly balked, snorting, its hooves skidding against the ground, the stone beneath its feet uneven.

The path had changed dramatically, the stone giving way to pure glass. No veins through rock like before. This was something else entirely.

The ground ahead shimmered faintly, translucent in places, fractured in others. Light moved beneath its surface, slow and unnatural, like something alive beneath ice. The air was even heavier and colder.

Maia’s chest tightened as she tried harder to breathe. Her hands were shaking on the reins.

“We’re close,” she said, hating the tremble in her voice that came out as she said it.

Julen nodded, though his grip tightened again. “I can feel it.”

Maia could too. And it wasn’t just the Fracture.

44

Glass Roads to Ruin

The pressure built gradually. At first, Maia thought it was the way she was breathing, still uneven from the climb. But as they moved forward, it deepened into something else; something that pressed inward from all sides. She felt sick, perhaps from the altitude. But she knew it was more than that.

The horse felt it too.

Its ears went back, muscles bunching beneath its hide as it slowed without command. Each step became hesitant, hooves testing the ground before committing, as if the path might give way beneath it.

Julen shifted behind her. “Something’s wrong. Worse than the hounds.”

“I know,” she whispered. She cleared her throat to try and speak louder, but it felt harder against the pressure. “I just don’t know what it is yet. Give me a second.”

“We don’t have a second. That’s rather the problem.”

“Then give me half of one.”