I fly.
I hurtle over the Burn, over a pockmarked, barren landscape populated by nothing but anger and fear and greed. Dark spires appear, needles on the horizon that thicken, become towers, the corners of a shattered castle nestled by the sea. A forgotten city lies at the base of a broken bridge and I soar over it, landing soft in front of iron gates that rise above me. A man stands on the other side, nothing more than bone wrapped in skin and a bitter heartbeat that echoes in the stones beneath our feet.
Merlock lifts his head and looks at me. His crown sags and he bends beneath its weight, but his features darken, turn ferocious. “You,” he growls, accusation laced through his voice.
A shout cracks through the air and the thread snaps, recoiling, throwing my heart against my spine as I gasp, back in the Burn. Baedan stares at me before her eyes shift past me, to a line of guards riding forward on horses. They stop at the edge of the Burn and take aim, armed with crossbows and unfamiliar banners that stand out, vibrant against the sky.
“Grab her,” Baedan barks, but I take a step back, then another. I begin to run for the guards, my feet hitting the ground barely long enough for moss to emerge before the ash reclaims its place and hides my steps. Someone tackles me and I land on my stomach, immediately cushioned by more flowers.
North approaches, wasting precious magic and the last of his energy to reach me. The hellborne scatter, but Baedan looks to me one last time, committing my face to memory. I’ll see her again, she seems to say. The guarantee is as good as written in blood.
Or poison.
Wordlessly, she turns and rides away, disappearing into the ruins of the nearby village. Staggering to my feet, I race to meet North. We stop just shy of colliding as he takes my arm and we continue to the edge of the Burn, to the safety of the grass on the other side.
“What happened?” he asks, his hands touching my arms, my neck, my face. “Are you all right?”
I clutch his arms. “I saw him,” I say, speaking too fast, too urgent, as if the spell is already unraveling “I saw your father, North. He was in the castle in Prevast!”
North stares at me. “What?”
Breath hitching, my eyes drop to the spell across his chest, a compass rose to guide his choices. My mother’s spell burns, hidden beneath a thick bandage, but I know what it means now. I am a compass too, and I point to Merlock.
My mother knew Perrote wasn’t a king.
“I can help you find him,” I say, and it’s a relief and a burden both, an excuse to stay close to North in the weeks ahead. “But I don’t know how long the spell will last. I don’t know if I just wasted it, or if the infection will destroy it, but—but I want to join your Guard. I want to go into the Burn with you, I want to find Merlock, and I want—”
“Faris,” he says, and I pause. He touches my face, whisper-soft. “I want everything you do,” he says, before embracing me. I melt into his arms, closing my eyes as my chin slides into place against his neck. “Just one,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “Just once.”
And then never again, not until our blood runs clean and his heart is free from the danger—the temptation—of mine.
When we break apart—who released whom?—I brace myself for what happens next. North does the same, hardening his expression, guarding his thoughts. It’s the first stone in the wall we both need to build. Like a buffer of magic, it will have to absorb our heartache before it can infect our blood.
A soldier all in black hangs back, waiting for North to acknowledge him before he bows and strides forward. He holds a silver helmet tucked under one arm, his sandy hair pulled back in a short ponytail, revealing wide features and a narrow scar on his chin where his facial hair doesn’t grow. While he faces North, his eyes stray toward me with curiosity.
“We were wrong about Baedan,” North says, all business, fumbling to button his shirt closed. “She doesn’t mean to hold Merlock hostage; she plans to kill him and inherit the magic herself.”
The soldier’s eyes widen at North’s chest. “She has your blood.”
“Which means she can forge the blade to perform the sacrifice,” North agrees darkly, shaking out his collar. “That buys us at least a fortnight before she resumes looking for Merlock.” He grimaces, still weak, and the soldier takes a step forward, hand out to assist.
North refuses with a tight shake of his head, his eyes cutting toward me. “This is Faris Locke,” he says. “She will be vital to our mission to find Merlock, and her safety is priority. Miss Locke”—I flinch at the formality, although I knew to expect it—“this is Captain Benjamin Chadwick, a man with whom I would trust my life. A qualified trust,” he adds, with a pained smile at the memory of Solch’s betrayal. “If you wish to join the Guard, this is the man who says yes or no.”
With a formal invitation to look at me, Chadwick openly stares and I wilt beneath his tactical gaze. I wasn’t prepared for an immediate interview: All I want is a bath and clean clothes and a chance to mourn the man who turns his back on me to give orders, take command.
North is gone now, and Prince Corbin takes his place.
More riders approach over the hillocks, a splash of color that doesn’t match the black and silver of North’s men. My heart quickens in recognition as guards part to allow the new arrivals through.
Bryn cocks her head in acknowledgment of my surprise, her riding dress draped across her horse, her dark red hair a loose bundle of curls over one shoulder. The man who rides beside her is no less familiar, but far more frightening, arrogant beneath a silver circlet that reflects the beginning of the sunrise.
King Perrote.
“Miss Locke,” Captain Chadwick says, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“What is he doing here?” I ask in a choked whisper. What is he doing here with her, as if she never ran away from Brindaigel, as if she never planned to kill him and he never planned to kill her?
With a frown, Chadwick settles his helmet further beneath his arm. “May I introduce his majesty, King Perrote Dossel, and his daughter, Princess Bryndalin,” he says. “They arrived in New Prevast yesterday evening, and are the reason we knew to find you today.” His pale eyes slide to North, seeking a reaction. “They come to offer an alliance but they were rather recalcitrant as to the terms. Their incentive, however, is . . .” He trails off, searching for the appropriate term. Only after his eyes land on Bryn does he find what he’s looking for. “Tempting.”