They clung together, even as their bodies slowly slid across the ground, drawn toward the swirling maw.
And then the twister collapsed—abruptly—as if someone had just slammed the door, as if the world had remembered how to exhale.
Heart hammering, Lara sucked in a deep breath, tasting blood and salt.
Silence followed, hollow and profound.
All she could hear was her ragged breathing, and Alar’s too, from beneath her.
She didn’t move. Her body had locked in place, every muscle rigid with the certainty that the storm would come back, that it wasn’t over.
But it was.
34: AN UNPAID DEBT
SLOWLY, LARA RAISED her head, twisting to look behind her. The rift was shrinking. No longer was it a gaping hole, but a thin silvery tear. And as she watched, it faded until nothing but the starry night sky was visible between the stones. Moonlight frosted The Shattered Crown.
Lara stared, heart pounding against her breastbone.
“You did it,” Alar whispered hoarsely.
She swallowed.
“Lara!”
Bree rushed into the stone circle, still gripping her sword.Reaching her side, she dropped to a crouch. Her gaze went to Lara’s shoulder. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s not deep.” Lara waved her away. The scratch burned, but she’d put something on it soon enough. What mattered was that her body felt the strongest it had in days. Her mind was blessedly clear, and her skin was cool. The fever had gone.
More figures moved into the stone circle then: Roth, Cailean, Annis, and Ren. Skaal stalked after them.
“What happened here?” Cailean surveyed the interior of the stone circle, his narrowed gaze lingering on the knife hilt protruding from Alar’s shoulder and where Sablebane lay, bleeding out. A deep groove then appeared between his dark brows. “Where’s Mor?”
“In The Threshold,” Vyr answered.
Lara shoved herself upright. Her arms shook. Herentirebody trembled.
She turned her head. Vyr stood flanked by four Ravens, all of them pale and hollow-eyed. His leather armor hung in strips. Blood ran down his cheek in a slow trickle. He looked hunted.
Heat flared in her gut.
“Mor betrayed us.” The words came out, harsh and flat. “Andyouhelped her.”
“Aye.” Vyr didn’t deny it. His gaze flicked to Alar, then away.
Cailean’s fingers flexed around his sword hilt. Silver pulsed through his tattoos, painting his face in ghostly light. The air between him and Mor’s cousin crackled.
Vyr’s fingers flexed upon the grip of his drawn longsword. “Mor learned that she could draw wraiths back into the rift using her magic … but she needed a fire-wielder bearing theOrd-ree sealto close it.” His mouth twisted. “Alar’s presence served nomagical purpose. She wanted balance restored … but she also wanted her enemies dead.”
“Includingyou.” Alar’s voice was tight, threaded with pain.
Vyr’s lips thinned, yet he didn’t reply.
“The three of you were never meant to leave.”
A weak voice made them all turn.
Sablebane lay on his back a few yards away, head in Fern’s lap. Blood seeped between his fingers where they pressed against his stomach. Black in the moonlight. Fatal. Lara had seen enough injuries like this to know.
