Let them all return from the veil unharmed.
With a nod to Zirzol, Cenviri steps away from the altar and outof sight. Rolling up his long robe sleeves, Zirzol exposes his arms. They’re littered with hundreds of small scars—runes, I realize. Carved into his skin as if his body were a canvas, they’re scars left from the repeated use of a magic not meant to be wielded by the living.
Withdrawing the dagger at his hip, I remain deathly still as Zirzol brings it to my collar. He cuts away at my shirt and tosses the material aside with little care, exposing my throat.
The point of his dagger meets my skin and I tense, clenching my jaw. The flash of pain is not as sharp as I expected. With a swift and steady hand, he cuts runes into the skin at my collar, and my fingers curl into tight fists against the pain. Instinctively, my lungs fill the instant he sets the dagger aside.
“In Death find comfort,” he says in low hushed tones. “In Death find peace.”
Ice explodes in my chest, gripping my heart—seizing it. A choked cry escapes my throat as my lungs refuse to expand, leaving me gasping. Ryc’s shout is lost to the loud ringing in my ears, and my vision grows dark. Green vines cut through the dark above me and blue light grows blinding before I plummet backward into icy darkness.
?????????????
Cold.
It’s so incredibly cold.
I open my eyes and a small, snowy clearing turned upon its side greets me. This isn’t the veil—if it is, it’s not a version of the veilIknow.
Struggling with both confusion and the effort it takes to push myself upright, my hands sink into the soft, frigid snow. It clings to my hair, melts against my skin, and sets my teeth chattering.
My fingers fly to my collar, finding silver, but no runes.
And noheartbeat.
It feels wrong.
Everything feels wrong.
No sun, but bright sunlight bearing no warmth. No singing birds, no drifting wind, no rustling of animals in or below the branches of the snow-draped evergreens—there’s no sound.
None aside from that whichIproduce.
And it smells wrong.
I’ve awoken in a pristine and remote landscape left undisturbed—I should smell the trees, the crisp snow, the frozen water nearby. Yet I don’t. I smelldeath.
Out of curiosity, I reach for the bond between Ryc and me.
It’s nowhere to be found—the golden thread connecting us has vanished. With no heartbeat and no bond, my chest feelshollow. My fingers fly to my forearm, feeling for the ridges of the life tether beneath my sleeve. I heave a sigh of relief—we’re still connected in one way at least.
Pulling myself to my feet, I turn, gaining a better understanding of where I might be. If this is the veil, it’s mimicking somewhere in the living realm, thoughwhereI couldn’t say. It could be anywhere in northern Eldoterra, were I to guess.
A gentle warble sends my head whirling.
The white raven sits upon one of the hell-bowed branches, near invisible against the snow. Even at this distance, it’s easy to see its blood-red eye pin against me.
“You,” I breathe, pointing an accusing finger as I take a few steps forward. My boots sink and snow meets my calves. “You’ve done this. Where in the hells am I?”
“Veil,” The creature cries and I freeze. It cries three more times. “Your veil. Your veil. Your veil.”
I don’t understand.
Nor do I grasp how I understand the raven.
It’s never spoken before.
Yet in the grand scheme of all the things I’ve seen and experienced throughout my existence, atalkingraven isn’t the most unsettling.
