“Sera, what in the Lord’s name—close that window!” Duke Percival groused, stamping into the alcove and slamming the window shut himself. But even through the glass and stone, she still heard the deep wail of a horn in the distance. Two short blasts, one long.
She and her godfather shared a look.
Someone was coming up the pass.
“Your Majesty! Sera!” The shout came from further down the corridor. Her godmother.
Seraphina scrambled to her feet and stepped into the hallway, abandoning the usuri to their reunion. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Duchess Edith was running toward her—actually running, her skirts held high, her face flushed.
“The lift!” her godmother panted. “A visitor is at the lower bailey, requesting to use the lift!”
She forgot how to breathe. The world narrowed to a pinprick. Soot was here. And now, a visitor was below, seeking permission to enter the Dawnspire.
It had to be him.
Seraphina didn’t wait. She didn’t think. She just ran.
She tore through the corridors, ignoring the startled looks of the refugees she passed on the way, ignoring everything until she arrived at the covered landing bay where the massive chains of the lift disappeared into the open air. The wind howled through the stone archways, unimpeded, snowflakes spiraling past on every frigid gust.
Through the open door to the signal room next to the bay, she caught a glimpse of the Liftwarden on duty inside.
“Report!” she called to the man even as she hurried in, her eyes scanning the complicated array of levers lining the walls.
The Liftwarden pointed to the active signal as he translated for her, shouting over the rising howl of the wind. “Message from the lower bailey, Your Majesty. Single occupant requesting access to the Dawnspire. Male. Ally. No extra precautions advised.”
A male ally. Seraphina’s knees threatened to buckle as the words swept through her. Could it truly be him? Bracing her hand against the doorway, she whispered, “Raise the lift, Warden.”
The Liftwarden nodded once. “Aye, Your Majesty!”
He pulled the release lever, slamming it home.
In the distance, another horn blasted through the mountains, relaying the message from the lower bailey’s signal room:Raise the lift.Out in the bay, the chains snapped into motion. The great winch groaned, gears grinding together.
Seraphina staggered back out into the bay, joining her godparents where they stood, waiting. Her breath unfurled before her in puffs of frigid vapor, the cold almost unbearable this far up in the sky. But she endured it for now.
Her eyes fixed on the mist-threaded void below, watching the heavy iron chains slowly rise. Every thirty feet, another safety mechanism slammed into place, jolting through her with a harsh sound as the chains locked, just in case a gear should fail.
The lift was slow. Seconds ticked into minutes.
Please,she begged.Please.
The top of the iron cage finally crested the lip of the landing. The lift clattered into place, locking with a heavy thud. The gate swung open.
A man stepped out, shaking the frost from his cloak, brushing the snowflakes from his hair. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Auburn-haired. Wearing a dire bear cloak fastened with the silver varhound of House Umberly. Behind him, a snowy varhound even larger than Rogue padded out from the lift.
Disappointment slammed into her like a physical blow.
It was not Aldric.
The air left her lungs. The hope that had carried her through the corridors evaporated instantly, leaving her feeling hollow all over again. With the next howl of the wind racing past, she could have almost sworn she heard someone laugh—a laugh so like the one from her now-silent vision, the vision that refused to come to her now, no matter what she tried.
As if even the mountains now delighted in her misery.
“Cyneric!” Duchess Edith gasped, stumbling forward as if suddenly rendered faint at the sight of her firstborn son.
Cyneric cracked a broad smile and swept the duchess up into his arms. “Mother.”
“Cyneric…” Duke Percival limped forward to join their family reunion. “My boy, we thought you were dead.”
