“Cairn?” Therin rides up beside me, Vel flanking my other side.
I stare down at the village, while the threads inside me hum, pulling me toward it.
“They’re down there.”
Therin goes still. “In that village?”
“Yes.”
Behind us, the six freed fae wait. They’ve been quiet since we rescued them. Still processing that they’re free. But I can feel their eyes on my back.
“It could be a trap.” Vel’s voice is flat. “Humans using them as bait.”
“No.” I test the threads again. “The connections are calm. There’s no distress or pain.”
“Then why are they in a human settlement?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
I swing down from Selveryn. Alleria slides off a moment later.
“Do you want me to scout ahead?” Therin also dismounts.
“No. I’ll call them to me.”
“What does that mean?” Alleria asks, but I’m already turning away. I don’t have time to explain. Not that she would understand anyway. It’s best to simply let hersee.
Our steeds dissolve back into mist and Therin and Vel position themselves on either side of me without being told to. Old instincts. Old formations. The three of us have stood like this a thousand times before.
I close my eyes and reach for the Nightwild magic. It rises fast.
The power has been rebuilding steadily since the collar broke, knitting itself back together after centuries of suppression. It answers eagerly now, flooding through me. The threads that connect me to Therin and Vel flare first, familiar and solid. They both stiffen beside me as the call washes over them.
I push harder.
The magic spreads outward like ripples in still water, searching for the connections that have been reforming. Serath’s thread pulses back at me from the direction of the camp, distant but steady. Another joins it, fainter but there …Caelum, I realizewith a surge of relief. More present than before. Not lost to us after all.
Further still. The magic reaches for the village below, finding the three threads that have been pulling at me for days.
Come to me.
The command doesn’t leave my lips. It travels through the bond itself.
I push harder still.
The call intensifies, becoming something that can’t be mistaken for anything else. It’s a command. The magic that made them my Guard, that bound them to me through blood and oath and power, pours through the connection until all the threads sing with it.
Beside me, I hear Therin’s sharp intake of breath followed by a thud. When I glance over, he’s on one knee, head bowed. His jaw is locked, every muscle in his neck standing out as he fights the compulsion to submit fully.
“Cairn—” His voice comes through gritted teeth. “Could have warned me.”
The magic doesn’t care that he’s beside me. It doesn’t care that he’s already answered, already given his loyalty. It’s older than either of us, and when the Eldráfn calls, the Guard answers. That’s how it’s always been.
Vel is still standing, but barely. Her legs are shaking, her hands fisted at her sides, every muscle locked against the weight of the summons pressing down on her. Stubborn to the bone. She won’t kneel. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.
“Eldráfn—” The word grinds out of her.
I don’t ease off. The call needs to be strong enough that every single living member of my Guard, even the ones I can’t feel yet, knowexactlywho’s coming.
