There is a faint shift in the air. So faint, I almost miss it, but a whisper brushes against the edge of my mind. Not words, not fully, but something. A feeling. A flicker of fear… and hope.
I stiffen, jerking my gaze upward.
“Did you feel that?” I rasp, barely above a whisper.
Mylo glances back at me, frowning. Giorgi shakes their head once,scanning the mist. No one else felt it.
But I know I did.
I clench my jaw, urging my horse forward, heart thrumming painfully against my ribs. She’s alive. She’s fighting.
And he has her.
The thought of Torbin—of my deceitful brother—touching her, threatening her, sends a white-hot surge of rage through my chest. My hands tighten so hard around the reins that the leather cuts into my palms, but I don’t care. I won’t care until she’s safe in my arms again.
A low branch snaps against my shoulder as we push through another thicket of hemlock. I barely feel it. My mind is a tunnel of single-minded fury now, aimed straight at the heart of Dulcamar.
Torbin will pay for this.
I swear it on every breath I have left.
Ahead, Giorgi raises a hand, signaling for us to slow. The mist parts just enough for me to make out the outline of a crumbling wall—stone, ancient and weatherworn, cloaked in the same ghostly vines that infest the valley.
Beyond it, shrouded in shadow and fog, looms the fortress of Dulcamar.
My pulse pounds harder, my breath frosting in the air.
“There’s a side entrance,” Giorgi murmurs, barely audible over the creaking of leather and the distant moan of the wind. “Northwest corner. Looks like it’s fallen into disrepair. If we’re careful, we can get through without being seen.”
I nod once, sharp and decisive. “Let’s move.”
We dismount near a crag of broken stone half-hidden by the mist. The fortress looms above, its black towers dissolving into the clouds, walls crusted with frost and lichen. The air is sharp enough to cut skin, and as I fumble with the reins, my fingers ache with the cold, stiff and clumsy inside my gloves.
Mylo ties off the horses quickly, whispering soothing words to them as they shudder against the icy ground. Kormak checks the straps twice, ever methodical, even as the wind bites at us with each passing second.
Aila comes up beside me, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Her breath billows white into the air as she glances toward the fortress.
“You’ve literally gone to the ends of the earth for her. She must mean a lot to you,” she says, her voice low but not accusing.
I tighten the knot on my horse’s reins and stare up at the monstrous silhouette of Dulcamar.
“She is my life,” I say, the words scraping raw against my throat. “Without her… there’s nothing left worth living for.”
Aila watches me for a moment, her dark hair plastered against her cheeks from the damp wind. Then she nods once, firm and sure. “Good. Then you’ll fight like hell to bring her home.”
I meet her gaze. “Nothing will stop me.”
Not the tsar.
Not Torbin.
Not even the gods themselves.
Giorgi finishes securing the last of the horses and signals that they’re ready.
We fall into a crouch, moving low across the frozen earth toward the crumbled breach in the wall. The wind tears at us, carrying the smell of smoke and cold stone. Each step feels heavier, not just from the thick hemlock tangling at our boots, but from the weight of what lies ahead.
The fortress waits, silent and watching.
