Below us, the land shifts from forest to stone and sea. The journey that took us days on foot takes hours by air. Völundr appears below us, still showing damage from the waves but alive. They're rebuilding.
Near the western quarter, bright cloth hangs from a tall beam — Aelfric's marker. A cleared stretch of courtyard lies open beside the healing house, guards already pushing civilians back.
"There," Landon calls, leaning forward over Dorcha's neck.
The wyvern answers with a sharp cry and banks hard.
She circles once above the designated landing space, wings casting a vast shadow over the courtyard. Her landing shakes the stones. Wind blasts outward in a violent rush. People scream and scatter at the sight of her, some stumbling, others dropping to their knees at the sheer size of the beast and the fae astride her back.
I land moments later, folding my wings tight.
"Where is she?" I demand of the first healer who stops long enough to acknowledge us.
"Third floor—" Her eyes widen as she takes in Landon properly. "Is that a fae? What's he doing here?"
"He's here to help," Aelfric says, appearing from inside.
"Lord Rainer moved her to the temple chamber," the healer continues, still staring at Landon. "The Hlaryan elves thought the sacred pools might help stabilize her. But it's not working."
"Take me to her. Now," Landon mutters.
We run through the healing house corridors, past wounded who stare at the fae commander in their midst with fear and hatred. But no one tries to stop us.
The temple chamber is at the very top of the healing house. A room with windows overlooking the mountains. They've moved Rhianelle's bed here, surrounded her with candles and herbs to make her comfortable.
I rush to her bedside and drop to my knees. She looks worse than when I left. Her breathing is so shallow I can barely see her chest move.
"I'm here," I whisper, taking her hand. "I made it back to you. I brought help."
Behind me, the door opens.
I sense rather than see Landon enter. Feel the shift in the air as he steps into the room.
Something invisible snaps tight.
I turn to look at him and freeze.
Landon has stopped in the doorway. His entire body goes rigid, his eyes fixed on Rhianelle. He stares at her like he's been struck by lightning.
Light explodes between them.
Golden and brilliant. The mating bond strikes like Elli warned it would. I can see it now, the threads fate has woven. They connect Landon and Rhianelle with cords of pure destiny.
The air crackles with power as the bond settles into place.
Color returns to Rhianelle's cheeks. Her breathing deepens, strengthens. The healing begins immediately, powered by the sheer life force of a connection blessed by the Un themselves.
Landon staggers back a step, gripping the doorframe for support. "No," he whispers. "It can't be."
The bond pulses between them. Golden threads wrap around Rhianelle. They sink into her skin, feeding her strength and life.
I watch as fate rewrites itself before my eyes. This fae commander, the Herald of the Wild Hunt, is her true mate. The one Blight and the Un have chosen. The one who fits her perfectly.
Rhianelle's eyes flutter open.
For the first time in days, she's truly conscious and aware. Her twilight eyes focus, seeing clearly rather than staring through fever dreams.
She looks at Landon first. Recognition flashes across her face. "Landon?"
