The one whose home is being attacked.
“I need to see the outer wards,” I say. The decision lands in me like a falling stone. “Now.”
Alina’s fingers tighten on my arm. I glance down.
Her eyes are wide, but not with panic.
With focus.
With fury.
An echo of the Marches hums in her—through the zareth and the bond we created between us. The fault lines whisper through her bones, now, too.
“Stay with them,” I tell her, clasping her hand in both of mine for a heartbeat. “The Barrow will shield you.”
Her jaw flexes. She nods once. “Okay. Go. Do what you have to do.”
Behind her, Delia slides an arm around Jules’ shoulders, murmuring calming nonsense as she rocks Marcel.
Phoebe moves toward the narrow window slits the Barrow has allowed in this room, peering out, her shoulders tense.
“Stay inside the inner ring,” I say, pitching my voice so all three viyellas hear. “Do not cross any threshold that feels… wrong. If the stone pushes back, you listen.”
“How will we know?” Phoebe asks, glancing over her shoulder.
“You’ll know,” I answer quietly before Alina can ask. “Trust me.”
“I do,” she replies easily.
But I know none of this is easy.
Another shock hits the wards, sharp and hard enough that I feel one of the older sigils on the outermost wall crack down the middle. The castle growls, deep and offended, and reroutes power to a secondary ring.
“He’s probing,” Thorne mutters, eyes gone full ember. “Looking for a weakness.”
“Then we do not give him one,” Alaric says. He leans down, presses a kiss to Jules’ brow and another to the top of Marcel’s head. “Stay inside. All of you. No arguments.”
Jules glares at him but nods.
Kael brushes his fingers over Phoebe’s hair as he passes. Thorne does the same to Delia’s shoulder.
I cup Alina’s cheek with my free hand, letting my thumb rest just at the corner of her mouth.
“Heed me. If something feels wrong, listen,” I repeat. “The Barrow has claimed you. It will fight for you.”
Her throat works. “Okay. Just come back to me,” she whispers.
“I will,” I say.
I have to.
The four of us move—out of the room, into the corridor, down toward the nearest junction where the sigils feed into the Barrow’s heart.
Magic crackles in our wake, ward-lines lighting at our approach. The door seals shut behind us with a heavy, echoing thud, roots threading across the threshold like a barred gate.
Another blast hits.
This one I feel in my spine.
