DO NOT PATRONIZE ME. He groans. NOT UNTIL WE ACTUALLY SURVIVE THIS.
What has she done? Has she sent Zryan into that unknown place to die, too? Her eyes are fixed on the point where the window just sealed shut. She rubs Bastet’s neck. “Wearegoing to survive this. You’re too stubborn to die. And so are they.” She has to keep telling herself that. Better that Skylar and Zryan are together, wherever they are, until she can reach them.
Bastet slows as they reach the spot the dragon rider sliced open.
Wand. Unlock.
What did Skylar mean? She grips the wand tighter, feels the reassuring warmth of it seep into her skin. She slashes it up and down where she saw the man do the same, but nothing. Not even a hint of magic.
Bastet drops and she almost loses her seat, but he rights himself. SORRY, SOUL-BONDED.IAM… TIRING.
She presses a palm to his back. “I know—not much longer.”
She slashes again, and again, and again, and still nothing. What is she missing?
She waves the wand in frustration, then holds it up in front of her, willing it to understand her.
I am the witch queen Astrid Nachstern of Arturea, descendent of King Nyx Nachstern, who was tethered to the mighty familiar Artemia. And I need your help.
The wand glows softly in response and excitement bubbles in her stomach. She slashes up and down once more. No cut appears. No window.
“No!” she screams, the word tearing at her windpipe. She cannot fail. She can’t fail Zryan and she can’t fail Skylar.
Wand. Unlock.
Think, Astrid, think.Why would Skylar say “unlock”?Wand. Unlock. Then it comes to her, because that’s it. That’s it! The unlocking spell. Skylar means the unlocking spell. She sweeps her arm up and down, prays to Sqaõi, and cries, “Avask!”
The sky rips open, sucking her hair into her face and tearing the breath from her lungs.
Bastet roars, Astrid’s own cry of triumph mingling with his. “Go, Bastet!”
And he does.
They soar through the ragged opening in the world. Fly from blue skies to starlight, from rust-red canyons to… Astrid looks below them and her pulse stutters and almost stalls.
Lush jungle sprawls as far as the eye can see, mountains jutting up like jagged teeth, dense foliage smothering their peaks. This world has two moons, too, she notes, and they illuminate the terrain below, allowing Astrid to see breaks in the trees where roads spiderweb the landscape. If there are roads, then there are people. Her fingers tighten in Bastet’s fur.
“Where are they?” Because there’s no sign of Skylar and Zryan. Not in the skies or on the ground. And they are the only people she cares about right now. She reaches out with her Gift, but there’s nothing.She tries to speak into Skylar’s mind, but there’s only static where her mate should be.
Bastet falters again. Astrid looks behind her. The window she made was much smaller than the other one and already it has nearly knitted back together. She bites the inside of her cheek, tastes the iron that fills her mouth, just to reassure herself she’s here—that this is all really happening.
“Over there, Bastet.” She points to a gap in the trees not far from one of the bigger roads. She’s not risking landing on one of them, not when she doesn’t know where they are or what they might be facing.
They are in anotherworld.
She’s trying hard not to hyperventilate, focusing solely on Bastet as he descends, thinking only about checking his injury and getting him rest. She’ll panic later.
He bounds onto the soft ground, the leafy forest floor softening the landing. Astrid dismounts and runs around, kneeling to check his front left paw, which he’s lifted awkwardly. The jungle is alive with sound—croaking and hissing and chirping and clicking; and there’s the faint trickle of a stream coming from somewhere. Good. She can get him some water after she’s checked the wound.
“Lie down. Let me see.” She turns his paw over. A vicious shard of glass protrudes from the leathery pad of his sole. Stars, how did he land with that? “I’m going to pull it out. Just try not to bite through your own tongue. Are you ready?”
DO IT, LITTLEWITCH.
She chuckles at Skylar’s nickname for her, ignoring the pang of fear and loss it causes, and yanks out the glass. He hisses, claws extending and almost shredding her already fairly shredded forearm. She tears one of her sleeves from her silver suit using a spell and ties it tightly around Bastet’s free-flowing gash.
YOU COULD USE SOME BANDAGES YOURSELF.
“They’ve clotted by now—don’t worry about me.” She wipes her bloody hands on a large waxy leaf, then stands up and looks around.
“What is this place?” she says, lowering her voice. Tall trees, gnarled and twisting, surround them; vines—fat as ropes—snake around thetrunks and sway between branches. The air is thick, heavy like a damp blanket, and Astrid’s breathing is little more than shallow gasps as a sense of unease overcomes her. Because something feels different, something she can’t put her finger on.
Then she realizes what it is. The jungle is silent, the sounds she could hear a moment ago, absent. A crawling sensation creeps down her neck and travels along her spine as she looks back at Bastet. He’s standing, ears flat, staring over her shoulder at the undergrowth beyond.
WE ARE NOT ALONE.
She slowly turns her head.
The figures approach from every direction, and where they tread, death follows, as every living thing they pass shrivels and disintegrates to dust.
Exhausters. Dozens of Exhausters. All of them coming for her.
