"A while, but not forever," Enovar admits. "Long enough to get you close to Veynar."
I frown. "How will you get back through the undead?"
Enovar smiles. "They cannot kill what is already dead. And besides, I won't travel back to Syle."
"He disappears like a fucking mirage," Uralish grumbles.
Enovar ignores him. "I will meet you in Shalvar. I have contacts near Thrykis I plan to retrieve intel from."
I look at Syle. "Without him, how will you protect yourself?"
Before he answers, Syle lunges. They clash, fast and controlled, power moving between them until my vision fills with gold, the same overwhelming light I have seen before.
"You have the same power as your father," I say.
"Yes," Uralish replies dryly. "He is a fool, but he can hold his own without the annoying soul sucker."
The light fades.
Syle straightens."I will look into Jularin,"he says.“Our connection will weaken with distance, but know that I will not stop until I get answers.”
I nod. "I understand."
Uralish puts his hand on my shoulder in what might be an attempt at affection. "I will remain here as Regent," he adds. "Until you return."
He pauses.
"I will keep your seat warm." Then he steps back, already turning away as though the decision has been made.
Part Four
CHAPTER 40
Boots
The room is too quiet for what comes next. I do not wait in it. I cross to the wardrobe and pull it open, my hands moving through the fabric without care for order, taking what will endure rather than what was meant to be seen. The weight of the children presses low as I bend and reach, pulling at my center in a way that shifts my balance and forces me to brace briefly against the frame before straightening again, my breath tightening as I continue. Wool. Leather. Anything that will survive the path ahead.
Behind me, Syle appears without announcement, a bundle already in his hands. He sets it down for Colsar, the fabric dark and clean, shaped with quiet intention. Colsar looks at it once, then begins changing without pause, replacing what little he has with something built for movement, the fit exact in a way that feels anticipated rather than measured. He does not question it, and there is something in that lack of hesitation that steadies the space more than any reassurance could.
I strip away the last of my gown and pull on the heavier layers, the fabric dragging over my skin as I work it into place. Theweight of the children forces me to adjust again, my stance widening slightly as I secure the next layer, my breath shifting as I move through it instead of fighting it. I reach for the golden staff where it rests and hold it for a moment, feeling its full weight in my hand before drawing on the thread of glamour that answers to me now. The structure yields under my control, folding inward until it shortens and narrows, the gold compressing into something that fits cleanly along my side. I secure it at my hip, the balance of it working with me instead of against me.
Colsar steps in front of me and lowers himself, his movements direct as he reaches for my boots. I shift carefully as he pulls them into place, the pressure low in my body forcing me to brace against the edge of the wardrobe while he tightens the laces with controlled force, securing them so they will hold. His hands remain there for a moment after he finishes, and when he looks up at me I see it.
It passes quickly, but it is there.
He is measuring me as I am now. Not as I was, not as I will be, but as I stand in front of him, carrying more than my own weight, slower than I should be, exposed in ways that no amount of strength fully erases.
"Stop worrying," I say, quieter than I intend, but even enough.
He rises, his attention still on me. "I just spent six months out there," he says, his voice low, controlled in a way that holds more than it gives away. "I know how dangerous it is. And how cold."
"This will be a different route," I say, my voice more certain than I feel.
Colsar’s expression does not change, but something in him accepts the statement for what it is rather than what it promises.
When we open the door, Syle is already waiting. He moves ahead of us, already positioning himself to lead.
Syle’s voice cuts through my mind.“Two corridors are already blocked. They’ve been taken.”
