"Then I will pray to whatever gods still listen that the Welati will honor it and help you." Roone's tone shifted—became more certain, more determined. "But I can't go with you. I wish I could, but I'd only slow you down."
"I know," I said, and I did.
"But there's something I can do." He straightened to his full height, which wasn't much, but his small body took on a determined posture that made him seem larger. "I can go back to Fange City. There are prisoners there—people like me who got caught on the wrong side of things—who know that Persico is the lesser of many evils. He's cruel and he's selfish, but he haslimits. Hewes is worse. So much worse. Crueler. More vicious. He'll bleed this city dry for his own profit and leave nothing but corpses and ashes behind."
"Roone—"
"I can gather them. Organize them. Most of them have nothing to lose anyway. If you can get the Welati to attack from the outside, we can create chaos from the inside. Distract the guards. Sabotage the weapons. Set fires. Whatever it takes to give you a chance to reach Ahrick before Hewes kills him."
The plan was insane.
Reckless.
Desperate.
It was also the only chance we had.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked, searching his face. "Really sure? If Hewes catches you—"
"No." Roone's ears twitched, and a wry smile crossed his features. "I'm not sure at all. I'm terrified. But I owe Ahrick my life and the lives of my family. He risked everything for us. So I'm going to do this. And you're going to ride north and bring back an army."
My throat tightened with emotion I didn't have time to process. "Thank you, Roone. For everything."
"Don't thank me yet." He turned toward the small pen behind the shack. "We haven't succeeded yet. Let's get you ready first."
The kuda was bigger than I'd expected.
So much bigger.
At first glance, from a distance, it looked enough like a horse—the same general muscular frame, the graceful curve of neck, the four sturdy legs positioned for speed and power. But up close, this wasn't an Earth creature. This was something born from otherworldly visions and cosmic light.
The animal's hide gleamed like flowing quicksilver, a shimmering pewter that shifted with hints of deep green and violet as it moved, colors dancing across the surface like the northern lights. Its eyes—remarkably large and bright, far larger than any horse I'd ever seen—were the brilliant blue of deep ocean water, with vertical pupils that narrowed and widened like a cat's, observing us with an intelligence that made me shiver. When it breathed out through wide nostrils, twin streams of vapor rose into the air, and I noticed something faintly glowing inside, a bioluminescence like coals smoldering in a furnace.
But it was the mane that truly mesmerized and unsettled me in equal measure. Dense, cord-like tendrils cascaded along its powerful neck, each one moving independently, shifting on its own—twisting, extending, sampling the air with a consciousness all their own. The kuda's overall build was just barely off from a horse, subtle differences—legs slightly too elongated, joints flexing at angles that seemed impossible, its movements too smooth, too effortless, too fluid. It was gorgeous and disturbing in equal parts.
"Her name is Starfield," Roone said from beside me, keeping a respectful distance from the fence. "Nansar raised her from a calf when she was abandoned by her herd. She's fast—faster than almost anything on Palaydium. She's strong—she can run for hours without tiring. But she's also stubborn as hell and she knows her own mind, and..." Roone's face screwed into a frown. "She bites."
"Sounds like Ahrick," I muttered under my breath.
Roone made a sound that might have been a laugh, high and chittering. "You're not wrong."
The kuda watched me as I climbed over the fence carefully, her large eyes tracking my every movement. I dropped into the pen, my boots hitting the packed dirt, and she took an immediate step back, her powerful muscles bunchingdefensively. Her nostrils flared wide, scenting me, analyzing me, trying to figure out what I was and whether I was a threat.
"Easy," I said, keeping my voice steady and calm, channeling every lesson my grandfather had ever taught me. "Easy, Starfield. I'm a friend. I'm Ahrick's friend. You know Ahrick, don't you? He's in trouble and I need your help."
I thought of my grandfather. The way he'd taught me to approach horses with patience and respect—slow, calm, letting them come to you instead of forcing yourself on them. Never chase. Never grab. Always wait.
I held out my hand, palm up and open, showing I meant no threat, and waited.
The kuda's ears swiveled forward, those strange mobile tendrils in her mane shifting and twisting. She took a cautious step closer, testing, then another, her hooves making soft snicks against the ground. Then another step, and another until her large muzzle was inches from my outstretched hand, close enough that I felt the heat of her breath.
She sniffed carefully, huffed warm air across my palm, then pressed her nose against my hand with surprising gentleness.
Relief flooded through me so completely I almost laughed.
"Good girl," I murmured, my other hand coming up to stroke her neck, feeling the strange texture of her hide under my fingers. "Good girl, Starfield. You're such a good girl."
Roone appeared beside me with a saddle—if you could call it that. It looked more like an elaborate harness, all straps and buckles and reinforced panels, designed to distribute weight evenly across the kuda's broad back and shoulders.
