The hall felt too hot, the air too heavy, and she was suddenly struggling to expand her lungs. When they passed a door, its small window revealing grass and sky beyond, Thia excused herself and all but sprinted toward it.
“Thia—” Dess started.
“I just need a minute.” To her relief, the door was unlocked. She burst through, a feat with its thick wood paneling and iron finishes, and heaved large gulps of outdoor air. Her hands fell to her knees, clammy against the velvet skirt that covered them.
So this was the Mage King. Disdainful. Cruel. Delighting in terror.
What the hell am I doing?
She reached into the bodice of her dress and scooped the shard.Callista,she begged again.
Silver flashed—no, it was her own haunted reflection staring back, her skin so white her freckles stood out like they’d been scribbled on by a marker.
He has not helped a great many people.
Thia was so incredibly stupid. This entire quest had hinged on the sorceress’s instructions. Yet even Callista had been skeptical from the start.
Thia dropped the shard, and it bounced against her breastbone.
I’m going to die here.
Home had never felt so out of reach. A sob shuddered through her.
“Fair Havens!”
Thia jumped, turning to see Archer, who had apparently just rounded the corner of the nearest turret, nearly crashing into her. He backed up, smoothing a set of green robes similar to the ones Lord Sagan wore. “Sorry about that, Thia.”
She sniffed, hastily wiping her face with her sleeve. “That’s alright. I haven’t properly thanked you for saving us.” His long, wavy brown hair was tied back beneath the same green cap he’d worn before, a golden plume cascading from its right side down to his shoulder. Rosy cheeks gave him the appearance of someone younger than his height and stubble suggested, and she placed him somewhere in his mid-twenties.
He waved her aside. “But of course. The Magician was in the middle of an intricate spell and could not be interrupted. Just as well, as I need the practice.” He smiled, though it dipped slightly as he inspected her. “What are you doing out here?”
“Waxing existential,” Thia muttered.
“A favorite pastime of mine also,” he replied, and she laughed. He watched her for another moment. “I was just about to set the wards,” he said. “Would you like to accompany me?”
“The wards?” Thia asked, but she stepped after him as he set out across the yard.
“Magical barriers that protect this place. Xercae won’t find you here.”
Thia frowned. “Xercae?”
Archer peered down at her over his shoulder. “The witch.”
“I remember. Why would she find me here?”
He slowed, giving her an incredulous raise of one brow. Then, realizing her confusion was genuine, he relented. “Look there.” He raised a long arm and pointed out over the horizon.
Thia followed the gesture, scanning the mountains where they were lined with gold, and the shadows below.
Then she saw it—a speck, closer that she was expecting. A billow of black pacing the sky. She gasped. “She’s here?”
Archer must have sensed the fear in her voice because he stopped walking entirely and laid an elegant hand on her arm. “Our wards will hold.”
“Why?” Thia managed to rasp. She dug her fingernails into her palms. “How?”
Archer pursed his lips. “Rumors of her sister’s death have spread. I presume she seeks vengeance against you.”
“Me?” The word was a squeak.
