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“Good girl.”

A dark laugh burst out of her, surprising us both. Then she turned toward her sister, trying her damnedest to focus on Rika while Brody held her shoulders so tightly his knuckles strained. The branches creaked around us, twisting my gut.

“Rika?” she demanded, stepping between them. Brody’s shoulders sagged when Mags took his place. “Hey. You’re not there. Not anymore.”

“It was real,” Rika sobbed.

“Yes. Yes, it was real. She died. She did.” Mags’ voice cracked. “It happened, but it’s over. You’re safe. We’re with Aren.”

Rika’s eyes finally focused on her sister, then drifted to our bleak surroundings—the shadowed fog curling through the weeping branches above us.

“Can we go around?”

“It would add weeks, at best,” I said, shaking my head. “And we have no idea whether the other wards would be any easier to conquer.”

“A mentalist tomb is likely the worst.”

“We don’t even know if it ends,” Brody pointed out. “It may very well divide all hierarchies from here to the vanishing sea.”

“Fuck,” Rika squeaked, her voice tight with anguish.

“It’s through or back,” Jason said solemnly.

“And I don’t think Rhiannon will be as hospitable the second time,” Mags said gently.

“Me neither,” I agreed, throat thick as Rhiannon’s demands replayed in my mind.

Go, kin of the golden one. Before her sickness spreads.

Sickness. What kind of sickness could the most prolific healer in history possibly carry? And why did Rhiannon fear her? Mags had always claimed a darkness ran through her veins—her magic—but I’d only ever felt her shadows: the pull of a body containing too much power for its vessel, like she held gravity at her center. Ally was much the same, and in nearly three centuries of life, I’d never have applied the word to her gifts.

Mags was gentle. Kind. She loved so deeply it threatened to destroy her, and only there could I see anything resembling sickness. But the same could be said of everyone in my coven. Unless martyrdom was a disease, I failed to understand Rhiannon’s warning.

“So, we forge forward,” Mags decided, confidence betrayed only by the tremor in her voice.

“Forward,” I agreed. “Hold on to each other. And for the love of all things holy, keep your shields high.” When the girls nodded in unison, I mirrored the motion, grabbed Mags’ hand, and tugged her to my side. “We stay together,” I ordered over the crunch of our footfalls across frozen earth, the air chilling the deeper we went. “Everyone stays in contact. Don’t let each other drop out of view. Period. Under no circumstances do you leave the path. Under no circumstances do you release your partner.”

“Perhaps tethers,” Brody suggested.

“Can we hold still for a moment?” Mags closed her eyes, darkness spilling from her like smoke off flames, rushing into the brambles and down the path in winding serpentine ropes. Brody dropped his bag from his shoulder. My mind spun, heart hammering as I surveyed the crushing gray around us.

“Are those… ribbons?” Rika asked softly. I turned to find Mags kneeling beside Brody, her backpack flung open as she pulled out an airtight plastic bag filled with gold silk.

“Where did…” I cut myself off as realization dawned and pain slammed through my chest like I’d taken a physical blow. The answer left me in an agonized exhale. “Ally.”

“Ally,” Mags agreed, rising to stand as Brody did the same.

“The lore says a mentalist can warp your memories—alter what the mind can see until only illusion remains. Might be wise to ensure we can’t wander apart if Koa renders us blind.” He hoisted a coil of rope. I loathed adding any weight to the girls’ steps, but I despised the prospect of losing one of them more.

Throat tight, I nodded and stepped forward to help him unwind it, thanking my Second internally.

Meticulously, we fastened the rope around our waists—enough slack for mobility if we had to defend ourselves, but not enough to wander into Koa’s traps. Once we were secure, Mags slipped her rucksack over her shoulders and fished out one bright gold ribbon, the perfect length to tie around the nearest trunk and mark our path.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Gods forbid we somehow get separated, we follow the ribbons back to the entrance and burn our way into the demarcation line. We wait for the others there.”

“I don’t have fire,” Rika whispered. “Never conjured it.”

“Me either,” Brody grimaced. The wind shifted. Branches swayed and creaked, Magnolia’s hair whipping across her face as the current drew inward. In one violent turn, she spun toward the path behind us and slammed her air magic into the barrier with enough force to bow the nearest branches away. Others snapped, their tops dangling limply toward the ground.