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Chapter One

While the Falling Moon was not quite winter, it was the precipice. A time of rapid change. Of trees losing their leaves, rivers starting to freeze, and trails softening to muck. Ten months into the year and it was nearly time for snow again. Iryana couldn’t help but feel that the warm months had passed far too quickly.

She trailed behind Uncle Dinhal, boots sinking into the wet path, muddy from the overnight freeze that had thawed through the day. Bright, golden needles from larches and soft yellow leaves from birches rained down with every gust of wind. The world was in transition around them.

“I still don’t like it,” Kladara, Iryana’s cousin, huffed from the back of the party. “You’re our heir, putting you at the mercy of those soldiers doesn’t sound smart.”

Iryana tried not to sigh too obviously. Her grandmother hadn’t liked it either.

“You see the benefit, don’t you, Uncle?” she asked Dinhal, who walked at the head of their small group of three.

He was quiet for a moment as they trudged along, carefully looking through the trees as they worked their way through the Yuresh, the lower valley that sat below their post. He was everything people imagined when they thought of Istri’s guardians: a strong warrior who trained obsessively and fought to protect his people and his clan with single-minded determination. He was a great beast of a man, enormous muscles obvious even beneath his coat. That prominent brow shadowed his focused gaze, and his brown beard did nothing to soften the square planes of his face.

“You won rule of the 18th by winning a challenge against their general,” he started slowly, every word firm with intention. “They respect and fear you for that, but then you named another to rule and left the 18th entirely. I’m sure some don’t appreciate that.”

“When I left the fort, I didn’t see much hostility from most of the brigade,” she argued, a bit defensively. She’d had little interaction with them since then, other than a few meetings with Pyetar and some exchanged letters.

They were quiet for several strides, moving into a more open part of the forest. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves, the squelch of mud, and the soft thumping of their unforged weapons shifting against their fall layers. The arrows in Iryana’s quiver shifted with each step, but made little noise as they bumped against the fur lining of the quiver.

“I have heard whispers,” Uncle Dinhal finally admitted.

Iryana swallowed, adjusting her strung bow against her shoulder. “Oh?”

He looked back at her, his face twisting slightly in distaste as if he had hoped she wouldn’t ask for further clarification. “You showed up out of nowhere, helped a new general come to power, were close with him… then you helped lead a coup, killed him, and put another general in power. It’s reasonable for the soldiers to be wary of your influence.”

She couldn’t help the slight shudder that worked its way through her.

It wasn’t the cold that bothered her. With a fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders, hiding the guardian armor beneath, the chill didn’t penetrate. Even her headscarf was a thicker wool, once covered in colorful blue irises but now dyed a mushroom brown.

The problem was the truth of what her uncle had said, contrasted with how truly powerless she had felt—how powerless she still felt—that mimicked bugs crawling over her skin.

She’d heard the rumors just like Dinhal, but she doubted they would amount to much.

“You think they’ll try something?” she asked anyway.

Uncle Dinhal shrugged. “I don’t know. Could die off, could become a problem. I’m just wary.”

“You have to reestablish yourself,” Kladara cut in, voice almost harsh after Dinhal’s slow drag. “As an ally and strong commander. Show them this side of you so they know where you stand.”

“And,” Uncle Dinhal murmured, “we don’t know how things have changed since the new Horvol took over.”

A crack a way off in the forest had them all momentarily freezing, listening for further sound and trying to gauge what was in the trees.

“I know you two don’t mind Pyetar.” Kladara cut through the silence after they’d resumed walking. “But perhaps he will be different now that he has power. Now that he’s not held beneath his brother’s boot. And he’s done plenty of things before that suggest it would be easy for him to abuse his power.”

Her cousin was trying to be diplomatic, reasonable. But Iryana was so tired of having this conversation with them. They wouldn’t take her word for it, not that she really knew how to force the issue.

“I don’t think—”

A rustling broke through the rhythmic squelching of their steps, and once again they all froze.

This time silence didn’t follow.

Iryana moved slightly to the side, peering through the trees. Pale blue glinted between the brown and white trunks. She waited. Watched.

Then its head came into view. The boxy snout, the exposed black teeth, gray-blue fur leading up to two twisting sets of ebony horns. It was a dakya, one of the dakii—the beasts that had ravaged Istri and still kept them cowering behind their walls.

She couldn’t tell if it had noticed them, but it could surely smell them. On instinct, Iryana held out her hand, ready to summon her metal-forged bow, but then she remembered what would happen if she did.