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My heart sank, and I ground my teeth together. This would waste valuable time. But I adjusted my stance to find my core strength. If a fight were imminent, I’d make it quick. All I had to do was pass him and then lose him amongst the towering bookcases. No one knew this place as well as I did.

He shifted too, but his movement didn’t mirror mine; he relaxed against the door frame and shook his head, his tallow-coloured veil rippling as he crossed his arms.

“You should be in the archives by now,” he said, his voice deep and laced with contempt. “That”—his index finger flicked out and pointed at Frickel’s body—“was a mistake.”

That voice…

It can’t be…

It was the voice I had longed to hear over the last three years.

Aster?

So he wasn’t dead or missing; he had just… left.

He swept his hand toward the window. “And she shouldn’t have been here.”

I had known Aster since childhood, and I’d never seen him move like that. With such… light gracefulness.

Taking a step forward, my free hand flexed on instinct. There was a deep-rooted pull to get close to him, but I froze instead. Then opened my mouth to ask him why he was here, where he’d been all those years, only to clamp it shut a moment later. I had no idea what was going on, but I couldn’t give myself away any more than I already had. And why was he not worried about being heard? Had he seen Ember? Hadn’t she already been out of the window before he came in? Why was he in disguise?

And then the truth landed hard in the pit of my stomach. Just because it sounded like Aster didn’t mean that it was him. Voice-altering potions were expensive on the black market, but they weren’t rare. I’d used them myself.

I tightened my grip on the pin, keeping my stance defensive. There was no way this man was going to get in the way of my retrieving a book priceless enough to trade for our freedom.

And then he did the most unexpected thing: he signed, “I need the book,” and then shifted as if he was going to let me pass him. When I didn’t accept the invitation, the man stepped into the room toward me. His boots made no sound on the stone floor. “I know what you’re after,” he said. “And you need me to get it.”

This couldn’t be Aster, could it? He was too tall and broad for it to be him.

I glared at him and clenched my jaw as tension thrummed through my fingers holding the pin, but I couldn’t get a read on him without seeing his face. I shook my head. No.

He tutted. “Bold. But I need that item. And you’re going to get it for me.” How had he known I was going to be here tonight? Was he a rebel sent by Aster to help? Or was he one more man to be feared? How did he know about the codex?

I tightened my hand around the pin and inched closer. All I needed was to get close enough to get the tip into his skin.

“Put it down,” he said mildly. “You’ll need that hand to help.”

I didn’t move, but adrenaline was surging through my fingers as they pincer-gripped the pin.

“A poisoned pin? How quaint.” A hint of amusement laced his words as he pulled off one of his gloves. His fingers twitched, and a shimmer of fire sparked around him. Phoenix magic, which meant he was a gods-cursed Phoenix Rider. An arrogant, fucking show-off. And deadly. My night had gotten infinitely worse—there were no Riders who aligned with the Annatalian rebels. They were the ones who’d killed most of us.

Allowing that hatred to fuel me, I inched closer.

I had never heard of the Nomads having Phoenix Riders other than their prince, or any Nomad man who belonged to another kingdom’s flock. But it didn’t matter, because before he could finish summoning his magic, I lunged. My pin sliced through the air, forcing him to sidestep and abandon the attack. I pressed forward, striking with precision, but he was faster than I’d expected and countered with a ball of pitch-black magic that hit my arm with such force it sent me stumbling backwards.

I had never seen a rider use that sort of magic before. But I shook the questioning thoughts away and focused on the pin still between my fingers, readying my stance for another attack.

“Enough.” He ducked my next swipe, grabbed my wrist with his gloved left hand, and stretched my arm high above my head, my joint screaming at me. The movement brought his chest against mine as he pressed my back into the bookcase.

“Let go.” He was so close his breath brushed across my cheek, and fear shuddered through me. His free arm wrapped around my back. But all I could concentrate on was his gloved fingers gripping my wrist—they were scorching hot. Phoenix-fire hot. I stifled the cry that was building in my throat. I was vaguely aware that even though my skin heated, it didn’t burn. It was only the rune-infused leather gloves between me and death.

“Behave,” he said. “Or is that beyond you?”

I shook my head no, and raised an eyebrow. If he hadn’t killed me already, then he really did need me, and I would use that to my advantage. The hand around my wrist tightened a fraction, and it made me smile—annoying him was deeply satisfying.

Whatever this Rider knew, it wasn’t my true identity. Every man I’d met in the Barren Lands since my capture at thirteen sought to break my will, but instead they’d forged me into a weapon. The twisting of the delicate skin around my wrist became unbearable; sweat trickled down my spine, but I wouldn’t let go of my only protection.

“Drop it,” he said, as if he expected to be obeyed. The hand gripping my hip tightened, and my chest thudded in horror as scorching heat filled the little space between us. “Now.” His tone was deadly.