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“I disappeared?” she asked slowly.

Shep pursed his lips and nodded. “It would appear so.”

Kit cleared her throat and planted her hands on either side of her, her knuckles meeting cool dirt as she prepared to rise to her feet.

She froze.

Knuckles, not fingers. Not the palms of her hands.

Because said fingers were otherwise occupied.

Shep’s eyes widened as he followed Kit’s gaze, now pinned to the ground—to the hand that was clasped around something hard and sharp and cool. “Is that . . . ?”

Kit stood, her arm held aloft, Elderglade’s luminous glow glinting off the golden crown-half resting against her palm. She took a step, and shadows peeled away from her boots like a receding tide.

“Th-this is impossible.” Shep’s whisper sliced through the air between them. “Where did it come from?”

“Nox gave it to me. Pulled me into the shadows and . . . I don’t really know how they did it, how they got to me in here. But they also said—” She gasped. It was like time had caught up with her, the fuzziness in her head finally clearing. “I have to warn Ellie and Ric. Malakar’s followers are coming for them.”

“When?”

Kit’s panicked eyes met Shep’s, the answer sticking to her tongue. Maybe if she didn’t speak it aloud, it wouldn’t come true.

“When, Kit? When did Nox say they would attack?”

“Tonight.”

The sylvan sprang into action, withdrawing the short sword at his waist in a single pull. He made a broad gesture toward Elderglade’s entrance, the archway at his back. “I will warn Thraigg, and we must tell the council immediately. Fly back, and whatever you do, do not lose that.” He pointed the tip of his sword at Kit’s hand.

Her fingers clutched the crown so tightly, the metal cut into her skin. She didn’t care. Couldn’t care. “But they won’t be able to get in, right? That’s the whole point of this place. Surely they can’t . . .” Nausea swarmed her.

Shep gave a sad shake of his head. “It is clear nothing is sure anymore. If Nox was able to get to you through the shadows, who knows what else will be able to slip in. We must take their warning seriously. We need to protect the younglings and evacuate everyone. Get them all to the⁠—”

And then there was screaming.

Shep’s. Kit’s own.

Because a dozen bloodred ribbons suddenly lashed out from the archway behind Shep, wrapping around his petite frame. They looped around his arms, his legs, binding tight in an instant, his sword falling to the forest floor.

And he was yanked backward through the gate and into the night.

30

PROTECTION

ELYRIA

“My staff?” Elyria’s voice was pitched high, the words strained, stretched thin, her neck craning as if she might be able to see what was happening beyond the surrounding trees.

Cedric shook his head. “Back in Kingshelm. I’m sorry.” He pulled a dagger from the scabbard at his hip and handed it to Elyria, handle-first. “Here.”

She gave him a tight nod, her fingers tightening around its hilt. She rolled her shoulders back, tensing slightly at the odd sensation there—something both familiar and altogether new.

There was a whole new dimension of sadness in how quickly Elyria had gotten used to her wings being gone, to the feeling of utter nothingness there. And now that they were back—in a way, at least—she would have to get used to them all over again.

Clearly the readjustment would take some time. And Elyria wished more than anything she could spend just a tiny bit more of that time settled in Cedric’s calming embrace, the grounding presence of him a reminder of everything there was to be grateful for.

Because Elyria was grateful: to be alive, to be free. To have her wings unharmed and whole and with her once more, even if that was all they’d ever be—simply, well, there.