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“Precisely.”

Ollie shook his head. “You and Cedric and your fear of heights. Is that a human trait as a whole?”

Tenny bit her tongue to keep herself from sticking it out at him again. “You’ve got a quick wit, Oleander. I understand why Elle is so fond of you.”

“Aww, Ten. Is that your way of telling me you’re fond of me too?”

Tenny faced forward again, smiling to herself. How her people had gone centuries hating the fae, being fearful of Arcanians, she would never understand. Or, rather, she could understand it but only because she knew they had to have gone generations without ever having met one. If they had . . .

Her smile faltered when she remembered that her own father had been the one responsible for continuing to foster so much of that hate.

Ollie must have sensed the change in her disposition, because his voice was free of teasing when he said, “To answer your question, we should be there soon. I can see the river up ahead, and the village lies just beyond that.”

Tenny gave the fae a grateful nod, and the two of them trotted along in amiable silence. Ollie was certainly right about one thing. Well, he was irritatingly right about many things, actually, another symptom of being as long-lived as he was, she suspected. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

However, the freedom he mentioned in being out here . . . now, that she could agree with. Aside from traveling between Seastone and Kingshelm, Tenny had seen shockingly little of the realm she called home. Even in winter, there was so much beauty, so much majesty to be seen here—fields of cheerful pansies pushing through the snow, screeching eagles flying overhead, dense evergreen forests, a telebear cub trying to dig through the surface of a frozen pond.

She was halfway through mentally cataloging all the things she’d need to jot down in her travel journal when the sparrow found her.

It landed on Fjaethe’s saddle horn, black feet perched upon the leather, dark, feathery shadows misting off its tiny body.

The sight of it made Tenny want to cry. Elyria really was all right. She was well enough to send one of her shadowy messengers—the same kind they had used to communicate across distance before she was taken.

“Look, Ollie,” she whispered, slowing the horse to a stop.

Ollie’s mouth dropped open. “Is that⁠—”

She nodded. The sparrow opened its mouth. Elyria’s melodic voice came out.

And then Tenny wanted to cry for an entirely different reason.

“The cult came. Elderglade has fallen. We are safe and have both halves. More soon. Be well.” Then the sparrow chirped off a set of mana stone coordinates and fell silent.

“The sanctuary has . . . fallen?” Ollie’s voice was uncharacteristically even. “What does that mean?”

Tenny bit her lip. “I know as much as you do. She says they are safe, at least.”

“Yes, but who is ‘we’?”

Tenny could only shake her head. “Where do you think they are now?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Sounds like it’s somewhere with a mana stone, thank the stars. So at least we’ll be able to send future missives of our own to them.”

“The message was so clear, despite us having traveled this far north. Do you remember what it was like before?” She recalled the sparrow messengers she’d received when Elyria, Cedric, and their party were on the road to Dawnspire—how each one arrived more broken, the message less clear, the farther the party had ventured from Kingshelm. Eventually, Tenny, Nox, and Kit hadn’t even been able to send anything back.

“Maybe she’s just stronger now,” Ollie said, beaming with obvious pride. The relief the fae must have felt in hearing his friend’s voice after so long, to know she was safe . . .

For now, at least.

“I suppose these are all things we can ask?” She pointed down at the sparrow, still sitting on her saddle horn, waiting expectantly. “It’s waiting for us to send something back. What should we say?”

He bit his lip, then huffed a breathy laugh. “Why do I feel pressure now to make sure we say the right thing?”

Tenny chuckled with him. “What was that other bit she mentioned—something about both halves? Do you think that means⁠—”

Ollie’s brows show up his forehead. “The crown?”

“Stars above, I think you’re right,” Tenny murmured. She crouched in her saddle, bending down to speak directly to the sparrow, still patiently waiting to carry a message back to its creator. “Ollie and I make for Kinsgaith, to join Tristan and Zephyr. King Callum’s soldiers move to help search for Malakar and his cultists. If there is anything we can do to help, just say the word. Stay safe; stay well.”