Alyra ran, breath burning in her throat, heart pounding in rhythm with her steps on the packed dirt road. Ahead, Sierelith was a pale blur under the moonlight, her cloak rippling like liquid silver. Behind, Faela moved in near silence, gliding rather than running.

  The night pressed close around them, cool and watchful. The bridge over the Droswyn River was just ahead.

  The place where Derek had been attacked.

  A raptor the size of a house had carried him off into the sky. No one should have survived that.

  And yet he had. He’d killed the beast and lived to tell the tale.

  Barely, but still alive.

  Alyra tightened her grip on her cloak. She was meant to survive—meant to fulfill her purpose and this time, it would be her turn to save him.

  To save the Cashnar. And through him, the world.

  Beneath the bridge, the river whispered over stones, a low voice lost in the dark.

  Two colossal knights carved from granite stood sentinel at the entrance, helmets lowered, greatswords buried in the earth. Damp stone and the sharp bite of river mist filled her lungs.

  The statues seemed to judge everyone who passed between them.

  Their gaze pressed against her skin, cold and heavy.

  Her eyes dropped to the ground, shame prickling beneath her skin.

  One day, she would cross this bridge not as a thief in the dark, but with her head held high.

  The girls slipped past the towering guardians and stepped onto the bridge. The air above the water grew colder, heavy with the hum of insects and the deep pulse of the river below.

  Beyond it, the hill climbed toward the Citadel of Orbisar, an immense silhouette of towers and spires clawing at the night sky. Here and there, windows glimmered like dying stars.

  A distant bell tolled, its echo swallowed by the wind and the river’s endless murmur.

  The Citadel loomed ahead, vast and ancient.

  Sierelith slowed so the other two could catch up.

  “Listen,” she said. “I can’t cloak all three of us with an illusion. Or at least not one strong enough to let us move freely in a place as guarded as the Citadel. This isn’t the Novice School. But I can try to reach him myself and tell him to meet you outside.”

  They stopped beneath a massive Sunveil tree at the base of the slope leading up to the Citadel gates.

  Alyra nodded, still catching her breath. “Fine. We’ll wait here.”

  Faela, beside her, nodded too, calm, as if she hadn’t even run.

  Sierelith reached into her pocket and pulled out a crystal tied to a leather cord. A faint swirl of violet energy twisted at its core. She handed it to Alyra. “Here. I’ll use this to stay in touch.”

  Alyra held the crystal between her fingers for a moment before slipping it around her neck. “Okay.”

  Sierelith turned to go, but Alyra caught her shoulder.

  The spy glanced back, one brow lifting.

  “Thank you,” Alyra said quietly. “You didn’t have to help me.”

  Sierelith smirked. “I’m not doing it as a favor. If I let the Cashnar die, my father won’t be happy.”

  She turned to Faela. “And you, creepy girl. Are you really sure you can do what you claim?”

  Faela’s lips curved in a calm, unsettling smile. “Yes. Not a problem. Death will listen to me.”

  “Seriously?” Sierelith tilted her head, half-amused. “Now I’m curious to see how.” She waved a hand through the air, and violet smoke coiled around her. When it cleared, she was gone.

  When the smoke cleared, the spy was gone.

  Alyra risked a small smile. With Sierelith’s help, they could pull this off. She’d reach Derek and convince him to come out. Faela would save him, and everything would slide back into place.

  No one would have to die.

  “Someone will have to die,” Faela said, voice as cold as a grave wind.

  Alyra blinked. “S—sorry?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Someone will have to die.” Faela repeated the words as if naming a fact, not a choice. Moonlight washed her face pale and still, like carved marble.

  Alyra swallowed; a chill knifed down into her bones. “What do you mean?”

  “Death won’t leave Derek unless it finds someone else to take instead.”

  Alyra’s eyes widened. “And you waited until now to tell me that?”

  Faela shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  The ground seemed to tilt beneath her. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

  “That it doesn’t matter. I will draw Death to me. I will die, and Derek will be safe. You’ll get to Ebonshade alone, or the Cult will send someone to escort you. I’ll let you know. From there, you will keep walking toward your destiny.” She smiled, the kind of smile you use when describing a pleasant afternoon outing.

  Alyra’s hands clenched until her nails bit her palms. “No. I… I won’t allow that. Take me instead.” The thought came out rough and urgent. She had been the one to press that cursed sphere into Derek’s hand. She could not stand by and watch the cost be paid by someone else.

  Faela’s brow drew down. “The only reason I’m here is to bring you to the Cult willingly. I can’t let you die.”

  “I can’t accept you dying for me.” Alyra shoved the words out, breath stuttering.

  Faela’s eyes drifted beyond the Citadel, somewhere far and empty. “It’s not your choice. If embracing Death is what it takes to convince you to join the Cult and finish my mission, I will do it gladly.”

  Gladly. Alyra’s mouth went dry. This lunatic actually offered herself up with a cheerful shrug. “That’s not fair. I won’t accept it. If you do this, I won’t go with you.”

  Faela fixed her with a steady stare. “Then Derek will die. And it will be you who killed him, by rejecting my help.”

  Alyra opened her mouth to argue, but a blinding violet light forced her eyes shut. She squeezed them until stars exploded behind her lids. When she dared to look again, Sierelith’s head—or an image of it—hovered between them, haloed in violet.

  “Sierelith!” Alyra gasped. “Something happened?”

  The spy sighed. “I’ve got good news and not-so-good news.”

  “You found Derek?”

  “I know where he is. That’s the good news.”

  Faela stepped closer to the floating head. “He coming here?”

  Sierelith shook her head. “I’m afraid not. We’re too late. I overheard some scholars whispering about an underground passage. They said the Cashnar has already left.”

  Alyra felt her chest drop as if the ground had folded away under her feet. The plan collapsed into a single, blunt fact: they could not sneak in and find that passage without being stopped. Even if they found it, someone would still have to pay the price Faela described. She couldn’t ask Faela to die for her, and Faela would never accept Alyra taking her place.

  Her legs gave out. She sank to the grass, dropped the crystal and hugged her knees until the world narrowed to the press of fabric and the rough scent of earth. A cold salt trail slid down her cheek and into the collar of her cloak.

  Sierelith cleared her throat.

  Alyra lifted her head toward the still floating visage.

  “If you’re done with the melodrama,” the spy said. Papers rustled somewhere beyond the violet glow. “I broke into Derek’s room and found some very interesting notes.”

  Alyra blinked. “You broke into his room?”

  “Of course. I break into everyone’s rooms.” Sierelith’s smirked. “Anyway, like I said, I found notes. I think I’ve pinpointed the passage they used.”

  Alyra glanced at Faela, but the pale girl stared into nothing, fingers twitching as if counting steps only she could see.

  Alyra drew a slow breath to steady herself. “But you said you can’t help us get inside the Citadel.”

  “Correct.” Sierelith’s voice turned brisk. “But this passage runs beneath the Citadel. We slip through a side entrance, head straight for the stairs down, and once we’re below, we probably won’t run into anyone. Those tunnels should be empty.”

  Alyra lowered her gaze, the grass blurring beneath her eyes. “It doesn’t change anything. The main problem remains.”

  “What problem?” asked Sierelith’s floating head.

  Faela tilted her head, as if catching a whisper only she could hear. “To save Derek, I must draw his Death energy into myself. Doing so will end my life. Alyra doesn’t like that.”

  Sierelith arched an eyebrow. “Gee, I wonder why. You Death Cult types really need to stop treating dying like it’s a hobby.”

  “We have great respect for Death,” Faela said. “Not fearing it doesn’t mean treating it lightly.”

  “Oh, yes it does,” Sierelith shot back. “Alyra, what’s your plan? With a distraction, I can probably sneak you into the lower levels to find Derek. But once you reach him, you’ll have to decide.”

  Alyra shook her head. “I’ve already decided. I won’t ask Faela to throw her life away. We’re leaving.” She pushed herself up from the grass, legs trembling.

  Faela stepped into her path and, with a smooth motion, drew a long knife from beneath her cloak.

  Alyra’s pulse spiked. “W-what are you doing? I thought you didn’t want to hurt me.”

  Faela’s faint smile didn’t reach her eyes. She lifted the blade and pressed its cold edge against her own throat.

  “Hey!” Sierelith’s voice snapped from the floating glow. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m ready to end this myself.”

  Alyra froze. “Yeah, it’s obvious… but why? I don’t understand!”

  “The reason’s simple,” Faela said softly, a distant light in her eyes. “I’m showing you that I’ll die either way. If you walk away now, I’ll cut my throat.”

  Alyra’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Why do you want this so badly?”

  Faela shrugged, almost serene. “If you felt Death the way I do, you’d crave its embrace too. So what’s your choice? Should I end it here, or will you let me die saving Derek?”

  Alyra’s mouth went dry. With anyone else, it might have been a bluff. But Faela was Death Cult. The hunger in her eyes wasn’t madness… it was devotion.

  Given the chance, she’d do it.

  Probably with a smile.

  Faela pressed the knife tighter. A thin line of red welled where the blade kissed her skin. “Well? What do you decide, Alyra?”

  “Yes, what’s it gonna be, kid?” Sierelith echoed. “I don’t think that lunatic’s bluffing.”

  Alyra looked at them both. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out every thought. She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive herself, but standing still would be worse. “…Fine.” Her breath came out shaky. “Faela, put the knife away.”

  The faint smile faded from the cultist’s lips. “As you wish.” She let out a quiet sigh and slid the blade back into the small sheath at her belt.

  She couldn’t see a way forward that didn’t end with Faela dying one way or another. But for now, at least, she had bought them time.

  Alyra swallowed hard. “How do we proceed?”

  This wasn’t like sneaking through the Novice School corridors. If she got caught breaking into the Citadel, expulsion would be the least of her punishments.

  Sierelith grinned. “Looks like I’ll have to pull off a third-level Illusion spell. As soon as you hear the screams, go through the main door. Once inside, on the right, you’ll find a flight of stone stairs. Take them all the way down. Wait for me there. Don’t wander off, or you’ll get lost in the black maze.”

  “Third-level Illusion? Screams?” A shiver traced her spine. “What are you planning?”

  “Let’s just say our little Ebonshade trip gave me some inspiration. You do exactly as I said. I’ll handle the rest.”

  The violet projection flickered once and vanished.

  Alyra turned to Faela. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “Of course. And you?”

  The young Sprout stared back at her, throat tight. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

  A cry split the distance. Another followed, then a flurry of shouted orders.

  A single voice rose above the chaos: “The dead! The dead are here! Sound the alarm!”

  Alyra caught Faela’s cold, damp hand. “Be ready.”

  The cultist nodded once.

  A horn blared in the dark.

  Then another.

  Then dozens, until the ground trembled beneath them.

  Now.

  Alyra sprinted into the night toward the main gates of the sacred Citadel of Orbisar.

  With a Death Cultist at her side.

  And the magic of a heretic clearing her path.

  What could possibly go wrong?