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Frost lay thick on the crisp grass that stretched out for miles as Emara made her way over to a small headstone, her black cloak attempting to warm every part of her that she couldn’t feel. The grey sky overhead promised to release the gathering snow as she put one foot in front of the other, trying to move forwards. Trying to do anything but break.

Naya Blacksteel put a small hand across the middle of her back, guiding her on towards the grave, doing anything she could to suppress the emotions of Emara’s heart that threatened to tear the world apart.

“Deep breaths,” Naya coached, knowing what Emara was capable of should she lose control. She had witnessed first-hand how untamed her flames had been, how the element of air had aided to fuel the flames that wiped out a ballroom. “You can do this, my love.”

The earth that had been disturbed by digging lay solid and lifeless atop the burial place like a small mountain top. As Emara took steps forward, she felt like she was looking down on herself from afar, like her soul was being pulled from her body; although the frosty air nipped at her skin, she wasn’t numb by the cold. It was what lay in her heart that made her feel frozen. The ice of her grief had dulled every cell of her body on the inside, and she was barely holding it together on the outside.

Finally, she stood rigid above the grave, not truly looking at it. Her eyes searched the world around her to find anything to make this feel like it was a dream, like a creature or a strange being hiding in the trees of the forest surrounding them to let her know this was only a nightmare.

This wasn’t real.

“My boys made sure the stone bore her name,” Naya spoke from further behind, her voice sounding small and low in the clearing. “You can come here any time. It is the centre point between Mossgrave, the Fairlands, and the Huntswood Tower.” She paused. “Gideon requested a beautiful meadow for her body to be laid to rest in to represent who she was. He said you would like that. You cannot see the meadow now because of Mother God’s frost, but when the land warms, you will see how incredibly beautiful it is. Just like her.”

“Thank you,” Emara said quickly, her voice rough and almost intangible. She didn’t really know if she ever wanted to come back here, but she supposed it was an option to know that she could. If she returned in the spring or summer, her best friend’s grave would be surrounded by the magic of life; pink daisies and sun-yellow buttercups, spring birds in their nests, and wild mushrooms growing from the earth. The trees would be in full bloom, and the leaves would be waving in the gentle breeze.

Not like it was now, frozen and thorny.

Emara had never seen the grave of a family member, not even her grandmother or her parents before that.

So this was a first.

“I will leave you for however long you want,” Naya said softly. “I promise I won’t be too far. This area is known for its vibrant winter berries, and I will just be along the forest ground hunting for them.” There was a silence after Naya Blacksteel spoke that made Emara’s eyes water. “I think you need some time alone. Speak to her, Emara, she will hear. They always do.”

Emara nodded without taking her eyes from the frozen burial ground, reading over and over the name carved into the limestone that crowned the gravestone.

Callyn Agnes Greymore.

Trying to push her mind so that it connected to the Otherside, she searched for her own abilities in spirit magic, trying to hear Cally’s voice one last time. Emara waited for something to happen, for her to at least feel her presence around her. She wanted to feel her light, feel anything.

Waiting a few more moments so that she was really alone, she looked up to the sky and cursed, a sting in her nose, her throat thick. The clouds bundled together overhead, and the darkest, soul-ripping truth of her reality stabbed into her heart like a knife, carving down the middle of her chest entirely.

This was real.

Callyn—her Cally—was gone.

Emara’s knees hit the ground, and as the sharp pain struck up her bones, she begged the Gods or anyone that would listen to bring her back. As her hands hit the soil where her best friend was buried, she begged them to wake her up from this terrible nightmare. She asked them to take her instead of Callyn. Instead of the light, they should take her dark. She pleaded for them to grant her strength to stand and to stop the tears from falling from her eyes. She begged for the ache in her broken heart to subside just a little.

But they ignored her.

As she lay against the iced ground, sobbing, Emara felt like the light in her life had been snuffed out. She didn’t know if she would ever get it back.

The flames of the cottage fire entranced Torin Blacksteel’s exhausted eyes. He hadn’t been getting much sleep recently. Not much at all. Lifting a green and silver chalice to his lips, he tipped his head back and let his mother’s home-brewed wine slide down his throat. Normally, he liked to savour his liquor, to let the spices from his favourite rum sink into the tissues of his mouth, but he wasn’t in the mood to experience that. Nor was he in a city that would sell that kind of liquor. As resourceful as he was, he couldn’t pluck expensive rum out of thin air.

Torin and his brothers were still residing at his mother’s cottage in the Fairlands and had been since the attack on the Uplift five days ago.

He hadn’t had so much as a fireletter from his father.

Not a peep. Nothing. Zero.

A strange unease shifted in his gut.

He hadn’t been called back to the tower on official duty, and neither had his brothers. Ordinarily, if he hadn’t been located at the tower for more than a day, word would be sent out to any tavern in the city to find him. Someone—usually Marcus or Gideon—would call him back to his duty, finding him quickly and efficiently, but nothing had come to request their return.

Drawing in his cheeks with a breath, he rubbed a hand over his jaw. It had been five days of silence. Well, he wouldn’t exactly call it silence. Inside his mind had been utter anarchy as he tried to fit the pieces of the Uplift together, trying to find some sensible solution to the madness that had unfolded.

Torin had yet to be successful with that mission.

He got up from the plush chair carefully, trying not to disturb Kellen dozing on the sofa opposite him, and strode to the cabinet for more home-brewed wine. He had to admit, it wasn’t a La Luna rum and sugar spice, but it did manage to take the edge off some of the demons in his head. They were restless, sinking their teeth into every thought his mind leaked.