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Andry rose first, as usual. He put his tea on, hanging his kettle over the fire to boil water as he selected from his tin of herbs. Corayne watched him through slitted eyes, finding peace in the quiet squire, dutiful in all things. He sniffed at a sprig of rosemary before putting it in the kettle with some sage and lavender. As the water boiled, it filled the woods with a soothing smell. Corayne greedily sucked down a breath.

Before she knew it, Andry stood over her, a steaming mug in hand.

“It won’t make up for all the sleep you missed, but it’ll help,” he said, crouching down to look her in the eye. He kept his voice to a whisper so as not to disturb the others.

With a grateful smile, Corayne sat up and took the tea. She sipped at it, letting the embracing warmth ripple through her. It felt different from the heat of her dreams, the boiling inferno of Asunder and What Waits. The tea was the hearth in their cottage. It was a cup of mulled wine back home in Lemarta, the winter sea gray in the harbor. The tea was Dom’s shadow and Sorasa’s sneer and Andry’s eyes. Her mother’s laugh. All things that held her up, even when the world tried its best to knock her down.

“You seem a little smaller than you did last night,” he said softly.

She took another bracing sip. “Can you blame me?”

The brew of herbs helped unwind some tension from her body. At least her old aches were long gone, her muscles used to days in the saddle, her hands callused to her long knife. Sorasa’s and Sigil’s training made the road easier these last days.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her breath clouding in the cold air. “Are you ready?”

“There’s no such thing,” Andry replied, thoughtful. “What about you?”

“What about me? You heard Dom. He’s probably going to tie me to a tree at this point.”

“I mean the dreams.” He dropped his eyes, a flush darkening his cheeks. “I heard you last night. It sounded—”

“Worse.” Her voice went hollow. She looked to the nearby fire, trying to find some comfort in the flames. “Worse with every step toward the Spindle, and I have no question as to why.”

Andry fell back on his heels, his brown eyes wide. Something like pain crossed his face, and Corayne wished she could wipe it away.

“What Waits?” he offered, all worry.

The flames jumped and crackled, red and yellow. Embers spiraled into the trees. Corayne followed their path, trailing the flashes of light as they hissed out.

“The temple portal leads to the Ashlands, a burned realm, cracked with Asunder. It’s under his control. He can’t come through, but maybe pieces, whispers of him can.” Overhead, thebranches seemed to scratch the dawn. Corayne studied the trees, if only to anchor herself against the fear clutching at her insides. “He knows me. He’s watching. He can’t touch me yet, not while Allward remains unbroken, but—”

Her voice caught, the words sticking together. For a second Corayne felt herself back in the dream again, unable to make a sound.

But the air was fresh on her face, sunlight streaking through the forest. And Andry’s hand was warm on her shoulder, a steadying weight.

You are awake,she told herself.

“He comes when I sleep.” Corayne swallowed back the tightness in her throat. “Night after night, stronger with every inch closer to the Spindle and the Ashlands. He’s strongest there, at a tear in the world.”

She did not have to look at Andry to know he felt her fear, and shared it. He had seen the temple with his own eyes. He knew what lay beyond the doors, in the ashes of another realm.

“Usually it’s the same thing, the dreams. White hands, red eyes, a black void with no ending. It all cuts deeper each time, crueler somehow.” She felt it still. “Last night there was a stairwell, and he spoke to me. Once, I could forget a nightmare upon waking. Now they never seem to leave.”

Andry’s eyes narrowed, his brows drawn together in a furrowed line. Corayne almost expected him to laugh at her. Instead he gripped her shoulder tighter.

“What did he tell you?”

“That he’s waiting for me,” she answered, teeth on edge. Thenshook her head. “It’s almost funny. You expect a bit more from a demon god.”

Andry didn’t smile, his focus unbroken. “And what did you say?”

“I couldn’t speak.” Even now, the words felt difficult to form. “I know. Who knew that was possible for me? But I couldn’t make a sound, not even to scream. I could only stand in that strange place, waiting for something to wake me up.”

She fixed her stare on the ground beneath her, in the dirt and dead grass. Her fingers grazed the frozen earth. “Now, so close to the Spindle, I thought—I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to come back. That no one and nothing could pull me out.”

“Bullshit,” he growled, and Corayne almost jumped.

“Andry Trelland,” she gasped, startled by his harsh tone.