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Sorasa raised the hood of her sand-colored cloak, her lips pursed in a mock scowl.

“Don’t be foolish, Sigil. You know the Guild cut the smile right out of me.” Then she nodded back. “And speak for yourself. This is the closest you’ve been to home in how many years?”

“Nearly a decade,” Sigil answered, grinning. She fussed with her leather armor, brushing away invisible specks of dirt. “The Temurijon calls us all home eventually.”

Though they had only just left the kingdom of Ibal, Sorasa felt a low current of jealousy. Sigil’s country was ahead; the steppes of the Temurijon were vast, its people far flung beneath the endless sky. And while the Companions’ road would not take them into the lands of the Temur emperor, they would certainly come close.

“Hopefully it doesn’t call you too soon,” Sorasa said, lowering her voice. “I can’t do this alone.”

The bounty hunter hooted out a laugh and clapped her on the back. It felt like being hit with a shovel.

“Fear not, Sarn. The iron bones of the Countless will never be broken.” She put her fist to her breast in salute. “And I’m having far too much fun to leave now.”

Chuckling, Sigil snapped her reins, urging her mare up the gentle rise of the beach.

Thank you,Sorasa wanted to say, but her jaw tightened, her teeth clenching tight.

The rest of the Companions followed, letting Sigil lead their strange band into the woodlands. The rainy season in Ahmsare had ended, and the woodlands were drying out, their leaves going golden. But it was warm, far more comfortable than Ibal’s heat.

And far less dangerous.

As they left the beach and the Long Sea, Sorasa looked back, her tiger’s eyes scanning the horizon. The Heir’s galley was already sailing away, dragon flag waving in farewell. Long miles stretched between Sorasa and Ibal, its dunes and coast many daysoff. She saw it in her mind’s eye, a flawless band of gold against sapphire. Her heart clenched and she sighed, turning away from shore. Some tension lifted from her shoulders, a heavy weight melting away. The ache for home returned, but it was easier to bear than before.

Return and I’ll pick your bones clean.

Lord Mercury’s threat echoed, a promise as much as a warning. Those were the last words he ever spoke to her, before she was cast out of the citadel and the Amhara Guild.

I am Forsaken,Sorasa knew, hating the word.Ibal is not safe for me, and never will be again.She blew out a breath and urged her mare onward, taking up the rear of their number. Every second in Ibal was a second deep in fear. But no longer.

Deep in her hood, Sorasa could not help but grin. She had defied the old snake again, and it felt like victory.

Inch by inch, mile by mile, day by day, the landscape changed. The woods grew thicker as the hills rose, and they left the farmlands of the coast behind. There were no more cities, and towns were few, little more than clusters along the Cor road. The Companions took no chances in their journey north. Sigil ranged ahead, directing them around villages and half-forgotten castles. They avoided every danger they could, from farmers and traders to old watchmen along the way.

The Mountains of the Ward loomed, their great peaks lost in the clouds. A warm wind blew from the southwest, bringing up moisture from the lush lands of Ghera and Rhashir. It was a balm after long weeks in the desert, especially to Charlie. His sunburnfinally began to fade, and he dared to travel without the shadow of his hood again.

Dom took care to ride between Corayne and Andry, as if that were of any use to anyone. Sorasa doubted the clueless Elder even knew what attraction felt like, let alone how to thwart it. At least his bumbling antics were amusing enough to watch and a good way to pass the time.

Valtik always swayed in her saddle, singing her Jydi chants. Most days Sorasa wanted to knock her right off her horse, but refrained.

When they reached the Dahlian Gates, the great gap in the mountains, Sorasa urged them off the road and into the foothills. It was easier than chancing bandits or patrols along the various borders. The small kingdoms in this part of the world held a shaky truce, allied together lest the Temurijon and its emperor decide to break the peace of the last few decades.

As they crossed the Gates, the Companions stayed within a mile of the ancient Cor road, with Dom keeping watch for any traffic. There was little—traders mostly, a few pilgrim priests, and a sheep farmer driving his flock. The air thinned and the temperature dropped as they rode forward, gaining elevation through the great mountain range that cut Allward in two.

“This land is quiet,” Corayne remarked, her breath clouding in the early morning chill.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Andry said from the horse next to her. “Old Cor ruled here in ancient times, when Ahmsare and the surrounding kingdoms were provinces beneath their empire.It was the last land to fall before the Corblood conquerors, and the Dahlian Gates controlled the way into their northern provinces. But that was long ago.”

Sorasa’s lips quirked into a half smile. “You have a talent for history, Squire.”

He only shrugged. “We all learned it, growing up,” he said. “The old empire. What used to be. And what Galland might become again.”

Despite the sunlight dappling his brown skin, Andry’s eyes seemed to darken.

He set his jaw, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “Erida learned that lesson a bit too well.”

To that there was no reply. Sorasa settled back in the saddle, a chill running over her. She glanced at the landscape again. Only ruins of the old empire existed here, the decrepit towers sticking out of the woods.

Sorasa wondered if Corayne felt a pull to them, the remains of her father’s people. She did not want to ask, and risk another avalanche of questions from the intrepid, insufferable pirate’s daughter.