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She walks into his arms, stiffening when he lifts her into them. She wraps her arms gingerly around his neck, and for a moment he just stands there and pretends. He pretends that her arms embrace him for comfort, not from necessity. He pretends that she still needs him for something not so perfunctory.

Finally, he summons his wings, letting them stretch wide and lift high above. With one downward stroke he leaves the ground, Dawsyn against his chest, and feels, once again, the pull of the wind against his wings, a prospect that should have died with him.

Ryon takes his time before landing, circling above Glacia.

In part, it is to prolong the feel of Dawsyn so near to him, but he is also searching. He wants to see what the expanse of the kingdom looks like now, in the hands of the Izgoi. He flies in a wide arc from the Colony’s boundaries to the Chasm, but gleans nothing of importance, it seems.

Perhaps he expected the Colony to have been abandoned, the mixed-bloods now assuming the households in the pure village. But he sees moving bodies between the lean-tos in the maze of the Colony, and it looks just as it did. It seems that even without their oppressor, many have chosen to remain in the corner to which Vasteel had condemned them.

There are those within the pure-village too, its bold stone structures towering the shelters in the Colony, the Izgoi milling between the two. It fills him with a deep satisfaction to see how freely they move.

Dawsyn’s face has risen from his shoulder, and Ryon realises that while his eyes scan the Glacian Kingdom, hers remain locked on the Ledge – a plane of oppressive mist in the distance, the prison beyond the Chasm.

Somewhere within that cloak of mist, her people exist. Somehow surviving. Her face turns bloodless, her jaw clenches.

Ryon wonders how much courage must be needed to return there, to that frozen hell.

He brings them to a gentle landing in the village that the pure once inhabited, directly before the Glacian palace. It was in this exact spot that Dawsyn and Ryon had rallied the Izgoi before leading them inside. Here, Dawsyn had asked him not to die, and her voice had stumbled under the weight of her fear.

If Dawsyn fears now, she conceals it well. She extracts herself from his arms at the first available moment, then turns in a circle. “Where are Baltisse and Ruby?”

As if she had summoned them, they appear. They approach accompanied by Tasheem, a striking black woman with hair braided to her hips. Her wings vanish at the sight of Ryon and Dawsyn.

“Good to see Baltisse didn’t smite you,” Ryon tells the mixed-blood, an easy grin alighting him. He had flown Baltisse and Ruby to the palace earlier, finding Tasheem and dumping them in her charge. Of the many members of the Izgoi Council, there are few he trusts more.

“Ah, she’s a cheery thing,” Tasheem quips. She elbows the mage lightly and winks, earning a chuckle from Ruby. The mage scowls menacingly at them both.

“I wouldn’t prod her,” Ryon warns Tasheem.

Baltisse has turned her sneer on Dawsyn. “We may as well have brought Esra.”

But Dawsyn shakes her head, a smile threatening the corner of her mouth. “Tasheem’s balls are much bigger than Esra’s.”

“A misfortune,” the mage retorts, eyeing Tasheem from head to toe. “I loathe the brave ones.”

Tasheem smirks at Ryon, her good humour unfailing. “Can I throw her into the Chasm?”

Ruby sniggers.

“If there was a way to do so without her respawning, I might consider it.”

“Oh?” Tasheem asks, looking back over Baltisse with renewed interest. “Is she some kind of nymph?”

“A mage,” Ryon corrects, wary of the fire churning in Baltisse’s eyes. “Not a very forgiving one.”

Tasheem’s face brightens, teeth shining. “Mother above! How the fuck did you find yourself amage, Mesrich?”

Ryon does not get the opportunity to answer. At her words, Baltisse’s irises solidify and Tasheem keels over, screeching in momentary pain. For a moment, her back arches against the icy ground, and the next she is laughing, her breaths thick and panting, eyes cinched shut.

“He did not find me, sweet,” Baltisse quips. “I foundhim.”

Tasheem takes a moment to right herself, chest heaving, eyes sparkling. “I like you, tiny mage. He’s always attracted the scary ones.” She nods, brushing herself off.

Ryon winces. He knows the pain of Baltisse’s administrations all too well. “That was unfathomably stupid,” he says to Tasheem.

Ruby, for once, does not look lost. Her eyes are glued to Tasheem, permeating awe.

Dawsyn shuffles restlessly at Ryon’s side, breaking his reverie. Straightening, he vanishes his wings and turns to the palace. He wonders if this time, he can enter it as a being of proportionate status, or if it will still feel like a tomb.