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He looks down at Dawsyn once more, unable to stop himself. The truth was her magic had frightened him. She’d frightened everyone.

They had gone to the Ledge with the bleak hope of offering salvation, and she had killed a man instead. Unpredictable as she is, Ryon does not know what she will do when she awakens and learns the scope of their failure.

They set down just over the Boulder Gate, and Dawsyn still does not wake.

Tasheem lands last and releases Gerrot from her grasp, the old man sporting a sickly pallor. But Baltisse is not with her.

Panic grips Ryon. “Where is–”

“Shevanished,” Tasheem sneers, groaning as she stretches her arms. “One moment she was complaining about the wind, the next she’d disappeared.”

“It was the better option, to be sure,” comes a voice from further off, and suddenly Baltisse is stalking toward them from a copse of trees. “You would have dropped me.”

“I had a firm hold before you started whining.”

“You certainly had a firm hold ofsomething,” Baltisse snaps, reaching their group.

“What does it matter what I grabbed, so long as I grabbed you? Would you have preferred to stay on the Ledge–” Tasheem suddenly keels over, her back hitting the ground in an almighty thump. She groans loudly, her hands clasping her head.

Baltisse only smiles, her eyes flaming.

“Fine company you keep, Mesrich,” Tasheem grumbles from the ground.

“Sounds as though you deserved it,” Ryon comments, his eyes roaming over the mage. Her frame is straight and tall, and her gait is steady. But the distance she folded was vast. He is surprised to find her upright.

“I amfine,” the mage sniffs, throwing her fair hair over her shoulder. “Practice builds endurance.”

Ryon notes her cheeks are without any colour at all, and her hands give away a slight tremble. As the thought comes, he watches Baltisse tuck them into her cloak.

“Put me down, hybrid,” says a smaller voice, one much closer to his ear. Dawsyn jostles in his hold and he feels a breath of relief leave him at the sight of her awake. He sets her down carefully.

She, too, looks drawn, pale. Her usual sleek hair hangs limp, and without thinking, he wipes it away from her eyes.

She pushes his hand away instantly.

How mighty the pain of such a small reproach. His hand, tingling, falls to his side.

“Dawsyn?” comes the quiet voice of their newest party member – the man of the Ledge. He staggers before Rivdan and Gerrot, appearing as windswept as the rest, but unlike them, he also sports a bloodied face and a prominent limp, tokens from his fighting match.

The man is quite clearly shaken. He looks, indeed, like he might collapse at any moment.

“Hector,” Dawsyn gasps, stepping toward him.

The name is familiar to Ryon.

“They…” He thrusts a finger at Ryon. “We flew… and then…”

“Are you all right?” Dawsyn asks.

“I… I do not know. I–” Hector struggles, then falls forward, catching himself awkwardly. Even as he does so, his eyes wheel wildly at the sights surrounding him. “Where are we?”

“Easy,” Dawsyn says, kneeling before him. “This is Terrsaw. The valley.”

Hector groans suddenly, rolling onto his back.

“His leg,” Dawsyn says, distracted. “Baltisse. Can you–?”

Baltisse is already approaching the man on the ground, already placing her hands to his calf. Hector hisses, and grasps the mage’s wrist.