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“What? The same one? But he doesn’t look forty!”

“Nor will he. The man you met is no mere shaman. He is the Immortal Emperor Unchallenged, Romanus Tyrsbane.”

Náli gaped at him. “That was their emperor?”

“Yes.”

“He’s…immortal?”

“Also yes. Or, rather, he’s very old and doesn’t look it. He wields magic in a way that I never could – that I’ve never heard of. He’s wickedly powerful.

“And now,” he said, head tilting for emphasis. “He has your scent.”

Náli chewed at his lip. “Clearly” – he nodded toward Lucian – “he can wound a person on this plane.”

“He can do more and worse than that. You need to avoid him at all costs. And tell your friends to do so as well.”

“My Guards?”

“Not just them. Your friends, also: the shifters and dragon-riders. He found you first, but he’ll be hunting all of them.”

“Gods.”

The fire leaped, and Lucian seemed to fade, his features less distinct, his edges blurred.

“Wait!” Náli stood. “Wait, just – there’s so much I still don’t know. I don’t…” There was an ugly clenching in his chest, and his eyes stung, and he wasn’t ready. Everything was changing, and there was a wealth of information left to learn. “Please…”

But Lucian continued to fade. “You’re strong, Náli. Far stronger than you know. As are your friends. Rely on one another.” He’d begun to shimmer. “Romanus is wrong: your magic is your own, handed down from your ancestors. Guard it well. The worst is yet to come.”

“The worst? You–”

He burst apart with a puff of smoke, and dissipated.

Was gone, nothing but tatters of vapor in the fire-heated air.

“No,” Náli said, to no one. “No. I…” In a tiny voice, he said what he’d always feared, but had never been willing to give voice to: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Someone shoved him hard from behind, right between the shoulder blades.

He stumbled forward and whirled, grasping at his hip for a sword that wasn’t there, debating the wisdom of snatching up a burning brand from the fire. But his fright gave way to relief, and then an unexpected surge of gladness, as Valgrind thrust his pointed snout into his face and bleated loudly, cold breath blowing his hair out of his face.

“You stupid beast,” Náli said in an unsteady voice, and then launched himself at the drake; wrapped his arms around his neck and held on tight.

Valgrind pressed his head to his back, holding him in return. Drakes could hug, he thought with a wild inner laugh. He was glad to see him, but his belly was steadily hollowing with an unexpected grief as the truth set in: that his only guiding force in this realm beyond the mortal plane was gone for good, snuffed out by Náli’s selfish need to reclaim the whole of the Power over the Dead for himself.

“Náli?”

With a start, he pushed back, half-convinced the bloody dragon had spoken to him.

But, no. That was Mattias, standing at Valgrind’s shoulder, one hand settled on his smooth scales, his expression awed as he surveyed their dim surroundings. “Where are we?” he asked. “Am I…is this the other side? Did I pass through the Nágrindr?”

“Indeed,” Nali said. “Did Valgrind bring you?”

“I don’t know. I asked him to.”

“But he couldn’t do that if you didn’t have a bit of magic in you.” Náli’s pulse gave a leap of excitement. It had worked! He’d known it had, had felt the transfer of power – but here was proof! Mattias in the world of the dead, in the flesh. Or, well, in spirit, to be more precise.

“What is this place?” Mattias asked. “A cave?”