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Kade threw up his hands. “That has nothing to do with it. If we’re overrun, not only will we die, so will Tessa.”

Evelyn gritted her teeth, her nostrils flared, and her left brow furrowed more than the other like it always did when she became frustrated. Kade was frustrated, too. He wanted to fight the Far Darrig, but they needed to be smart.

“Whatever we do next,” he said, “it has to ensure we save Tessa.”

Evelyn looked down at the gathering, her gaze following the smoke of the bonfires billowing upward through holes created in the forest canopy.

An idea dawned on Kade. A sense of excitement zapped through him as the plan formed step by step. Hope filled him. It reminded Kade of his time back home, working with his team. He supposed working with Evelyn wasn’t much different. He was fighting darkness with someone he trusted, someone he—

“Can you manipulate another flame, one that is not yours?” he asked.

Apprehension shifted through Evelyn’s steely gray eyes. “Yes, if I am close enough. Why?”

Kade nodded. “I have an idea.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Evelyn

Nerves rattled Evelyn’s ribcage. The intricacies of Cyrus’s plans went against everything she believed in about fighting darkness, and it terrified Evelyn to her core. But he believed in her. Tessa needed her. And she wouldn’t dare admit her doubts out loud.

Luckily, the music and cheering of the Far Darrig tribe drowned out the sounds she and Cyrus made descending from higher ground. Past the drop-off and over the edge, the Gray Wood sloped down a dramatic hill.

Mounds of moss, tree stumps, and protruding roots made their climb down easier. From one perch to the other, skirting between trees to hide from sight, they made it ten feet from the edge of the oblivious crowd.

Evelyn swore the Gray Wood’s magic urged them on, rooting for them in the fight. One second, they’d deliberate their next move and then a stump or root would appear. Then a larger tree shuddered and curved to hide both Cyrus and Evelyn from the crowd of Far Darrig.

A large horn blew long and deep. Cyrus stood behind Evelyn, his chest up against her back as they listened, holding their breaths. The cheering died, the music stopped, and the crowd quieted.

“My good tribe,” the caped Far Darrig said, its voice shrill and raspy. A shiver traveled down Evelyn’s spine. Razor-sharp teeth gleamed from its wide smile. “Our time has come. For too long we’ve been underestimated. But now”—he gestured to Tessa—“a new time has come, a new age. With this sacrifice and gift, we will gain a powerful ally.”

Evelyn and Cyrus made eye contact, seeming to agree the Far Darrig referred to the vampyr.

Fucking flames, why? Why did the vampyr need allies? Why did it need Tessa’s head or any of the other body parts?

The questions gave Evelyn a headache, as did the Far Darrig’s terrible voice. Cyrus tapped her shoulder. Four bonfires sat at each corner of the gathering, and he pointed to the farthest left.

Evelyn nodded. They slunk from their hiding place. Her magic wanted to unleash itself, to use a spell to mask them, but in order for Cyrus’s plan to work, Evelyn needed to reserve her energy. Controlling fire she had not conjured could be a tricky thing. She’d done it before, during the times she’d tried to get her flame back, but the energy was not her own and often difficult to grasp.

Far Darrig stood and sat upon stools of seeping and steaming mushrooms. The mushroom caps shined the same red as the wool caps they all wore. The stench of rotten eggs assaulted Evelyn’s senses, her magic detecting dark magic in proximity. No moss or trees grew near here, and Evelyn guessed the mushrooms were not native to the Gray Wood.

A crack and hiss sounded. Behind her, Cyrus muttered a curse.

Evelyn stopped and whirled. Cyrus had frozen, eyes wide, muscles tense and ready to strike. He’d stepped on a lone mushroom, and a foul green gunk oozed out of the destroyed fungus and steamed across his boot. Other mushrooms around them began to burst, popping and oozing. The stench of rotten eggs now overtook the smoke from the bonfires.

The sound and stench gained the attention of the Far Darrig. The leader’s speech faded, and all eyes fell on them.

Silence ticked like the drums of doom.

The tribe erupted into high-pitched cries and commotion. Cyrus unsheathed his sword and knocked down the first wave of faeries with an unrelenting swing of his blade.

“Go! Get Tessa!” Cyrus cried. His blade and onslaught only riled the crowd more, drawing their attention to him and not her. Evelyn undid her bone staff from her low bun, extended it with her magic and used it to knock back any Far Darrig who ran in her way, using strength instead of magic.

Reserve energy. Get to Tessa.

Cyrus’s battle cries and slicing blade resounded behind her as she reached the first bonfire. She sensed the warmth and heat radiating off it. Holding her hand to her side and flexing her fingers, she tried to connect with the energy. It fleeted and flared, difficult to grab hold of. Sweat trickled down her temple, her heart racing in her chest.

It was not her own flame, but it was not unfamiliar.