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Whatever the reason for that barrier, it meant there was nothing I could do—nothing other than scream for help, anyway, and that would probably achieve nothing more than my mouth being taped—so I closed my eyes and let the gentle humming of the engine lull me back into sleep.

The next time I woke, it was to the slamming of doors and voices. Two of them. The mage said something I couldn’t quite catch, and a woman responded. Her voice was familiar, thanks once again to the visions. All we needed now was Rogan, and the whole damn leadership team would be here.

The trunk opened, and bright light poured in, momentarily casting the figure standing there into shadow. I blinked away the tears and studied her.

It was Jalvi. Or rather, an older version of her. This had to be Seryn, her mother.

“Out,” she said in a clipped tone. “There’s work to be done and no time to be stuffing around.”

“You have all the Claws, so you don’t need me to go about your business.” I was a little surprised how evenly it came out. Given the incessant pounding in my head and the jaw-grinding pain in my arm, I’d expected something far scratchier.

“You’re insurance, tree hugger. Now get out, or I’ll fucking drag you out, and that won’t be pleasant, let me assure you.”

Tree hugger. I almost laughed. It was a slur I’d not heard in a very long time. “Given I’m insurance, that must mean my brother is alive.”

“He was when we were going through his pockets to find the real ring. That substitution very nearly cost you their lives.” She stepped back and motioned me to get out.

“And Cynwrig?” Surely he had to be alive as well. Surely the gods had already taken enough from me...

“Battered and bruised but also alive. And before you ask, we left your knives with them.” Her expression darkened. “This is your last warning. Get out or I drag you.”

I swung my legs over the edge, then maneuvered myself upright without using or moving my left arm. Nausea nevertheless swept through me the minute my feet hit the ground, and it was tempting, so very tempting, to unleash the bile that rose up my throat all over her natty brown boots.

I somehow managed not to and instead looked around. We were back where it all started for at least one member of the Looisearch.

Pynwffynnon.

I guessed it did make tactical sense, given not only was the gate here unmonitored, it was surrounded by a barrier few could cross.

Rogan and his companions were obviously among those few.

I glanced past Seryn and studied the storm mage. Aside from the longish slate-gray beard, he was thin of face, with pale gray eyes and a rather startling mane of silver-shot dark gray hair that was tied back in a ponytail. At first glance he looked to be in his mid-forties, but the lines around his eyes and spots decorating the backs of his hands suggested he was a whole lot older.

“I’m extremely disappointed Rogan isn’t here to greet me.”

My voice was dry, and the witch smiled. “So, he was right. You did suspect him.”

“It took us a while, but we did eventually put two and two together. Where is he? In Pynwffynnon or at the gate?”

“Pynwffynnon. Approaching the gate without proper preparation will be dangerous.”

I snorted. “Trust me, the Annwfyn attacking will be the least of his problems. The Claws will kill him.”

“A price he is willing to pay if it rids our world of their scourge.”

“At what cost to the world though?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“You don’t know? That’s rather—”

“Enough with the delaying chitchat,” Seryn cut in with a glance at her watch. “We’ve half an hour before noon—we need to be at the gate by then.”

“It’s going to take us a whole lot longer than that to get there,” I commented.

Her smile flashed, though there was nothing warm within it. “For the unprepared, it might.”

She didn’t explain what she meant, and I didn’t ask. I’d find out soon enough.