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The pitch and roll came to a rocking stop.

On top, spine pressed to Westvane’s chest, she stared up at blue sky. “How am I not dead?”

With another grunt, Westvane shifted her to the side. As she settled on grass, he frowned at her. “What took you so long?”

Working moisture back into her mouth, she shook her head.

His brows collided. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“I feel like one. That thing is awful.”

Crouched beneath a tree clinging to the cliff edge, Montrose glanced over his shoulder. His gaze raked her, then returned to the view. “Got us here in one piece, didn’t it?”

“Close call,” she said, deciding to hold a grunge. “I’m pretty sure it tried to kill me.”

“Smooth sailing for me,” Montrose said from his perch.

She looked at Westvane.

“Same,” he said, dark eyes full of laughter. “You’re the only one who got a rough ride, princess.”

It figured.

The Hollow hadn’t been happy when she’d taken both Westvane and Montrose away. Maybe her rough ride through the vortex was the forest spirit’s way of paying her back for a lost meal. Not that it mattered. Truly didn’t have it in her to complain. Her companions appeared none the worse for wear, she was still alive, so… moving on.

Planting her palms in the grass, she rolled to her feet. Sore muscles protested. She ignored the aches, lifted the water skin over her head, and after uncorking it, took a long drink. Extending his arm, Westvane flicked his fingers. She handed it to him, then limped over to see what held Montrose’s attention.

Shuffling sideways on the balls of his feet, he made room for her between him and the base of the tree.

Her gaze swept the valley. “Wow.”

“Ipsalar,” he said, gesturing to the urban landscape. “The White City.”

“Your home.”

Montrose nodded.

“You haven’t seen it in a long time.”

“Over two-and-a-half decades,” he whispered, focused on the city. Surrounded by forest, Ipsalar’s tall towers and thick walls rose from the valley floor, white stone shimmering in the glow of a rising sun. “Too long.”

“Brim’s there?”

“See the green dome?”

Her eyes roamed until she found the tallest structure in Ipsalar.

“Made of jade. Stands for wisdom, justice for all.” Unshed tears in his eyes, Montrose met her gaze. “She lives there, under that dome, inside the Hall of Scholars.”

“Home at last.”

“At long last.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Thank you, Triple.”

“No need. You more than earned it,” she said. “Gave me a job. Kept me safe when it counted.”

A gleam replaced the tears in his eyes. “Not easy keeping you from trouble.”

She wrinkled her nose, playing along, understanding his need to lighten the mood. He disliked showing emotion. He’d never been a touchy-feely kind of gargoyle.