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“Maybe later. Right now —”

“Back to Azlandia?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you want to land?” she asked, stepping over the Wendigo’s mangled tail. “Azlandia’s a big place. I need to be able to picture a location to get us there. Otherwise, I’ll open the wrong door, and we’ll end up somewhere we don’t want to be.”

Startled, Westvane threw her a sideways glance. “You can direct the path? You’re sure?”

“No. I mean… not exactly. It’s more of a feeling, the strong sense that…” Pursing her lips, she trailed off, then picked up the thought again. “If I hold a location front and center in my mind while opening a door, I’ll land in the place I’m picturing.”

Interesting. An excellent trick if she could pull it off.

Staring at her, Westvane sifted through the possibilities. Eckizbad Island was out. Returning to the prison would be the kiss of death. One designed and delivered by Lyonesse. She would expect him to play by the rules and return the Wendigo to the place it had escaped. The instant he stepped onto the island, the queen would renege on her word, and the trap would snap closed around him. So…

He must choose a location she couldn’t use against him. Somewhere he held the upper hand. His eyes narrowed as an idea came to mind.

Watching him, Truly tipped her chin. “Where?”

“The Parkland.”

“Why the Parkland?”

“I was caged there by Lyonesse. I know it well. Taking the Wendigo there will —”

“Give us the advantage,” Truly said. “How many years were you imprisoned there?”

“Almost two decades.”

A muscle flexed in her jaw. “She’s a real piece of work, isn’t she?”

“You have no idea, princess.”

“I will soon,” she muttered, a murderous glint in her eyes. “So… the Parkland.”

“Yeah.”

“How do we get there? Can you show me —”

“Come here.”

As she walked toward him, his attention jumped to the cut on her forehead. No longer seeping, blood crusted the wound. “I’m going to need you to trust me, Truly.”

“It’s already a done-deal, Westvane.”

He shook his head. Incredible. He’d never thought it possible. Other than Eastbrook, no one wanted to be his friend, but as the Door Master stopped in front of him, Westvane acknowledged that having her trust felt good. Felt right. Felt like a missing piece in the puzzle of life as he gazed down at her and she looked up at him. He should probably warn her but…

Westvane didn’t bother.

Doing it quick and clean, he sliced open his palm with one of his claws. Truly flinched, opening her mouth to protest. He was faster. Holding her steady, he wiped congealed blood from the cut on her forehead and pressed his open wound to hers. Magic swirled. A tingling rush swept over his skin as his life force reached for hers.

A cosmic connection opened.

His mind aligned with hers, running on a parallel track.

Staring into her bewildered eyes, he pictured the Parkland. Heavy forest laden with thick brush and green moss. Rolling rivers and meandering streams. Valley trails and mountain peaks to the North and South. The clearing and cabin he’d called home for years.

“Can you see it?” he asked softly, respecting the immensity of the moment.