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A warm bed, a hot meal, a stall for the mare.

I reach up to stroke her nose. “I’m going to call you Hope. I know, it’s whimsical—and I’m not exactly the whimsical type—but for the first time in a long time, I feel a tiny spark of optimism.” I pause, meeting her eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s unlikely to last.”

Just days ago, I was trapped in that tower, unable to move. Now I’m alone, with money, horses, and most importantly…freedom. I know who I am, I know where I’ve come from, and I know what I’m protecting.

I untack one of the men’s horses, setting it free, before untying Hope’s lead rope and mounting the larger of the two horses—a dappled gray which seems placid enough.

I don’t let myself think about Calysian, likely still chained to the tree. If a tiny pang of guilt slices through my newfound positivity, well…that’s no one’s business but mine.

Perhaps this will teach him a lesson. Cross me at your own peril.

I take the quiet road north toward one of the main trade roads to Kolegrift. The sun begins to rise, and the early morning light flickers through trees, casting long shadows. Slowly, the landscape begins to change—trees thinning out, giving way to rolling fields dotted with livestock and the occasional small farmhouse. The air grows cooler, and the faint silhouette of Kolegrift comes into view as I take a left onto a trade road.

This road is much wider, filled with travelers on both foot and horseback. Merchants roll by with carts, farmers head toward the market, and Vicana’s guards patrol the path. I pull the hood of Calysian’s cloak over my head, my heart thumping, mouth turning dry as I pass a group of guards stationed near the city gates.

The gates themselves loom high enough that only the very stupid would attempt to climb them.

Four bodies hang from the stone walls on either side, swaying gentle in the breeze, their faces covered with dark hoods. A wooden placard swings from the neck of the nearest corpse, words scrawled in dark ink:

Traitor to the Crown.

Vicana. Likely, they were spies. Perhaps they were brave enough to speak out against her.

I dismount, leading both horses as I take my place at the back of the line forming ahead of me. A few merchants are waiting for inspection, a family with two children in a cart packed with turnips, and a couple of fae wait patiently, well-dressed and at ease even while surrounded by hybrids and humans.

The parents don’t bother covering their children’s eyes. They’ve probably passed through these gates a hundred times before—and seen bodies hanging from these walls more often than not.

In front of me, a few merchants nod at each other. One of them looks exhausted, his face tight with temper.

“What’s wrong with you?” a bearded man asks.

“Fucking troll,” the merchant says, rubbing at his eyes. “20 miles from the eastern entrance. I had to come all the way south to avoid it. Took me an extra day of travel.”

The other man winces. “Territorial beasts. Too much magic, not enough sense. Hopefully the Queen will send someone to dispatch it.”

The guards’ eyes scan me briefly as I pass through, but they don’t linger. I know Kyldare well enough to know it’s unlikely he’s told Vicana I escaped. He may have set bounty hunters and mercenaries after me, but he’ll still be hoping to find me before Vicana learns her hope of finding the grimoire is gone.

I’ve never been sure exactly what Kyldare is. If he’s a hybrid, he must have some strong fae blood in his lineage, because I’ve seen him use his power in dark ways with the help of his witch. Of course, there are many strange, powerful creatures on this continent that I’d never heard of before I stepped foot on this land. And I’m sure there are many more I will never encounter.

I mount my horse once more, riding down cobblestoned streets lined with taverns and market stalls. Faces blur as my blinks turn long and slow, fatigue swamping me.

Row houses stand tightly packed next to each other, each four stories high, but less than twenty footspans wide. Tall and narrow, the buildings are tiled, painted in bright, clashing colors—red, orange, yellow, even a strange shade of pink—seemingly chosen precisely to clash as much as possible with their neighbors. The intricate patterns on each tile save the row of houses from being garish, transforming it instead into something unexpectedly beautiful.

Despite my current situation, I pause, blinking away the fatigue.

I’ve been on this continent for three years. And yet I’ve seen so little of it. This city is so different, so delightfullyforeign, it makes warmth spread through my chest.

People bustle by, many of them wearing loose robes in bright colors as they laugh and gossip, wandering in groups or striding past with a clear direction in mind. Several women walk into a tavern, arms linked, and one of them throws her head back with a laugh.

The sun is warm on my face, the brightness stinging my eyes.That’swhy I blink several times, turning away from the women and their friendship.

I choose another inn—one next door to a tavern. My mind provides me with the feel of Calysian’s arm wrapped around my shoulder at the last inn, his brows lowered as he gazed at me in concern.

Now I know that concern wasn’t for me. It was for himself. It would, after all, be more difficult for him to use me to find the grimoire if my mind broke.

I give both horses to the stablehands and stumble into the inn, my entire body aching from so long in the saddle.

The innkeeper is a short, curvy woman with a baby on her hip. The child blinks at me owlishly as the woman takes the coins I hand her. “Your stay includes two meals in the tavern next door,” she says, bouncing the baby when she begins to fuss.