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She sends me a cool look before turning her attention forward. “What business is it of yours? You’ll have your little book, and my activities will be no business of yours.”

Your little book.

This woman. She knows exactly how to get under my skin.

A strange kind of panic takes up residence in my chest. I know Madinia Farrow. I’ve seen her at her most devastated, sprinting through the forest with a group of survivors. I’ve also seen her at her most unhinged, decorating her tower garden with various body parts, and using her thorns to kill anyone who dared approach.

Not once, since the moment I met her, has she ever backed down. If left to her own devices, she will be consumed by vengeance. She’ll stop at nothing to make Kyldare pay for each of the scars on her back, for each day she spent trapped within her own body.

And she’ll consider the loss of her own life worth it if she takes Vicana with her.

In the distance, scrubland thickens into forest. Within a few hours, the dry, rocky earth softens, the dusty wind replaced by the crisp scent of damp earth and greenery.

As I watch, Madinia dismounts her horse, collecting something from the dirt once more. She shoves it into her pocket before I can see what it is.

So many secrets. They intrigue me even as they make me crazy.

“You’ve certainly been busy,” a familiar male voice says. A hawk swoops down, landing lightly on my shoulder. Its sharp talons dig into my skin, and it tilts its head, watching Madinia with a keen, unsettling intelligence.

She’s already back on her horse, a throwing knife in her hand.

“Relax,” I sigh. “This is Eamonn.”

“Pleasure,” he says, ruffling his feathers and stretching one wing out lazily. Beneath me, Fox plods on, used to Eamonn’s antics in any form.

I’ve never seen Madinia speechless before. Her eyes are wide, stunned, and she casts Eammon a look that’s drenched in suspicion. “The bird can talk?”

“He takes many forms.”

“Whatishe?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, brushing a stray feather off my shoulder as Eamonn shifts his weight. “We met a few years ago when I returned to this continent.”

Madinia seems to accept this, but she drops back, allowing me to take the lead once more, clearly unwilling to have Eammon at her back.

“Suspicious little thing,” Eammon mutters.

“You have no idea.”

“I can hear you.” Madinia’s voice is haughty, and Eammon fluffs his feathers once more.

I can’t help but glance over my shoulder. Her long hair is pulled back into a braid, the sun dancing across the strands. She’s still regaining her stamina after so long in that tower, her face still pale, eyes dark with fatigue.

And even without my memories, I know she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

The thought hits me out of nowhere, and I shift in my saddle. Madinia frowns at me. “What is it?”

I clear my throat, turning to face forward once more. “Nothing.”

“I saw the bodies you left at that village,” Eammon says. “Do you really think it makes any difference?”

No. But Madinia does. And I played right into her hands when she told me she would hire mercenaries to help.

“It only cost us a few hours,” I say. “We’ve been making good time so far.”

“And where is it you’re heading?”

I clamp my teeth together, unwilling to admit that the vixen listening oh-so-quietly behind us has refused to tell me. “West.”