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Now they had to follow—

Gwen nodded her head sharply. Parys dropped the wall of air, falling into step behind her.

Gwen didn’t need wind to silence her footfalls. Each step was confirmation of who she was—what she was—at her very core.

A predator.

And tonight, she was stalking her prey.

Parys stayed behind her, letting her track them through the winding passageways, down another set of stairs.

The Shadows, Igraine, Merlin, the sacred trinity. They’d been chasing the same trail all along. All those weeks ago, the first time he’d heard Igraine and Merlin, they’d mentioned the chalice. He should have known then, should have realized when he’d searched the priestess’ quarters.

The Shadows… they’d been using these tunnels as well. Too perfect to be coincidental. Igraine and Merlin wouldn’t have used them unless they were sure they were safe. Unless they knew exactly who else might be in them.

What was the connection?

The passageway branched off in two directions. Gwen paused, tilting her head to one side and then the other.

Parys sent a warm wind whipping over her shoulder, searching out…

Hushed whispers. Right.

He stepped forward, intent, nodding. But Gwen didn’t move. She was looking to the left, her nostrils flaring slightly. Parys didn’t wait—couldn’t wait. He couldn’t let them get away.

His walk turned to a jog, his wind carrying away the sounds as his steps got heavier and heavier. He was going down, he was going—

He burst out of the goldstone palace, stumbling as his feet hit sand instead of compact dirt and stone.

Thoughts tumbled through his head. The wards—where were the wards? Someone had disabled them. Igraine or Merlin, surely, and it was evident why.

He tried to count the figures in the dark as he stumbled backward.

One, two, three, four… and a flash of silver. Igraine—four Shadows dressed in dark cloaks and the Dowager, now circling around him.

The warm wind dropped away to nothing.

“You always were a clever thing,” the Dowager said, her voice as cool as the frigid water that she sent flowing from her fingertips, slithering across the sand in a thin stream towards his feet.

“Not clever enough,” Parys choked out.

“No,” Igraine smiled. “Not this time.”

Even as he realized it, he refused to give up. The Shadows nearest him were moving closer, but stopped a yard or so away on either side. The other two stood talking to each other, voices low enough even his fae ears could not hear them, and apparently uninterested in his presence.

But the Dowager was interested.

Her thin lips drew up over her face in a wide, viper’s smile, the moonlight glinting off of her too-white teeth, her alabaster skin. Pale and cunning, like her daughter and yet so utterly different in every way that mattered.

“Tell me, what have you figured out, clever Parys?” Igraine asked, her water starting to pool at his feet.

He wasn’t about to reveal himself to her. He was caught, but she was the one fishing for information. He could keep his knowledge from her, on the chance that he’d made some connection she hadn’t yet.

The sacred trinity, items of mythical power that could be used to banish the darkness from Annwyn and the human realm. Veyka already had two of them. The chalice… he had to find a way to get the chalice from Merlin. To get a message to Veyka and Arran. He had to hold out against Igraine.

He gnashed his teeth, as he’d seen Gwen and Arran and Veyka do, looking so intimidating. “That Arthur was right to seal you into your wing.” That powerful magic had died with Arthur, and only in that moment did Parys realize the true implications of its loss.

Igraine’s pale blue eyes flashed—but Parys couldn’t identify the emotion in the limited moonlight. No matter what it was, Parys seized upon it.