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Roznier’s gaze becomes blank. Taller than Dawsyn, she looks over her head, staring resolutely away. “She cannot be.”

“I am sorry.” It is all Dawsyn can say, for that familiar wave of sorrow is upon her, and she cannot allow it to bury her now.

Roznier’s lips part and a broken breath leaves her. She squeezes her eyes shut and Dawsyn watches in wonder as Roznier lifts her palms to the sun, her face too, and murmurs something Dawsyn does not understand, in a voice that rings through Dawsyn’s blood, raises the hairs on her neck.

She cannot explain it, but for an achingly short moment Dawsyn feels her. She feels Baltisse’s palms on her shoulders, her long fingers pressing into the flesh. She feels the touch of Baltisse’s forehead against her own, feels their breaths combine. She sees her molten eyes, burning brightly in her mind – and that hum that existed inside of Dawsyn is suddenly released. It is all around. It finds the sparks of life in everything nearby. And Dawsyn’s own spark – the one that exists in her mind – expands and widens and fills every inch of her, every corner.

A mere moment, then it is all gone.

And Dawsyn wants it back. She needs it back.

Tears fall thickly. They are swallowed beneath the neck of her cloak. She cannot seem to stop them.

“Not gone,” Roznier says, placing a hand where Baltisse’s had lain. “She exists still.”

Dawsyn shakes her head, blindly denying. “I saw her die,” she mumbles. “I left her there. Left her body behind as though she meant nothing to me,” the words come on waves of shudders she cannot control.

“We have no use for our bodies in the other realm,” Roznier tells her. “She is not gone, Dawsyn. She surrounds you. She is… everywhere.” The woman places a hand to Dawsyn’s chest. And the hum grows louder, vibrating within. “What we cannot see, we can feel. She still exists. Not in this place, but the next.” Roznier smiles gently, though her own sadness is plain. “You will be joined again one day.”

Dawsyn does not know what it means. She does not understand the realms and the paths between. But she knows that, for a moment, the two were bridged. She wonders who else lingers on the other side. She wonders if they are all just across the way.

She breathes and this time her chest feels lighter, filled with warmth.

“Come,” Roznier says, taking Dawsyn’s hand in her own. “We will celebrate tonight and there is much to prepare.”

CHAPTERFORTY-THREE

Ruby alights from her horse and curses.

It has been an age since horseback has rendered her quite as limp. Her thighs tremble as she walks, passing the reins to the stable hands with breathless thanks.

“Captain,” comes a voice from the shadows.

Curse the Mother. She should have returned hours before, as dawn broke. But those that had survived the journey through the Chasm were in no shape to swim through the ocean’s current at its end. They were forced to wait until the tide receded enough that they could wade through, and even that had threatened to thwart a few of the weakest.

Now, night has fallen, and the voice that beckons her is unlikely to allow her to find a bed, as much as her body requires it.

Ruby follows the voice to the back of the stables – stables that smell strongly of shit but serve to provide some privacy.

“Cressida,” Ruby says grimly. “This can likely wait till morning.”

“No, Ruby,” the Queen Consort snaps. “It cannot.”

It is a quite a sight to see the woman here at all, much less cloaked in dark grey. Gone are the brilliance and opulence of her finer clothes.

“Are they safe?” Cressida asks first, a hint of stress in her voice. “The Ledge people?”

Ruby grimaces, her throat stricken. “Of the ones that remain, I expect many will recover, yes.”

“Of the ones thatremain?”

“They were near death when we caught up to them,” Ruby says. “Taken by a strange illness. Some did not make it much further.”

Cressida curses in a way that seems unnatural. Ruby is sure she has never heard Her Majesty curse. “The Glacians are coming.”

Ruby blanches. She reels back a step. “Now?”

“Tomorrow, or the next day, perhaps,” Cressida spits. “I can hold them off no longer. They are impatient.”