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Dawsyn’s sight is blurry, but still she sees Ryon before her, blocking the path between them and the guards, even as they advance.

Behind her, she can hear the whimpers of Esra. The low consoling mumble of Salem. She feels Hector’s hands in her hair, a companion till the very end. She thinks that death in the cradle of their presence might make it less terrible.

Dawsyn peers up at Ruby, a hazy mirage atop her Terrsaw horse and she means to ask the captain for this one last mercy. Let death come and take her from this place. Let it take them all from this world that refused to accept them.

Dawsyn closes her eyes. She waits.

A blast of ice knocks her down. Her forehead cracks off the ground. She rolls and feels the arrow imbed further into her muscle and flesh, and it takes her breath away.

The sound is immense. A roaring blast that leaves a ringing in her ears. The light it emits burns the skin of her face.

It seems a long time passes before the ringing begins to fade. The neighs of fretful horses and the clatter of retreating guards rent the air alongside it. Alvira’s voice is loudest – panicked and indignant. It is enough to make Dawsyn peel back her eyelids, despite the glare.

A blinding barrier spreads out before them. A glowing, white wall made of threads of ice. It stretches the width of the Chasm and climbs its walls, cold mist swirling in menacing patterns, separating the Queen and her guards, and the people of the Ledge. All of them back away with haste. Some have been knocked from their steeds, or off their feet. They scramble away.

“Hold!” Alvira shouts. “Hold!”

Then the Queen’s eyes find something through the haze of the magical barrier. They enlarge at that sight of it.

Dawsyn feels someone step over her crumpled form. They walk toward the translucent blockade.

Yennes.

The woman’s hands are outstretched, the mist flowing freely from them to secure the barrier. She teeters under the weight of it, and then the power seems to rebound, finally expended. She stumbles back, clutching her hands to her middle as though they burn.

The barricade remains, luminescent and tall.

“Iskra witch,” Alvira snarls.

Yennes pants, but levels her gaze, meeting the Queen’s more fiercely than Dawsyn has ever seen.

Without warning, a guard fires an arrow from the other side, but it merely clatters against the barrier and falls. It cannot penetrate the iskra.

“You’ve no need to take them,” Yennes says, her voice quavering but still reaching, still clear. “Leave them here. You already have those you seek.”

Alvira’s eyes spark. “Are your alliances confused, witch? I had thought you’d be more welcoming. The letter you left me, and the means with which to find you, was most inviting.”

There is a pause and then, “My ring?” Ryon says. His voice is hollow. Pitch black.

Dawsyn’s chest tightens with fresh betrayal. Yennes turns side on to look at Ryon, then Dawsyn, and her expression is full of the depths of her sedition. “I am sorry,” she says. Her hands begin their chaotic dance. Whatever valour she had harnessed is now sapped.

“Let us through, Yennes,” Alvira commands. “Now!”

“I will not,” she says. “Cannot. These people need not be taken or killed.”

“People?” Alvira roars, and the guards join her in their noises of outrage. “Half-breeds and a collection of bandits. I’d say they hardly count.”

“Then they should remain,” Yennes answers. “Left in the Chasm.”

Alvira’s frustration is palpable. Her eyes return to Dawsyn’s over and over. Ravenous. “Am I to believe you have chosen your side, Yennes?” the Queen asks. “Are you to remain here after all?”

Yennes lifts her eyes to the Queen’s and though they flinch she does not avert them. “I wish to return to Terrsaw,” Yennes says clearly. “I have done my duty to you. My debt is paid.”

Alvira says nothing. She narrows her eyes.

“But you’ve now seen the extent of my power,” Yennes continues. “And if I cannot travel alongside you peaceably, I will use it to protect myself.”

The women trade knowing looks, seemingly communicating beyond the scope of words.