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The route that was part of the Wesford Road was barely discernible through the weeds and grasses that had reclaimed it. Thea was silent, her skin crawling as they followed the path towards the crumpled pillars of what looked to have been the official city gates, in another lifetime. The entrance to Dorinth was a shell of its former glory, and for no reason she could pinpoint, that made her heart ache. She had never lived within these walls. The city had fallen before her birth. So why did she care? Why this strange grief for something she’d never had?

Thea glanced at Wilder, grateful for his sturdy, stoic presence. For all that had come to pass between them, she knew one thing: when he was with her, he had her back, always. And though she missed him, though she longed to breathe him in and lean into his embrace, to have him at her side in any capacity made her stronger. And that thought, more than anything else, comforted her now.

Past the crumbling walls was the skeleton of a city. Narrow street after narrow street of abandoned homes painted a vivid picture of what Delmira had been like, both in its bustling prime and upon its terrifying demise. Each townhouse had once been a home, a home belonging to a family, and now there was only emptiness. Thea could almost hear the echoing screams of terror as the kingdom was plundered by monsters, as darkness swept in around them all.

‘Is this what Naarva is like?’ she heard herself ask, jumping down from her horse and peering into the windows.

Wilder shook his head. ‘Naarva was like an overgrown jungle in the time after its fall. Whereas this…’

‘It’s like a ghost city.’

‘Yes,’ Wilder allowed as he dismounted.

‘Where were you when it fell?’ she said, scanning the dirt road and the disrepair of the buildings.

‘I was only a child, back in my home village. Malik would probably remember us getting word of it, if his long-term memories aren’t damaged. It’s hard to tell.’

‘What do you remember?’ she asked.

‘I only remember the shift in the midrealms after it happened. The fear that permeated even our little town. People not letting their children out after supper; some people leaving altogether, fleeing further south. There was a feeling in the air that something bad was coming.’

‘They weren’t wrong.’

‘No. They weren’t.’

Thea held his gaze for a moment. They both knew what he had described was the same foreboding feeling that loomed over the midrealms now. History was about to repeat itself for a third time.

Taking a breath, Thea wandered down the abandoned street, Wilder close behind her. They walked into the empty town square, towards the giant bell tower at its centre. Heather sprouted amid the stones at its base. Thea’s stomach churned at the sight of it. Without thinking, she brushed her fingertips across the blooms, plucking some and curling them around her fingers.

‘What is it?’ Wilder asked, his brow furrowed.

‘I…’ But before she spoke, Thea realised she’d never told Wilder what she’d seen when the reaper had reached into her chest. She’d never spoken of Anya as the little girl with the scythe, of the dark tendrils of magic… Of the havoc wrought upon Thezmarr’s courtyard, which had smelt of blood – and of heather.

The mossy, woody aroma was familiar to her, from that vision and from a lifetime ago.

‘Thea?’

She couldn’t recall the last time he’d used her name. It sent a pulse of yearning through her lonely heart. ‘I don’t know yet,’ she said. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Warsword.’

Something flickered in his expression then. His mouth parted as if he would argue, but he clamped it shut, opting to stare at her intensely instead. Gods, she longed for there to be no walls between them, for it to be just the two of them against the world. But perhaps it was too late for that now. Now, they walked a different path.

Dropping the flowers and shoving her hands in her pockets to hide their trembling, Thea followed the perimeter of the town square, looking for something, anything to trigger a memory, a feeling. All the while, Wilder watched her like a hawk.

Weeds sprouted in the cobblestones of the winding streets. The grey of the buildings matched the hue of the ominous clouds above. Thea could feel them looming, could almost hear the call of the rain within as they moved deeper into the city.

White stone and rotten timber held up the remains of various residences and shops. The imposing bell tower in the town square appeared to be the only sturdy piece of architecture left. In layout, Dorinth was similar to what Thea had seen of Harenth’s capital, Hailford: it sprawled outward in circles, growing denser towards the heart, wherein the ruins of a once great castle stood.

It was hard to imagine its former glory from the rubble. Thea pictured towers and thick walls of stone, crenellations with slots for archers, a mighty portcullis and impressive gates flanked by uniformed guards. But the kingdom’s capital was in irreparable ruins, just like the rest of its lands.

‘I never lived here,’ Thea reminded Wilder, pacing atop the debris, entering what she imagined might have been a grand foyer. ‘Delmira fell thirty years ago. I wasn’t even born.’

‘No,’ Wilder allowed. ‘But your parents, your grandparents, your entire line walked these halls, sat upon the thrones in the throne room.’

‘What halls? What throne room?’ She gestured around them. ‘There’s nothing left.’

‘That’s not true.’ Wilder pointed to more heather growing in the ruins. ‘There is still life here. And what’s more,youlive.Wrenlives. You are enough.’

Her sister’s name sent a pang through her. ‘I wish she were here to see it,’ she murmured. ‘But I’m still so angry.’ It felt surreal to admit it aloud, this thing she had been carrying with her since the initiation, since she’d discovered what and who she was. A handful of lessons with her sister hadn’t undone the damage between them.