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A white speck emerged from the forest beyond the glen.

Ghost.

The saddle was empty … no. It was entirely gone, along with every other piece of tack.

Alora straightened in her saddle, scanning the forest’s edge with pinched eyebrows and sweat forming on her hairline.

Garrik hadn’t emerged.

Storm loped down the hill, racing for Ghost, who in turn twisted her ears in their direction. Alora bounded off Storm in one easy fall, landing seamlessly in the grass beside Ghost.

“Where is he, girl?”As if a horse could speak. Alora shook her head, placing her hand between Ghost’s eyes where a faint glimmer sparkled, brushing down her nose. “Where is he?”

Snap.

A warm finger brushed across the empty gem casings on her obsidian dagger and pressed into the pommel.

Snap.

That makes ten.

Ten cracks in deep brush. Ten broken branches. Ten steps of something wandering the forest.

Sapphire eyes scanned the darkness.

Snap.

To her left. And closer than the last.

On light, calculated steps, Alora took cover behind the deadwood of a tall pine. Dagger resting at the hard spot between her breasts covered by leathered armor. Then, heavy footsteps. Careless and clumsy. Disturbing leaves and branches beneath. The steps were of no animal. Animals didn’t walk like that. Whoever it was, they were on two feet.

Something deep inside her told her it wasn’t Garrik.

Garrik’s steps were measured. Precise. Hidden. He’d never allow himself to be exposed.

Whoever this was … made her bones shiver.

She swallowed down another thought—he could be injured by whomever was lurking.

Her mind roared to follow as the footsteps trailed away. And as hers gracefully fell in quiet line behind the cracks of sticks and movement of leaves, Alora’s heart pounded when the footsteps stopped, accompanied by the cold trickle of a mountain stream.

She narrowed her eyes on the darkness, shoving herself behind a tree, breathless. Shaken.

The blood drained from her face.

A Raven.

A glimpse, a mere glisten of something like glowing silver, was enough to determine as much. Only the High King’s army wore silver. And somehow, one of them—one with exemplary skill—found their way through the patrols.

Where is Garrik?A weight pulled at her heart and released it into a panic.

She knew what she had to do. If this Raven encountered Garrik, if they left her High Prince horribly injured somewhere, she had to know. Had to find him. And letting the Raven wander to Alynthia could be catastrophic.

A faint hook tugged at her spine. No longer a speck of dirt in a sea of Dragons. She was the claws. Sharp and ruthless and fearless. And though her mind fought against an incoming wave of Kaine’s relentless taunting, she knew that everything laid in the balance of her dagger and her power.

Kaine wouldn’t stop her today.Not ever again.

Alora only saw red as her feet glided across the forest floor.