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A S N YX CLIMBED the steep dune, she turned her back on the Fyredragon .

Shouts and orders echoed behind her, rising from the crew as they secured the ship to its new berth. Mooring cables had been shot deep into the sandbanks that sheltered the massive vessel. Darant had been in a sour mood after the tense flight to this spot near the village of Tosgon. He looked somewhat relieved after their giant gasbag sank below the towering ridgelines.

To further temper his fears, he had posted spotters atop the ridges, armed with farscopes, along with runners to relay messages. If any bronze storm swept out from that black mountain, he needed enough warning to get the Fyredragon back in the air.

Though, considering the new aerial talent of the ta’wyn, that might not be enough. For that reason, Daal had remained behind, to rally his raash’ke crew if a fight in the air proved necessary.

Nyx regretted leaving Bashaliia behind, too, but they had dared not spook these potential new allies. While scaling the dune, she passed many clusters of the Chanr? people, who had camped on the slope to watch the descent of the ship. Others had tried to assist, but considering the expertise of the crew, they mostly got in the way. Still, she watched a team of villagers helping to drag the ship’s siphoning hose over the dune. The plan was to haul it down to the aquifer beneath Tosgon—if the hose could stretch that far.

But that was not the font that most interested Nyx.

A bell ago, Graylin had dispatched word of a gathering in the underground village, where she hoped to tap into the knowledge of the Chanr? people.

She had not come alone in this purpose.

To her left, Jace scaled alongside Krysh. Both men’s eyes shone with an avid interest in everything. Jace stopped to watch a volcano of ants erupting from the sand. A Chanr? guide warned him off with a harsh scolding, pushing him away.

On her right, Rhaif led Shiya. She walked fully clothed, including gloves and a heavy cloak with a draping cowl. Graylin had asked them to bring the ta’wyn woman to the gathering, to help prove their story. It had taken the sight of this bronze miracle to convince Esme of the truth of moonfall. But the Chanr? people had lived all their lives with the ta’wyn, a menace as unvarying as the burning sun. Knowing that enmity, Nyx had recommended that Shiya be kept covered until they reached the others.

Yet some of the onlookers still eyed Shiya with suspicion, as if sensing the weight of bronze hidden beneath the cloak. This might have been evident from the deep tracks the heavy woman left in her wake.

Finally, the group reached the dune’s crest and made better progress down. Though every step sent Nyx clumsily skating down the sand. She feared she might trigger an avalanche that would swamp them all.

Their guide, a thin woman named Abresh, proved herself to be far more masterful and dexterous. She glided down the sand as if it were ice, barely seeming to balance herself.

Once at the bottom, Abresh led them toward the village entrance.

Nyx noted more of those strange quilled beasts. One lay on her side, nursing a pair of prickly calves. Nearby, several men stood in clusters, smoking from a pipe that was passed around. Beyond them, women chattered and worked together to weave a blanket on a complicated loom.

This near-idyllic setting belied the danger of the Dragon. Then again, it was the same back home, where those living in the Myr swamps ignored the mountain at its center: the volcanic Fist, home to thousands of venomous bats and where Bashaliia had been born. It seemed one eventually learned to accommodate a constant horror in their midst.

Abresh pulled aside a tapestry that closed off the village entrance and guided them inside. Jace gasped at the sculpted interior, while Krysh craned to take it all in. Rhaif simply squinted around, as if judging the worth of every detail. Only Shiya kept her gaze down, her face shadowed by her hood.

Abresh led them across a cavernous entrance hall and down a curving tunnel that wound into the depths. After a few more turns, she drew aside another heavy curtain. The chamber beyond was circular, with a roof carved into a smooth spiral that looked like the interior of a conch shell. A stone table sat in the middle, laden with a steaming array of fare that filled the space with a heady, spicy aroma. Nyx spotted flatbreads, grilled meats of some sort, beans as big around as her thumb, and many flagons of water.

Around the table, benches extended from the walls, looking grown out of the stone. Graylin had already arrived, along with Vikas and Esme. All looked freshly bathed with damp hair—even Kalder, who roamed the space, sniffing at the table. Crikit paced behind the vargr, as if hoping Kalder might nudge something off for them to share.

Opposite their group, a trio of Chanr? sat, conversing quietly. Another half dozen men stood in a semicircle behind them. From the array of weapons, Nyx guessed they were an elite guard.

While we’ve been welcomed here, the villagers clearly remain wary of us—and rightfully so.

Tosgon’s momentary forbearance of them came about due to the man seated at the center of the Chanr? group. He stood as Nyx entered. She had no difficulty recognizing the family resemblance to Esme. Nyx had heard the story of her reunion with her brother. Nyx had also learned how Arryn had grown to be a respected member of these people. When he had vouched for their group, it had apparently carried great weight.

Still, this accommodating sentiment could change at any moment.

“Be welcome,” Arryn said, and waved to the table. “We have much to discuss and many questions. From both sides of this feast.”

The newcomers took their seats—except Shiya, who remained standing. The ta’wyn had stopped in front of a lantern, keeping her back to it. While its shine outlined her body from behind, it also shadowed her features.

Arryn motioned to the two seated beside him. “I’ve already shared the danger that spurred you all here. Of the threat of moonfall. This is Irquan, hertmaester of our hunters. And our village leader, Aelder Mirash.”

The steel-faced hunter offered a bow of his head, while the Tosgon elder—an older woman—stared dispassionately. That one, Aelder Mirash, remained the trickiest to read. She had gray hair that looked nearly silver, with eyes that matched and a leathered complexion that made it difficult to guess her age.

Nyx suspected she would need to convince all three if she hoped to gain these people’s trust.

Arryn continued, “I’ve also told them what you believe lies at the heart of Khagarsan, what you need to secure for any hope for the world.”

“The second turubya, ” Nyx said.

Arryn nodded, but he looked skeptical. “I consulted with Mirash and a handful of our wisest elders. None have heard of anything like that hidden at Khagarsan. Then again, none of our stories tell of anyone going there and coming back. At least, not anyone still sound of mind and body.”

Nyx heard a nick of pain in the man’s voice at the end.

Still, he continued on. “So, you ask much of us. You want us to risk everything on supposition and belief. To stir the Dragon, which could bring ruin upon us all.”

Nyx caught a look from Graylin, a sign he wanted her to respond, to make the next introduction, further proof that he had grown to see her as more than just a lost child.

Intent to not let him down, she cleared her throat and stood up. “Arryn, we understand your doubt. But we bring proof of our claims.” She lifted a hand. “This is Shiya.”

Upon this signal, the ta’wyn woman uncinched her robe and let it fall away, exposing the breadth of her bronze form. Shiya warmed it brighter, outshining the lantern behind her.

The huntmaster burst up, joining Arryn on his feet.

Behind them, the guards shifted in defensive postures. Several cast warding gestures of curled fingers, thrusting from foreheads toward Shiya.

Esme also stood up, speaking rapidly in Chanaryn. Nyx caught some of it, but Esme’s calm tones and raised palms communicated her attempt to quell their outburst.

Arryn also tried to settle his group. Clearly his sister had already shared Shiya’s story with him. Even so, he seemed to be losing this battle. Drawn by the commotion, more armed figures burst into the chamber.

Weapons bristled.

The shouting grew angrier.

Finally, a firm voice cut through the uproar.

“Eyow!” Aelder Mirash said sharply, pushing off the bench.

Arryn tried to help her up, but she shrugged him away and crossed around the table in wiry, sure steps. Nyx remembered Abresh gliding effortlessly down the face of the dune. This woman moved with the same leonine grace, full of power and balance.

While weapons remained raised, the guardsmen in the room quieted.

With a single finger, Mirash shifted aside a spear that blocked her path, then circled to confront Shiya. Even Rhaif stepped out of the elder’s way.

Mirash eyed Shiya, both their faces equally aloof. The old woman reached a finger and traced Shiya’s bronze jawline. When done, that finger trembled.

But not out of fear.

Mirash closed her eyes, her lips whispering in prayer.

Nyx eyed Esme, who shrugged, clearly lost.

The elder finally finished, then placed her palm on Shiya’s chest. Keeping it there, Mirash turned to the gathering. Her eyes had welled up with tears, but they refused to fall. In such a hard woman, it was as if she had broken down sobbing.

“Sa et Dr?shra,” she said firmly, but with a slight tremulous awe. “Dr?shra r’nah.”

Upon these words, the guards fell back as if struck. Several dropped their spears. Four fell to their knees. One covered his face, as if unworthy to be seen.

Nyx again looked to Esme.

Esme answered, still plainly confused, “She’s saying that Shiya is Dr?shra… Dr?shra returned.”

Esme turned to her brother for clarification.

Arryn appeared as stunned as the rest.

“What is this Dr?shra ?” Nyx asked.

Arryn’s brow knit with worry. “It means Breaker of Dragons.”