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“ I t’s an illusion—it has to be!” I practically scream, but the horses balk as we approach the gates and shy away, leaving Fortiss and me no choice but to dismount and approach the gates on foot.

We race right up to them, then slow, and extend our hands outward.

Sure enough, the heavy metal gates won’t let us pass.

When we reach out, we encounter smooth metal.

“It’s our eyes,” Fortiss realizes. “Our eyes won’t allow it.”

“Fine,” I snap. “Then we don’t use our eyes.”

I stride out from the gates a good dozen steps, turn and square my shoulders. “We’re going to have to run right through it. If we have enough momentum, and we don’t open our eyes, and we don’t run into any actual walls, it could work. Twenty strides should do it.”

“Are you serious?” Fortiss shakes his head, but he quickly joins me, and we turn and face the gate. He reaches out and grabs my hand and we lock our fingers tight. “What if we’re wrong?”

“Well, we should keep one arm in front of our faces, like this,” I tell him, demonstrating. “If we’re wrong, we’ll break our momentum without smashing our faces too much. Hopefully.” I grimace. “What happens if we open our eyes in the middle of the door?”

“ Light , let’s not even think about what could happen then.” He draws in a deep breath and squeezes my hand. “Ready?” he asks, closing his eyes and turning his face forward again.

I shut my eyes tight, then swallow. “Ready.” I mean the word to come out like a defiant shout, but it’s barely a murmur.

Fortiss huffs a short laugh. “Let’s go.”

We take off at a dead run, never let going of each other’s hands.

Five steps, ten—fifteen. Twenty. At twenty-five, something hard clips me in the shins at the same time I suspect that it hits Fortiss, judging by his startled ‘oof.’ Despite my best efforts to keep my eyes closed, they pop open as I sprawl forward.

My hand rips out of Fortiss’s as I find myself windmilling in the open air. We’ve gone over the side of the causeway.

“Gent!” I scream, but before the word is even fully formed, I hear his cry.

A massive hand reaches down and swoops me out of the air, then to my utter shock he chucks me high in the air.

I scream in terror for one breath, two—then all the wind is knocked out of me as he catches me again. Is he playing some kind of game?

Gent roars with delight as a burst of flame erupts next to me, and I watch, dizzily, as he drops a dazed Fortiss onto Szonja’s back as she hovers midair.

As my heart leaps with transcendent joy— he’s safe!

Fortiss is safe —my mind puts it together, two of us falling and Gent snatching me first, but needing to get rid of me long enough for him to capture Fortiss as well.

Dizzy, half-delirious with relief, I stagger back, bracing myself in Gent’s palm.

I watch Fortiss grip Szonja’s neck and want to weep, to laugh, to shout—but all I can do is give thanks to the Light with every shaky breath.

Seeing him like that in that accursed room, weeping and shaking with love and loss, vulnerable and broken…

and then having him pull me out of a similar thrall, the two of us racing together to free ourselves from the twisting lies that loom all around us…

It's changed me, I think, and I manage a weak smile, watching Szonja swoop around in a low, lazy arc. Every time I think I can’t be changed any more, I discover how wrong I am.

With this crisis solved, Szonja banks off to the right with a defiant scream, while Gent wheels around toward the Eighth House—and, more specifically, the mountains that jut up behind it.

As the night draws down over the mountains, a storm is crashing toward us from the Western Realms.

“Report!” I scream, clamping my hands over my ears and hunkering into the rough, leathery skin of Gent’s palm as he holds me against his chest, his farsighted gaze on the approaching lightning storm.

And, with the strength of my bond to the Divhs and their warriors…

a bond I suspect has only been strengthened by my exposure to Fortiss’s magic and the ancient pull of this house… I instantly make the connection I need.

We’ve got everyone away, Tennet’s voice pummels my mind with quick, percussive strikes.

Whoever isn’t banded to a Divh is with the horses.

We’d wanted them all the way to the village by now, but we’ve had our hands full.

These people were not trained for this kind of connection, Talia.

More than half of them are still too sick to ride.

His rebuke drives a knife through my wooziness, and I lash out, the fire going a long way toward making me feel normal again. All they needed was to be banded. With a band, they can ground the Divhs in this plane—and here they are. We can do the rest until they get on their feet.

Gent swings around to show me the army that we’ve assembled, and I am immediately reminded of the melee.

The rising moon bathes the plains before the Eighth House in spectral light, its eerie magnificence heightened further by the bursts of fire emitted by the chaotic mass of monsters that fills the sky around it.

If I hadn’t seen it once before, I’d be mesmerized by the vision of so many Divhs gathered at once, bristling for battle. As it is, I’m filled with an almost suffocating pride.

A towering griffin, three times as tall as the Eighth House and five times as broad, unfurls its magnificent wings, casting a shadow over the howling, hooting Divhs stamping beneath it on the ground.

Beside it, a scarlet-scaled flying lizard snarls, smoke curling from its nostrils as its dozen short, stubby legs churn in the air.

A full pride of green-furred lions race up and down in front of the Eighth House, each of them as large as Miriam’s hummerbill, but bristling with horns that jut out from heads and hindquarters.

They roar in unison as an ape-like colossus slams its massive fists into the ground, sending tremors through the wide plains.

To their left, a massive bull with a shimmering bronze hide paws at the earth, its horns arching up to wicked points. Its snorts release twin bursts of steam, and the ground beneath its hooves seems to shrink away with every furious stamp.

Above them, a pair of golden falcons circle, each with a wingspan stretching nearly as broad as the griffins’, their sharp eyes scanning the battlefield. Their feathers gleam like polished metal, and their talons slash the air. They let out piercing cries, rallying their allies below.

I stretch forward for a closer look. Only about half of the flying creatures hold warriors tucked into place high upon their necks.

None of them look too comfortable with their seats, judging from their wide eyes and strained mouths, not to mention their deathly grip on scales or feathers or buried into fur.

I know they’re terrified, but I’m not worried for them.

Their Divhs will do anything to protect them.

Even if I were to order them onto the blighted path itself, I sense that somehow the Divhs would find a way to stow their warrior cargo in some nearby rock or tree before fulfilling my command.

No. These warriors have never been safer. There’s just not nearly enough of them to carry the standard if Tennet falters.

A roar catches my attention as another lion-like creature with six legs and a mane of black spikes prowls forward.

Its eyes burn with an intense orange glow, and every step leaves smoldering paw prints in its wake.

I blink in surprise. This creature goes beyond simply breathing fire.

The heat radiating from its body distorts the air around it, making it appear as if it were wrapped in a shimmering mirage.

Beside it, a serpentine colossus rears up high, its scaled body glinting like obsidian.

With all the snakes we’re about to face, I only wonder for a moment about the wisdom of having snakes on our side too.

Then I see who’s riding this creature—a red-haired, wild-eyed Savasci, bound with ropes to keep her in place, directly behind the snake’s head.

A huge longbow spikes up behind her, and quivers of arrows hang from the tightly lashed rope.

She’s definitely one of us. With glacial movements, the serpent coils its massive tail, its golden eyes glowing with a predatory intelligence.

As it hisses, the sound reverberates like distant thunder, and its forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air for the approaching enemy.

It’s almost as if the massive Divh is taunting the unknown darkness to show us its worst?—

And it does.

A sudden sucking sound rips through the plains, loud enough to drown out the roars of the Divhs.

Through the breach pours a churning, hissing tide—snakes the size of pigs, ponies, and even caravan wagons, both grounded and winged, their slick scales glinting like oil.

Poison , I remind myself, and send the message out again to all the warriors and Divhs linked to me.

Don’t let the skrill touch your skin if you can help it.

If they get hold of you for long enough, their poison can turn your mind to mush. Stay clear.

The snakes rush down the pass out of the mountain and, in a gut-churning vision of horror, overtake the Eighth House in a mere space of breaths.

One moment the Eighth House stands tall, lit up by flickering blasts of exhaled fire, a beacon of strength in the night—and the next it’s almost as if it’s become a living thing, shivering and writhing with fury.