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V ahly opened her eyes to find the galtzagorri leading her down a tunnel lit only by the pale light of his ghostly form. She had been following him, entirely unconscious. Her shirt stuck to her skin, and her hair was plastered to the back of her neck and her temples.

“Please tell me we’re not actually going to trek into the molten center of the globe. I may have grown up with dragons, but I assure you, I am not one.”

The spirit didn’t turn around or react to her words. He just kept on striding purposefully forward as the tunnel sloped downward.

The heat grew more oppressive with every turn, and Vahly’s chest tightened. She felt like she was being buried. A ridiculous fear for an Earth Queen, surely, but she felt it all the same.

Glancing back, the galtzagorri regarded her with serious eyes. “You will not be harmed during your journey to the land spirits’ Blackwater.”

A shallow comfort. He said nothing about when she arrived.

To battle her fear, she focused on her magic’s pull, specifically the element of the power that was drawing her directly behind the galtzagorri, toward his planned destination.

This was right. She was following the earth’s heartbeat, seeing this through.

No matter what the spirits threw at her, she was the Earth Queen.

She would prove it. Countless lives had been sacrificed to give her this chance to balance the world, and she wouldn’t let primal fear crush her now.

The galtzagorri glanced back again, but this time he nearly smiled. “That’s much better, human.”

His gaze flitted to her Blackwater mark, and she touched the circle of shimmering darkness there, wondering if he thought her Touched mark was a mistake as so many dragons had during her life.

The tunnel opened into a large hall, the walls carved roughly as if by wide talons of a dragon unlike any she’d ever met.

It was a primitive sort of place with no decoration or symbols, no furniture or places set for comfort.

The pearly light that made up her host expanded and dragged across the ground like a creeping fog, drawing a chill across Vahly’s bones despite the suffocating heat.

The fog spun and rose to create a crowd of galtzagorri that didn’t look too different from her host. Some were taller, but not by much.

A few appeared female in shape, with softer mouths and finer brows.

They all faced her and spoke as one, her host included.

“Meet yourself in the spring, Earth Queen. Show yourself. Show the land. Earn the love of our world’s heart.”

Vahly swallowed. No pressure. She exhaled and started forward.

The spirits parted to reveal a low well carved of the same rock as the walls and the tunnel.

She leaned over the well to see Blackwater glistening inside, ruby, amethyst, jade, and sapphire flecks of light blinking from the depths.

She’d thought the only pure Blackwater spring was in Illumarah.

But this one was surely pure as well. It held no magma like the dragons’ earthblood vents.

This spring showed no signs of holding salt water like the ones under the sea surely did.

The Blackwater pulled at her so strongly that she gripped the edge of the well to keep herself from crawling in, a fascinating yet also horrifying impulse.

The scent of the earth filled her nose—heated stone, damp dirt, and minerals she could almost taste in the air.

A perfume rose from the Blackwater as well, that same intoxicating blend that smelled like jasmine, clean water, and a scent she could only relate to beeswax candles.

“You are Touched,” her host said, his insubstantial finger drawing across her Blackwater mark. “And so you may touch.” His gaze went to the spring.

Vahly nodded and dipped her hand slowly into the well. The spirits ceased all movement and seemed to hold their collective breath as Vahly’s fingers broke the surface and disappeared under the shimmering, blessed liquid.

A peace—like the morning sun after a hard-won battle, like the feel of Arc’s lips on her forehead, like the sound of Nix laughing, like Amona’s motherly embrace—slid over Vahly’s entire body, swaddling her in the knowledge that all was right with the world.

She was following the magic born inside her.

She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but when she opened them, she saw her face in the Blackwater.

But it wasn’t the face she had now. The Blackwater’s gently rippling surface painted the image of Vahly as a small child, toddling beside Amona.

Child Vahly held a toy in her hand, something small that sparkled under the torches they passed as they walked down the corridors of the Lapis palace.

Child Vahly looked up to see another dragon scowling down, eyeing her Blackwater mark and curling his scaled lip to show his teeth.

Before Vahly could see what Amona would do to protect her, one of the many moments in which her adoptive mother had defended her with cutting words and sharp commands, the memory went hazy.

A strange feeling passed through Vahly, a sensation akin to shame.

The image faded completely, and then Vahly saw herself as a girl about the age of Ruda, all arms and legs.

Young Vahly shouted at a group of dragons flying around the feasting hall, playing a game of chase that involved breathing dragonfire over opponents’ heads.

The game served as training for battle and the adults strongly encouraged playing.

The dragons ignored young Vahly’s shout and taunted her when they did look her way, pointing to her Blackwater mark and laughing.

Young Vahly threw an obscene gesture and sauntered out of the room in a way that showed she had already met Nix.

Only Nix could teach a scrappy girl how to walk like that.

Vahly’s chest ached. The pain felt fresh, the dejection new and real and very present. She shook her head. Images from her memories danced across the ceiling and over the walls. The spirits watched her failures like it was some sort of sad playacting.

Vahly dragged her gaze back to the spring to see herself grown, leaving a Dragonfire ritual with shoulders sagging.

Memory Vahly straightened on seeing Nix, and the two laughed their way to the ciderhouse, where they picked up a game of bones with Dramour.

Grief welled in Vahly and poured through her.

She reached into the Blackwater to touch the image of Dramour’s eye patch.

Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry.

Stones, she refused to feel shamed for any of this.

None of it was her doing. This was simply her journey.

The fact that she’d never been fully accepted into her mother’s clan had only pushed her to fight harder in their battles with the Jades, to grow courage in the face of being the smallest, the weakest, the least powerful, the most disappointing.

Her difficult youth had brought her to Nix, her greatest friend, and to Arc, whom she loved more than she cared to admit.

Only through her tribulations had she learned how to be swift, clever, cunning, and determined.

And with these learned attributes, she had found her familiar, Kyril, a beautiful beast that made her whole.

She whirled away from the Blackwater and raised her chin.

“I will not bend under these difficult memories. I thank the Source for the life I’ve been given.

Without it, I would be nothing. I would have already been dead from neglect and lack of spirit.

I am Vahly, Blooded for the Battle, Earth Queen and the one fated to balance our world.

I will not be thrown off course. I will rise. I will win.”

The spirits erupted in clapping and joyful shouts, surrounding her and flooding her vision with their illuminated faces and hands. Her host reached through the crowd, his fisted hand held aloft. His fingers opened, and she caught a primitive-looking dagger made entirely of obsidian.

“From your people in Bihotzetik. It is not just a dagger.”

She gripped it carefully, the ebony hilt smooth against her palm. “Thank you. Any ideas on how I’m supposed to use these gifts you spirits are so kindly bestowing?”

The galtzagorri just grinned and clapped his hands.

Spirits and cave walls blurring around her, Vahly was flung upward.

She was going to ram straight into the ceiling.

Her heart pounded as she willed herself into a trusting state.

So far, the spirits had helped, not hurt.

Surely, they wouldn’t smash her against the inside belly of this place.

Faster and faster she flew through the air, then, as she hit the rock wall, the world went dark for a moment. She was bodiless, senseless…

And then her vision returned, and she was being lovingly attacked by Kyril’s massive paws, slobbering tongue, and frighteningly dangerous beak.

Beyond Kyril, Nix shook her head. Arc, Aitor, and Amona gathered around as Nix stood and brushed herself off. “Where is that ugly little spirit? I have a few words to say to him.”

Amona’s mouth lifted at one corner, and Arc covered a grin. Aitor put an arm around Nix, who gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before slipping out of his grip.

Vahly examined the obsidian knife the galtzagorri had given her.

“Thanks for waking her up,” she whispered, knowing Nix hadn’t fulfilled the supposed “learning” the spirit had wanted of her and Nix had most likely only been released from whatever magic was cast on her because of a favor from the galtzagorri.

She held out the knife. “Nabbed another present, folks. I say let’s get on our way.”

Nix lifted into the air. “Agreed. The world isn’t going to save itself.”

Vahly and Arc climbed onto Kyril’s back, and Vahly leaned into the elf’s embrace.

Arc pressed a kiss against the back of Vahly’s head, then ran his fingers along the side of her neck. Shivers danced down her back. “I worried they might be less helpful than the other spirits,” he whispered.

“Oh, were you going to unleash your Elven King viciousness on them? I would’ve liked to see that.”

His laugh ruffled her hair as Kyril launched into the night sky behind Amona and Aitor. “You will see my power. All too soon, I’m sure.”

But he didn’t sound sure, and his hesitation chilled Vahly’s heart.

He was definitely dealing with something he didn’t want to talk about.

But she wouldn’t push him. Not yet. If she needed to know, he would tell her.

He wouldn’t risk the quest for pride. Arc had never been one for making himself look better than he was. No, he had a reason, she was certain.

After tucking the obsidian dagger into the baldric strapped across her chest, Vahly gripped Kyril’s scruff and did her best to enjoy the flight through the quiet skies. Soon enough, death would be grasping at them again.