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T eryn hated how quickly relief could turn to dread.

He scanned the letter in his hands three times over, his stomach sinking deeper with each repetition. He’d been so elated to see Berol. She’d caught his eye while he’d been meeting with Master Arther and Ridine’s head mason regarding repairs on the keep roof and destroyed battlement. He’d hardly been able to focus on inspecting the parapets and discussing repairs when all he’d wanted was the letter curled in Berol’s talon. Yet she’d kept her distance until Teryn’s guests had left and he was alone on the battlement.

Now the wind cut his cheeks, threatening to tear the letter from his fingertips, as he read the note once more. Then, with a sigh, he pocketed the letter and leaned over the parapet wall, elbows propped upon the chest-high crenel before him. Berol hopped down from one of the merlons and nipped at his arm. Absently, he fed her a strip of dried venison.

Cora’s letter contained good news. They’d found the Forest People as planned. Mareleau was no longer targeted by the dragons. They’d found a solution to return the dragons to where they’d come from and had even found Ailan.

At least that’s what he’d determined from the sparse details her letter contained.

We found who we’ve been looking for. Not just the many I sought, but the one. She has promised to keep her kin safe and has control over the troublesome beasts. I will attend a meeting with her people to form an alliance and will come home as soon as I can.

Those were the lines that had required the most repetition. From the way she’d avoided stating names and locations, she was being cautious in case Berol was intercepted by the enemy. It was a practical choice yet a maddening one. He wished she’d simply spelled it all out so that he didn’t have to guess. But what other conclusion could he come to? They’d found Ailan and would next find the tear and bring the dragons back through it. Mareleau and Noah would be protected behind the Veil, and Cora would try to forge an alliance with the Elvyn.

There was hope in her letter. A miraculous hope at that. Finding Ailan hadn’t been part of the plan, only a feeble wish. Yet somehow Cora had found her amongst the Forest People. And an alliance with the Elvyn could be exactly what they needed to defeat Darius. He had two armies, after all—the naval forces he’d launched from Syrus and the forces he’d gained from his alliance with Norun. To defeat him, they needed more soldiers than he had. More strength.

Yet that hope led to dread, for it meant Cora was going farther away. It meant he had even less of an idea where she was, if she was safe, or when she’d return.

I miss you. I love you. I’ll return .

That was how the letter ended. He’d trust those words, even if they did nothing to lift the heaviness in his heart.

“You should have gone with Cora.”

Berol cocked her head, but Teryn hadn’t been talking to her.

A faint figure had formed beside him.

Emylia crossed her arms and leaned against the parapet. “You wanted me to act as your messenger bird as well?”

“Now that I’m reminded how practical and cautious my darling wife can be in writing, I realize you would have served as a better way to glean solid information.”

“At least you know she’s safe.”

Neither of them said what lingered unspoken. That she was safe… for now . And now that Berol had left Cora’s side, he wasn’t sure when he’d get another update.

Berol nipped his arm again. At first he thought she was asking for more treats. While that may be the case, it reminded him of the second letter that had been rolled up with the first. He hadn’t dared read it, for it had been addressed to Larylis. That isn’t to say he wasn’t tempted, for there was a chance Mareleau hadn’t been as careful with her words and information as Cora had. She may have shared more details that would give Teryn a clearer idea of their situation. And yet, whatever she wrote was meant for his brother. He wouldn’t cross that boundary.

With great reluctance, he turned the scroll over to Berol, along with another strip of meat.

“To Larylis.” He didn’t mention where to find him, for he was likely still on the road. Berol had demonstrated a remarkable knack for finding those she was familiar with no matter where they were. He trusted she’d find Larylis too.

Berol took the letter and flew off the battlement. He watched as she quickly turned into a speck in the distance.

“Cora will be fine,” Emylia said. “You know how strong she is.”

He did know, but seven devils, this situation was devolving into unknown territory. Quite literally, in some respects. There was so much they still didn’t know. So much they couldn’t plan for. Cora’s vague details only contributed to that untethered feeling.

His gaze drifted from the sky—Berol no longer in sight—to the landscape. Thankfully it was free of smoke and the shadows of wings and had been since the night before. No wonder he hadn’t gotten any new reports of fiery destruction or dragon sightings. If Cora had found Ailan, and Ailan had control over the dragons, that was one less problem he had to address.

Though addressing problems was something he thrived on. Planning for repairs, holding audiences, offering reparations to those who’d lost their homes and crops to dragon fire…he’d been trained for these things his whole life. As troublesome as these matters were, staying busy kept the edge off his restlessness. Moving, acting, problem-solving—serving as king consort while Cora was away—gave him purpose. Robbed him of opportunities to panic.

Something moved far below in his periphery, drawing his gaze to the charred field that marred the castle lawn. There a pale semi-transparent figure wandered across the dead earth. At first he thought Emylia had transported herself there, but no, she was still at his side.

He narrowed his eyes until he could make out the distinct shape of the wraith, a ghostly sword at its side. Its eyes were hollow holes.

He cast a questioning look at Emylia. “Is that…”

“One of Morkai’s warrior wraiths?” She nodded. “I think so.”

He didn’t like to recall how aggressively the wraiths had fought at Centerpointe Rock. Before that, Morkai had demonstrated his ghastly army’s capabilities on the very charred field the wraith wandered over now. Proved how deadly they could be when he forced a servant to face his hoard.

“How did he get the wraiths to follow him?” Teryn asked.

“He did what he’d always done. He used a blood weaving. He burned the castle garden to ash, offering death for life.”

“And that’s all they needed to fall under his command?”

“No, it was more complicated than that. He shared a connection to those wraiths, through his father. The wraiths he called to him were the souls of those who’d fought in El’Ara for Darius.”

Teryn remembered what Morkai had said about the wraiths during his demonstration.

Spirits from a nearly forgotten war.

They died trapped between two realms…

Now they serve me.

“They died in the fae realm,” Emylia said, “yet their souls were tethered to the human realm. Their heart-centers were torn from them, leaving them as empty, hollow spirits, unable to cross to the otherlife. Without one’s heart-center, they have no attachment to the otherlife, no reason to go home. Yet without a heart-center, they remain forever hungry. Lost. That is where tales of vengeful and violent spirits come from.”

So that was why wraiths were so different from ghosts. Ghosts had unfinished business like Emylia or were desperate to cling to the lives they’d had like some of the ones he’d seen in the castle. Wraiths, on the other hand, had lost the very thing that made them want anything. They were hungry but didn’t even know what for.

Emylia spoke again. “He used that hunger to his advantage. With his own blood, he wove an attraction enchantment that called the wraiths to Ridine. The wraiths were drawn to his blood because they sensed their former master’s in it—Darius, the king they’d served and fought for, the man who’d fueled their sense of purpose when they’d been alive.

“Once Morkai drew the wraiths to the castle grounds, he sacrificed the garden and gave them sentience, and the ability to act as if they were alive, able to wield their weapons and end lives. After that, they chose to follow him. He gave them what every wraith craves—a purpose. He promised them a battle that would help them atone for the mission they’d failed to complete for their former master. Furthermore, he’d end their wandering torment by giving them the peace they couldn’t find on their own. Once he had the power of the Morkaius, he would lay their etheras to rest.

“Lay them to rest? How would he do that?”

“Magic can exorcise spirits, though I don’t know if Morkai had truly cared enough about their fate to plan that far ahead.”

“That’s really all it took for him to gain an army of souls? Spill his blood, give them a purpose that harkened back to their former lives, and promise an end to their wandering?”

“No, there was more to it than that. His army was flawed at first. They could only maintain sentience for short stints once they began fighting, and if they were defeated in combat, that would often be enough to end their bloodlust. That was when he forged a connection between them and his Roizan. It allowed them to reanimate again and again, never tiring.”

He stared down at the wraith, watching as it wandered aimlessly over the charred field. “Are the wraiths still dangerous? If he sacrificed the garden to give them sentience, do they still have it? Can they still kill, or can they only wander the field that gave them life?”

“Maybe they could be dangerous if they had a purpose again, but that died with Morkai.” Emylia frowned, turning narrowed eyes to him. “Why are you so interested?”

Something dark echoed in his chest, and he realized he wasn’t questioning Morkai’s actions out of idle curiosity. There was a part of him that wanted to figure out what he’d done, to study it from every angle. And a much smaller, quieter part of him that wondered if he could do it too.

He’d already painted with blood. He’d worked blood magic and now knew how simple it was. Not easy, but simple. Just a pattern. A formula.

“Do not lust after blood magic,” Emylia said. “There’s a reason it’s forbidden. There are repercussions.”

She was right, and he shuddered at his own thoughts. At how alluring they were, despite knowing he shouldn’t have them. Yet something in him had changed last summer, as subtle a change as it was. He’d greeted death. Had danced with it. Defeated it. It didn’t repulse him the way it once had, and there was a faint piece of it that stayed with him still, evident in his ability to see spirits. Was that one of the repercussions Emylia was referring to?

He glanced at the warrior wraith again. It walked in slow, hapless circles at the center of the field.

Then it halted.

Turned around.

And lifted its hollow, eyeless gaze to Teryn.

His breath caught as he was struck with a sudden yearning for…

For what?

He didn’t know, nor was he sure the yearning was coming from him. It almost felt as if it was coming from the wraith.

Teryn took a step away from the parapet.

The wraith blinked, then averted its gaze. After a few moments of stillness, it proceeded to cross the field and disappeared at the end of it.

Teryn’s heart slammed against his ribs. Most spirits avoided him, or at the very least ignored him. But that one…

What was the yearning he’d felt?

“What’s happened to me?” he said under his breath. “Why can I see spirits? Why has death chosen to cling to me?”

And if it hadn’t chosen to cling to him…then had he chosen to cling to it?

“I don’t know.” Emylia nibbled her lip. Her wary expression reminded him of when they were locked in the crystal together and she’d hidden information from him.

He fully faced her and took a step closer. She launched a step back, her expression wild with sudden fear.

That wasn’t the first time she’d reacted like that.

It reminded him of the ghost in the council room the other day. The one who’d fled after she’d gotten close to him.

He narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me? Why have you been afraid of me?”

She wrung her semi-transparent hands. “It’s just…when I get close to you, I feel…I don’t know what I feel. It’s just this sense that…that I’ll cease to exist.”

“What does that mean—” His words cut off as approaching footsteps interrupted their unsettling conversation.

“I don’t know,” Emylia whispered and disappeared before him.

He turned to find Captain Alden striding across the battlement. A small ember of hope ignited in his chest. He’d tasked her with questioning the spy again to see if they could get any more information. If they could just get a little more insight into Darius’ plans…

Alden stopped before him with a bow, but when she straightened, her face was pale.

“Report,” Teryn said.

“It’s…the spy, Majesty.”

“Have you gotten more intel from?—”

“He’s dead. The spy is dead, and it wasn’t an accident.”

Teryn’s mind went blank and he nearly huffed a laugh. He’d been foolish to hope. The last of it drained from his body as Alden finished her report, detailing how they’d found the spy’s body in his cell, how his face had been beaten nearly to a pulp.

Teryn replied with a calm he didn’t feel, agreed with her conclusion that the spy had been purposefully silenced after revealing information about the naval fleet. When she left, he faced the parapet once more and pounded a fist upon the stone crenel.

He was supposed to solve problems. He was supposed to protect Ridine while Cora was away. Instead, he’d lost their only asset to help them gain intel on the enemy. And worst of all, if the spy had been silenced in the dungeon, that meant something far worse.

There was a traitor somewhere in the castle.