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On the barren edge of the Cactus Forest, Tanwen didn’t know if she was going to retch or scream.

Perhaps she would do both, preferably in that order.

Their flight had been harrowing, an endless descent.

And freezing.

But as Tanwen stood shivering, it wasn’t from the chill in her bones but from the adrenaline surging through her veins.

They had done it!

They had flown from Galia and survived.

She felt powerful, unstoppable, and mad—because she wished to do it again.

“That was horrible,” groaned Thol, who was slumped in the dirt near her feet.

He had collapsed upon landing and hadn’t tried to rise since. His wingsuit weighed heavily on his thin, hunched-over form.

Despite his exhaustion, Tanwen felt immense relief that he had mustered the strength to complete the flight.

“I can’t believe these worked,” muttered Gabreel as he checked each joint and strap and compartment of his glider. He had neatly unhooked his suit and was inspecting it on the ground. Even with the gravity of their predicament, her father wore a strange, giddy smile. His inventor’s delight outweighed his current worry.

“Where are we to go now?” asked Huw, who stood beside the princess.

The pair had remained on the fringes of Tanwen and her family, awkward guests to their planned escape.

“We’re to go in there.” Tanwen pointed behind them, into the shadows of the Cactus Forest.

Though dawn approached, the night still lingered, casting an eerie glow from the twin moons over the landscape. The towering cacti stretched out like skeletal fingers, their sharp outlines reaching toward the dark sky.

“I can’t go in there ,” said Princess Azla, her eyes wide with her panic. “My wings will get shredded.”

“We can bind your wings to keep them safe,” offered Gabreel.

“Bind my wings?” The princess looked further horrified as she took a step back, her plumage flexing as though bucking the very idea.

“It won’t be forever,” explained Tanwen placatingly. “Just until we get to Drygul.”

“The Low Gods’ territory?” exclaimed Huw, his turn to look horrified. “You said you had somewhere safe for us.”

“Drygul is safe,” said Tanwen. “Bosyg has—”

Her response was interrupted by the snapping and crunching of soil as it shifted. The group turned to the forest’s entrance as it warped and expanded. Cacti flowers burst into bloom in a cascade of colors, accompanied by an overwhelming prickling sensation in the air.

Bosyg emerged from the ground, a manifestation of endless nature and ancient power.

Tanwen fell to her knees, a heavy anticipation settling in her chest.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rest of her group in similar prostrations.

Even the princess joined them in reverence.

“You have defied many odds to be standing on this soil,” declared Bosyg, her voice the scratching of bugs over a forest floor. “But I never doubted you’d find your way home.”

“Almighty goddess,” began Tanwen, head remaining bowed. “I have fulfilled my favor,” she declared. “The king is dead.”

Nearby, Tanwen sensed the heightened tension pulsing from her father and the princess. Her words had been more than revealing. A pang of unease and guilt swam in Tanwen’s gut for not being truthful with them, but she pushed it away.

She had done what was necessary.

“The king is not dead,” said Bosyg.

Tanwen snapped her gaze up, heartbeat stumbling into a sprint. “What?”

“King Réol is alive.” Bosyg’s eyes, like shards of obsidian, bore into Tanwen.

“But ... he drank the poison,” Tanwen reasoned, her breaths growing panicked. “I watched him drink the poison.”

“Evidently he did not drink enough,” stated Bosyg. “His mortal body still holds on to this plane, though where his mind lingers is yet to be determined.”

“I don’t understand.” Tanwen frowned.

“He is trapped in the unconscious,” explained Bosyg.

“He’s in a coma?” Tanwen whispered, distraught. “What ... does this mean?”

“That we must wait,” said Bosyg. “And see what my cousin Zenca decides.”

Zenca, the High Goddess of destiny.

Despite kneeling, Tanwen felt as if she were going to fall over, her mind a race of uncertainty and frustration and—

A howl had her turning to find Princess Azla bent over, racked with grief. “ Essie. ” She moaned her lover’s name. “She died in vain .”

“No.” Tanwen quickly came to her side, arms wrapping around her shaking shoulders as she sobbed. “Your father may live, but that doesn’t mean he won’t die soon. He clearly is weak, in a coma. He cannot rule in a coma,” she reasoned. “Lady Esme did what she did for you , to free you from the king and his commands over your life.”

“But my marriage to Orzel,” the princess scratched out. “It still stands.”

“Your brother will be prince regent,” Tanwen explained. “He has the power to annul the contract. He will annul it.”

“Thol!” Her father’s holler brought Tanwen’s attention to where her brother was running away. “Thol, stop .” Gabreel chased behind him.

In a panic, Tanwen was on her feet, racing to catch up to her father and brother. What is he doing? she thought in confused dismay, her lungs burning with each quick breath.

“You are supposed to be dead!” Aberthol roared into the night, up into the sky. “You need to be dead!”

He spread his arms, activating his glider.

“No!” shouted Gabreel, stumbling.

Tanwen was quickly at his side, steadying him before they continued to charge forward.

“Thol, no!” she desperately called out.

“You don’t have enough power!” bellowed her father.

The meaning of his words crashed into Tanwen. Aberthol’s elixir would be near empty; it could not propel him back up, least of all to Galia. It held only enough to—

Tanwen’s heart stopped as Aberthol lifted into the air, higher and higher, his silhouette growing minuscule against the rising sun.

Ré’s light began to fan out from the horizon, painting the sky in pinks and oranges.

Her brother flew toward it, determined, until his trajectory faltered, the elixir gone.

Tanwen felt a jolt of relief; he’d be forced to glide back down.

But Aberthol’s strength slipped, his exhaustion too great to keep his arms steady.

He stumbled before spiraling downward.

A piercing scream sliced through the air: Tanwen’s scream.

A gust of wind slammed into her back as Princess Azla soared into the sky toward her brother.

She wouldn’t reach him in time.

Aberthol fell.

And met the ground.