Page 3

It was real. It wasn’t a hallucination.

The third village I’ve seen in as many days appears through the swirling snow like a mirage—a handful of sturdy wooden buildings huddled against the bitter wind, smoke rising from stone chimneys in thin, wavering columns.

My relief at the sight is so profound it brings tears to my eyes, though they freeze almost instantly on my cheeks.

***

I've been walking for three days since fleeing the house in the woods, after discovering my would-be benefactor was one of Arvoren's spies—I escaped the encounter alive and intact, but only just, after he cornered me in his cellar, the walls rattling with the harsh winds, swearing he’d deliver me to the King himself for the price on my head. He lies dead now, frozen by the storm as he tried to pursue me into the dark. Blood on my hands, and yet they are too numb to feel it. Three days of trudging through knee-deep snow, sleeping in hollow trees, and eating nothing but pine nuts and dried berries foraged from beneath the ice. My stolen boots are falling apart, my feet bloody and numb inside them.

The village seems abandoned at first glance—no people in the streets, no sound except the mournful howl of wind between buildings. But I can smell woodsmoke, hear the distant bleating of sheep. Someone still lives here, despite the brutal winter.

I hesitate at the edge of the tree line, one hand pressed against my stomach. I imagine my child pulsing with warmth, a hearth of safety and comfort, the only part of me that isn't freezing. I imagine them safe and unafraid, knowing they are protected.

A door creaks somewhere in the village. I duck behind a tree, heart pounding, as heavy boots crunch through snow. Two men pass nearby, their voices carrying clearly in the crystalline air.

"—third group this week," one grumbles. "Running from the winter, they say. More likely running from the law."

"Long as they pay, who cares?" The second voice is deeper, with an accent I don't recognize. "Gold spends the same, deserter or criminal."

They pass out of earshot, but their words send a chill through me that has nothing to do with the cold. This is no simple village—it's a waypoint for those fleeing south, probably run by draconic mercenaries who prey on desperate travelers.

There are likely bounty-hunters here. Vicious and cruel, and they would do anything for the price on my head.

I need to get out of here.

I should run. Should turn back into the forest and try my luck elsewhere. But my legs tremble with exhaustion, and my vision swims whenever I move too quickly. I need real food, real rest, or neither of us will survive much longer.

I think of my child. It’s the only thing stronger than the fear.

Keeping to the shadows, I work my way around the edge of the village. Most of the buildings are dark, but one structure stands apart from the rest—larger, with warm light spilling from its windows and the sound of voices drifting from within. An inn, or something like it. If I'm careful, maybe I can—

A hand clamps over my mouth from behind.

I try to scream, to call my magic, but exhaustion has left me slow. Strong arms drag me backward, lifting me off my feet. I kick and thrash, but my captor is immensely strong.

"Well, well," a voice purrs in my ear, hot breath reeking of smoke and meat. "What do we have here?"

He spins me around, and I find myself staring into eyes that glow like banked coals. A shifter. His human form is massive, all muscle and scars, but I can see the dragon beneath his skin—scales rippling just beneath the surface, smoke curling from his nostrils with each breath.

More figures emerge from the shadows, surrounding us. All shifters, I realize with growing horror. Their eyes gleam with predatory interest as they circle closer.

"Caught this one sneaking around the perimeter," my captor announces, giving me a shake that makes my teeth rattle. "Another runaway from Fort Caddell, by the looks of her. A deserter. They’ll pay well for her."

"Please," I gasp, trying to sound appropriately terrified. It's not difficult. "I'm just looking for shelter. I have coin—"

"Oh, we'll take your coin," one of the others laughs. He's smaller than the first, but his smile is cruel. "Among other things."

The others join in his laughter. I count six of them total, all bearing the telltale signs of their draconic nature—glowing eyes, too-sharp teeth, incredible height and bulk, smoke rising from their skin despite the cold.

My captor drags me toward a gap between buildings, away from any prying eyes. Fighting hard, I kick up gusts of snow. Dark laughter echoes around me. I struggle harder, panic rising as I realize what they intend. The child's magic pulses inside me, responding to my fear, but I dare not release it. If they discover who I really am…

"Feisty little thing," one comments as I manage to land a kick to his chest. "I like that. More fun when they fight."

"Been a while since we had any entertainment up here," another adds. "These winters get so boring."

Bile rises in my throat. My fear is so intense my head spins with it.

They force me back, back, until my shoulders hit rough stone. We've reached the edge of the village, where a rocky outcrop rises from the snow like a broken bone. The shifters spread out in a semicircle, cutting off any escape.

"Now then," my original captor says, reaching for my cloak. "Let's see what else you're hiding under there, little mouse."

I could kill them. Could let my power loose, freeze them where they stand. But using that much magic in my weakened state might harm the child, or I might pass out and freeze in the snow. Besides, the moment I reveal myself as more than human, word will spread. Arvoren will know exactly where to find me.

But as rough hands stretch out toward me, I realize I might not have a choice.

The first shifter's scales ripple fully to the surface, his face elongating slightly as he lets his dragon nature show. Heat radiates from him as he leans closer, smoke curling from between sharp teeth.

"Don't worry," he growls, the words distorted by his partial transformation. "We'll make it quick. Probably."

Something inside me snaps. Damn my worries and fears. The gods only know I have nothing left to be afraid of.

I am Calliope Windward, last of my bloodline, Queen of Kaldoria for better or for worse. I have faced worse than these creatures. Have survived worse.

Will survive worse.

The wind picks up, swirling snow around us in a tight spiral. The shifters pause, suddenly uncertain as the temperature plummets. Frost spreads across the rock at my back, crackling like breaking bones.

My magic surges up from that deep well inside me, wild and uncontrollable. I feel it building like a storm, like lightning about to strike. The child's presence amplifies everything, turning my desperation into raw power that crackles through the air.

The ice beneath our feet groans.

"What's happening?" one of the shifters snarls, smoke pouring from his mouth as he starts to transform. "What are you—"

The crack comes suddenly, a sound like thunder that splits the night. A fissure opens in the frozen ground, zigzagging between the mercenaries' feet. One of them screams as the ice gives way beneath him, sending him plummeting into an expanding well of darkness. His cry echoes up from the depths until it fades to nothing.

The others scramble back, their transformations stalling as they try to find stable ground. But my magic isn't finished. Ice spreads up their legs, trapping them in place as the wind howls louder, driving snow and shards of ice like daggers.

"Witch!" my original captor roars. He manages to complete his transformation, scales erupting across his skin as his form swells. Heat radiates from him in waves, melting the ice that tries to claim him. "I'll tear you apart!"

He lunges for me, claws extended. I raise my hands, preparing to unleash everything I have left, knowing it might kill me, knowing I have no choice—

A talon larger than my head, razor-sharp, lashes through the air toward my face impossibly fast.

All at once, in a fraction of a second, I see multiple distinct images in my head: my grandmother in the firelight, Lyra giggling in a pretty dress in Essenborn, the long and lonely road to Millrath, the terrible beauty of the Sanctum seeming to glow beneath the moonlight, Arvoren tipping his head back gently as he laughs his rough laugh. A child not yet born, sharing my dark hair and Arvoren’s sharp eyes, squealing with joy in a warm, sunlit chamber, tiny fists wheeling in the air.

I hold my breath and prepare for death.

A shadow detaches itself from the storm.

The figure moves like liquid darkness, like death given form. In the space of a heartbeat, my attacker's roar turns to a gurgle. The talon whips away from me, a hair’s breadth from my face as it swings into the dark and the snow. Blood sprays across the ice at my feet, black in the dim light, as a blade opens his throat with surgical precision.

The remaining shifters try to flee, but the shadow is everywhere at once. Steel flashes. Bodies fall. One mercenary manages to fully transform, but even his dragon form isn't fast enough. The mysterious fighter flows around his flames like smoke, finding gaps in his scales, striking vital points until the massive creature crashes to the ground.

In seconds, it's over.

My legs give out. I slide down the rock face, the rough stone scraping through my clothes as my vision dims at the edges. The magic drains from me like water from a broken cup, leaving me hollow and shaking.

The figure approaches through the swirling snow. Tall, powerful, moving with a warrior's deadly grace. My heart leaps treacherously in my chest.

Arvoren?

But no—even through my blurring vision, I can tell the shape is wrong. This person is shorter than my husband, more slightly built. They kneel beside me in the bloodied snow, and a voice that's definitely not Arvoren's says something I can't quite catch.

Hands catch me as I start to slump forward. The world spins lazily, darkness creeping in from all sides. I try to fight it, to stay conscious, but I'm so tired. So cold.

"…safe now," the voice says, seeming to come from very far away. "You're safe…"

As consciousness slips away, I find myself wishing, despite everything, that it was Arvoren's arms around me. That he had found me, had come to take me home to warmth and safety and his fierce, possessive love.

The thought follows me down into darkness as the storm rages on.