The daunting cold of the Steppes had faded to a pleasantly mild breeze, hints of spring beginning to manifest amongst the dark, twisted branches and barren slopes. Here and there, little splashes of color emerged against the grey rock as early wildflowers and feather-soft young leaves danced in the wind. Even the cries of birds returning echoed through the air, their trilling songs at odds with the harsh landscape of the wilderness.

The peace of the surroundings did little to cut the tension between the group traversing the jagged hills and valleys, however.

Cenric said nothing as he wound between shadowed evergreens toward the looming cliffs, his mouth a tight line as he considered just how he was going to explain to Valka that he'd had no choice but to bring Nesta along. He suppressed a grimace, deciding exactly how'd he survive the onslaught of fury from both females when that confrontation inevitably came to a head.

It would be a feat indeed, to keep one from slaughtering the other. Or, more likely, to keep both from slaughtering him.

Part of him half-hoped that the wards he'd erected would simply keep Nesta out, allowing him slip into their little abode and just pretend she wasn't waiting menacingly outside.

His aunt trailed behind him at a healthy distance, her icy eyes lingering on the foreign terrain surrounding them, as though she were memorizing each bush and stone. She had likely never been this close to the outer reaches of the Illyrian territory, a place even the bravest of the warriors had balked to travel to.

Which was precisely the reason Valka had chosen this as her refuge.

Even Cassian's wings twitched occasionally as the sounds of beasts echoed in the distance, his footsteps drawing him protectively closer to his mate's side.

It really was no wonder that no one, save for Azriel and his mysterious means of tracking, had even come close to being able to pin down their location.

Truly, it had been a miracle that Cenric had even found Valka himself. Only happenstance had caused their paths to cross, all because his curiosity had gotten the better of him and sent him scouting down a dark cave.

That had been so long ago now, he realized a bit forlornly, the true amount of time he'd spent living peacefully in that sanctuary suddenly hitting him.

He only hoped Valka would forgive him for who trailed behind him.

Nesta . . . the impossible female had inevitably gotten her way, through pure, undiluted intimidation and insistence. Cenric had barely gotten a word in edgewise before she'd dragged him from his bed and all but shoved him into his leathers, eyes sharp as she'd held out her hand to be winnowed, giving him a single order: "Now."

So, he'd relented - if only because he found he simply lacked the energy and will to fight back. The exhaustion from the spirit's departure still weighed heavily on his mind even as the ache in his heart had faded to silence, whatever hellish torment it had faced had almost ceased to exist entirely, as though the soul he'd clung to so desperately had simply never existed. It had left him more than a little alarmed, the dizziness and sorrow replaced by an uncanny quiet that only brought unease rather than peace.

For the life of him he still couldn't place who exactly she had been, or where he had seen her before. And part of him . . . part of him wanted to know, had to know, exactly who that woman was. Somehow, he felt he would not rest until he knew what path had led her story to that end; though he knew the chances of finding the truth were nearly impossible, and it would likely be a tale of tragedy even if he somehow discovered it.

Stepping around a boulder, Cenric half-wondered if Valka would be willing to go with him to search after they sorted this mess, to run from this hellish place and make sense of whatever had happened in that murky in-between world. To perhaps find the sibling that spirit had so desperately held out for, to learn her story and to give her some closure. To tell her that her sister had not passed alone and afraid.

She'd been locked in that space of eternal shadow, so different from the world that thrived around him, so bright and full of life, full of the smell of nature, of lingering decay—

He stopped and sniffed tentatively once, then again, confused as the reek of sulfur suddenly drowned his senses, snuffing out the crisp scent of nature around him with such a harsh stench that he nearly gagged.

Sulfur and the distinct tinge of . . . sweet rot.

Cenric clapped a hand over his nose as his head swam, images of the carcasses that had been strung from the trees during the Rite flashing into his mind, of the remains of the warriors' forms deflated like the skin of a buck left out to dry.

It was something like the scent of the leshka, but more prominent and suffocating. More threatening.

A wave of unease draped over him, alerting his companions instantly, their footsteps stilling as they too caught scent of the sugary decay and sulfur. Of the wrongness tingeing the valley.
"What is that?" Cassian murmured, his hand drifting to the sword strapped down his spine. Nesta wordlessly followed suit, reaching for the blades sheathed at her hips.

Cenric didn't reply, his eyes roving the scenery around them, evaluating the landscape for any signs of what was producing such a stench. It wasn't like the werebeasts to wander this close to the wards - even the vicious and uncanny creatures of the Steppes knew better than to venture this close to their encampment.

But this scent, so full of ancient malice and hate . . . something told Cenric this had been no chance wandering by a stray beast. This creature was cunning and knew exactly who it was looking for.

His heart clenched and he shot off like a bolt, sending gravel skittering beneath his boots as he raced up the rocky terrain. Nesta and Cassian followed, trailing closely behind him.

As they hurried towards the cave's entrance, a kernel of gratitude for his aunt and uncle's presence bloomed in his chest beneath the building fear, a sense of relief in knowing that between them all they could fend off whatever creature was lurking, at least long enough to winnow safely back to Velaris.

Even if he had to drag Valka kicking and screaming.

Was she even aware that something had managed to find its way to her? Had she ventured from the camp in the week he'd been absent? He'd left more than enough provisions, she wouldn't have needed to leave for at least a month, but the fierce female was unlikely to be content to remain cooped up in their tiny sanctuary-

Cenric stopped partway up the cliffs, contemplating how exactly he'd go about tracking Valka down if she had left as he gazed down at the nearly invisible path twisting between the rocks. A tiny glint of silver caught his eye, drawing his gaze toward the wards he'd carved into the stone so many months ago, their outlines reflective in the bright sunlight—

He stopped.

An icy shard sliced through his heart as he rushed to the ward, examining the breaks in its outline with dismay. A set of long, deep grooves slashed through the rock, leaving it shattered beyond repair, only a fragment of magic sputtering in its wake.

The stench that saturated the air wafted from it.

He ran his fingers over the remains of the rune, his entire being thrumming as his mind went silent—

"Cenric," Nesta came up next to him, breathless, her narrow brows furrowed as she caught sight of the shattered ward, her lips tightening in understanding. "How—"
He didn't give her a chance to finish before he was sprinting again, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears as he scrambled up the rocky incline, tearing his knuckles open on a knob of rough granite. He'd recklessly left Valka here knowing that something was after her, had been foolish enough to believe she would be safe behind the wards he'd so carefully erected, protected by that enchanted necklace that hid her presence from all she chose—

How in the Mother's name had something even tracked her?

Cenric's heart sank further in his chest as he passed more shattered wards, each silvery mark more twisted and wrecked than the last. He paused, chest heaving, just inside the entrance of the cave as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, only to be met with grooved marks once more, gouged deeply into the rock where something had struck again and again until it had punctured the strongest twin runes.

They were now little more than shattered fragments of stone.

The sheer amount of power that would have taken to destroy those runes was far beyond the ability of the feral monstrosities he'd encountered in this ancient forest. He had designed these wards in a way that even he himself couldn't have passed through had Valka decreed she'd wanted him gone, had crafted them in every way he knew how to keep out even the most adept magic wielders and beasts . . .

And whatever had been hunting her had snapped them like twigs.

He dove past the shattered marks into the cave with a shout of Valka's name on his lips, a faelight sputtering to life in his palm as he raced into the depths of what had been their home, the sound of his aunt and uncle's footfalls echoing loudly behind him.

Cenric slipped and barely caught himself against the rock as he raced down the incline of the slick, narrow path, his eyes tracking the long, deep marks that dragged down the sides of the walls, almost like a taunt - a reminder that evil had broken through and they were helpless to stop it.

His mind raced, surely Valka would have sensed the wards being snapped, would have been alerted to the beast before it had reached her in the depths—

Gravel skidded as he slid to a halt at the end of the passage, the chamber beyond that had served as their shelter an ominously dark and silent void before him. Taking a breath, Cenric willed the faelight in his hand to flare as it floated forward to illuminate the room in stark bluish light, and let out a cry of dread, his eyes roving over the once pristine chamber that was now nothing but carnage.

The walls were smeared in an oily black ichor, painting the gruesome scene of a fight that had utterly demolished the small space he'd come to feel as a second home. Many of the books he'd stashed along the makeshift shelves had been torn to shreds and strewn about, fragments of pages covering the floor like snow, contrasting sharply with pools of that black fluid. Even the bed was soaked, its posts snapped off, their jagged points drenched in sticky liquid.

Drawing a breath and willing his pounding heart to quiet, he stepped forward to inspect more closely. Upon further examination, he quickly realized it was likely Valka herself had snapped the posts, no doubt trying to lure the beast across them in an attempt to impale it. And from the amount of ichor soaking the sheets . . . she'd been successful, but it had cost her.

A sickening splatter of blood sprayed against the cave wall and dried to a rusty brown, confirmed as much, the faint scent of Valka peeking through the overwhelming stench of sweet rot. The trail of blood droplets led Cenric back across the room, where gouges slashed deeply into the rock, accompanied by more massive puddles of black ichor pooled on the floor.

Cenric brushed shaky fingertips over the slashes, trying not to imagine what claws that size would do to flesh. Swallowing, he closed his eyes and turned back to survey the room as a whole, still struggling to piece together the events that had taken place.

Despite the destruction and carnage . . . there was no sign of Valka or the beast, only the remnants of the bloody battle between them. Had she been successful in slaying the creature, she certainly would not have been able to remove a carcass of that size on her own.

Yet, despite how Cenric's gut twisted every time his eyes caught on a splatter of red-brown blood, he knew it was by no means a lethal amount.

Something in his gut told him they'd both somehow fled this cave.

Cenric followed the blood trail with his eyes, hoping it might lead to something, anything that could help him. Wracking his brain, his gaze snagged on a glint from the central desk they'd shared, where Valka had once kept her favorite books and knives. Rushing forward, he reached for the item seemingly carelessly discarded in the center, sucking in a breath as he brought it into his hands.

It was a single tome he would have known anywhere that lay open, turned to a page he had never seen before, as though it had lain hidden until that very moment.

And through its heart a single silver stiletto dagger stood driven deep into the pages, like an X marking a hidden location on a map.

And there beneath Valka's most cherished blade . . . the twisting image of an otherworldly feminine form wreathed in shadow stained the page. Her strands of hair bled into the paper like depthless ink, stark against her alabaster skin and framing a cruel smile. Between two tendrils of darkness, sharp eyes the color of molten night stared back with a hunger and malice that sent a shard of ice into Cenric's chest.

And there, written in an ancient script that twisted across the page's length—

"Mother."


Celeste wasn't certain she would ever become accustomed to her sister's new body, to the ethereal grace that had overtaken her mortal form.

She sat quietly as Anelisse tended to the half-healed claw marks from the beast that had fallen atop her during their hellish flight from the swamp, as well as the strange wounds on her back - still oozing blood, strangely slow to heal. Anelisse's lithe fingers made quick work of the dressings as she pulled them securely around Celeste's chest and middle, her usually chatty demeanor dampened.

Celeste hardly noticed; her mind too lost in the haze of memories that had flooded her at Ithaca's taunting, the seeds of clarity trying and failing to bloom. These fleeting shadows she could never quite touch, wisps of the past that had that had crashed upon her in torrents of icy terror.

She swam through them like a lost ship on the sea, mired in relentless fog; constantly looking for a place to weigh anchor but wary of what it might encounter in its search, what unseen reefs it might impale itself on if it ventured too far off course.

Reefs that would likely send her spiraling into unconsciousness, or worse, if she fell upon them.

Still, she persisted, tugging at the tattered memories of the night she lost her wings, the endless horror rolling through her as murky and fleeting images assaulted her again and again. The jagged, piercing edges of those fractured moments tore at her, but try as she might to reassemble them, she could still never truly see what had transpired.

Her mind plunged deep into the shadow, enveloping blackness closing over her head like the dark waves that had drowned her that night; stealing her breath and consciousness away as she struggled and failed to piece the bits of the truth revealed to her together.

Yet even as she dove deeper and deeper . . . nothing came to her, nothing bearing a semblance of coherency.

Thud.

Anelisse hissed and gentled her already delicate touch as a discarded scabbard went flying from the makeshift log table beside them, Celeste's hand white-knuckled as she slammed it down.

What the hell had Ithaca known about Enalius? What had she been insinuating about their connection?

She'd briefly asked Gandriel about the ancient Illyrian's name, hoping through some stroke of luck the well-versed male would have learned something from his aunts in his schooling.

It had been fruitless.

In fact, Gandriel had known even less than her, only recounting the bare minimum details: that he'd been a paragon of sorts to the Illyrian people and had died in some blaze of glory that had sown the seeds of tradition that had been passed down through millennia.

Celeste had rolled her eyes at the account. The Illyrians were nothing more than an egotistical, backwater culture intent on keeping their history as shrouded in obscurity as they did their females.

And to know she bore a supposed connection to their founder . . . it left her skin crawling.

As though her High Fae bloodline wasn't damning enough.

Yet, despite her own heritage and Ithaca's claims, she had never once heard of her family bearing any connection to the Illyrian hero. Rather, as far as her cloudy memory served, her grandmother's blood had been rather lackluster, not a drop of royalty or the like - nothing more than a simple seamstress.

She had certainly borne no relation to the glorious hero of the past or the supposed "king" or his self-proclaimed lords, the Ironwood brothers who had apparently been gifted with some special powers that had sent her father into a bloody rage—

A fresh lance of pain slashed through Celeste's mind and she reeled forward, slamming her hand into the log again, this time to keep her balance. Her sister's hands were on her in an instant, keeping her upright as her voice came out in a concerned rush.

"The memories again?"

"Yes."

Celeste hissed and pressed her palm into her throbbing forehead as Anelisse huffed and straightened her, the strength in her sister's arms startling as she sat her upright with ease, adjusting her in her seat like a child too tired to keep herself upright.

Strong and stable, nothing like the delicate flower she had once been.

"It's best not to give too much credence to what Ithaca said, she only wanted to get a rise out of you," Anelisse murmured, gently raking fingers through Celeste's filthy, tangled hair, carefully working knots loose, separating it into sections to braid. It was an old, comforting motion that it seemed even the grasp of death had not taken.

The thought sent a shiver through Celeste's shoulders.

She clamped down on the memory of her sister's rotting corpse and the pain dancing through her skull in the same instance.

Time to think of anything but . . . that.

"There was truth in it," she replied flatly, her eyes narrowing. Ithaca was many, many things, but to willfully withhold knowledge or falsify it . . . Celeste knew better.

". . . Very likely, yes."

Irritation bled through her at the frank answer, rubbing against the raw wounds of exhaustion and emotional hell she'd suffered through in the past days. Her patience flagged as she dug through her mind for some semblance of reason or logic behind all that had happened.

Finding no immediate solution, she settled for a single expletive.

"Fuck."

Anelisse snorted a laugh at the sentiment, the sound a welcome reprieve. Celeste felt her sister finish her ministrations, the bulk of her hair now neatly braided and gently tucked over her shoulder.

"Well," Anelisse began, "while I am inclined to agree, I don't think saying 'fuck' a multitude of times will solve anything."

Celeste gave up on attempting to press the pain from her skull with her palm and chose instead to rest her forehead fully on the log, wrapping her arms around her head with a groan. "It's worth a try," she grumbled into the splintery, knobbed trunk. "I can't afford to waste time hunting her down to demand she explain her riddles, and the bitch knows it."

She knew her sister's observation to be true. Whatever Ithaca's knowledge, or the truth of her words, the scale of their immediate problems took priority. She turned her head to look at Anelisse, still resting her temple on the log. "Avi was right. This whole thing, from Isabelle's murder, to us coming out here to the swamp, was a trap. They were waiting for us in there; they wanted us to follow them. If not for Icarius,all of us would be dead." Celeste swallowed, unable to keep her eyes from her sister's still-shredded dress. Not just you,went unsaid.

Anelisse nodded stiffly, looking away. "I know. He—" Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat, her silvery eyes going distant as some haunting memory surfaced. "He told me that you were both already dead."

Celeste's chest froze, more icy fury bleeding through her at the thought of her sister's final moments beneath Dune's blade as he'd torn her to pieces in their absence.

Another debt that she would repay tenfold.

Tears filled Anelisse's eyes but her lips curved in a defiant smile, the strength and resilience she had possessed even as a mortal now forged into unbreakable steel. "I didn't believe him."

At those words, that raw unfiltered emotion-

Celeste rose, enveloping her sister in her arms and embracing her gently, tugging her against herself so that she knew they'd never again be apart.

"I'm sorry."

She bit her lip as Anelisse brought her hands up to grip her in return, burying her face in her neck. "This is all my fault. We never should have come here, should have waited for more information from Fallon, should have—"

"Should have what? Waited for more people to die?" Anelisse pulled back, swiping at the mirrored tears beginning to pool on Celeste's own cheeks. "They want you dead, Celeste, and they don't care how many other people they have to go through to get to you. You're a threat, and they know it. If not this, who would they have gone after next? Fallon? . . . Me?" Her form stiffened again, and Celeste brushed a hand down her arm, willing the tension away as she shook her head.

"I'm not a threat to them anymore, even alive. They had a camp in the swamp . . . a beast attacked it, did all our work for us." She gave a half smile at the memory of the damage their unlikely ally had done. As frightening as the Lurker had been . . . it had certainly been efficient.

Even if it had still tried her eat her afterwards.

"I was able to find some of their ledgers and communications. Anelisse . . ." She met her sister's eyes, grimacing as her head gave another dim throb. "Our information was wrong. All the damage we thought we were doing, disrupting trade, taking down ships . . . They've just gone further underground." Anelisse blinked in confusion as Celeste pressed on, irritation roughening her voice. "They've been keeping us distracted, thinking we're making a difference. They've hired more men, mercenaries from the continent, increased shipping rates, and strengthened their wards." She swallowed, ducking her head. "The ledgers I found were left behind when we ran, but even if I were to get the information to Fallon somehow, what good would it do? We don't have the forces to fight something of this scale."

Anelisse's porcelain skin paled further, but she steeled her shoulders. "We still have people we can turn to. Perhaps Avi could call the selkies to arms, if only for a short time? Or Fallon's allies in Prythian—"

"No." Celeste suppressed the bile that rose in her throat at the thought, of the hell storm and torment that awaited her if anyone from Prythian were to discover she still lived. "I refuse to use one monster to fight another."

And one of those monsters was more likely to ignore any request for aid and go after her alone.

Her stomach curdled at the thought.

As for other possible allies . . .

Celeste glanced outside the tent to where Gandriel loitered near the trees - she knew he would feel similarly about Spring. A few of the other Courts could perhaps be convinced to be sympathetic but getting them to send forces in time would be difficult at best, even ignoring the risk of them involving Night or Spring.

Which left them effectively empty-handed.

Celeste muttered a curse as she wracked at her brain, willing a solution to present itself.

They needed a plan, a way to draw Dermot out so that he could no longer run, to cut the head from the beast entirely.

Additionally, she needed fighters, trained ones. People she could trust.

A forgotten whisper of a thought flashed through Celeste's mind and she straightened, fingers rummaging, seeking out the familiar smooth surface she was suddenly grateful to have shoved into her pocket on a whim, an idea beginning to bloom.

Why had she not considered them sooner?

Anelisse quirked her head as she noticed her sister's actions, and, like a delicate wisp of finely woven spidersilk, leaned on the log next to her, one of her pale brows arching.

"You thought of something."

Finding the familiar object, Celeste gave her sister a curt nod.

"Yes."

She pulled out the single pressed coin, the embossed serpent flashing beneath her thumb in the pale light.

"What is that?"

Celeste smiled as she turned the coin over, her headache finally fading as her mind turned to mapping the route to a set of unlikely allies she hadn't even considered, a people she would have never called in her favor from had the circumstances not become so dire.

A people she knew would gladly send aid, and an old acquaintance she longed to see.

"A calling card for a friend."


Gandriel huffed and shoved his shoulder into a looming tree trunk, the peeling bark digging into his skin as he watched a particularly questionable patch of bog bubble in a low spot a few feet away, no doubt concealing some hideous creature lurking just beneath its surface.

An especially large bubble emerged from beneath the murky scum, swirling with odd colors before splattering everywhere with an audiblePOP.

Instinctively Gandriel took a tentative step to the left, ensuring he had a bit more space between himself, the soupy mess, and whatever hell-birthed beast surely lay within.

If he never saw a swamp again it would be far too soon.

He was suddenly starting to regret promising Celeste he'd keep watch, even if it had been little more than a poorly concealed excuse to give the sisters some space and himself some time to recover from the unending sequence of horrors that had been his life for the last few days.

Horrors that had made his entire being shudder in a way he was not keen on revisiting again.

He took an additional step to the left, even as the bubbling ceased.

In his periphery, Icarius loitered nearby, the male's still-hooded head tilting as though he were listening to the whisper of wind weaving through the skeletal trunks of the trees that shielded the camp from the wasteland of bones that surrounded them. Gandriel watched his lips move in a silent whisper, as though he were having a nice little chat with the breeze itself, completely engrossed in the exchange.

"Weird" was the only word that came to Gandriel's mind.

Weird and a hermit.

The poor male was clearly suffering from years of isolation, so desolate that he'd taken to befriending carnivorous horses and whispering to the wind and shadows like they were old friends, simply because he'd had absolutely no one else to talk to.

Gandriel wouldn't have been surprised if their new companion had painted a face on a rock and named it at some point, just to stave off some of the loneliness he had suffered through in this hellish place. He almost felt bad about knowing they would soon be leaving him behind.

The fact he'd born witness to the ancient ritual Gandriel and Celeste had crudely attempted on a fool's hope and hadn't utterly soiled himself and run in the opposite direction . . . well, it was obvious Icarius had certainly seen his fair share of strange and unusual things.

Frankly, it was a miracle Gandriel hadn't soiled his own pants.

He and Celeste had undertaken a bond that hadn't been recorded in millennia and had somehow recovered Anelisse from the point of no return with virtually no consequences. The fact that unknown magic of that scale hadn't spiraled completely out of control and destroyed everything within a twenty-mile radius was beyond even luck.

It bordered on divine intervention.

And with whatever lay beyond, between their magic and the slavers . . . it was probably a mercy to leave the poor, weird male in the disgusting, soupy mess of unspeakable horrors that he somehow found homey.

Gandriel knew this to be true, but as he'd stood there and watched Icarius lingering in the corner of the camp . . . something sad had bloomed in his chest - a need to befriend the hermit who'd risked everything to help two strangers whose unexpected and unwelcome presence had utterly obliterated what little he'd ever owned. Even if the horses casually lingering in the shadows behind him still sent fresh pulses of terror dancing up Gandriel's spine.

As though sensing his attention, one of the pale mares lifted her head and gave what under any other circumstances might have been considered a friendly whicker, peeling her lips back to show rows of sharp teeth in a horrible mimicry of a smile.

A greeting and acknowledgement.

Gandriel felt his insides churn.

The kelpies might have fearlessly fought beside them the night before, even saving them entirely if he was being honest, but the thought did little to prevent the twist of fear that curdled his stomach every time one of them met his gaze with those dead eyes.

Releasing a breath and squaring his shoulders, he worked up his resolve and decided to make towards their odd companion regardless. Perhaps he could initiate a conversation that might help Icarius feel a bit less lonely, or at least make him understand just how much they appreciated what he had sacrificed for them.

Gandriel watched in mute horror as the kelpie mare that seemed most attached to Icarius nuzzled her snout into his shoulder like a loyal pet, whickering in affection. The male brought a gentle hand up in response and ran it down her somehow still-dripping mane with an ease that would have fooled anyone into thinking he wasn't stroking a monster straight from stories meant to scare children into staying in bed at night.

It took all of Gandriel's control to not turn and flee.

Instead, he settled for a bright greeting.

"There you are!"

Icarius visibly jumped and went ramrod straight at the exclamation, his hooded head lifting only slightly as the mare at his shoulder flicked her ears in irritation before huffing and wandering off in the opposite direction toward her sisters who lingered in the shadowed pools behind them.

Icarius halfheartedly reached a hand out toward the mare as she left, almost as though trying to call her back to his side.

Gandriel paid it little mind as he gingerly made his way towards him, mindfully avoiding even the smallest of puddles in his path. He wasn't sure what the beasts might consider territory, and giving them any more reason to drag him to the depths of the bog for lunch wasn't high on his list of life experiences.

In the distance, one of the kelpies let out something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh as he navigated around the pools.

Choosing to ignore this, he stationed himself squarely in Icarius' escape route with practiced ease, pursing his lips in amusement.

"So, Icky - you don't mind if I call you Icky, right?"

In the growing but still murky sunlight, Gandriel noted that their savior's hunched form was more pronounced than he had noticed previously, the gloom of the swamp having hidden the odd angle of the tattered cloak across his back. The male was definitely deformed in some capacity, whether from birth or through extenuating circumstances Gandriel wasn't certain.

In his stolen glimpses beneath that cowl he had already determined Icarius was a fully formed male, a rather fine-looking one if the angle of his jaw and the breadth of his brow was any indication. Perhaps it was the latter that held true then - some unfortunate accident had made him this way.

The male in front of him watched in silence, bearing all the friendliness and sociability of a mushroom on a log.

Gandriel awkwardly cleared his throat, hoping it might prompt a reply. If Icarius didn't like the nickname he would simply have to keep trying new ones until something stuck.

The male let a ghost of a sigh slip past his lips as though resigning himself to something before he wetted them, dredging up his unused voice.

"You may call me whatever you like."

Gandriel clapped in delight. He would make a friend of the hermit yet.

"Perfect. So, Icky, we were planning—"

"Gandriel, you are absolutely not calling him that." Celeste's voice cut across the camp, and Gandriel gave a shiver that had nothing to do with the cloud that had just dampened the tentative warmth and soft light of the campsite. Why was she always listening?

He turned, shouting over his shoulder.

"It's a great nickname! I'd like to see you come up with something better."

"You're being an ass, stop it."

"You're no fun."

Celeste strolled up casually beside him, stepping between puddles as though she didn't have a fear in the world, and gave him a sharp, menacing look before dismissing him outright, her attention flicking to the male in the shadows before them.

"Please forgive Gandriel's idiocy. I'm afraid his condition is terminal, though fortunately not contagious."

The blond squawked his offense as Celeste resolutely ignored him and took a step closer to Icarius, her stance relaxed into an odd familiarity that had Gandriel's outrage instantly melting into curiosity. He arched a brow as his dearest friend stopped before Icarius and inspected him as though he were some manner of curious creature she'd discovered under a log.

She tilted her head, squinting like the male before her was some fascinating beast she had only studied in books, and she couldn't believe she had finally encountered a specimen in person.

Gandriel half-expected her to begin taking measurements and notes.

To his surprise, the quiet male didn't shrink away from her as he had at his own approach, instead creeping closer, seeming to peer back at her with equal intensity, his eyes glinting beneath the hood.

They stood like that for a long moment, sending Gandriel's brow higher with each second of silence that passed.

After a pause that lasted far longer than he considered appropriate for the situation, Celeste blinked and tore her gaze away, seemingly reminding herself of her purpose, shaking her head as she reoriented herself. She glanced off to the side, the usual light in her eyes dim as she cleared her throat, her shoulders deflating guiltily.

"I . . . wanted to apologize for what happened to your home. For what you gave to help us," she offered Icarius a bit ruefully, something sheepish creeping into her usually unshakable tone. Softly, as though half to herself, she added, "You were under no obligation to help us. You could have left us to die, and no one would have ever known. I hope one day I can fully express my gratitude for what you did, but for now, I swear to you I will pay you back for everything tenfold."

With that, she bowed her head in promise, the most outright respect Gandriel had ever seen Celeste give anyone.

She'd certainly never addressed him in such a way. In fact, she'd berated him from the moment they'd met and had yet to relent.

But with Icarius . . . there was respect there, and gentleness.

Celeste raised her eyes, gazing into the distance as though looking past the cloud of smoke that still smudged the border of the swamp, to where the hermit's rundown hut had once sat, his refuge of safety and odd comfort now reclaimed by the tangled mess of trees and beasts it had kept at bay.

She sighed and dropped her head again, her fingers idly playing with the hem of what remained of her filthy shirt.

Celeste was fidgeting. Had the ritual fried her brain?

"I do not wish to impose any further on your life," she began again, her words slow and careful. "However, I have . . . responsibilities that will keep me from returning to repay you any time soon, and I do not want to leave you without supplies or a home when I am solely responsible for their loss."

Icarius paused, his hooded head angling curiously as he watched Celeste. A flare of protectiveness shot through Gandriel at the male's intensity, his shadowed eyes seeming to never leave Celeste's face.

Gandriel inched closer, personal space be damned.

Icarius opened his mouth as though he wanted to speak before clamping it shut again without a sound, his lips sealing tight as he gave a slight nod at Celeste to continue.

"I will not ask why you chose this to be your home, but no one lives in a place like this without a reason. If you wish to return to your solitude, we will accompany you to the nearest town for supplies and arrange transport of them wherever you want. As soon as I am able, I will return to repay you in full, and then never darken your doorstep again. If you ask it of me, I will deny ever meeting you and never speak your name to a soul."

Icarius remained still as a statue, watching.

"However, if I can be forgiven for asking more of you . . ." Celeste chewed her chapped lip for a moment, stalling, before finally raising her head to face him fully.

". . . I wanted to . . . invite you to accompany us, if you're willing."

Gandriel whirled on Celeste, blatantly gaping at her request, his mouth gaping like a fish as his brow furrowed, his mind racing as the pieces slowly clicked together. Like the ringing of a bell it hit him, and a smirk inched across his lips as he watched his captain shuffle her feet awkwardly.

Icarius, like the mushroom he was, made no reply, though he stiffened imperceptibly as a hint of shock wafted from him.

"I know how presumptuous a request that is, after everything, but please, at least hear me out," Celeste pressed on in a rush of words, almost spluttering. "We need people, good fighters that we can trust."

Strangely, Gandriel had also found himself trusting their odd savior, despite the circumstances of their meeting and his . . . demeanor. Though he suspected his captain's intent ventured a little beyond that.

"You helped strangers in trouble at great risk to yourself, with no promise of reward. You tracked down the camp and allowed us to find vital information that could save many lives. And when all hell broke loose, you fought well." Celeste's gaze flickered towards Gandriel, who offered her a knowing grin as he waggled a brow at her. She snarled quietly in return, her only warning that she'd gut him if he didn't stop.

He sighed and straightened, cheeks puffing in frustration. Sulking, he found a very interesting branch on one of the trees to stare at.

Count on Celeste to ruin all his fun.

Gandriel didn't miss the slight tilt of the male's lips as he watched the exchange, no doubt clocking just how much influence Celeste held over him. Over them all, really.

She carried on as though nothing had happened. "As far as I'm concerned, you've more than proven your loyalty and worth." Celeste glanced toward Anelisse as she finally emerged from the tent, watching the conversation with curious eyes. "We may have lost the papers from the camp, but it doesn't matter - we know we're outnumbered. Our only chance is to travel north, to contact a . . . friend."

She sighed, seeming to run out of words. "I understand you have no stake in all of this, and we've given you no reason to want to help us more than you already have. But innocent people are suffering, and we do not have the resources to help them. I will not presume to ask you to fight directly for this cause. But you are skilled, and you know this land . . . you could make our journey much easier. And once this is over . . . my offer still stands. I can promise you money and a place as far away from the world as you desire."

Gandriel's gaze flickered between his captain and the hermit. Celeste bowed her head again as she awaited his answer, the stiffness of her shoulders a clear sign of what she expected it to be. Icarius remained frozen as he had been since she had first approached him, eyes gleaming beneath his hood as it fluttered in the light breeze.

"I . . ."

An eternity of silence seemed to pass, broken only by the flap of canvas and soft shuffling of the kelpies at the edge of the pool.

". . . Yes."

Gandriel nearly snorted at the confirmation. Another male susceptible to his terrifying captain's whims. If only Icarius knew what he was in for.

At his acceptance, the tension lining Celeste's body instantly dissipated, her hands dropping to her sides as her breath came out in a rush. She peered up at the male once more, her expression hidden from Gandriel but seeming more relaxed than she had been since they entered this accursed place.

"Thank you. I promise, you won't regret this." She paused for a moment, and Gandriel found himself suddenly squinting as the first true beam of sunlight he had seen in days broke through the haze of clouds and smoke obscuring the sky. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, suddenly aware of how accustomed he had become to the gloom of the swamp.

A sharp intake of breath from Icarius brought Gandriel's gaze back down in time to see the male take a full step back from Celeste. The abrupt light now rimmed her ebony braid in gold despite the mud and soot, the rays finally restoring a little color to her tanned cheeks and reigniting the signature sparkle of starlight he was accustomed to seeing in her exhausted violet eyes.

Icarius froze, staring as though he'd laid eyes on some sort of goddess whose beauty was only spoken of in songs and legends, or perhaps, rather, a horrifying mythical monster from the ancient world, risen from the depth to consume it.

Gandriel found himself unable to suppress his snort.

He watched as the male tensed like a deer caught by a hunter, seeming for all the world as though he might change his mind on the spot and bolt into the wilds once more, never to reemerge.

Gandriel was inclined to agree that such a reaction to Celeste's full intensity was appropriate, though he doubted it was for the same reasons. The poor hermit had yet to discover what an absolute feral little beast his captain was.

He would learn soon enough.

It seemed Celeste had also taken note of the reaction she had caused: her lips tilted slightly in amusement, her eyebrows bunching as she watched Icarius like a great cat.

This was going to get very interesting.

Deciding the risk to his limbs was worth it, Gandriel stepped forward and gave Icarius a hearty pat on the shoulder, ignoring how he jumped like a spooked horse. "Listen, I don't know how long you were in that soupy hellhole, and I'm sure the romance opportunities were a bit scarce in there. But let me give you some advice: if you act like a lightning-struck rabbit every time a pretty female comes near you, you're not going to have much luck."

Gandriel found himself unfortunately emulating said rabbit himself as an amused snort sounded unexpectedly beside him and a sharp elbow jabbed his ribs. Anelisse had seemingly materialized like a wraith and come to join them, watching the exchange in amusement.

He huffed annoyance at the female, gently nudging her shoulder.

She shushed him, putting her finger to her lips before tipping her head back towards the looming hermit and her sister.

It took Icarius a few moments to recover from his shock, the male awkwardly shifting as he looked at Celeste like she was a skeleton he had just watched crawl directly out of its grave. Though, Gandriel was relatively sure Icarius would probably consider such an event a normal occurrence, if the previous days were any indication.

Icarius cleared his throat, seeming to shake off whatever emotion had frozen him to the spot. "You said . . . the papers . . . from the camp?"

Sighing, Celeste grimaced, rubbing at her brow in irritation. "They had vital information, but I left them behind in my pack. I'll have to try to remember everything; I'm sure they're lost or destroyed. And I certainly don't intend to go back and get them."

The hermit paused for a moment before shaking his head. "They're not lost."

Gandriel blinked as he turned to reach into the depths of his massive cloak, rummaging for a moment before procuring Celeste's pack. It was battered, covered in mud and some sort of unidentifiable ichor, and sporting distinct claw marks slashed across the front . . . but intact.

It was Celeste's turn to gape at Icarius as she raised her hands to take it from him, immediately pulling it open and recovering the few crumpled pages from its depths, her face softening in relief as she glanced through the ledgers.

". . . How?"

Behind her, Gandriel couldn't help but whisper in awe, ". . . And where in the Mother's name was he keeping it?"

Anelisse swatted at him, shushing him once more.

In answer to Celeste's question, Icarius simply shrugged and backed away further, seeming to have used up all his sociability. Celeste stood, papers in hand, muttering something about breaking camp and heading for the northern reaches to find a place for supplies as Gandriel struggled to process all that had just occurred.

"Hey . . . where's my pack? Not enough room under that tent you call a cloak?"

Icarius paused, turning back just long enough to regard Gandriel from beneath his dark hood.

". . . Wasn't a priority."