Karigan kept her eyes closed. Not again. It was not the first time she had surpassed the ages, but she’d had wild magic running in her veins then, and now it was supposed to be gone from her. How? she wondered.

“How could she do such a thing?” Ard asked, echoing her thought. “It’s mad.”

A vision of light came to Karigan, and of lips murmuring, You cross thresholds. It blurred away as quickly as it had come.

“I cannot say,” Graelalea replied. There was a note in her voice, barely perceived, that Karigan took to mean that Graelalea knew very well how such a thing could happen, but she was not allowed or able to say more, or simply did not wish to.

Figures, Karigan thought. There were never firm answers where Eletians were concerned. There were no absolutes in their world. A terrible headache pounded at her temple, and she was so very cold. Just like the last time she’d traveled.

She squirmed, realizing her head was cradled in someone’s lap. She squinted her eyes open and saw Yates’ concerned face over hers.

“Karigan?”

“I’m fine.” her voice sounded dull to herself. “Just cold.”

“Stoke up the fire,” Graelalea told someone, “and bring blankets.” She spoke rapidly in Eletian, then knelt beside Karigan. “You were caught between the two times. If you’d crossed over, I am not sure you could have come back.”

“Mornhavon was there. He reached for me.”

Graelalea sat back, her eyes wide and frightened. “Then we came closer to losing you than I thought.”

Karigan felt Yates go rigid. “What were you doing mucking about with Mornhavon?” His words came as a shout.

“I wasn’t doing anything. It just happened.”

“The piece of time is only supposed to allow one to view a moment,” Graelalea murmured. “But you who have crossed through the layers of the world before should be more wary.”

Karigan wanted to protest, but she was just too tired. Graelalea then pressed a cool sphere into her hand and light flickered. Her moonstone.

“You do not want to lose this,” the Eletian said quietly.

Karigan was bundled in blankets and helped to the fireside. She shuddered as she looked into the flames.

“What is it?” Yates asked.

“I saw the people who lived here running for their lives from groundmites. The valley was burning.”

Graelalea knelt down beside her. “Yes. It was the way many settlements ended when Mornhavon invaded Argenthyne. Here.” She handed Karigan a silver flask. “A couple of sips and you should feel much better.”

It was a warming cordial that flooded her veins to her very toes and fingertips, chasing away the chill brought on by the passage through vast amounts of time. After her second sip, she felt much more herself, the headache miraculously gone, though the traveling had left a dark imprint in her mind.

“Thank you,” she said, returning the flask to Graelalea.

“You faded out,” Yates told her. “You were a ... a ghost. And we could see faint images moving around you, like the mist taking shape. And the light your moonstone raised—I still can’t see right.” He rubbed his eyes.

Karigan just gazed into the fire unable to speak, overwhelmed by it all. She’d seen the destruction of Telavalieth centuries ago, and Mornhavon.

Someone stood between her and the fire. Karigan looked up. it was Spiney. He squinted down at her as if trying to see into her. “There are those in Eletia who believe you are dangerous,” he said. “They are not mistaken.” He turned abruptly on his heel and walked away.

He was not the only one giving her odd looks. From across the fire, Ard studied her while absently whittling a stick. When he realized she’d caught him watching, he averted his gaze.

“Rider,” Grant said, “I’ll take the rest of your watch. You should probably rest after whatever the hells that was.”

With the dark rings beneath his eyes and the hollowness to his cheeks, Karigan did not think she was the one requiring rest, but she did not argue. She slipped into her tent, relieved just to escape the scrutiny of her companions.

TELAVALIETH

Mornhavon the Black had climbed these very stairs. Karigan had seen it. She’d been there. He’d stepped onto the terrace and reached for her. Even in the dawn of the morning after, as she gazed down at the stairway that descended into the fog of the valley, the incident was still so real, so present, she could almost feel Mornhavon’s touch on her flesh. She shuddered.

With one last glance at the moondial, she followed Yates down the stairs, backtracking Mornhavon’s own footsteps.

Blackveil was as dismal this day as those preceding it, but it darkened even more as they left the high ground and entered the fog of the valley. The stones that made the steps were either naturally level or hand carved, but covered with the sopping mosses and lichens that made everything so slick. Some rattled when stepped upon. A few were missing entirely, lost somewhere down the slope, forcing the company to scramble to the next solid step, their feet sending loose scree cascading into the valley.

There were several switchbacks, but the continual descent made Karigan’s knees ache, so she relied on her bonewood staff to buffer the impact of each downward step she took.

Yates stumbled ahead of her.

“You all right?” she asked him.

He only grunted in response.

Karigan thought about lending him her staff when he paused a few times as if to gauge how to proceed to the next step. He’d then continue, but tentatively, clinging to trees as he went down, or leaning into boulders alongside the stairway. His hesitation caused some grumbling from those waiting behind.