The last thing Melliandra saw before the cave-in blocked the path to the nursery was one of the dahl’reisen rising from the rubble, his eyes pinned on her. In that one moment, as their gazes clashed, a bolt of recognition shot through Melliandra, stabbing straight through to her heart.

His eyes. He had pale, brilliant ice blue eyes, ringed by cobalt. Just like the woman who had given Melliandra her name and her first taste of kindness and love.

Shia’s eyes.

Gaelen spat an oath and lunged towards the rubble-filled ruins of the caved-in passageway. Green Earth blazed in his hands as he began to form the weaves to clear the passage, but before he could release his weaves, another section of the ceiling caved in. He had to leap to one side to avoid being buried again.

Farel started to clear the fresh pile of rubble, but Gaelen waved him off. Bits of the ceiling overhead were already starting to crumble and float upwards.

“Leave it,” he said. “We’re out of time. Wherever Nicolene-falla has gone, she’ll have to look after herself until we can come back for her. We’ve got to get these children to safety.” He called for more of his men and reached for one of the toddlers standing in the cribs.

“Sieks’ta, General,” Farel said as the others arrived and they began handing off children. “It’s my fault she ran. If I hadn’t been with you—“

Gaelen shook his head. “Nei, the fault is mine. I should have considered there might be a fellana inside.” He clapped Farel on the shoulder and handed him a small, unsmiling boy with dark brown eyes. “Quickly, kem’maresk. We need to go.” The room was very bright now, forested with shafts of light shining through the disintegrating ceiling overhead. He snatched the last child from the crib beside him and followed Farel and the others down the crumbling corridor.

At the opening to the short hallway, Gaelen paused for a final look back at the blocked passage where the girl accompanying Nicolene vol Oros had stood. Who was she? Not Fey or Elvish. Not Celierian, either, with that milky white skin that had clearly never seen the sun. And those eyes. Huge silver coins, framed by sooty lashes. They unsettled him in a way he could not explain.

With a rumbling crack the rest of the nursery ceiling dissolved. Blinding light filled the room. Gaelen flung up a hand to shield his eyes.

“General!”

Farel’s shout spurred him to action. Whoever or whatever Nicolene vol Oros’s disconcerting companion might be made no difference now. Gaelen spun on his heel, hunched his body to protect the child in his arms from falling debris, and raced after his fellow lu’tan.

The dahl’reisen guarding the gateway to the Well of Souls began herding all the rescued captives and refugees into the portal. “Into the Well!” they cried. “Everyone into the Well now!”

“But the wounded,” one of the shei’dalins exclaimed.

“Seal what you can’t heal! We’re out of time! Go! Go! Go!”

Vadim Maur’s escape tunnel led up and away from Boura Fell. Melliandra and Nicolene ran as quickly as they could, the shei’dalin pausing every few seconds to bring down the ceiling behind them. Each time they came to a fork in the tunnel, Melliandra and Nicolene followed whichever path led up, towards the surface of Eld. Up was where the sky was. Up was where the Mages were least likely to be. And so, up they went.

At last they arrived, out of breath, legs burning from the uphill run, at a winding stair that led to a closed door. Melliandra turned the knob and carefully pushed the door slightly ajar.

She braced herself for a flood of bright white light coming from the burning ball called the Great Sun that traveled across the sky. Sunlight, Shia had called it. But there was no burning ball of light. And the roof of the world—the thing Shia called the sky—was not the bright, beautiful blue Shia had described. It was black and scattered with tiny silver flecks—like sel’dor ore sprinkled with tiny crystals of mirror stone.

Melliandra’s hand began to shake, and her stomach did flips inside her belly.

“Arast sha neida?” What’s wrong?

The sound of the shei’dalin Nicolene’s voice made Melliandra jump. “Neitha,” she answered brusquely. Nothing. Maybe this was just another big room, like the garden room, and they were still inside Boura Fell. But when she forced herself to shove open the door and saw the immensity of the alien landscape stretched out before her, she knew the truth.

This—this dark place—was the world. Tall, soaring spires of things Shia had called trees surrounded the doorway, but something was wrong with them. Half of the trees were gray, barren bones, like the skeletons of trees. At her feet, what should have been the soft, slender blades of the ground cover called grass were brown, brittle stalks that crackled when she poked them with a tentative toe.

This world above was dead. And cold—as cold as when Mages spun their dark magic. Despair swamped her. Where was the warm, bright, green-and-blue world Shia had sung of? Had the Mages destroyed it?

She turned to Nicolene. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This was a mistake. This is not what she told me it would be. The sun is gone. The world is dead. I think the Mages killed it.” To Melliandra’s horror, tears sprang to her eyes, and her voice cracked. She hugged Shia’s son to her chest. What were they going to do now?

Nicolene smiled, but there was such compassion in her eyes, Melliandra couldn’t take offense. “Nei, kaishena,” the shei’dalin soothed. “Nei desrali. Nei Magia. De sha eilissei.” Not dead. Not Mages. It is eilissei.