“What?” Nari spoke more sharply than she intended.

“A hole . . . hidden beneath the throne. A passage to the outer world. Knew it since I was little.”

“Oh, Magged,” Nari whispered.

“Wanted family . . . We are family, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Magged, m’shea. We are family.”

When Magged said no more, her harsh breaths silent, Nari closed her staring eyes. For a time, Nari just knelt there. In but a moment, her world had changed, just as it had when Slee stole her from the forests of Argenthyne and brought her to the cave. She gazed up at the brilliant sunshine that showered down through the opening, and sang for Magged, sang for Magged into the blue sky, for Magged who would never experience freedom and that outer world, and who had only wanted a family. To Nari, she had indeed been family. Nari had raised her, as she had raised so many other children Slee had brought. Some had lived for as many years as Magged. Others had failed quickly, and she sang for them all. It was a song of mourning. Though Eletians lived eternally, they could die, and so yes, her people knew songs of mourning.

When she finished, she stood. She left Magged’s face uncovered so she could lie beneath the freedom of the open sky. Nari gazed at the gold columns of sunlight that poured through the collapsed ceiling of the cave. Long had she held an essence of the outer world within her, a piece of Argenthyne, the scent of the forest, the moss beneath her feet, shade and fern and birdsong. It was all that allowed her to endure years of captivity. Now was her rebirth into the world. She could leave and discover how much had changed during her captivity, seek her lost love. And she would hunt the aureas slee.

She left Magged and started to climb her way out.

INTERCEPTED

The days were growing longer and, at times, milder. Freezing nights were followed by days with more direct sunlight that penetrated the forest canopy and provided warmth. Karigan willed it to wash over her and dreamed of being a cat curled up in a patch of sunshine that beamed through a window.

But, it was only a dream, for she could not remember being thoroughly warm and dry. Condor’s hooves sucked in slushy mud—the Eletian ways were apparently not immune to mud—and the trees constantly unloaded collected rain or clumps of wet snow on her. At night, the shield Enver created over their campsites with his muna’riel helped some, but never entirely. They would have to cease even that protection soon so the intense light of the muna’riel did not attract the attention of any scouts of Second Empire.

Estral sat slumped on Coda ahead. She was bearing up well, but Karigan could tell the journey was taking its toll. At least it would bring a certain veracity to what she was writing about Green Riders. The soggy cold was taking a toll on Karigan, as well, despite all her experience. Her nose constantly ran and her weathered knuckles cracked and bled. Old injuries, especially her wrist that had been broken last spring in Blackveil, ached. Even Enver did not appear unfazed by their travel conditions. He was quieter than usual and looked a little haggard, which was something she’d never seen before with an Eletian. Not even among her companions in Blackveil. It must be, she thought, his human blood that, well, made him more human.

They’d been traveling together long enough that there was little left to say, or little they had the energy to say, and each knew his or her tasks when it came to setting up and taking down camp. No one spoke while they rode, and few words passed among them when they paused for breaks. They were just too dead tired to sing or tell stories even when they rested by the campfire, though, in the evenings, Enver would still often leave camp to roam the woods, to listen to the voice of the world, as he put it. He would return with a peaceful expression on his face and a light in his eyes. Maybe, Karigan thought, she’d follow him sometime to see exactly how it was he attained “stillness.” She had to admit she was curious.

When Enver halted up ahead, Karigan looked about in surprise, but saw no reason for him to stop. He stood in his stirrups and peered through the dense evergreen growth into the forest, then motioned for Karigan to come forward.

When she brought Condor up beside him, she said, “What is it?”

“I sense others.”

“Groundmites?” Estral asked sharply from behind them.

When Karigan glanced back, she saw her fearful expression.

“Not groundmites,” Enver replied.

“Second Empire?” Karigan asked.

“I cannot tell.”

“How close? Do they know we are here?”

“I sense we are being watched.”

“Damnation.”

There was nothing else for them to do but keep slogging forward, but now Karigan did not lose herself in daydreams of napping in a beam of sunlight, but strained her senses to discern others in the forest with them. She turned at every crackling, at every chitter of a squirrel, at every branch bending beneath the weight of a blue jay, but she detected no human presence other than her own, and that of her companions.

She continued to keep her senses heightened as they went on, but was still surprised when a man stepped out of the woods beside them and ordered them to halt. Enver swiftly nocked an arrow to his bow, and Karigan drew her saber.

“Put your weapons away,” the man ordered. “There are a dozen arrows trained on you.”

He was attired in woodsman’s clothes, dyed in greens and browns and grays to blend in with the forest. Karigan glanced about her and now, knowing what to look for, espied three archers camouflaged in the woods. If there were more as the man claimed, she could not see them. Neither she nor Enver put their weapons away, but neither did they make any threatening moves. Three archers were enough to kill them.