The druid stood before them, surrounded in a column of glowing knives that spun and snapped and tore greedily at the mossy rocks beside him. Bristling barrier, this spell was called. It seemed to be a variation of the thorny vines he’d used to shield himself the first time they’d fought each other. Saskia knew from first-hand experience that the spell would try to strip flesh from the bones of anyone stupid enough to try to push through it.

Her new skin was mighty tough though. She wondered how she might fare against those fungal blades today. Not that she had any intention of putting it to the test just yet.

“I feel…whole again,” said Garrain in a ragged voice. A tear glistened in his eye. “How is this possible? I hold no focus in my hand, and yet…”

A very good question. One whose answer Saskia only vaguely understood. Somehow, she was feeding essence to him at a distance. Perhaps via the same link that had allowed her to see through his eyes.

Witnessing his reaction, Saskia felt a tiny pang of guilt steal into her heart. Had she done the right thing, depriving him of this piece of himself for this long? She could’ve just handed over his staff when she had the chance.

Then she remembered that until a few days ago, he’d been dead-set on murdering her and Ruhildi. She’d had every reason not to trust him. She still couldn’t trust him. Not completely. Not even when her oracle interface showed him as no longer an enemy. Not even when it could catch him in any lie—yet had detected none.

Ruhildi scowled at the druid. “’Tis a pretty little spell you have there, Garri, but if you don’t banish it fair quick, it will be your last.”

His face darkened. “I’ll do no such thing. Would you care to test your magic against mine, necrourgist?”

Ollagor stepped close to Garrain’s side—but not too close—growling softly at Ruhildi’s zombie minions, who were slowly encircling the pair.

Ruhildi raised her hand, and a swarm of small pebbles hung in the air at her fingertip. “Och aye, methinks I’ll enjoy this.”

Drawing something from his belt pouch, Garrain crushed it in his fist. His hand quickly took on the colour and apparent hardness of wood, and within moments the change had spread across the rest of his body. A bark sheathe spell.

Next, he threw something in the air above his bristling barrier, where it hovered and began to form into a roiling globe of amber-coloured liquid that her interface called scorching sap. His outstretched hand pointed not at Ruhildi, but at the largest of her undead pets. A glowing trajectory in the air confirmed that her friend wasn’t its intended target.

It seemed he wasn’t trying to kill Ruhildi just yet. That came as somewhat of a relief. But Saskia had been on the receiving end of the scorching sap spell before, cast by this very same druid, and she knew how much burnination it could inflict on anything or anyone in the vicinity. Even if he wasn’t aiming directly at her friend, there was no guarantee someone wouldn’t get caught in its area of effect.

Time to nip this in the bud before it escalated further. With a focussed thought, Saskia stabbed at the little potion icon in her interface.

And just like that, all three of Garrain’s spells snapped out of existence in a puff of stolen magic. Almost immediately, the heat that had been spreading through her veins subsided.

“I have a better idea,” she said, arching her eyebrow. “Let’s discuss this like adults before we try to blow each other up.”

Garrain gawked at her. “What did you…?” He frowned, and she could feel him reaching for the flow of essence she’d just severed.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” she informed him. “I giveth, and I taketh away.”

Ruhildi snorted, banishing her own spell. “You should’ve waited a bit, Sashki. I were hoping to give him a fair magical walloping first, afore you crushed his spirit.”

“How are you doing this, Saskia?” Garrain sounded more perplexed than angry.

“That’s for me not to know, and you not to find out,” said Saskia.

As they made their way down into the jungles of Wilbergond, her first task was to fix up the druid’s broken wrist, and more importantly, the wound her feral self had inflicted earlier on her friend. She still felt guilty about that.

It seemed she was still under the lingering effects of that huge dose of arlithite she’d taken on her way into the deepworm’s stomach. Days had passed since then, but her blood remained turbocharged even now, as evidenced by the fact that the cauterised wound Garrain’s glaive had inflicted on her had already faded. All she needed to do was feed them some of her blood. Easy peasy!

Or not. When she tried to puncture her outer shell with her claws, they barely made a dent. She pressed harder and harder, and finally broke through, drawing a trickle of blood that dried up almost as soon as she withdrew her claws. Still, this was enough. Her blood was so potent now, it wouldn’t take much to deal with their injuries.

Garrain’s eyebrows raised after it was his turn to take a swig from the proffered bladder of liquid. “This tastes like blood,” he said.

Saskia cursed inwardly. She hadn’t done as good a job disguising it this time. “Well…it’s not!” she said. Yeah, real convincing, Pinocchio.

His eyebrows ascended yet further up his face.

Several minutes passed in silence, while his face ranged through a gamut of frowns and thoughtful expressions. Then he looked up at Saskia and blurted, “It’s you!”

“What?” Dogramit, the jig is up! she thought. He’s figured out where the blood came from.

But his next words were not what she expected. “I don’t understand how it could have happened, but you have become my focus.”

“Oh, that,” she said. “Maybe? I don’t know how it works. Hell, until a few weeks ago, I’d never even heard of foci and arlium and all that.”

“A living focus,” he said. “Astounding.”

Ruhildi snorted.

“You don’t find the idea fascinating, dwarrow?” he said. “Obviously this situation is less than satisfactory and we must find a way to reverse it, but think the possibilities…”

“Och I’m well aware of the possibilities,” said Ruhildi.

“Whatever do you mean? Have you come across such a thing before, in your sacrilegious studies?” He paused. “The notes in the forge burrows—the ones written in the tongue of old Ulugmir—you wrote those, didn’t you…” His eyes narrowed. “Where is your focus?”

Ruhildi blanched a little. “’Tis none of your concern, Garri! I’ll say no more on the matter. But I had naught to do with what happened to Sashki.”

He turned to Saskia. “However it came about, it seems I am once again at your mercy. If you would just allow me a sliver of essence, we might begin to test the limits of this…tie between us.”

Saskia frowned. She already had way too many ties to this elf, what with all the popping randomly into his head and seeing out of his eyes. She could do without another.

But there was something to be said for testing what it actually meant to be his focus. There might be other side effects or other facets to their connection. Better to learn about such things sooner rather than later.

“If I give you back your magic, will you promise not to turn it against us? Again, if you lie about this, I will know it.”

“I wasn’t going to turn it against either of you earlier, until your disciple interfered. Even then, I merely sought to test my magic against hers.”

According to the colour of his aura, this was largely the truth, though it was not the answer she was looking for. “Answer the question.”

“I give you my word, I’ll not intentionally cause harm to either of you with my magic—directly or indirectly. Does that suffice?”

Again, he was telling the truth, with just the tiniest hint of uncertainty. It would have to do. She tapped the button on her interface, opening up the floodgates once more.

“Oh deus yes!” he said, apparently feeling the return of his magic. “You won’t regret this!”

“I don’t like this, Sashki,” muttered Ruhildi. “You should’ve let him stew a while longer.”

It was only when Garrain cast a spell that Saskia began to break out in sweat again. Her body’s heat tolerance seemed to have improved markedly since she crawled out of the deepworm—to the point where the ambient temperature of this steaming sauna of a Hollow no longer bothered her. But whenever he used his magic, she felt as if she were in a microwave, being slowly heated from the inside. It was uncomfortable, but nothing she couldn’t handle, for now. Probably wouldn’t be so bad if they were somewhere cooler.

The distance between them had no noticeable effect on his ability to draw essence from her—at least out to the couple of hundred metres of separation they tested. Also, if his old staff had provided a steady stream of essence, she was feeding him a raging torrent. His words, not hers.

While Garrain played with his toys, Saskia and Ruhildi stopped by the remains of the deepworm, already riddled with holes and teeming with creatures great and small partaking of the immense bounty. The stench was enough to fell an elephant, but Ruhildi seemed unfazed by it.

“You’re not going to raise it are you?” said Saskia, watching as her friend stepped up to the mountain of sagging flesh. She was a little aghast at the thought of having this tagging along behind them.

“Och no. ’Tis beyond my ability to command such an impressive minion as this, for now. But we shan’t let its hide go to waste. There’s none tougher or more highly sought than the hide of a deepworm.”

“A creature that size must be made of sturdy stuff,” agreed Saskia. “Otherwise its guts would fall out under all that weight.”

“You were able to tear through its flesh fair easily though,” said Ruhildi. “Come, Sashki. I’ve need of those claws of yours…”

Sighing, Saskia joined her friend beneath the colossal carcass. It may be decomposing fast, but the outer layer of flesh had remained largely intact. Doing her best not to retch, she carved off wide strips of its tough hide and handed them to Ruhildi, who took the stinking, gore-smeared flesh without flinching.

“I don’t know how you could stand to go near that festering heap,” said Garrain, wrinkling his nose in distaste as they returned to his side.

“The smell was far worse on the inside, even before the rot set in, believe me,” said Saskia, shuddering at the memory.

They washed the hide—and themselves—in the lake back in the deepworm cavern (which was now conveniently empty of deepworm larvae). Scrubbing off the blood and filth as best she could in the algae-infested water, Saskia marvelled at the feeling of cool water splashing against her new skin. Sensations were slightly dulled, but as much as her outer layer looked like polished stone, it was still flesh. There were still nerve endings somewhere near the unyielding surface.

Feeling…well not quite clean, exactly, but at least no longer covered in monster gore, she staggered back to camp, yawning, while Ruhildi began to work her necromantic magic to preserve the hide and turn it into leather. Maybe they could use that leather to make replacements for some of the things she’d lost in the deepworm’s stomach. Her only possession that had survived the encounter was Mjölnir, which she’d dropped before she got eaten.

It still boggled her mind. She’d survived being eaten. Her life just kept getting weirder every day.

Saskia yawned again, feeling a bone-deep weariness settle over her. Whatever this body had been doing in her absence, it clearly hadn’t involved sleep. She curled up by the fire, and let her eyes drift shut.

In her dream, she was gazing down at her own sleeping form. Huh, I look almost cute when I’m sleeping, she thought to herself, until a rattling snore echoed across the cavern, and a line of drool ran down the side of her chin. On second thought, maybe not.

She absently reached down and rubbed the belly of the enormous cat sprawled at her feet. Ollagor’s purrs provided a soft accompaniment to her own snores. As she increased the pace of the belly-rub, the cat playfully batted at her hands with claws retracted. She’d always been more of a dog person, but this big guy wasn’t so bad.

Then it occurred to her foggy brain that these weren’t her hands rubbing the cat’s belly. And she wasn’t controlling them. This wasn’t a dream. Or not just a dream. She was in Garrain’s head again.

Saskia wondered if her body might go on another rampage if it woke up while she was absent. Probably not. She didn’t feel desperate or angry this time. She felt…peaceful.

Having reflected on the incident, she’d come to the conclusion that her little trip into bat-guano territory hadn’t happened just because she’d absorbed Garrain’s focus. She’d also been swallowed by the most disgusting creature imaginable, trapped in the acid bath of its stomach, and nearly ground into paste. As long as nothing that traumatic happened again, her out-of-body experiences would probably have less rampagey consequences.

As Garrain continued his playful ministrations, she found her attention being drawn back to Ollagor. Again, she was getting weird vibes off the beast. The thought that had come unbidden to her back in Wilbergond returned, stronger than before: He is not alone.

Saskia shivered inwardly. What did that mean? Her thoughts were too foggy to make sense of it. She needed to find a way out of Garrain’s head.

She thought back to what had happened the last time. Garrain had touched her hand, then there had been…something in her oracle interface. A kind of mental button. She’d pressed the button and then…

There!

This time, she didn’t need Garrain’s touch to bring forth the object in her interface. And this time, she could see it for what it was: a fancy mirror with gold filigree around its edges. Through the mirror she could see a slightly abstract and cartoonish representation of her face—her human face—almost identical to some of the self-portraits she’d painted back on Earth, before the accident. The face winked at her and poked out its tongue, and she jumped, her heart skipping a beat.

“Dogramit, me, you scared me!” she scolded the image.

Wait, no, it wasn’t her who had jumped. Garrain must have seen it too.

She reached out with her mind and touched the mirror.

Her eyes snapped open. Ruhildi was standing beside her, poking her in the tummy with a stick.

“Arise, you great stone slug. I have something for you.” The dwarf pointed at a large bundle on the floor beside her.

Saskia didn’t need to consult her clock to realise that hours had passed since she’d returned to her sleeping body. Blinking away the morning cobwebs, she inspected the bundle. It was a troll-sized pair of leather pants and a simple vest; both items stitched from the deepworm hide.

“Oh wowsicles! Thank you so much!” Saskia was once again astonished by her friend’s knack for crafting—not just working metal and clay, but leather too. These weren’t showy garments by any means; merely functional. But there was no way Saskia could have stitched them together so fast. The dwarf must have been up all night.

Garrain eyed her with unabashed curiosity as she dressed. “A suitable—if crudely fashioned—outfit for a trow,” he said. “The hide of a deepworm is nearly impervious to fire. I believe Trowbane’s sheathe is made from the same material.”

“Aye, you believe true for once, Garri,” said Ruhildi. “I had a hand in the making of that sheathe. The weapon too.”

Garrain looked at her for a long moment. “Very fine work, I must admit. The forge master tried to claim credit, but I’m well aware it was his slaves who did the forging. He was a simple-minded saphead to squander such talent.”

Ruhildi opened her mouth and closed it again. Then her eyes narrowed and she spoke. “You’re showing too much respect, Garri. ’Tis unnatural.”

“Unnatural,” huffed Garrain. “So says the necrourgist.”

“Och that’s better!” said Ruhildi.

Saskia’s gaze turned to Ollagor, stretched out asleep in front of the embers of the fire. She remembered thinking…something about Garrain’s pet when she’d looked upon him through the druid’s eyes last night. What had it been?

She shook her head. If it was truly important, it would come to her.

Something else nagged at her as they packed up and set forth back out into Wilbergond one final time. Garrain couldn’t keep tagging along wherever they went. He was only staying in the hope they’d find a way to extract his focus from her, but she couldn’t see that happening any time soon. And there was no way she was gonna take him down to the Underneath. The dwarves would crucify him down there, and Ruhildi would crucify her if she tried to bring him. For now, they were heading in the same direction, but as soon as they found a path that lead back to the surface…well, it’d be time for them to part ways. She suspected he wouldn’t go willingly as long as she held the keys to his magic. Which was a little ironic, considering that he’d begun this journey as her prisoner.

Finding the passage to Dwallondorn was easy, now that they weren’t running back and forth chasing—or being chased by—deepworms and trolls. Ollagor led them to the shattered remnants of a metal ladder that had once been attached to a tunnel high up on the western wall. The ladder had fallen, but the tunnel remained, just waiting for them to climb up to it.

Sadly, the tunnel was much narrower than the others they’d traversed recently. The ceiling was too low for Saskia to walk comfortably. She’d have to crawl.

“Stoneshapers hollowed out this tunnel not too long ago,” said Ruhildi, running her hands across the uneven stone. “A fistful of greatspan, mayhap. ’Twere a rough job, done in haste.”

“They could’ve made it a little bigger,” complained Saskia. “Still, at least we won’t meet any full-sized deepworms in here.”

“Unless they burrow through the walls,” said Garrain.

“They can do that?”

“Don’t listen to him, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “’Tis very unlikely.”

“But not impossible,” she said.

“Why does the notion perturb you, demon?” said Garrain. “Not even the fires of a deepworm’s belly could destroy you. As Ruhildi told me, it is the great worms that should be fearing you.”

“How about you take a trip inside one and see how you like it,” said Saskia.

At that moment, the tunnel walls shuddered violently around them. Garrain clutched the wall, his eyes going wide, and even Ruhildi had a wary look on her face.

“Deus preserve us,” muttered Garrain. “I shouldn’t have spoken.”

After glancing at her map, Saskia let out a breath. “Nothing heading our way that I can see. Any idea what else could be causing all these earthquakes?”

“If by earthquake you mean the shaking, I ken not,” said Ruhildi. “I wish I did. ’Tis fair odd.”

The tunnel went on and on and on. It was torturous for Saskia, who at the best of times throughout the journey had to shuffle awkwardly on all-fours with her head low to the ground. At worst, she had to slither and squeeze through bottlenecks so narrow even a plump dwarf would have had trouble with them. Twice, Ruhildi had to call upon her stoneshaper magic to make room for her. It was just as well she was there, or Saskia would’ve had to start hacking off pieces of herself if she wanted to fit through some of these gaps. After several hours in here with no respite from the claustrophobic press of stone, she’d have given her right boob just to be able to stand up and stretch.

Ruhildi and Garrain weren’t exactly jumping with joy either. Hauling a mountain of unyielding flesh through tiny holes was hard work for all concerned.

The only one who did seem to be enjoying himself was Ollagor, who kept dashing off ahead of his master, before glancing back as if urging him to hurry up.

Again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about that beast… Her brain was telling her to keep an eye on the cat, but her eyes were telling her he was just a cat. Well not just a cat, given that he was bigger than a lion and had sabre teeth that put her own pointy incisors to shame. But a cat without anything obviously supernatural about him.

Well, there was the fact that he’d managed to find his way down to Garrain through however-many-kilometres of dangerous, underground tunnels and whatever dangerous creatures lurked in them. But that didn’t require any supernatural powers. There were cases on Earth where pets had found their way back to their owners across distances of hundreds or even thousands of kilometres.

So what was it about him that she needed to know? Come on, oracle magic, she urged. If there’s anything you want to show me about this beast, now’s a good time.

Ollagor looked back at her, slitted eyes narrowing in distrust. And in that moment, she thought she saw something else. The beast’s snout, his eyes, his ears; all seemed subtly different.

She blinked, and the feeling was gone. The face was his own, and the beast’s hackles were raised.

“Be calm, Ollagor,” said Garrain, running his hand down the beast’s back. “She’s not our…I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but she’s not our enemy this day.”

She was still pondering the meaning of what she’d seen when they arrived at a junction. On one side was an arched doorway, leading to a long, winding staircase. On the other, a larger, more well-kept tunnel than the one they were in. Surging out into the spacious tunnel, Saskia rose up in great relief, feeling the joints in her back pop.

Letting out an excited chirp, Ollagor dashed down the stairs and wound his way around Garrain’s legs. After receiving an idle pat from the druid, he sat at his feet and looked pointedly at the doorway.

“Methinks that way leads to back to the Dead Sanctum,” said Ruhildi.

“You’re probably right,” said Saskia. “Ollagor must have come down this way, which explains why he’s so eager for Garrain to go back. Speaking of which…”

Then she saw something that made her lose her train of thought: a tiny gossamer thread that trailed away from Ollagor and up the stairs. This was what she’d been missing all along. The thread might represent a trail, or perhaps a connection. Neither of those things would be good for her or Ruhildi.

She glowered at the druid. That donkhole! He’d been keeping that beast by his side, knowing full well that someone was tracking him…

Now just calm down for a moment, she told herself. Don’t jump to conclusions. He might not even be aware of this. Or there might be some other explanation for what I just saw.

“Perhaps you’d care to explain…” she began, struggling to keep her voice level.

Upon hearing her describe what she’d witnessed, Garrain just looked at her blankly. “I’m uncertain what you…” His expression turned thoughtful. “A thread, you say?”

“Yeah. You’d better have a good explanation for this.”

“I do not,” said Garrain, frowning. “All I can offer is speculation. In Fellspur, I met a raveller—a former raveller—who she said she followed the ethereal threads between people and things. I wonder if what you just saw was also one of those threads…being followed.”

Saskia frowned. “What’s a raveller?”

“Ravellers are a kind of oracle adept at tracking. I met this raveller, Viette, so that…ah, so that I might track you down. But I needn’t have bothered. She was a charlatan; her power as a raveller unravelled. Ever since you corrupted the seed of knowledge, there have been no oracles; none who retained both power and sanity.”

“After I…what? I didn’t corrupt anything!” There were so many things wrong with what he just said that she didn’t know where to begin. The oracles were all mad or…? And he was blaming her for that? “Clearly they can’t all be affected by this…whatever it is. I’m an oracle and I’m one hundred percent—well, at least ninety—let’s say seventy percent sane.”

Garrain stared at her. “You’re an oracle? So that’s how you…” He gave a bitter laugh. “I must be cursed. The one oracle left on the arbor who could have lead me to you…was you.”

Okay maybe she shouldn’t have told him that. She’d just assumed he’d already put two and two together.

“Maybe not,” she said. “If, as you suggest, Ollagor is being tracked by a raveller. I’m certainly not tracking him.”

“Utmar was adamant that none of the oracles were spared,” insisted Garrain. “You aren’t afflicted by madness because you’re a demon, and the source of the corruption.”

There he was again with his talk of corruption. She had a horrible feeling that he was referring to the incident with the object in the tree masquerading as a computer screen. One tap of her claw, and the screen had begun to crack. Later, when she saw the same object through his eyes, it had looked like a giant tome with English writing creeping across its brittle pages. That object had almost certainly been the seed of knowledge; the source of her powers as an oracle. What if her gaining those powers had come at the cost of all the other oracles losing them, or being driven crazy?

“Even if that were true, maybe there’s another who slipped the noose of insanity,” she said, eager to divert the discussion away from talk of oracles and corruption. “The Chosen. He must have some freaky and mysterious powers. Could he also be a raveller?”

Garrain looked uncertain. “Thiachrin is no oracle. If he were, we’d have tracked you down many fivedays ago. Though admittedly I don’t know the extent of his abilities, now that he’s ascended to Chosen. His predecessor, Hascithe, located you through your…whatever accursed magic you wielded to spy on me. Perhaps…” His tongue flicked across cracked lips. “Perhaps this is something similar.”

“So you admit it!” said Saskia. “He’s tracking us through your pet!”

At the sound of her raised voice, Ollagor looked up at her, his lips curled back, and he made a sound that began as a hiss, and ended in a growl.

“Yeah, right back at you, furball!” said Saskia.

“I admit no such thing!” said Garrain. “I’ve told you all I know on this matter. But consider this. We’ve been wandering back and forth across Wilbergond for days. If someone were tracking our movements, don’t you think he’d already have shown himself?”

He honestly believed this. The green aura of truth that surrounded him told her this much; the same aura that had been present throughout their entire conversation. Still, that didn’t mean he was right…did it?

“We can’t take that chance,” said Ruhildi. “Away with you, Garri. Take your grawmalkin and begone!”

“I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Ruhildi this time,” said Saskia. “It’s time for us to go our separate ways, Garrain.”

He locked eyes with Saskia, scowling. “You almost threw your life away to save mine. Was that not a far greater risk? You’d send me away because of this…this wild conjecture that we’re being followed?”

“It’s a little more than that,” said Saskia.

“Even so, before I leave, there’s the matter of my focus to resolve…”

“Would you rather we put Ollagor down?” said Saskia. “Because that’s the other option. Actually, scratch that. Where we’re going, you can’t follow, with or without the Chosen tracking us.”

“The Underneath,” said Garrain, his voice tinged with scorn. “You’ll find no salvation there among the dwarrows, Saskia.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m certain they wouldn’t be unfurling the welcome mat for you.”

“I’ve no intention of accompanying you all the way down there,” said Garrain, making a visible effort to soften his expression. “I merely wish to regain my focus before we part. Surely you want the arlium gone, as much as I want it back? Who can say what it might be doing to your insides?”

“I’m not the first person to have arlium stuck inside them,” said Saskia, pointedly not looking at Ruhildi. “It’s not a guaranteed death sentence, believe me. Look, I know you don’t want a demon as your focus, but it is what it is. The arlium has become too tightly entwined with my…everything, for us to get it all out. I think we have to accept the fact that this isn’t gonna change.”

He blanched, perhaps finally coming to the realisation that he wasn’t going to get his way.

“Cheer up,” she said. “It’s not all bad. Agree to certain conditions, and I’ll let you keep your magic. I can’t promise it’ll work all the time, but you’ll get as much essence as I can comfortably give for as long as I’m in this world.”

Garrain’s gaze shifted back and forth between her and Ruhildi. Finally, he lowered his eyes and sighed. “I see you’ve made up your minds. Very well. What are your conditions?”

“Simple,” she said. “Don’t come after us. Don’t send anyone else after us. Don’t act against us in any way. And if anyone asks about me and Ruhildi, tell them we’re dead. It may be a moot point. I suspect the cat is already out of the bag.” She glanced at Ollagor. “But if I’m wrong, don’t betray our secret.”

Garrain looked thoughtful. “If we ever find ourselves on opposite sides of a battlefield…”

“Then you’ll have a difficult decision to make,” said Saskia. “But I’d have to be a total stupidiot to let you turn your magic against me, or those I care about. In fact, better if you don’t think of it as your magic. As long as I’m your focus, it’s my magic to dole out as I please.”

Garrain’s expression darkened. He stood in silent fury for a long moment before speaking. “Have it your way, demon. Abellion forgive me. I accept your conditions.”

“Thank you!” she said. “But remember: I’ll be checking in on you from time to time. I can do that, you know.” Just as soon as I figure out how to jump into his head at will, she added silently. “And if I even suspect you’ve betrayed me, I’ll cut off your magic just like that.” She tried to snap her fingers, but her claws caught against each other. “Okay not like that. Like this.”

She picked up a bone from the floor and snapped it between her fingers. Then she saw the toothless humanoid skull resting against the wall, and hastily dropped the bone pieces.

Garrain closed his eyes, took a breath, and with visible effort softened his expression. “You did save my life, against all reason. Were our positions reversed, you must know I’d not have done the same for you, but I’m not ungrateful. We may not be friends…” This earned him a snort from Ruhildi. “…but I won’t betray you.”

Again, his aura told her he was being sincere, for now. She couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome than this.

He hesitated, before adding, “You could come with me, Saskia. My lifemate, Nuille, is a very skilled tender. If anyone can pull the arlium from your veins, she can.”

Saskia laughed. “If you think I’m going anywhere near alvari lands again, you’re even crazier than the oracles. Maybe someday when this business with the Chosen and a certain pesky deity blows over, we can sort this out. Until then, goodbye, Garrain.” She made a shooing motion with her hands.

“I bid you farewell then. Come, Ollagor, my friend! Lead us back to the light of Lumium.”

Without a backward glance, Garrain turned and walked away. Ollagor gave her one defiant hiss, before dashing up the stairs ahead of his master.