he winds were whispering. Had been doing so since the moment we’d left Leander's shrine. And did not stop.

Not even when the sky was in turmoil, when the trees wailed as the storms almost plucked them all out, old and frail, young and weak. One word. They kept hissing one word, slipping it between the trashing of the world, over storm-tossed waters nearing with every step we took, and kept sliding it through their hollow echo between the walls of the sewers.

One word that was clear and stark in a foreign tongue, in a language only I could understand. And I hummed it along them for days, still doing so as I eyed every movement, every flicker of shadows on the rough, brick-paneled walls cast by our fire. Long and sleek, a blur of dark shapes that swayed as we moved, little more than monsters dancing with the howling, raging word and its unrelenting winds.

This was the eleventh day, a few hours before midnight, and the port Téors had spoken about only a few more minutes of walking through this fetid hell.

Hours. It had been hours since we'd found our way inside this canalization beneath the small town rounding the port. Hours since my lungs begged for the clean, crisp air, for salvation from the rancid smell.

A small squeak bounced from wall to wall, a bunch of mice catching the direwolf's attention—the animal not bigger in size than a cat as it rested on my shoulders, curled up and claws pierced through the fabric of my cloak. It spared the small creatures a moment's glance before those fire-forged eyes went back to stare at the path ahead. At Aedis and Saél who walked in front of me, the latter clutching the wall at her side with all her might, eyes dodging back and forth between the pathway carved at the side, and the growing streams on our right.

The waters reeked of dead bodies thrown down here and sewage. And more things I didn't even want to know about. Sometimes, those waters, thick and dark, would carry a decapitated head or a loose finger. Sometimes, the flow came accompanied by a thick layer of goo on top. And sometimes, bubbles would form and burst, splashing gods-knew-what on us.

If this was not enough to make us look like real fugitives, I didn't know what would.

Still grasping the walls with bone-white knuckles, the witch turned to stare at me as I swore under my breath, throwing something that was either a snake or a worm off my half torn boots, and feeling wetness touch the sole of my feet. My toes curled. My spine arched. Disgusting. She eyed the waters once again, how the rain that seeped between the cracks above our head fell in long, fat drops, then turned back her attention to Aedis who led the way, not once halting to wonder which way to take, the map Téors and Siltheres had shown us well inked in his memories.

"Do you always take the sewers?" she asked in a mumble, her first actual words those past hours besides grunts and swears.

It was Aedis that answered, still moving as he stared over his shoulder, "Sometimes, and too many, these conduits are our only way. Especially when fishing growing nests of traitors or hunting down snuck-in beasts beneath Cantelot.'' He paused for a moment, wondering whether Saél would black out if he told her more. But she still nodded, needing to hear a sound echoing around us that wasn't quacking animals or growling storms.

So he added, "I had men, recently enough, engaging against growing meshes of spies beneath a city surrounding the capital. The unfortunate ones slept for nights outside their houses because their wives and sisters didn't let them in for how bad they smelled. The even more damned ones reported words that the water tastes even worse than it smells.''

Saél halted dead in her steps, gave the disguised lord one long stare, and breathed, "Shit."

Aedis barely nodded. And perhaps it was my need to keep on hearing him talk, to allow my attention to drift to anything but the still whispering winds that I dared ask, "Have you ever been one of those unfortunates?"

Aedis—Leon—wriggled his nose, and it was enough an answer. "More times than I'd like to admit."

For a heartbeat, I imagined Rhiannon kicking her brother out of their Chateau because he smelled, imagined her relentlessly teasing and picking at him for it for days. I couldn't fight the small laugh that evaded my throat.

The witch's face contorted harder, hand over her nose and mouth, trying to block the pungent air. "I've never felt this sick, not even when I had my child in my womb.''

"The first time is always the hardest. The rest, we fool ourselves in believing we became accustomed to the smell." With that, we resumed walking, careful footing and alert senses for heartbeats that morphed into silent minutes. Or as silent as it could get with a storm shredding the skies.

And that one echoing word.

And thank the Five that we reached the end of our road fast, ending up in front of a cleaved path, the wall in the midst holding a rusted ladder that led straight to a barred manhole. An exist.

And just like the path had parted, it was time we did, too.

The direwolf hadn't been all pleased when I removed it from its position, its fur smeared and blotched as it walked around, growing and growing until it doubled my height, still keeping distance between its body and the long, dripping conduits above its head.

For a moment, I eyed Saél, how she stood, how she rubbed at her cold hands, how she breathed, observing every detail, every bit of her. And she had changed from the woman that had been locked and chained inside walls that once she considered her home. She'd changed the moment she'd stepped past the Fang of Laros. The moment she'd grasped that she was free. The moment she'd breathed that freedom in long inhales like a newborn child taking his first breath in this world. And over the courses of those days, she'd slowly started leaving the broken, beaten memories behind, trickling them like fine sand, letting them free.

Not fully ready for the new road ahead of her, but willing to fight her way, willing to break free from the invisible chains. Strong, such a strong woman still discovering where she stood in this world. It was that steel in her soul and bones, that strength I'd seen in her as she sat on the trunk outside the cottage, which told me she would survive. She would heal. With time. And help. And it was for the same reason I reached through my magic for a piece of paper chunked in that ever following realm my powers created—the one where I stored weapons and artifacts and pages—and handed it to her.

Saél squinted under the small, amber-colored fire that lit our entourage, and read in a frail, soft voice, "E.C.A.A."

"Initials," I whispered as I pulled the floating fire to me, bracing it, changing its flare and texture and spell. "Of the Cohar's name, the princess's, the king's, and ruling family's." Because I couldn't tell her names, not here where we were so close to roaming souls and potential sharp ears. Only hints in a hushed voice, broken by the winds.

The fire, no longer amber but shimmering white, drifted from my grasp to her, poising above our heads like a small, white sun in the darkness.

"We've promised you freedom the moment we took you out of the confines of your house.'' I stepped toward her, left little distance between us before grasping her hood, carefully dropping it over her face so it left no feature clear to my eyes. "And we never break our word.'' I took one step back, eyes holding hers, only the grey ring around her pupils vibrating in the dark. "We leave you here, free to go where your whims wish. Free to follow this fire that will lead you to the Castle, to a sanctuary I guarantee will take care of you, will house you as its child. It is only your choice, to go alone in this world and discover wherever your instincts guide you, or to heal and discover yourself and your magic along the way, in the arms of caring people."

There was a heartbeat of silence. And then another as Saél of the Witches stared at the thin, well plied paper in her hand. The same hand that slid to hold mine.

"There are two things that kept me alive those years, Cohar, and they are nothing less than good-sense and instincts. And both are only willing to walk down the road you lead.''

The force that lightly tugged at my lips couldn't be swallowed or tamed and I found myself tightening my grip on the hand that held mine.

"Then go to my home, follow every turn and magical passage the fire leads you through for a week, more or less. And when you emerge into the capital, when the towering castle finds your attention, walk to its main gate—and only the main one. Call for an audience with the king and never back down. No matter how hard the guards will try keeping you away, no matter what you have to do even if you have to make a scene. You stay rooted in front of the gate until my very father comes to see you. And when he does, you give him this piece of paper. He'll know everything then. You lose the paper, you lose your only ticket inside."

The witch only dipped her head once in a nod.

"And take him inside with you," I added, signaling to the direwolf. The beast came round, having understood every spoken letter through the bond I had worked on building these past hours—because spirits could reach animals, and everyone and everything with a soul, even though animals were harder to reach. Harder to comprehend. We had to bend and merge, to learn a tongue that did not exist, to find that spark of connection between to completely foreign beings.

And through building that bridge, I made sure to let it know every detail of my plan, every corner that led to my home. To father and Ramos and Carter and Mayra and Luthian and Rhiannon.

It bent, immaculate white fur smeared with dirt as it allowed Saél to ride its back, her hands firmly gripping it, her cloak— a new one we stole on our way after leaving the temple—a black cloud flaring and billowing as the winds rushed around us.

Thunder broke. Then lightening.

And the direwolf was about to move, about to follow the warm floating fire when I said to the witch, my words addressing her for the last time, "She died nameless in a world that did not treat her right."

She. Her daughter.

"But no soul lives nameless at the Thrones."

Her face was calm, her muscles and breathing steady, but her aura…her aura had flared, had danced, had swayed at the last few words.

"Fihéra, named by Aether and Nevor themselves. Fihéra, for the fire-made doves that dwell in Nevor's realm, for the dove her ashes erupted into."

The information she didn't tell us as she sat on the trunk. The information she couldn't swallow or comprehend. But Aether had whispered them to me the same moment we'd passed the Fang, the moment when she'd momentarily halted and stared back at the prison she was leaving.

It was now that her muscles went taut. At that bit. At that secret. Little she knew there was more; a story for another time. Perhaps another life, should I not come back alive from the mission Aedis and I were diving into.

"A soul living its prime, a favored of her creator, a mellifluous voice that fills his heaven with her songs.''

There was no sound past the echo of our breaths for a moment that did not end. Nothing, not even the whispers of the winds. And the last thing I saw of Saél was the smile tracing her face as the wolf turned, walking toward a road so far from ours.

And so, Aedis and I turned to the ladder and the world above that existed.

Our mission was just about to start.

The port was considerably crowded for two hours into midnight and a hellish storm—the first of its kind this year as autumn seeped into colder, more brutal weathers. Winter was months to come, but the world was already falling into turmoil. Perhaps it aided us, worked on keeping our enemies' forces distracted for just a little longer. Every day became crucial; every day became a new chance for us to gather our own troupes that were too small in numbers and sizes. Too frail to fight.

We had no armies to be reckoned with, not yet. Not enough soldiers, not enough trained warriors. No beasts at our side but the mite number. But it was a worry for a later time, a plan to study and create once we set foot on Eziara. And once back, perhaps lucky enough to find Father and Ramos having already prepared something.

So for now, I eyed the considerable amount of ships as Aedis pushed the lid of the manhole with his foot back in its place, acute senses running over the faces loading and unloading the docks, dismounting cargos of weapons and potions. There had been eyes on us as we made our way out of the sewers, and still had as we adjusted our cloaks and steel. No movement to fight us, not when they had seen the long, sharp claws, the glowing red eyes. Not when they had felt the darkness seeping from us. Demons, powerful and mighty, just like the ones they served.

And I made sure to note every soul and aura, made sure father and Ramos and Siltheres saw them in their minds, through the White realm. Made sure they killed them all before next sunrise. The hidden pair of gleaming golden eyes staring back from one of the fire lining the decks told me he'd seen them, too. Memorized them all. Téors.

I barely acknowledged his presence, merely brushed his soul with mine before I searched the ships, his body invisible as his eyes still focused on us. His magic brushed mine back. And it was with that swift caress of his powers over mine that I understood why the winds had been whispering. Why they had been murmuring the name of Death in my ears.

The curse I had implanted in Ûzan had snapped. The fire had left nothing of her, of her house, not a cinder of her flesh and bones. It was one name checked from the long, endless list I had made over the courses of the past couple of months.

When my eyes went back from the sailors and boats to the fire, the phoenix was already long gone.

"The old crone is dead,'' I slid in the old language only the Fallen could speak and understand. Aedis only blinked a response that seemed to tell: Good riddance.

I didn't budge as a bunch of sailors walked right past me, hurling a craft that stank of rotting corpses. The men didn't smell any more pleasant, the scent of sweat and blood and old beer adding to the saltiness the winds carried from the sea and straight into my nostrils.

Thunder rumbled not so far in the distance, the thick clouds resuming the wrath they had momentarily ceased just before we climbed the rustled ladder. Lightening flashed, the world turning white, illuminating everyone, everything. It rained once again with a ferocity that had me and the Kyel soaked in the matter of heartbeats.

I was about to move toward the dock, toward the ship I knew would carry us to our destination when I felt them. Presences, both familiar and strange at once. And it took me much, stilling my bones and my muscles, making my turn toward the tress grown in islands throughout the port where tunnels were build beneath—so deep down they were below the sewers. Indeed, the rain and deafening sounds were a mercy, hiding every echoing step as we walked here.

I counted four shadows, four figures I knew so well. Four souls that made my heart thunder, made my mind lapse. Aedis noted them too, all of them. And I didn't know if it was relieve on his face, or pure terror. Maybe a bit of both at the sight of our friends, of our brothers and sisters donned in torn cloaks and thin clothes as ruined as ours.

The footsteps between us seemed infinite, unbearable, as we made our way to them, striding with a swift, feline grace that had men keep wary senses. I didn't know how I reached them, how I fell into Carter's—the nearest—embrace, how I held him like it had been years and years since we'd been apart. That grip shifted from body to body, the blood flowing warmer in my veins than it had done in days.

It was Aedis, Rhiannon still crushed in his arms, who murmured, "Why.''

Not a question. It told everything about that terror that had ghosted his eyes, that trembling fear that his sister, the one person he'd battled for her safety for years, that his friends had come for a mission that was more suicide than anything else.

"We can't let you have all the fun." Mayra, yet such a different voice. Sharper, more pitched. I almost didn't recognize her, any of them, wasn't it for the bit of familiar magic the Arowcinders was to hide.

Long, lush curls that gleamed like honey and gold were replaced by glossy, middle length raven strands, the marveling lavender eyes nothing but dark orbs in her pale face. ''Sédil.'' Her name, her Fallen identity. "Your Second at hand and huntress.''

My eyes skipped from face to face, mind memorizing name after name, rank after rank.

"Leyath." Rhiannon, whose hair now was short and a rich, dark red, her eyes cat-like and depthless black. "Your Third and spy.''

"Dier." Carter, his hair not even reaching his nape, his silver-lined bronze irises absent, even the slate of the moon gifting him washed by one shade of the seven reds that made mines. One shade that bound him to me just like the silver had done. "Brother and warrior, Second male at your disposal.''

"Veidor.'' Luthian, his rimelian, icy hair and eyes gone, covered by short, burnt brown strands on his scalp and another shade of red for his eyes. Another brother. "Your Third and guardian.''

Guardian. That word had echoed within me. Deeply. Painfully. A title he'd worn with a gleam on his face, a devotion to keep me safe, a fulfillment to a debt I never wanted. Little, so very little did he know there was no mortal power that could guard me from the fate loaming around. But I still smiled at him, at that gleam, at the position he and Carter held. Brothers. Father knew, and so did Ramos, picked it through mere instants during that ball, just what they were, what they meant to me.

The smile vanished with the growling of the skies, another thunder ripping the world around us. And it snapped me back from the warm, gliding lights sweeping the Castle's dancing hall to the cold, dark night. To the war now approaching. Our leaving time approached fast, but before we turned to the ships, even before Rhia—Leyath—slid her hands into one of her pockets, I'd pointed at the black jewel on all of their wrists merged in their skin and flesh. As though woven into their very bodies, the black stone like a dark spark against the pale skin, and in its very heart, a small dot of simmering blue—not bigger than a drop of blood leaved by a needle's tip.

But that dot, that birthing star trapped inside the stone, I feared the powers that emanated from it. Feared what they could do, what they could destroy.