be such a uniformly chaste group if they were freed from the Zalyn’ors.
“Perhaps,” Wynter concedes, although just the idea of that type of desire seems too intense for Wynter to fully consider. Just touching people brings on such a rush of intimate memory and emotion; to experience yet more intimacy, and possibly a stronger pull and bond...
“Tamalyyn spoke to me after the Queen’s Council adjourned,” Ysilldir tells her, an unsettled gravity to the words. “She is convinced that if these Zalyn’ors are removed...that she and I are destined to formally pair as Goddess-bonded am’ior. And it is true that I have never felt a spark of friendship that is as strong as what I feel for Tamal.”
Wynter considers this, her heart going out to both Ysilldir and Tamalyyn, the young Smaragdalfar woman as passionate and boisterous as Ysilldir is reserved and contained.
It’s clear that Tamalyyn is madly in love with Ysilldir.
“Perhaps you will feel the pull of a closer bond to Tamalyyn if we gain our freedom,” Wynter considers, pushing past the thicket of bindings in her mind. “And perhaps you will be as some here, naturally free of desire and content in that path.”
“And you, Wynter Eirllyn?” Ysilldir asks, slipping into the Alfsigr’s casual use of full names. “Is there someone who you might love in a more passionate way?”
Wynter’s heart seizes at the question, instantly overcome by an upswell of grief.
Ariel.
“She’s gone,” Wynter finally says, barely able to get the words out. “She was killed by the Gardnerians.”
Ysilldir gives her a sympathetic look as Wynter reels from sorrow over her loved ones falling away, one by one.
Cael, Rhys. Where are you, my beloved ones? Have the Alfsigr locked you in a cold prison? Will they hurl you into the sublands below?
They both grow quiet as fireflies begin to light the skies, the gem-like tones of sunset brushed across the eastern sky, a soft crimson rune haze settling over the city.
“The Gardnerians are going to come after these lands,” Ysilldir says, her voice thick with a foreboding that mirrors that of Wynter’s owls.
Wynter looks to the sky, able to make out the glimmering edges of the multitude of huge garnet runes that are imprinted on the city’s nearly invisible dome-shield. “They won’t be able to get through the runic shield,” Wynter says.
“Then they’ll choke us off,” Ysilldir counters, frowning at the Spine. “No trade. No way to get out. All of us imprisoned in the Caledonian Mountains.” She fixes her eyes on Wynter’s. “Until Vogel finds a way in.”
A way past Amaz runes.
A shudder passes through Wynter in response to the horrifying idea.
“Vogel is growing in power,” Wynter reluctantly concedes, the thought like a crushing, submerging wave. “The things my wingeds show me, they are...unfathomable.” Wynter holds Ysillder’s silver gaze. “His power is lapping at the edge of the natural world.”
Ysilldir throws Wynter a significant look. “And soon he’ll be lapping at the edge of our minds.”
Apprehension mounts inside Wynter. “But...a piece of our minds is our own.”
“What if he finds a way in and we lose that piece?” Ysilldir shakes her head, the rows of metallic hoops pierced through her pointed ears catching the city’s scarlet rune light. “Wynter Eirllyn, I have been loyal to the Amaz ever since I came here five years ago. And I have never broken with their ways.” Her white brow furrows tighter. “But this time, I fear our queen is wrong. We need to find the rune sorcerer Rivyr’el Talonir. We need his help to break the Zalyn’or hold. Even if he is male.”
There’s a rustle in the trees and Wynter looks up, flocks of sparrows and starlings and countless other wingeds zooming down to land in thick rows on the tree limbs all around them, the birds’ incoming message gaining strength.
Warning. Warning. Warning.
The Shadow Thing is coming.
It’s coming. It’s coming.
It’s here.
* * *
Images flood Wynter’s mind, of a Shadow touching down on the wilds, all around the corners of things. Poised to slither its corruption deep into the natural world and subsume the elements that flow through it.
Hurry up, Elloren, Wynter agonizes as her sense of urgency mounts. Hurry up and come into your power before Vogel finds you.
She looks to the jagged peaks of the Spine.
The Shadow is coming for you, Elloren, Wynter thinks as she sends out a message with her flock of birds.
Warn her, she charges them, pushing against their reflexive protest and fear of the Black Witch.
You’re wrong about her, Wynter doggedly insists. You’re wrong. So, find