The light of the low fire cast the trees in a dim, orange glow. Not enough light for a human to see by, but her elf eyes had no trouble piercing the dark.

The forest was her home.

And, around her, it breathed.

A part of her drank in the feeling—the sensation of collaborative movement, the way the canopy overhead rustled like a single force, the stars piercing the branches in a cold light. Her woodcraft formed a latent connection with almost every aspect of the forest around her, and it made a happy sigh at the base of her being.

As an elf of the Raidt, this—being in the forest—was home.

The other part of her stared at the closest ember, a low, deep orange color, and tried not to think of the flicker of fire on stone.

It always came back to her at night, during the quiet times—most likely because it had happened at night, but it still pissed her off. And it pissed her off even more that she couldn’t seem to get over it, that, no matter how hard she trained, no matter how many times she told herself that it wasn’t a big deal, that she could just make up for the incident and prove her loyalty with perfect, unquestionable service, it wasn’t enough.

Her brain always looped back, as if those few moments with Tarris were all it could focus on.

As assaults go, it hadn’t been that bad of one. Ten fiery hells, she knew what happened to others, both in and out of the ranks. Rivka had been raped by her own father, for gods’ sakes.

All Prince Tarris had done was touch her. Force her up against the wall. Press his lips to her surprised mouth.

And she’d broken his hand for it.

She hadn’t meant to. It had been instinct. Something she’d followed through with on many combat tests.

The Council hadn’t seen it that way. As a rnari, she should have had more control. And she agreed with them.

She should have foreseen the problem and taken measures to prevent it. Perhaps worn a more quilted gambeson under her armor or a tunic that covered her arms. Something to hide her figure.

Doneil’s words from before came echoing back to her.

‘It doesn’t matter if you make yourself rail-thin or fat as an elephant. He would have still come for you.’

She sighed.

She doubted he was right, but he did have a point. Tarris should have behaved better.

But he was a prince. He could do that and get away with it.

As she stared into the dark between the trees, it took her almost a minute to realize that her entire body had gone rigid, muscles as taut as baler’s string, ready to run.

Anger flickered like fire.

She was a warrior. She did not flee.

With another sigh, she forced herself to relax. And tried not to think about it.

A snap in the forest lifted her attention to a different location between the trees. She didn’t see what caused the noise, but a few seconds’ listen gave her a likely culprit—a raccoon, the third one she’d heard since taking watch, though her woodcraft indicated that at least two of them had been the same creature circling back.

She relaxed into her spot, trying not to think of fire, or of green eyes in the dark.

If I ever see that prince again, I’ll break his other hand. For all the trouble he’s caused me.

She wouldn’t, of course. After this, she was expected to return to the Raidt and uphold her duties in the palace—duties which included guarding Prince Tarris.

In fact, she was due to become his bladesworn.

As her father guarded the king, and her mother guarded the queen, so she would guard their son through his expected ascendance.

She’d follow the path her bloodline had made since the Raidt elves had split from the light.

As much as it amused her to contemplate Doneil’s schemes—he was right, taking the undersworn loophole would piss off the Council, and send a giant ‘fuck you’ to Tarris, which brought a certain bubbly cheer to the small, petty part of her—disgrace was not an option.

But, hells, what had happened to the world? Messed-up spells, demons, broken gates…

Who had done this?

Pulling her sleeve up, she studied the mercari binding on her bicep, the spiraled letters and script that formed her connection to Kodanh.

She’d been the only rnari to call him in a generation. None of her peers had managed it. The ice lizard. Ruler of the Annatwensi Glacier.

And now, the connection was dead.

She frowned down at the runes. With a heavy breath, she pulled on the magic.

The pain was instantaneous. Like the ink had turned into a hundred biting ants. Made of fire. Blood welled on her skin. She stared at it. Then, she let go of the connection.

The pain lessened. After a few seconds, the blood began to trickle down her arm in a slow rivulet.

A hollow feeling scraped through her chest as she stared at it.

Gods, my life is just going to shit.

The rustling came from the edge of the trees again. The same raccoon as before. She let out a sigh and leaned forward, stretching out her back. It had come closer, no doubt smelling their food, and she was getting bored enough to let it.

Stolen novel; please report.

Maybe one of them would wake up to her petting a wild animal.

Her mouth tightened in a smirk at the thought. It was part of her woodcraft, after all, even if it was discouraged among the Raidt elite. Maybe she ought to return with a pet raccoon. It could go on patrol with her, rummage through the Raidt’s kitchens, fight with their dogs. It was in the bear family, wasn’t it? Perhaps she could—

Without warning, the forest’s spirit thundered into a roar.

She jumped to her feet in an instant, the silent cacophony of a hundred tree spirits running through her woodcraft senses like the rush of a wildfire—trees, rocks, mushrooms, animals, the latent energy of the land, all communicating in a hiss of whispers.

For a second, she felt split—one part of her reeled from the sensation that swarmed through her woodcraft, while the other part stood still, grounded in reality, feeling the quiet, tense calm of the air around her.

And, vividly, for the briefest of moments, she felt the pure cold of Kodanh, caught a flash of his glowing eyes in her mind, the curl of frozen water in her flesh, the dusting of frost on her skin.

Then, the explosions came.

They sounded distant. Lost. Great pops and rumbles that echoed through the trees like cannons. Insignificant, except in their size and shape.

But her woodcraft told her otherwise.

The fey found the demon.

A cold prickle edged through the skin over her shoulder blades, and her jaws clenched together, back molars grinding. The forest whispered of fey magic—high, silent, crackling—but the roar and explosions had been something entirely different.

She shivered.

Hells.

With a quick thanks to the spirits, she snapped from her woodcraft fugue and glanced around. Doneil watched her, yellow eyes shadowed in the gloom.

“Demons?” he guessed.

“Yes.” His woodcraft wasn’t as good as hers, but the roar had been a strong communication—as was the fire she could now feel at the edge of her consciousness. Whatever was going on, it was big. Gods, hadn’t Nales said his greater demon could fire-rend?

They should probably move.

“Can you tell more about it?” Nales, this time, awake on the other bend from the fire. Closer to her.

Likely, he’d read about woodcraft. Knew how well a rnari Twelfth Circle would use it.

She tilted her head, seeking the connection again, dipping into the seething awareness the forest had become, and found her answer.

“It’s a big one. Smells of fire. And rot. Likely that necromancy you mentioned before.” She bared her teeth as the sensation of death rolled through her. The soft, moist scent of broken earth came to her, followed by the overpowering stench of tainted blood, stinking like a milk tray left to sour. “Definitely that necromancy you mentioned before.”

“Ten hells.” Nales rose from his bedroll.

“Is it the greater demon you talked about earlier?” She didn’t even try to pronounce the name—spoken rentac did not move easily off her tongue. “Is it him?”

“Fire and necromancy, lots of power? Most likely.” Teeth flashed her way as Nales grimaced, the coals of the fire lighting his face briefly as he threw off his bedroll and reached for his sword. “We need to check it out.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “Check it out?”

“Yes. Only greater demons would have anything close to his power, and there is only one greater demon accounted for in this area—historically speaking, anyway.” He grunted, pulling on his swordbelt. “If he’s back, it’s bad news.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” she said.

“Those fey are attacking it.” Doneil, this time, tapping into his woodcraft by the way his head tilted to the side—his must finally have stirred enough for him to sense flashes of things.

“Precisely,” she said. “We can’t just walk into a fight.”

“Yes, we can.” The prince’s voice rang calm as he shoved his foot inside the first boot and laced it up. “It’s quite easy to, I assure you. We can even join in.”

Disbelief punched through her. It felt like all the air around her head was expanding, making her dizzy.

Join in? Was he mad? He wanted to join in on a fight against a greater demon? One who, according to his earlier metaphor, likely had power rivaling greater fey like Kodanh?

“Are you stupid?” she asked, following him the few steps to the end of his bed roll. “Even if it is your greater demon, those fey are attacking him. They’ll rip through us like paper if we get in the way of their spells. Doneil’s shield spell won’t hold that!”

“You don’t have to go,” he grunted, bending for his swordbelt—deliberately putting his back to her. “I can go alone.”

“What?” A laugh dropped out of her, light and hysterical. “You can’t go alone. You’ll die if you go out there.” She paused, unbelieving, watching him prepare. He’d fed the swordbelt through his trouser loops and had almost finished buckling it.

Was he really serious?

“I’m supposed to guard you,” she said.

He grunted, finishing the last buckle and adjusting the hang of his sword. “Then guard me, rnari. But do not get in my way.”

She stepped into his path as he made to leave. “You’re not going.”

“What are you going to do, rnari? Break my hand?” His calm mask broke, anger twisting his face into a heated snarl. Sarcasm cut around his syllables like a knife as he spoke, his face coming so close, his breath brushed over her nose. He made a wild gesture, pointing into the darkness. “They could die if we do nothing. The demon could win.”

“You could die if we do,” she spat. “I can’t allow that. This is your life we’re talking about. This is a real battle, not some whim.” The ridiculousness of the situation made her head swim—was he really serious? Was he really going to do this? She shook her head. “You can’t go. This is stupid.”

His jaw tightened, and her stomach hardened, already seeing the answer in his eyes.

“I’m going.”

He pushed past her and walked into the trees. The crunch of cracked twigs and the rustle of leaves followed him.

She listened as his footsteps retreated into the forest, a hollow mix of disbelief, anger, and anxiety eating at her chest.

Slowly, her gaze moved to Doneil.

“I’m going to end up breaking another prince, aren’t I?”

“They do seem to bring it out of you.” He paused, tilting his head. “It’s quieted.”

So it had.

Maybe the fey had won.

Somehow, she doubted it. That explosion had been big. It was more likely they were all dead, and the demon was picking apart their bones.

And Prince Nales, her charge, was about to go waltzing in, blind as a deaf bat.

Fuck.

She let out a low hiss and snatched her go-pouch from where she’d left it. Her steps made quiet stalking sounds as she paced around the campfire, running a hand down to check her blades and armor before she left.

“Stay awake. Saddle the horses. And give the other human his firearm. It’s in my saddlebag—you know where.” She threw out a pointing hand as she jogged away from the fire. “We’ll be back.”