The lone Ice Tribe city nestled against the northern ocean—a place of wonder for a girl who had spent her early days at a homestead far to the south. Little Tazi, as her first broodmasters called her, never saw ocean, nor much beyond the few cabins enclosed by the white palisades that defined her childhood world. Even after nearly a year in the swarm of Knight Gaeliz, Natazia hadn’t lost the sense of awe at the immensity of the life around her. Here, she wasn’t the center of anything but rather a speck of snow in a vast blizzard. This dispersion was a welcome reprieve after Riverwatch.

If she could describe Loxzua in three words they would be beautiful, whimsical, chaos. Buildings constructed from stone, exotic timbers from across the strait, or materials from distant lands like Leveria, Kavova, and Isihla, were scattered without any pragmatic pattern. Homesteads were meticulously arranged to for survival in the brutal wilds where nothing could be wasted or without reason. In contrast, Loxzua was like an imaginative child playing pretend with building blocks trying to see how many different colors and shapes they could use.

Homesteads, like the one Natazia grew up in, were places where crafters created what they needed to subsist. But Loxzua? It was lined with ice carvings of ancient heroes, dragons, exquisite figures, and fearsome monsters like ulfhedinn. Perhaps its crowning spectacle was a massive two-hundred-foot giganaska sculpture that wound through clusters of homes, markets, and taverns. Dragonbone archways led through the city, their surfaces shimmering with the scales of fire and ice. Loxzua was a paradox, its beauty and artistry standing defiant against the harshness of Volqor. It was, perhaps, the most quintessentially Qoryxa-esque locale in the world—a place of ice and breathtaking splendor.

Foreigners, an impossibility in the wilderness, bustled here among the docks and markets. They visited taverns and mingled with merchants before shipping out again. Even embassies from distant lands resided in the city’s sculpture-lined warrens, communing with the dragon knights, merchants, and captains of Volqor.

One ambassador, Lyonel Vollonaro, caught Natazia’s eye this year. She dreamed he could take her away from here, back to the jungles of Kavova or the grand metropolis of Sapphirica, which made Loxzua seem as quaint as a homestead. Maybe in such faraway places she could outrun the nightmares and the constant dread of Hatrox.

But that wasn’t true, and she knew it.

Hatrox had flown to Leveria to track another girl that had fled him. The only reason he hadn’t come for her was that he didn’t want her anymore. He broke her, wholly and completely. Instead of fighting back, she went to a place of cold where the pain was more distant. She laid down, no longer bothering to resist. After a moon of this, he finally let her go, making sure nobody could ever make her theirs, then hitting her only with parting words. Those words followed her, lingering constantly, even though she hadn’t seen him in all this time. If he discovered that she tried to fight again, if he sensed even a shred of joy in her life, she knew he would come back and steal it all away again.

“Your orders, broodleader?” Zyryxa asked.

The immaculate warrior tried to mask her nerves, but Natazia could see the cracks: the slight increase in pitch, the forced, flat stare, trying too hard to maintain posture that it became rigid. It was like staring into a mirror, except, the reflection she saw was superior to her in every way imaginable. She had to remember that this inhumanely beautiful creature wasn’t as perfect as she seemed. None of them were.

Natazia dismounted her drake, Xilliax, named for one of her original broodmothers. The drake’s chilling howls brought back memories of Xillia’s singing. Learning to ride the past few days had been enjoyable, like nearly everything she did with these three.

But she couldn’t fully embrace the joy they brought her. This close to Riverwatch, she expected Hatrox to appear at any moment to snatch away what little joy Natazia could still fill into her broken vessel.

“We’ll split into three groups,” Natazia said. “I’ll procure provisions from Gaeliz’s quartermaster. Zyryxa, get information on the tasks from Abbaz. Lexyn, gather medica supplies and brew some warming tonics.”

“Forgetting someone?”

Natazia glanced around, twisting her head in a complete circle before settling on Sir Giganaska. His teasing was something she had come to enjoy—a reminder of how life had been before. Pelzyq was much like Zalver had been, always falsely dramatic, always bringing smiles. She let him sweat, already knowing what he would do.

“Who would you like to go with, Pelzyq?” she asked.

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Pelzyq stroked his chin. “Pelzyq’s choice is difficult. Three beautiful women, all so charming and capable...” He hemmed and hawed, his lascivious gaze sizing each of them up.

“Enough,” Zyryxa snapped. “Just go with Lexyn and try not to get lost. I don’t want to spend the next three days scouring taverns and alleys for you.”

Pelzyq blinked at her. “Pelzyq will not be going with this one.”

“Zyryxa,” Lexyn said softly, “would you like company when you meet with Abbaz?”

Zyryxa hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I need to do this alone.” She met Lexyn’s gaze and added, “But thank you.”

“Anything he can tell us about the tasks,” Natazia reminded her, worried Zyryxa’s emotions would cloud good judgment. Then, knowing that Zyryxa’s pride was as tender as a wounded direwolf, she softly added, “You’ve got this, warrior.”

“Of course I do,” Zyryxa said, spreading her arms as she backstepped into Loxzua. Her huge coldscale followed obediently. “How hard can it be to pull information from a bard? All they do is talk.”

“As easy as getting a baby to cry,” Pelzyq quipped.

“Easier,” Zyryxa shot back with a sharp smile. She gave her signature curt nod, disappearing into the city. Not only did the three of them watch her, but she drew the attention of every stranger on the path.

Zyryxa moved with such charisma that Natazia couldn’t stop the pang of envy from rising up and pulling her down. The free-spirited way she used to attract people by being the loudest, proudest, and most cheerful person in the room was a relic from another life. Just as tattoos couldn’t turn the scars beneath them into something beautiful, no amount of trying to act like the person she once was brought her back.

Lexyn tilted her head at her man. “And what do you know about getting babies to cry?”

“Don’t worry,” he replied, winking at her. “Before we’re done, I will teach you everything you need to know about crying babies.”

Lexyn raised a single eyebrow, her cheeks blooming pink. “Let’s take things one day at a time.”

Natazia cleared her throat. “Meet me at Sapphire of the Sea when you’re finished.”

“The fucking what?” Pelzyq said.

Lexyn laughed. “A Leverian operated tavern near the Leverian docks and Sapphire embassy.”

Natazia averted her eyes. There was a reason she chose a place close to the Sapphire embassy and he was gorgeous with yellow hair and sapphire eyes. Maybe she’d have the courage to say something today.

No, she wouldn’t, she knew. Not with Hatrox in the back of her mind saying that she belonged to him, telling her that nobody would want her now, broken as she was.

She slapped them both on the back, giving an awkward nod with a wink. Yet, she was neither Zyryxa nor Matyxal. Just the ashes left behind after the flames burnt away a once vibrant girl.

“We’ll need to work on that,” Pelzyq teased, reaching out to pinch Natazia’s cheek.

“Focus on your task,” she snapped, slapping away his hand before turning away sharply to hide the heat rising on her face.

That girl once believed she was enough. Now, every time she fell short, even over something as trivial as a signature gesture, she heard his voice echo in her mind like steel on a stone wall: You’re nothing without me.

Gripping Xilliax’s reins, Natazia strode into Loxzua, her bare feet gliding over the icy streets. She tried to outrun his voice. She always was. And she always failed. Why did she keep fooling herself into thinking this time would be any different? Why couldn’t she accept that the little girl she’d been was dead and gone? All that remained was the woman who was dead inside, who would never be able to create life within herself.

A tap on her shoulder jolted her. Spinning around instinctively, she reached for her spear, her heart pounding as her hand closed around its shaft. She barely stopped herself from plunging the weapon into Pelzyq’s throat.

Pelzyq took a step back, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Lexyn stood a few paces behind him with both of their drakes in tow, her expression soft and pitying. She wished she could disappear. What had Pelzyq said several nights ago? Venture out into the ice and never wake.

“What?” she barked, snarling at them.

“We just wanted to say,” Pelzyq began, his tone unusually somber, “that you’ve got this.”

Lexyn nodded, her gaze steady and kind. “Until next time.”

The significance of those words coming out of the mouth of a Leverian wasn’t lost on Natazia. “We’ll see each other before the day’s done.”

“I know,” Lexyn said. “Still—until next time, Natazia.”

For a moment, Natazia stared at them, part of her wanting to go to the numb place where she felt nothing. Then, she gave a curt little nod.

“Getting better,” Pelzyq said with a sly grin.

Natazia growled, but a smiled tugged at the corners of her lips. “Until next time.”

This time, when she walked away, his voice was just a whisper. Like a speck of snow in a vast blizzard instead of the blizzard itself.