I awoke in a room of solid stone, with no openings save for a single slat in the iron door. There was no furniture. When I opened my eyes, I was on

the ground. I was alone. No Brayan.

I pushed myself to my feet—my body was not happy about that—and tried to find a way to orient myself. The slat in the door was covered with iron, which I presumed would open at some point when someone decided they wanted me. The only light spilled from beneath the door. No lanterns I could use, torches I could manipulate. Not that I could, anymore.

Just to be sure, I tried to use my magic and was rewarded by searing pain and not so much as a spark. In the darkness, I could make out severe blistering on my forearms, along the lines of the Stratagram tattoos.

Any naive hope that I had somehow managed to cure myself fell away. Brayan. Where was he?

Was he dead?

I pushed that thought, and the ensuing stab of fear, as far into the back of my mind as it would go. I needed to think.

Evaluate.

Where was I? How long had I been out? Long enough to take me back to Ara? The ground was still. This was not a boat. I rubbed a finger on the stone wall. Smooth stone, not rough-hewn brick. No hint of sulfur in the smell of it. No dampness.

Judge.

This wasn’t Ara.

So I was still in Threll, then. That was good news.

I pounded on the door, bellowing a string of expletive-laden demands.

Then pressed my ear to the iron and listened.

Faint footsteps in the distance. Hints of garbled Thereni. A few words of Aran.

“…awake.”

“Give it…hours. Wait…be here.”

Hours until what? Until I was transported back to Ara?

That would be good, at least. If they opened the door, I could fight my way out. They’d be ready for that. Without my magic, I probably wouldn’t even have a chance. But I’d rather die fighting than go back to Nura’s table willingly.

Besides, there were other benefits to fighting, even in a fight that would end in guaranteed defeat.

Act.

I pressed my back to the wall behind the door, and waited.

I’D EXPECTED them to be eager to get me back to Ara. No doubt Nura would feel much more comfortable the minute I was safely encased in Ilyzath’s walls.

But hours passed. No one came. I pressed my ear to the door, trying to steal any shards of information that I could glean through thick iron.

The only clue as to why came in one of the few clear strings of words I managed to hear:

“…she’ll come…they’re…sure.” She?

Eventually, the door opened.

I was ready. The soldier, a young man, hit the ground in seconds. I struck the next before he had time to see his friend fall—before he had time to call for help. Through the open door, I glimpsed freedom. A stone hallway. Dead end to the left. Exit to the right.

I seared the layout into my memory.

I managed to take down four of them. But by the time I turned on the fifth, four more men had joined them, overwhelming me. I hit the floor in a heap, wind knocked out of me by the largest of my assailants.

“’Scended, I didn’t think he’d get through so many without magic,” one of the guards muttered.

“I’m flattered,” I wheezed.

“You think we’re stupid, captain? Think we wouldn’t be prepared for you?”

No, not really. But it was worth a shot.

Besides, I didn’t need to win. I just needed to see.

Two of the guards yanked me to my feet. One, a woman, was a Valtain. The other, a young man, wore a sun sigil on his jacket. The Order of Daybreak. They had more Wielders here than I might have expected.

A middle-aged man wearing a captain’s uniform leaned against the doorframe. He eyed the wall, newly drenched in light from outside. He nodded towards it. “What’s that?”

I turned to see a messy drawing etched into the dark stone, faintly, as if with a fingernail—three familiar shapes, in a familiar arrangement. I didn’t even remember drawing it, but then again, my hands so often just idled in that pattern.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I grumbled.

“It’s clearly a map,” one of the other guards said. “Some sort of islands.”

“None that I recognize,” another added.

“Copy it down before it rubs away,” the captain said, turning to leave. “And take him for a walk. Edges of the compound.”

A walk?

My first thought was that this must be some sort of metaphor. A walk to an executioner’s block, perhaps. But no. The walk was just a walk. My ankles and wrists were shackled, and I was brought outside into blinding late-afternoon sunshine.

It was immediately obvious that we were, as I suspected, still in Threll. The compound was made of polished cream-colored stone, surrounded by fern-dense forests. There were only a handful of small buildings here, encircled by high stone walls. My captor took me along the edges of the grounds.

It took me awhile to realize that we were walking in circles.

“What the hell is this for?” I asked my companion. “My mental health?” He shot me a look that bordered on apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. “I fought with you in the civil war. Best captain I’ve ever had.”

I did not remember this man at all.

“Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say. I knew it wasn’t his fault. He was a soldier, and orders were orders. “I can’t convince you to free me, can I?”

He gave me a half-smile, half-grimace, and I sighed. “I figured not.” By the third lap, I came to a conclusion.

She’ll come, I’d heard the guards say. I was being used as bait. But for whom?

Time blurred. We walked and walked and walked. It was kind of them, at least, to give me such a comprehensive view of the layout of the compound.

Halfway through this never-ending journey, I felt a strange prickling beneath my skin, as if there was some invisible force in the air that called to me.

I stopped short, looking into the forest, seeing nothing but the wall and the greenery beyond it.

“Come on,” the guard muttered, and nudged me along.

Half an hour later, my guard was relieved. The person who replaced him was a middle-aged man who wore a different uniform, black instead of Order of Daybreak green. A Threllian.

He said nothing until our second lap, when we crossed the quiet side of the compound. Then, just as we passed behind a building, he leaned closer and whispered in Aran so heavily accented that I barely understood him.

“We have too few guards. West part empty at night. Your brother in southern building. Door will be open.”

Then he grabbed my hand, and the movement was so abrupt that I didn’t realize what he had given me until he had pulled us along, walking again as if nothing had happened. I closed my hand around that piece of metal, and then carefully slipped it up my sleeve.

A key.

The guard didn’t speak another word to me. I didn’t have the faintest clue why a Threllian guard would help me escape, but I was in no position to start questioning gifts.

I was taken back to my cell after the sun set, after hours of walking around the outside of the compound. I sat there in the darkness, staring at

the door. The key, I quickly realized, was not for this door, which didn’t open at all from the inside. Was it for Brayan’s, then? For the gate?

Hours later, as I was sitting in pitch darkness, a faint click sounded. The door creaked open into an empty hallway.

Ascended above. This definitely had to be some sort of trap. This was too fucking easy.

I crept from my cell, sliding along the walls, allowing myself to fall back into the shadows. The guard was right—I could see now that they were indeed woefully understaffed here. Maybe they needed to send soldiers to other locations at night in order to distribute forces. Earlier today, it would have been nearly impossible to sneak from one building to another—too many soldiers and too little cover. But now? I could hide in the shadows easily, and there were rarely more than two guards on a single path. I managed to slip past the soldiers monitoring the one from my cell to the southmost building. The door was locked, and my key didn’t open it, but a cracked window offered me a way in, even if scraping my blistered skin along the sill made me wince.

Inside, six prison cells—more open and less secure than mine. Five were empty. And the sixth—

Brayan leapt to his feet. “I thought they executed you.”

“Sh,” I hissed, scrambling to open his cell, though my first impulse was to say, I’m very glad you’re alive, too.

“These people are idiots,” he said as I unlocked his door. “They don’t watch what they say in front of me. You’re being used as bait.”

“I know.” I pushed his door open. “I don’t think we have much—”

He added, frowning, “Does the name Tisaanah Vytezic mean anything to you?”

I stopped short. “What?”

“It’s familiar, but I can’t place it. It sounds like that’s the person they’re

—”

Bang!

We both whirled around. A sudden commotion rang out in the north end

of the compound, a cacophony of crashes and voices.

I couldn’t move. I felt a strange sensation that reminded me of the one that had nagged at me during the walk earlier—but now it was stronger, overwhelming. I felt it down to my bones. Something familiar.

Brayan was already halfway down the hall. “Why are you just standing there? Let’s go.”

I didn’t know how I’d answer that question—even if I’d had time to before the door to the compound flew open.