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Emara shook her arms out, heart drumming as she regarded the small walled outpost in the grassy clearing before her. The stone walls stood at least three times her height, with sharpened stakes poking out of the top, and she had to wonder how well they held off the roving Lost and the Carceroc creatures.

She shifted deep into the shadow of the trees while the guards chattered in front of the wooden gate. As far as she knew, most people had fled the south when it became evident the Dead King was using people to fuel his Lost armies. But apparently there’d been some who either couldn’t get out or who’d been swayed by the sweet words of his commanders. It was well known that Conrad and Ivanora were beautiful, with tongues that spun golden whispers. And rumors said they paid well for those willing to lend their eyes and ears to the Dead King… tasks which the Lost, and even the living Hunters, weren’t terribly skilled.

She closed her eyes, breathing deep as she tried to brace herself for what she was about to do: allow the Dead King’s men to take her captive and bring her to his dwelling in Austerden castle without letting them know she was a willing participant.

On the whole, her part in their gambit was quite small. All she had to do was provide Aza the opportunity to get close enough to Ivanora without the magus sensing her yanaa. She just had to infiltrate the rotting heart of all things dead and horrifying. Sure. Right. What could go wrong with that?

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

Emara opened her eyes to find Shad peering up at her with his one blue eye. She smiled and adjusted the cloak around her shoulders. “Not even a little.”

“You don’t have to go through with it,” Shad said, his tail fluffed in agitation. “We could take a step back and regroup with a different option. There’s no need to rush.”

Emara’s smile widened, bemused by his offhand tone. “You think we’ll be able to come up with a better plan than Aza Thane, the brilliant shadow captain of the north, who’s been stewing over this for… oh I don’t know… a decade?”

Shad’s ears flattened. “Not all of her plans have gone well.”

“This is why you came looking for me, Shad.” She straightened, eyeing the guards once more. “We both know this is our best chance, and we can’t afford to waste any time.”

“That’s not why we came looking, Emara. Even if you had nothing to do with this, we still would’ve searched you out.” He paused, his gaze intent. “The Heirs’ fates have been bound together for centuries—in peace and in war—you are a part of each other.”

A tingle ran down Emara’s spine that she tried to ignore. “And what about you, Shad? With the magus gone, why do you stay?”

He looked away, whiskers twitching. “Perhaps because I don’t want to live in a world overrun by the dead.”

“Me neither.” Emara’s smile returned. “Sounds like as good of a reason to try as any.”

“Fine.” Shad got to his feet, the fur on his back rising anxiously. “But be careful. I’ll stay as close as I can, and the others will trail you from a distance.”

“It’s okay, Shad. If this is how I can help, this is what I want to do.” Crouching, she reached out a hand as an offering. After a pause, he put his paw in her palm. His yanaa pressed against hers, strong and solid. “Thank you for getting me this far,” she said.

The cat stole his paw away as if embarrassed. “Well, don’t make me regret it by getting yourself killed.”

“I couldn’t.” Emara stood, shifting her right foot to reassure herself of the concealed knife in her boot heel—her only weapon once again. “Not when I promised you your first human hug one day.”

Shad’s small jaw opened, but before he could answer, Emara ran out of the trees shrieking. “Help! Please!”

A watchman peered over the sharpened stakes above the wall, his chainmail gleaming in the gibbous afternoon sun. He raised his bow as she half-ran, half-staggered toward the wooden gate.

“Please let me in!” she yelled.

“State your business,” the guardsman called.

Emara glanced back at the tree line, where her fictional band of Lost trailed her. Even so, she really did scan the shadows. Though they hadn’t seen any Lost or other creatures in the last day, that didn’t mean they weren’t out there. “The Rastgol took me prisoner, and the Lost attacked us a-and please let me in.”

“The Rastgol?” The guard’s eyes widened in recognition, and Emara knew she had him. “Open the gate!”

Emara took one last look at the shadowy forest and flashed a victorious smile at the five pairs of eyes she knew looked on. Replacing her look of terror, she turned toward the gate and became a prisoner once again.

The incomplete sun was high in the sky when Emara woke the next day. She sat up with a yawn, her hands loosely tied and her body aching. But this time, she bumped along in the hard bottom of an open wagon, wedged between a crate and a barrel as a legion of no fewer than 25 soldiers escorted her to Austerden for the honor of the Dead King’s summons. She watched the trees pass by on either side in their vivid golds and mulberries, the scent of horses filling the air, and the wagon’s wheels creaking beneath her.

If she closed her eyes for a moment in the cool autumn air, she could even forget that she was a prisoner in the Dead King’s lands. The desperation and terror the Rastgol had carved into her had lightened now that she had allies trailing her every move.

In fact, even getting through this first step had been a lot easier than she’d expected. The soldiers at the outpost had already heard of her capture by the Rastgol and wasted no time picking up the journey where the barbarians left off. Which meant the Dead King was already expecting her somehow. She wondered what else the demon knew in his half-risen state.

Although Aza seemed to be much more concerned about the magus, Ivanora, than the actual demon himself. The sheer number of Lost they’d raised was certainly a testament to their power. So was it so paranoid to think they could somehow divine the ruse Aza and the others had planned?

The thought only swelled the knot of anxiety in her belly. She could probably still call this off at any time. One word, and she had no doubt Aza and the Maldibor would help her escape and journey north.

But so many cogs had already been set in motion. And she was only one.

That evening, they stopped in the wreckage of what had probably once been a bustling town. The buildings had been reduced to crumbling stone walls and chimneys, while grass and weeds choked the road. The soldiers retrieved their supplies from the wagon, and one of them even gave her a fair ration of bread and dried meat.

“Don’t bother making a run for it,” he said in a low voice. “You won’t make it very far, and Lady Ivanora and her lot seem pretty set on getting you alive.”

“Then she should really call off the Lost and all the other murderous creatures she set loose out here,” she said, biting spitefully into the bread.

The man chuckled. “You can say that again. You’d think with those magi he keeps, the Crown would at least be able to control them.” He gave her a nod before joining the other soldiers.

Emara cocked her head, the darkness growing heavier by the moment. Magi? Was there more than one? Perhaps he thought the necromancer, Conrad, was a magus too.

He didn’t exactly look the sort to be concerned with details. The man had a kind face and a round sort of belly—nothing like she would imagine a warrior of the Dead King to be. All of these soldiers were unexpectedly kind, or well, as kind as captors could be. They stopped often to rest, gave her water and food at regular intervals, and were even… polite.

“So why do they do this?” she whispered to herself. “Why not run?

“It’s because of the hostages.”

Emara didn’t even flinch this time as she looked to where Shad lay curled in the corner of the wagon. His erratic comings and goings seemed almost normal now.

“What hostages?”

“Ivanora has been holding nearly the entire city of Austerden captive. Although she allows these soldiers to leave the walls, she keeps their families as hostages to ensure their obedience. If the soldiers stray, she’ll use their loved ones to fuel his Lost army.”

Emara winced. For all the talk of the Dead King, it appeared Ivanora was the one who was truly pulling the strings here. No wonder the soldiers seemed so hopeless. They were just as trapped as she was. “That’s terrible.”

“Those living shields are the same reason why the Heirs haven’t attacked Austerden directly,” Shad continued. “They need to kill Ivanora first. Without her power, Valente wouldn’t be able to control the living, and the Heirs wouldn’t have to sacrifice an entire city of innocents.”

“And you think Aza can do that?” Emara whispered.

It wasn’t that she doubted the Shadow Heir, specifically—she absolutely lived up to the image of Odriel’s assassin. It was just that… Aza was still only one person.

“It’s a risk, but if anyone can do it, she can,” Shad said.

Emara nodded, still not reassured. “And then what will happen?”

Shad considered her for a moment before turning toward the crumbling fountain that stood in the overgrown town center. The elements had worn down the face and broken off the arms until the statue held only the semblance of humanity. Much like the Lost that had brought on its ruin.

“Perhaps then the Heirs can make Okarria beautiful once more,” Shad said.

“You mean like before the war?” Emara tried to remember a time when they weren’t running. Before the Lost crawled the land, monsters stalked the night, and the Rastgol ravaged the west. She couldn’t. “What was that like?”

“I suppose it depends on how far back you go.”

“What about when you were young?”

Shad scoffed, an almost-grin edging his small dark face. “I don’t know if I was ever young.”

“Oh come now, you liar.”

Shad shifted his paws. “I truly don’t remember. After I was cursed, my memories drifted away like a morning fog.”

“Okay, well then, what about after you were cursed?”

“When I was freshly cursed, the Heirs served a king that ruled across Okarria. When the monarchy fell, the Heirs fell with it, and the three cities ruled instead. Then Idriel rose—”

“And the place has been crawling with the dead ever since.” Emara sighed. “I really wish I could’ve seen it before all this.” She gestured to rows upon rows of skeletal chimneys rising up through the ruins like old headstones.

“The world was never perfect. And even if we succeed, it will never be perfect.” Shad’s tail brushed against her. “The only thing we can do is try to make it a little better with the time that we have.”

Emara looked down at the rope tied around her wrists and the scars that now adorned the skin there. Perhaps if she hadn’t spent all of those years running… if she’d tried to join the Heirs instead, they could’ve put an end to all of this long ago. If her mother hadn’t run off in the first place… if she’d stayed by the Heirs, where would they be then? The regret nearly knocked the breath from her. “I should’ve—”

“Don’t second guess the past.” Shad fixed his one-eyed stare on her, and Emara had to wonder if he could read her thoughts. “The paths are many, but we can never know where any of them lead. Once chosen, we can only go forward. No use carrying the weight of past mistakes when you still have so many to make in the future.”

Emara snorted, a smile curving her lips as her eyelids drooped. “Well, thanks for that reassuring thought, Shadmundar.”

“No one ever appreciates my wisdom,” he replied, curling tighter into a ball.

“I said thank you.”

“Just because I’m a cat doesn’t mean I don’t understand sarcasm.”

Emara pulled a thin blanket over herself as she lay on the hard wagon bed, staring up at the dark night. Although the uncertain tasks and danger still lay ahead of them, the knot of anxiety had loosened in her stomach. “Thanks for being here, Shadmundar. I know there were many paths, but thank you for choosing this one.”