“You can ask me a question, if you’d like,” she said.

She was Lord Agnarr’s daughter, called Solveiga, Strength of the Sun. It was a strange name for someone who has spent most of her years in winter, under the shadow of a mountain. “We prize what we do not always have,” she responded, and I could not refute her logic.

Here, sitting on her horse in ungainly furs as we traveled to southern Odalia with the rest of the Kion army, she looked at ease with the world. I envied this skill of hers—it was one I had never been able to master.

“Did your father tell the Dark asha the secrets of shadowglass?” I spotted Lord Agnarr riding with Lord Fox, the two engaged in deep conversation. The asha’s brother seemed troubled, but they were too far away for their words to reach us.

She nodded at her father. “That was the same question your general asked earlier. As Lady Tea’s familiar, Lord Fox will die should she complete the spell. His courage is commendable, but he has no reason to worry. A touch of the First Harvest upon his own, and he will be saved.”

I said, “He didn’t want his sister to take shadowglass. He knows she will die from it.”

“She’s been dying for a long time, milord. There is a reason why we keep shadowglass a secret. There is a reason why Faceless seek us out despite not truly understanding the tenets of Hollow Knife. We have been threatened by the Faceless more times than they have threatened kingdoms, and still they balk at rising against us. Once we are gone, their hopes cannot come to fruition. We cannot be compelled, and their holds on daeva have always been tenuous—not as complete as Lady Tea’s. Should she join darksglass and lightsglass with the First Harvest, then she too becomes a creature of magic. Do you not see what happens next?”

“If all magic dies,” I began slowly, and then understood, “so will she.”

“It is a strong possibility. I suspect she has realized the same, and that is why she makes many plans. She has two familiars now, doesn’t she?”

“Lord Kalen would rather share her fate than gain another lifetime without her, milady.”

“Perhaps. We are wary of those who come seeking shadowglass. We trust the mountain to judge the worthy. Lady Tea will become like a goddess herself. She could choose to divest herself of those powers—perhaps sacrificing her life in the process—or use them to hold dominion over us as a god. Though the mountain rejects those who choose the latter. That is why so many runebinders fail its test. That is why so many Faceless are desperate for another way.”

A yell rose from the vanguard. Clouds of dust swirled as weapons were drawn. Lord Fox swore loudly and rode on ahead, the rest of the soldiers at his heels.

A small regiment of dead Drychta littered the ground. We could not gauge their numbers at first glance, for many had been torn apart.

Three blighted creatures crouched over the remains, the sickening crunch of sharp teeth on bone loud over the horse hooves. The smallest of the creatures lifted its crab-like head, swiveled eyeless sockets our way, and screeched.

Lord Fox was several gallops ahead of everyone else. His sword bit into the beast’s armored neck, sending its head flying. The body tottered, extremities twitching, and was promptly ridden down by Chief.

The other two were not as easy to kill. The first was an eight-foot spider, half-submerged in the loam. Its head was a rotting skull, sticky silk webs spreading underneath its spinnerets. At the end of each leg was a fierce humanlike hand with hooks for fingernails. They swiped at the soldiers drawing closer, quicker than the beast’s size suggested. The second resembled a giant piranha on hind legs with an upward-pointing mouth, jaws wider than the tallest man, and teeth asymmetrically pointed.

I backed away from the horrific scene, and several of the men did the same, their horses whinnying in fear. Lord Fox never faltered; his sword cut through one of the spider legs, avoiding its grasp. Lord Rahim was the next to reach them, and he hacked rhythmically at the rest of the splayed limbs like he was chopping wood. Lord Knox released a battle cry and charged forward, some of the braver Yadoshans following suit. Above my head, I saw arcs of fire as both Deathseekers and asha unleashed their spells, and soon the sky overhead was filled with lightning and the sounds of brutal fighting.

My horse stumbled. I fell, rolling across the ground, rocks cutting into my arms and hands. Petrified, I stared into the maw of the piscine horror, irisless eyes gaping down at me.

Suddenly, Solveiga sprung into view, her palms crackling with magic. The thing shrieked its agony as it took in a gill-ful of magic that sliced its way out from within. Solveiga grabbed me, and we fled.

It was hard work, killing nightmares. By the end of the day, the grounds were littered with new, grisly dead, and the army had lost half a dozen men for their trouble. Lord Fox, covered in blood not his own, ordered his men to burn the corpses, to see to the wounded, and then to push on with the march.

“Still eager to come with us, Bard?” he asked wryly.

I was trembling, the fish creature’s gaping gullet still burned into my mind. “I must, milord.”

“I cannot promise you there will be no more of these abominations. I can’t promise you your life.”

“I must, milord. Even the dead have their stories.”

“Yes.” He smiled then. “And if we both survive this, we might have more to tell you.”