We were six on the azi: the Dark asha and I; Lords Kalen, Fox, and Khalad; and the Lady Zoya, who insisted on coming despite all opposition. The flight to Drycht was brief. We bypassed the populated cities of the desert kingdom: Rasha, Karinsha, even my once-home, Adra-al. There were no other civilizations to the east of the continent; a slew of mountains surrounded the dried lands, unfit for living for several thousand years. There was a reason they call Drycht “the Impenetrable Kingdom.” If the harsh, unforgiving sun did not bake you dry, then the absence of water, runes or otherwise, made death long and lingering.

We flew past the Dry Lands and into the Ring of Worship: a mountainous posy of craggy peaks and unscalable heights that protected a small, barren circle of sand. There was little that could be called life there; nothing but tiny, horned lizards and unhealthy shoots of brown moss. An unknown cataclysm—Vernasha perhaps, as Lord Garindor believed and Agnarr claimed—had corrupted what history swore was a lush, fertile greenscape, and four of the Five Great Heroes had met their ends here. How, no one had ever been certain.

The rest of the daeva were already present, but they gave the broken circle of mountains a wide berth, their reluctance to draw closer obvious.

“She is here,” the Dark asha murmured as we disembarked. “She is not even hiding it.”

“What happens now?” Zoya asked.

“Say and do nothing until Tea orders it,” Kalen told her. “You could have stayed with Kance, you know. Shadi would not be happy, you coming along.”

“Shadi isn’t here. And we need a representative from Kion to see this through. Empress Alyx would appreciate my efforts.” She leaped to the bone witch’s aid when the latter stumbled, her breathing uneven. Kalen sprang to her other side, arm hooked underneath hers.

“Are you sure about this, Tea?” the Kion asha asked, biting her lip. “You aren’t well. You cannot think to go there and confront Druj in your weakened state.”

“I am not going to get any better, Zoya.” The Dark asha straightened. “It would do you and the bard well to stay outside the ring and let the rest of us enter.”

“I didn’t come all the way here to be banned from fighting. I can feel the wards, and they’re far too strong to unravel.” Lady Zoya paused, looking down. A sob rose from her. “I’m sorry. I haven’t apologized, have I? All those years waiting for the right time, never realizing there would never be one until I made it so. I’m sorry.”

The Dark asha laughed her little, golden laugh. “You’ve apologized many times over with actions rather than words…but I am happy, all the same.”

“We’ll go in with you, and we’ll come out together. Years from now, we’ll laugh about our foolishness. Just you wait.”

“But how?” Lord Khalad asked. “With the wards in place, none of you can use spells.”

“There’s one more way,” Lady Zoya said. “We can link with each other to overcome the wards. Linking with all the daeva will be more than enough to counteract those barriers—not even a Faceless of Druj’s caliber could withstand all seven. But with such potential for destruction, Tea isn’t in any shape to confront Druj on her own. If the rest of us could tap into the reserves she holds, it will be enough. But we’ll need to lure Druj out of the ring and into the open. If we can’t bring the daeva to her, then let’s bring her to them instead.”

The daeva retreated farther as we approached the ranges. “Garindor was right,” Lord Kalen said. “There is something within these ruins that they fear, and I suspect it isn’t Druj’s wards. We can convince them to linger by the entrance, but they’ll take no further steps.”

There was nothing majestic or breathtaking about the Ring of Worship. There was only a long stretch of sand within that circle of mountains, no more than one or two kilometers in diameter, with only a narrow passage as entrance and exit. The sky was a giant, blue eye above us, peering in. Strange, yellowing plants—pale and unhealthy looking yet thriving despite the lack of rain—crept along the edges where the mountains threw meager shade.

There were no stones or monuments to decorate this place, no inkling that four great warriors had entered here and never left. Rashnu’s accounts of his comrades’ fates had talked of a sacred tree, of a light so fierce that it had turned able warriors into nothing in an instant. I stepped warily inside, searching for unseen dangers I knew I had no skill at sighting.

Druj showed no such prudence. She stood at the very center with her back to us, staring down at her feet as the Dark asha approached. The strange woman wore a cowl to obscure her vision, carefully wrapped in heavy robes to deter the sun’s heat. Beside her was the only patch of green on the desolate field—a paltry festering of weedy plants with tiny, apple-shaped fruit that swayed gently in the wind.

Kalen signaled for us to stay behind, letting his beloved walk on alone. “Whatever you do,” he muttered tersely, “do not stray too close to those runeberries.”

“They’re unlike any runeberries I’ve ever seen before,” Lady Zoya murmured.

Lord Khalad grunted in understanding. “The First Harvest, aren’t they?”

“I would have thought they’d look more impressive…”

“So did four of the Great Heroes, I’d wager, and it cost them their lives.”

The Faceless spoke up. “I take it you have saved your Odalian king and other kingdoms besides.”

“You wanted them to invade Adra-al,” the bone witch responded. “You wanted them to watch in horror as you transformed the people there into your blighted pets. No doubt you had already killed Aadil.”

“I must plan my own precautions. But their lives are spared now that you are here. You were victorious at the Hollows. Isn’t it nice how things work out?” She turned to smile at us, and she wore the face of the asha Altaecia. Zoya’s breath left her in a soft, shuddering gasp.

“Assume your own face, you scum,” the Dark asha snarled. “You aren’t worthy of hers.”

“Even knowing she betrayed you, Tea? You still harbor fond memories of my ward?”

“She did what she thought was right, misguided as she was. You convinced her that you would rid the world of magic. You lie. I know better.”

“How do I lie?” The Faceless’s face rippled, her own lovely features supplanting the other asha’s. She was a breathtaking beauty, as the bone witch had described, though there was a cruel tilt to her mouth. “We want the same thing. You will not live for much longer, and you must make a choice soon. Will you take the First Harvest and save us from magic, or will you subvert it to create a paradise of your own making?”

The bone witch hesitated.

“It is not so easy, is it, to talk of saving the world before you’ve experienced true power coursing through your veins?”

“You do not want to rid the world of magic,” Lady Tea declared. “You will fade in influence and position, just like the elder asha you suspect. If you cannot complete shadowglass yourself, then you seek to influence the one who can—or will attempt to steal it.”

“I am far too cautious to do the latter. But my advice will be worth your while,” the former oracle promised. “I vow on the graves of Ashi, Mithra, Anahita, and Sraosha underneath my feet that I will protect Kion. I will guide King Kance into a golden age of prosperity, and Empress Alyx and her daughter as well. I will take care of Likh, Lord Khalad.”

The Heartforger bared his teeth. “Like hell you will.”

“You lie,” the bone witch repeated. “Once I create shadowglass, you will take it from me, weak as I am, and force your own will into the world. You know the original legends better than anyone else. Blade that Soars proved capable of seizing shadowglass, and he would have, had not Hollow Knife chosen to halt the spell. You of all people know that shadowglass can be wrested away from the one who creates it.”

“You blighted people on a whim,” Lord Fox snapped. “You can no longer resume your place in Kion society after this unless it’s in chains. You have no plans of letting us leave this place alive.”

“I trusted Althy!” Zoya cried. “Shadi, Mykkie—everyone trusted you! How dare you? How could you?”

“Do you not believe my intentions?” the Faceless implored the Dark asha. “How could I be so strong as to steal shadowglass in the face of you all? I am powerless now, as I will be then, and I will choose to be so willingly.”

The Dark asha looked back at her, stared hard. She folded her hands behind her. “Where are the letters you stole?” Lady Tea asked. “The ones you took from the bard?”

Druj drew the papers from within her robes. “I had to take them, of course. I could not have my disguise revealed, not then. The dead Altaecia in your story would have turned suspicion against me. I could not learn of Kance’s plans while I was the oracle, so I had to adopt Altaecia’s—”

She broke off. The former oracle smiled, and a peculiar sleepiness overcame me.

“I do not know how you learned of the Blight rune, for the Gorvekai never told you,” the bone witch all but purred. “But they told me many things after I emerged from my second trial at Stranger’s Peak. They told me of more uses for runes that not even you know of and modifications to the runes you do. Did you know that the Scrying rune can be woven into common items, not only a person’s mind? In letters, for instance? Did you know that the spell can be modified to find one specific individual and not the others who touch it? Or that it could serve as a beacon for me to find you?”

A sharp gasp left the oracle.

“You knew you could hide your mind from me. You were clever. I would not have thought of using Althy’s face for your disguise, to strut about like she was still alive. You wove wards around Kion to prevent me access, convinced Alyx it was necessary. Even with the daeva, I could not find your thoughts, and so I relied on other means. Did you not realize the uselessness of your camouflage the moment you abandoned the Hollows and sailed to Drycht? That I knew who you were hiding as, where you were, the instant your hand touched the parchment?”

The papers fluttered out of the Faceless’s grasp and drifted to the ground.

Immediately, a foreign presence pushed into my mind, frantic, seeking leverage. But the bone witch’s presence was already there, forcing her out—though not without some effort. Lord Kalen moved, the Wind he conjured holding the Faceless motionless. Lady Zoya lifted her hands, no doubt adding to his strength.

But the Faceless attacked again, with both her mind and another weapon. A roar thundered behind me.

A terrible beast climbed out from the sand, blocking our exit—not a daeva, but with a daeva’s height and breadth. It was a corpse with a skeleton-like face, sharp bones jutting around it like a lion’s mane. It sported eight legs like a spider, each tipped with cruel hooks. It snarled at us with dead eyes. I knew who it was.

The blighted King Aadil leaped, too quickly for me to anticipate, but Lord Kalen stepped into its path, taking the blow meant for me. There was a sickening crunch as its hooks closed on his shoulder, tearing through flesh. Lord Fox dashed forward and swiped at the beast’s head, slicing off the top of its skeletal cranium. The gaunt creature skittered back, shook itself, and jumped again.

“Thanks.” The Deathseeker sent a wall of wind knives digging into its bony midsection, slicing off more limbs. Aadil howled.

The Faceless was relentless, burning a vision in my head, digging into my psyche, trying to mark her victory. But the Dark asha was just as obstinate. I felt her mind pushing out Druj to prevent her from wresting control. I saw the others struggle with the same assault, protected only by their strong willpowers and the asha’s assistance.

How Lord Fox and Lord Kalen could still fight was bewildering to me; I could feel nothing but pain radiating from inside my skull. I understood why the bone witch feared the woman’s skills; to attack us all at once while still maintaining command of the blighted Aadil was not an easy feat—one the Dark asha could only do with darksglass.

Both familiars moved in unison; blades snapping, their feet quick and agile, they circled Aadil on either side, some unspoken strategy passing between them. Lord Kalen was the first to attack, worrying at the shinbones that kept the beast upright. The demon snapped at him, giving Lord Fox a chance to swipe at its rib cage. The former king staggered; the Deathseeker took out its right shoulder, and the Kion general cut through a hip bone.

Lady Zoya had been sidestepping the fracas, zigzagging as she ran from one section of sand to the other. Her actions confused me until the ground gave out underneath the Aadil-beast without warning, sending it scrabbling for a fresh hold. But it was a mere distraction for the beast, and the asha swore. “I can’t draw Water here or channel it with other runes,” she rasped. “There is something in this place that absorbs the spell before I can unleash it!” She cursed again. “And look!”

Her spell had uncovered corpses buried within the sand—not four of the Five Great Heroes I expected, but men in Drychta armor.

“This is blasphemy,” Lord Khalad hissed. “To bring them to this sacred place!”

“I have no need for courtesies, Forger.” The Faceless was clearly struggling, but she had enough strength to sketch a new symbol in the air. With low groans, the fallen warriors rose, staggered to their feet, sunken eyes fixed on us.

“Not today!” The Dark asha whipped out her own sword. Her heels dug into the rising sands as she fought her way toward the Faceless. The other woman raised both arms as if to ward herself, and several corpses rushed to her side. But the Dark asha was almost as quick as her familiars, and she mowed them down easily, driven by her anger. She employed a combination of blade and spells, chopping her way through the crowd as some of those corpses turned on each other without warning, egged on by her compulsion. She sliced a path through the masses of bodies and swung her sword at the Faceless before the other could muster more of the undead to shield herself.

Lord Fox’s blade sank into Aadil’s hollowed chest. Lord Kalen’s sword whirred through the air and neatly sliced off the blighted’s head. Lady Zoya kept the other fiends at bay, grunting as runes tore into them, one after another.

Druj was gasping for breath, her hand clasped over her now-bloody stomach. The Dark asha stood over her. “You will regret killing me, Tea,” she snarled, though the fear in her eyes was clear to all.

“I do not have the strength to engage you in direct confrontation.” Sweat beaded at the bone witch’s upper lip, and she was panting. “I presumed that you were sent word of my bard when I was still in Daanoris. You knew I planned to tell my story. How quickly did you meet my brother at Ankyo’s port, wondering if it was already too late—if I had told all? What relief that must have been to discover they had not yet read my letters. Did you perhaps compel some of them from reading the final pages, to keep your secret a little longer? Even from across a sea, you’ve always had a long reach.”

I gasped, remembering.

“You were meant to read them,” Tea of the Embers declared. “Even with my shadowglass, you are cleverer, craftier in the Dark. You will wreak havoc with or without magic. You will never again have the opportunity.”

She brought her sword down in a swift gesture.

The Faceless screamed, and her fingers moved one final time.

The blow should have killed her. It did not.

Druj’s features warped. Her transformation was swift and merciless. Her legs fused together to create a long, serpentlike tail. Her face was a terrifying specter; her hair lengthened and then darkened as brown sap dripped from it, acid hissing steam wherever the drops landed. She was almost as tall as a daeva, with insect-like eyes and incisors growing where her mouth once was. Unlike the other blighted, she retained some of her female features, a mother of some new species that no god should have ever brought to life.

The Dark asha reeled back, stunned, and the newly blighted Faceless wailed, a heartrending sound, and bounded for her throat.