Chapter 1

Waking up alive when you should be dead usually gave the morning a sense of infinite possibility, but not today.

In a few hours we would leave for Nightcairn, deep in the Taranth Mountains corrupted by Corvus's ancient, sinister magic.

According to Zephryn's latest report, every hollow and chasm oozed with the Old God's foul darkness, which meant we'd face not only the treacherous terrain, but whatever dangers lurked in the shadows.

I'd tossed and turned all night, so before I even opened my eyes, I breathed in everyone's scents, pine and musk and cinnamon, pinpointing where everyone was by smell alone.

Raziel dozing to my right. Tavion snoring on my left. Tristan was, most likely, in his own room and Zorander was…

My brow wrinkled. Not here.

My fiercest protectors kept me cocooned inside a warm, safe nest of powerful bodies while the outside world spiraled out of control.

In a few hours we'd face the worst of that chaos.

Ever since I'd dropped the protective ward between realms, magic ran rampant in Solarys, the burgeoning forest shoving up from the south like an unstoppable wave, while Corvus's corruption crept down from the north, devouring everything we'd rebuilt.

Blackcastle was about to be crushed between two devastating forces. I couldn't do anything about the forest, but Corvus had to be stopped.

After killing two kings and freeing their realms, I wasn't ready to go back to war.

But—story of my life—we were the only ones strong enough to take him on.

I slid out from between Raziel and Tavion and climbed over Tristan, wincing when my feet hit the freezing floor. One glance at the cold fireplace told me Zorander had left hours ago, probably making sure the city was secure.

Which was turning out to be a full-time job.

A handful of citizens were locked in the dungeons for their own safety until they learned to control their newly emerged magic. Two were awaiting execution for murdering an innocent shopkeeper, while three would be banished for assaulting refugees.

Chaos was slowly becoming order, but stability came at a steep price.

And left me feeling…dirty.

I'd be a fool to think cities rebuilt themselves, and I chewed on my lip as I dropped a borrowed dress from Sophie over my head, then padded out to survey the three exhausted males still fast asleep in my bed.

There was something so perfect about the sight that my heart squeezed tight before I turned away, determined not to waste today tangled in pointless emotions. There wasn't time for me to fall apart anyway. We only had this morning to tie up loose ends before we left for Nightcairn.

And then…I blew out a breath that left me dizzy.

Then we had to kill an Old God.

We'd discussed how, exactly, to do that many, many times, and while everyone else was careful to tiptoe around the truth, I saw things clearly. I was the only one of us with enough magic to face him, so when the time came, this would come down to me against Corvus.

I shivered, opening the door to our chamber—and nearly tripped over the heaping pile of packages outside, carefully tied with a familiar pale-pink ribbons.

I smothered my gasp because today was definitely looking up.

"Morning, princess," Tristan ambled up to me, hair still tousled. "Are you ready for this?"

"I am now." I grinned, gathering the boxes into my arms and staggering back inside, then dumped them onto the bed beside Raziel, who cracked open one eye with a lazy smile.

"Look at you, princess. Not so much as a splash of blood on your face, or a smear of soot. You must have just gotten out of bed."

"I did, in fact, and don't act so high and mighty. Not so long ago you dragged yourself home, stinking like a smoke-filled sewer." I held up one of the boxes, bouncing on my toes, my voice high. "Look what I found outside our door."

"Packages."

"Your keen powers of observation must be why Zorander appointed you his top general."

"Four packages."

"Again, congratulations on the promotion. These are from Martine's shop." I ripped off the ribbon and paper then flipped the lid off the first box. "This must be…" I stopped, glaring over at Tavion, pretending to be asleep. "Seriously, husband? We're riding into the mountains and sleeping rough for days, not holding court in the throne room."

When he rolled over and stretched his arms over his head, I couldn't help gawking. The blanket spilling off his hips was practically an invitation to count the ridges on his abdomen and follow that line of hair leading to…

"You can always climb back into bed, wife, and leave the parcels for later." His grin turned even wickeder than my thoughts were right now as he tugged the blanket an inch lower. "I, for one, wouldn't refuse you, my love."

"We don't have time." I took one last look, sighing because we really did have to be out front in an hour, ready to ride.

I laid the dark blue cloak on the bed, then the navy velvet waistcoat, embroidered with an intricate design of silver threads. "These will only get ruined, Tavion," I scolded, but I couldn't help brushing my hand over the fine fabric, admiring the workmanship.

"Martine must have worked on these for weeks."

"I told her to take her time. And I paid her triple. Then I dropped off enough food to last her for at least a month, Anaria."

His eyes softened when they met mine. "Don't worry. She'll be fine while we're gone, and besides…you're the one who kept her up all night, making those scandalous pants. My guess is, she was sewing until dawn to get them finished."

The way his voice deepened at the end had me tearing through the next package…and there they were.

Beautiful. Perfect.

And every bit as scandalous as Tavion promised.

"Gods, look at these." I lifted them from the box, the supple leather soft as butter. They were identical to the set Martine had made me before, except these were black—blacker than Zephryn's dragon scales, blacker than those awful darkling shadows that now slithered deep inside me.

"Put them on. Make sure they fit," Raziel purred, his head braced on his folded arms, dark hair spilling over the pillow. For a moment, I was tempted to crawl back in there with him—with them—and forget our lives were an endless slog of crushing responsibilities.

Just…enjoy this moment of calm before everything went to shite.

I peeled the dress over my head and bent over, stuck my leg into the pants, and froze. Three pairs of eyes watched with predatory intensity, and I couldn't help but notice how brightly Tavion's glowed above his lupine smile.

"Reminds me of old times, wife." He waved a hand. "But please continue since you enjoy putting on a show."

I froze in place, blushing. "It was only that one time, and…" I swallowed and yanked the pants up, the leather molding to my body like a glove. The thin shirt went on next, then the jacket, the upper sleeves cut looser than last time to accommodate the iron bands, I realized. "Oh, Martine, you are so very clever."

I stretched then fell into a crouch. A lunge.

Gods. The leather stretched with every move and didn't bind up at all.

"Open the others," Tavion urged, and that was when I realized there should have only been two boxes not four. I'd begged Martine to make me another set of the pants, to start, but I certainly hadn't expected her to have time to finish the entire outfit.

"What are these?" I asked softly, trying to read the expression on Tavion's face as I shook the box.

"Open them and see."

The next package contained a folded dark green cloak, as finely woven as the blue one, dark breeches, and a loose-fitting white shirt. Exactly the sort of thing an archer might wear on a long, grueling journey.

"Tristan, I believe these are yours." I tossed the box to him, and he blinked when he ran his fingers over the fabric, emotion gilding his eyes when he glanced at Tavion.

"Now the last one, Anaria." Tavion rolled on his belly, watching me from the edge of the bed as if he didn't want to miss this.

"If this is one of your fancy dresses, it won't do me much good where we're going."

"Hardly." He snorted. "Everything you own is still at Nightcairn, remember? You have trunks of gowns and slippers and silk capes waiting for you at home." The way he uttered that word, my breath caught slightly at the feelings that stirred to life.

Then I lost my breath all together when I flipped off the lid.

"I hope you like them. I asked Martine to commission them from the very best cobbler in the city and to spare no expense." Tavion spoke in that amused, cool tone, but his expression was rapt as his gaze fixed on my face. "They should fit perfectly, no sliding around, no blisters." I blinked furiously as he chuckled, "At least this way, I don't have to listen to you complaining about your feet hurting."

I pulled one of the boots out of the box and ran my fingers over the leather. "No, I won't be complaining about that at all."

They were dyed black to match the rest of my outfit, with a slight heel, which would come in handy in a fight, and high enough to cover my calf. I ran my fingers over the bumpy surface, which was toothy, like sandpaper. "This isn't leather."

"Eelskin, from some sea creature out of the Gulf of Kaerius. The most durable material available, according to the shoemaker. He claims they should last forever. And stand up to even the coldest weather."

I wrinkled my nose. "Like that awful thing Dane caught in the underground river, do you think?" I sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on. I bowed my head as I laced them up with shaking hands. They fit perfectly.

I'd never had shoes made just for me.

Never had anyone who cared if I had clothes or where I slept or if I was safe. There was a sobering responsibility to that much love, and right now, I felt that weight bearing down on me.

So I pretended to admire the fit, blinking until my eyes were dry so they wouldn't see how close I'd come to falling apart.

Over a pair of boots.

"Gods, I hope not," Tavion murmured, running his finger gently down my back. "I wanted to do more. Would have if I'd had more time. But at least you'll be comfortable."

"And this way, we'll have something nice to look at instead of fucking trees," Raziel teased.

"Speaking of which, we need something warmer than woolen cloaks for the ride to Nightcairn," Tavion warned. "Nights are cold in the mountains, even with the warm days."

We didn't know what we were riding into, not really, but still…we were going back to somewhere I'd begun to think of as…home.

Home. I rolled the word around on my tongue. It tasted warm, like honey, evoking crackling fires and cozy broken-in chairs and lazy days watching the snow fall through the pines.

Not that I'd ever experienced any of those things.

But gods, I wanted to.

I'd lived five places in my life, four of them in the past three months.

The slave barracks, the Citadelle, the Keep, Wingcrest Manor—and Nightcairn.

None of those other places could be considered home. They were too cold, too drenched in blood and secrets and memories.

But Nightcairn…

I shivered in excitement at the thought, even if we were only staying a few days before we headed further north.

We were going home.

Providing, of course, Corvus didn't catch us first.