By daybreak, the Kaelith mountains were covered in snow like a cloak for a funeral. The stronghold, however, was already awake—buzzing, tense, as though each stone could smell the impending danger.

And deep within its cold heart, Elaria sat by the fire she hadn’t lit.

She hadn’t slept. She couldn’t.

The shard’s memory still lived inside her—the beast, the bloodline, the sigil burned into a child’s skin. She could feel it now every time Draven walked near her. Not just his ...