You found what you were looking for. Yora’s voice echoed through his thoughts. Was it worth it?

Kit never seemed troubled by the people who got hurt because they got in her way. The Auxies, the bandits, Harrow and all the rest. Gyre didn’t fool himself that she’d mourn him, if the occasion arose. And when his rage burned brightest—when he looked Maya in the face and heard her spout the Order’s lies—he could almost make himself that cold. It was only afterward that doubt stole in.

Is it worth it?

He turned his head to look at Kit, outlined in perfect clarity through the darkness by his silver eye. She shifted, curling up tighter, as though she sensed his regard.

She’s right about Naumoriel. The old ghoul was using them. But he’s the only thread I have, the only connection to the power I need. He’d had a taste of it now. Defeating the pair of Legionaries had been a start, and he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t been satisfying. But it’s only a start.

Is it worth it? Yora echoed.

*

All through the next day, they descended, following the river.

Try as he might, Gyre still couldn’t put names to any of the mountains that surrounded them. The Shattered Peaks was a vast range, and he knew there were whole sections that had never been settled by the ghouls, and thus never attracted the attention of the Chosen or the scavengers who followed them. It was entirely possible that he and Kit were the first humans to set eyes on this valley, at least since the days when skyships passed overhead.

Then again, they were headed somewhere, which meant that the place wasn’t as free of ghoul settlement as it first appeared.

Inevitably, a few plaguespawn found them, drawn by the steady tromp of the constructs’ march. Compared to the ghouls’ creations, they were ramshackle, awkward things, organic material haphazardly repurposed into a new form with no coherent plan, no elegance or efficiency. By contrast, the constructs were marvels, the black muscle under their spiked exteriors making their movements fast and lethal. When they engaged the plaguespawn, the difference was clear—the interlopers were smashed aside with casual ease, their stolen forms pulped by stony fists and left as smears of black blood on the rocks. If Naumoriel thinks that Kit and I are going to be more effective than that, he’s going to be very disappointed.

That evening, as Gyre pitched their tents, the ghoul was again gently lifted out of his war-construct and set by the side of the stream. There was something different about Naumoriel out here, Gyre thought. He seemed almost melancholy, a far cry from his manic rants back in Refuge.

He doesn’t expect to come back from this, Gyre realized with sudden clarity. He had no idea how long most ghouls lived, but clearly Naumoriel was pushing the upper limit. Whatever power he’s looking for, he doesn’t expect to survive using it.