I kept low beside the prince. Hilda knelt on his other side, frantically tugging at the end of one braid.

Thane cursed when a Stav Guard ran past the wall, a ravager with a long, bearded ax three paces behind. The prince let an arrow fly; the point split through the side of the ravager’s neck.

“By the gods.” I stumbled back when he loaded another arrow.

Thane winked. “I’m more than just pretty, Lyra Bien.”

Hilda let out a scream when—as promised—the thud of a stone arrowhead pierced the side of the hut in the trees.

Thane fired below, unable to see an archer in the trees, but reeled back inside the protection of the hut in the moments before two arrows returned, missing the window by two fingers.

“Let us pray they do not light the tips,” the prince said, quickly loading another bone arrow.

I blew out two sharp breaths, then spun toward the window and steadied my borrowed bow. The trees were haunting and dark, and this range was wickedly far, nothing like I’d done on Skalfirth.

With the string taut beside my cheek, I scanned the branches. A hum of warmth brushed against my face, and for a moment I could’ve sworn a glimmer of gold burst in the trees and along the arrow shaft. Like the threads of my craft.

I aimed for a tree near the wall and let the arrow loose. The point struck the soil ten paces from the trunk. A poor shot, but it drew a nearby ravager’s attention long enough a Stav Guard was able to strike his knee and bring him to the ground.

“Don’t overthink the shot,” Thane said when he fired another. “Be quick, be steady, and trust your eyes to get that arrow where it must go.”

Warmth bled from the second arrow I nocked. Now there was a distinct glimmer of threaded gold coiled around the bony tip.

A wicked sort of grin teased my lips. A bone arrow could meld to other bone.

In position to fire again, I scanned the tree line.

I blew out a breath, embracing the heat off the arrow until it glimmered like the fealty bone shard. My pulse slowed, and for a heartbeat, it seemed as though the entire world grew darker, colder. The mirror land.

Golden filaments erupted from the towering limbs and branches across the wall. By the gods, I could make out the Draven archers’ every movement, their every bone was a brilliant burst of gilded light, there to guide my arrows in the dark.

Threads of craft floated eerily around the sharp tip. With one finger, I touched a thread and pointed at the nearest pine where a ravager sat poised to fire another shot into the madness.

The thread shot forward, a tether of light from the point of my bone arrow to the skull of the distant attacker.

I let the bowstring go.