Though they both spoke the summoning command—Saxony in Uskhanyan and Asees in her native Wrenyi—the words were not what mattered. They rarely were. It was the intention, and magic could always read that well enough.

Saxony focused on the wish inside of herself and let her mind reach out like a talon to those she needed. Her skin warmed with her Energycrafter magic, the fire in her veins igniting as it propelled her mind onward, but Asees’s grip didn’t lessen in her own. She didn’t flinch or rip her hand from Saxony’s. She only squeezed tighter, until Saxony could feel the woman’s Spiritcrafter magic tingling against her fingertips.

The power of a Liege, feeding Saxony’s magic with her own and imbuing the spell with the sacred power it needed.

Any person could use a delg bat, any Crafter could contact a blood relative with the help of a crystal ball, but only a Liege, someone trusted to lead the ancient power of their Kin, could call another Liege.

And Asees was calling them all.

Help us fight for peace.

The Kins scattered across the realm of Uskhanya that Saxony called home.

The Kins revered in Asees’s home realm of Wrenyal.

Those hiding in Volo, or blending in on the streets of Naustrio.

Every Liege in the four realms, however many or few there were, would hear this call.

Help us destroy the man who would destroy us.

The air hummed and crackled and burned.

Saxony pushed harder.

She felt Asees push harder.

And then, like a wave bursting from the ocean, Saxony heard the voices of her people echoing back to her.

Crafters, across the realms.

Lieges.

Saxony squeezed her eyes shut tighter and their shouts grew louder and louder until finally, after her head began to pound with them, they escaped her mind and traveled into the air. When Saxony opened her eyes, ghostly figments of the Crafter Lieges from the four realms stood in front of her.

They were seventeen altogether.

Saxony swallowed.

Nearly all of them had answered.

This was it.

The time for waiting was over. They wouldn’t stand around in fear that the Kingpin might attack and disrupt their sanctuary. They would strike him first. They would be the ones to wage war and Dante Ashwood would cower before them.

Asees smiled and let go of Saxony’s hand, nodding in a bow to their new guests. Her dark hair swayed against her stave-covered arms. They were not silver, like Saxony’s and her Kin’s, but a deep gold that made Asees look almost royal. She felt royal. She was a Liege, as Zekia was once destined to be, as Amja was now acting, as the summoned Crafters in front of her were.

As Saxony could only ever hope to be.

“Thank you for answering our call,” Asees said. “Are we all happy to speak in the Uskhanyan tongue?”