“Mother Night,” Saetan muttered.

“And may the Darkness be merciful. So what are you going to do?”

“Talk to her,” Saetan replied grimly as he flicked a thought at the door and watched it open smoothly and swiftly. “Witch-child.”

Jaenelle approached him, her anger now cooled to the unyielding determination he’d come to recognize all too well.

Fighting to control his temper, Saetan studied her for a moment. “Andulvar told me what happened. Have you anything to say?”

“Prothvar didn’t have to laugh at me. I don’t laugh at him.”

“Flying usually requires wings, witch-child.”

“You don’t need wings to ride the Winds. It’s not that different. And even Eyriens need a little Craft to fly. Prothvar said so.”

He didn’t know which was worse: Jaenelle doing something outrageous or Jaenelle being reasonable.

Sighing, Saetan closed his hands over her small, frail-looking ones. “You frightened him. How was he to know you wouldn’t just plummet to the ground?”

“I would have told him,” she replied, somewhat chastened.

Saetan closed his eyes for a moment, thinking furiously. “All right. Andulvar and Prothvar will teach you the Eyrien way of flying. You, in turn, most promise to follow their instructions and take the training in the proper order. No diving off the tower, no surprising leaps from cliffs…” Her guilty look made his heart pound in a very peculiar rhythm. He finished in a strangled voice, “…no testing on the Blood Run…or any other Run until they feel you’re ready.”

Andulvar turned away, muttering a string of curses.

“Agreed?” Saetan asked, holding his breath.

Jaenelle nodded, unhappy but resigned.

Like the Gates, the Runs existed in all three Realms. Unlike the Gates, they only existed in the Territory of Askavi. In Terreille, they were the Eyrien warriors’ testing grounds, canyons where winds and Winds collided in a dangerous, grueling test of mental and physical strength. The Blood Run held the threads of the lighter Winds, from White to Opal. The other…

Saetan swallowed hard. “Have you tried the Blood Run?”

Jaenelle’s face lit up. “Oh, yes. Saetan, it’s such fun.” Her enthusiasm wavered as he stared at her.

Remember how to breathe, SaDiablo. “And the Khaldharon?”

Jaenelle stared at the floor.

Andulvar spun her around and shook her. “Only a handful of the best Eyrien warriors each year dare try the Khaldharon Run. It’s the absolute test of strength and skill, not a playground for girls who want to flit from place to place.”

“I don’t flit!”

“Witch-child,” Saetan warned.

“I only tried it a little,” she muttered. “And only in Hell.”

Andulvar’s jaw dropped.

Saetan closed his eyes, wishing the sudden stabbing pain in his temples would go away. It would have been bad enough if she’d tried the Khaldharon Run in Terreille, the Realm farthest from the Darkness and the full strength of the Winds, but to make the Run in Hell…“You will not make the Runs until Andulvar says you’re ready!”

Startled by his vehemence, Jaenelle studied him. “I scared you.”