As powerful as he was, he felt the whispery tugs from those tangled webs, luring him to open his mind, just a little, and slip into a dream from which he might never return.

He closed his eyes and fought against the lure—and wondered how the kindred Ladvarian had gathered here to help heal Jaenelle had managed to keep their minds intact. Or had the golden spiders refrained from spinning those tangled webs during those weeks?

*I am the High Lord.* He sent the thought rolling over the land. *I need to talk to the Weaver of Dreams. It concerns Jaenelle.*

He waited, slowly becoming aware that all the whispery tugs had faded until only one remained. Strong. Powerful. But not threatening. Just a thread to follow.

He followed a path out of the clearing. More of a game trail, actually. The kindred must have used the clearing as their landing place, must have created this trail as they traveled from one part of the island to another.

He moved carefully since he wasn’t sure what would happen if he stumbled and brushed against one of the tangled webs close to the trail. He couldn’t judge how far he’d walked, but his bad leg ached by the time he reached the caves and the thread of power drew him inside.

Witchlight glowed in niches in the cave walls. Was it for his benefit or did the spiders need the light as well? As he passed from one chamber to the next, the floor rocked beneath him, and the air became golden and veiled. No longer sure if he was still in the real world or caught in a dream, he stopped moving.

*Here,* a soft voice called. *Here.*

Light filled another chamber. Since he was watching where he set his feet, the dark stain that covered most of the chamber floor was the first thing he saw when he reached the entrance.

And the Blood shall sing to the Blood. And through the blood.

Jaenelle’s power, and her pain, rose up from the blood that had seeped into the stones, choking him. He sank to his knees. His hand touched the stain.

Feelings flooded him, but, thankfully, no images. Still, he recognized the feel of Ladvarian, the Sceltie’s feet planted on the blood-washed stone as the dog braced for the battle of helping to heal a body devastated by a backlash of power.

He didn’t know how long he knelt there while feelings of love, courage, and stubborn determination washed through him. No human could have done what the kindred had done. No human could have believed as they had believed. Had he ever thanked Ladvarian, Kaelas, and the other kindred for their gift of courage and love? He couldn’t remember.

Pulling his hand away from the stain, he regained enough self-control to wipe the tears from his face and look around the chamber.