Reality starts crashing down around me as the clock’s sand fills the noon slot to brimming. Where will I go? No, I’ve always known where—back to Nightsinger, Crav, and Peligli. Her forest is gone, razed by the human army, which means she has to be at Windonhigh—that witch city Varia mentioned. But how do I get to a witch city, especially one Vetris hasn’t even discovered yet? My only hope is to follow Y’shennria’s letter and visit Ravenshaunt. If I can find her, safe with the witches who are her allies, then surely I can find a way to Windonhigh. It will be hard. But I’ve lived and died through the worst injuries, the worst deaths. I’ve survived—with most of my sanity intact—three years without my heart. I’ll find the people who matter most to me. I’ll find them no matter what.

“Zera.”

Varia says my name shortly, hard and sharp, and I know what she wants. The Bone Tree comes up in my mind differently this time, like a windblown cloud transforming in the sky each time I look at it. The Bone Tree creaks, looming and white and lonely, on top of more white. Snow. The Bone Tree is on a mountain peak, the wind howling bitterly. From the peak, I can see all of Cavanos—the gentle green hills rolling, interrupted only by the charred black swaths where the army has burned the forests. And on the other side of the peak, the Helkyris side, I can see a city farther down, strung between smaller peaks and constructed almost entirely of towers. An intricate web of bridges connects every tower in the city, the abyss yawning below it.

“The Tollmount-Kilstead Mountains,” I say. “One of the peaks. There’s snow, and I can see Cavanos on one side, where the army’s been burning the forests, and on the other side, far below, I can see a city made of towers. The Tree is going to stay there for…” I pause, staring at the Tree in my memory. Somehow, with the blood promise thrumming through me, I just know. “Two hours.”

“Breych,” Yorl says immediately. “The scholar city of Helkyris.” He looks at Varia, green eyes wide. “Your gods favor you.”

“They favor us,” the crown princess insists, pulling on a cape and handing one to me. “Dress warmly and quickly.”

She walks over to a box and unlocks it with a tiny key on a chain around her neck. From inside she pulls out a roll of parchment and hands it to a wide-eyed Yorl.

His paws take the parchment shakily, and he looks up at her.

Varia smiles. “I appreciate everything you did, Yorl. Never forget that.”

His ears perk up and, stowing the parchment away quickly in his robe, he looks to me and nods. “Good luck, Starving Wolf.”

“You, too.” I grin. “Ironspeaker.”