The tunnel eventually lightens naturally as it slopes upward, and Varia finally pushes open a trapdoor. Dirt and pebbles and grass rain down on our heads as we exit into a bright blue sky. When I emerge, Varia pushes the door closed behind me with a hard click—the door covered in grass so flawlessly, it looks just like a curve on the side of the rolling hill.

“Finally,” Varia breathes out. She turns to me. “Give me your hand. And whatever you do, don’t move.”

I put my hand in hers. It’s cold and smooth where her wooden fingers are, at odds with her warm human palm. Just like Nightsinger, her eyes grow black from corner to corner, the wood of her fingers staining dark and void, completely colorless as she casts the spell. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out, in that usual silent prayer to the Old God that accompanies magic.

One moment, the two of us are surrounded by grassland and an impeccable azure sky, and the next time I blink, the warm air turns blisteringly cold. White appears everywhere—fresh, untouched snow—and I shade my eyes to block out the sun reflecting blindingly off it. It’s been so long since I’ve experienced real magic for myself that I almost laugh at how incredible it is. I look around only to see Cavanos far below us now, green and distant. We’re on a peak of the Tollmount-Kilstead Mountains, thousands of miles up and away from Vetris.

Varia looks nonplussed. The snow crunches under her boots as she immediately starts walking, though much slower than she was going in the tunnel. I try to keep up.

“This is as close as I could get us,” she says. “Stay near to me, and if you see any wildlife, I’m relying on you to kill it.”

“Why? Have you run out of fireballs?” I ask lightly, striding ahead of her.

“I’m saving energy,” she answers. “For the Tree.”

Without Father’s sword at my hip, I feel naked. I’ve kept the new blade and old hilt in a bag around my waist but unassembled, they’re mostly useless. Giant condors, bonemoths: those are the only two animals I’ve heard of living so high up here. I could use my teeth to kill a giant condor or two, but a bonemoth is another story. I keep my head on a swivel and my hearing sharp.

The sun beats down on us relentlessly—no relief anywhere for miles, as there aren’t any trees, and few rock formations tall enough to throw shadows. I can feel the sunburn begin to crawl over my shoulders, and I can see it happening on Varia’s nose as a bridge of red. But other than discoloration, no real dangers present themselves. I’m totally unprepared for snow, but wet boots can’t bother me anymore—not with my heart so close.