In the cry of the wind, voices called out to me in the echo of my family, the people I loved who were dead. It brought back memories of the last trial, and my chest squeezed until it hurt. People sprung up in the misty air, not that I could recognize any of them, but I knew they were lost, wandering souls that took the wrong pathway to Hel and ended up in this desolate place.

Someone’s hand caught my wrist. I tore it away when I found out who it belonged to.

“Don’t get distracted and stay on the path.” Lydian thumped his boot on the ground and swept aside some of the ice and snow. It was barely a flash in my eyes before I noticed it—the red tinge of the ice.

“I see it,” I said, rubbing my wrist like I could rid myself of his touch.

“Good, you might actually be good for something as the stag after all,” Lydian said.

“Don’t you dare talk to her that way,” Soren growled from where Rose was supporting him. “I may have one eye but I’ll kill you just the same.”

Lydian huffed and turned back onto the path. Diaval placed a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right? You’re shaking.”

I took a second to compose myself enough to speak coherently before I nodded. “Oh, yeah, I’m okay. Just some jitters.”