The plague had killed two-thirds of the population of the Fifteen Realms. At least there hadn’t been a new case in almost three years. But during its prime, over six million people had died.

Gee, not like I wasn’t depressed enough. I focused my energies on the search. How far could one sick man go anyway?

The day dragged on. We made sweeping arcs through our area, but only managed to scare a few rabbits, which Loren shot with his bow. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the trees, heating the air to a comfortable level—summer’s last gasp. Fall started in eleven days.

Memories of last fall came unbidden. Around midseason Kerrick and the guys had rescued me from the guillotine. Because of his forest magic, his eyes had matched the color of the forest with warm browns, gold, and amber flecks. I huffed. His personality hadn’t coordinated at all. He’d been cold, mean, and only cared about healing Prince Ryne, which had been why he’d freed me from jail.

Loren raised his hand in a stopping motion. We froze, listening. Hope surged, but died just as quick. The noise of the other searchers’ passage had carried. They weren’t as skilled in moving through the forest. Instead of their movements blending in with the forest’s song, it stood out like an out-of-tune violin in a string quartet.

My emotions had been on an endless seesaw over the past month. First Tohon’s vast army had surrounded Estrid’s and he’d demanded unconditional surrender. Cellina had acted as his liaison and Kerrick’s sword had hung from her belt. She’d claimed Kerrick had been torn apart by her pack of dead ufas. He hadn’t. But then Ryne had sent Kerrick north to fight the invading tribes and a messenger had reported he’d died in the attempt. He hadn’t.

So this was just another false alarm. Right? Kerrick was like a cat with nine lives. Three down, five left. I clung to that thin thread of hope because... Well, if I didn’t, I’d shatter.

We searched all day.

When the sun hovered over the horizon, Loren called it off. “We can resume in the morning.”

“You can go back,” I said, “but I’m staying.”

“We need to regroup and see if anyone has seen anything.”

“I agree, but you don’t need me for that.”

Loren exchanged a glance with Quain. Close to my age of twenty-one, Quain had teamed up with Loren before joining Kerrick. Their antics had earned them the nickname the monkeys. I’d once quipped Quain was the bald monkey since no hair grew on his head.

“Avry, you haven’t eaten all day,” Quain said.

“Really, Quain? Is that all you got? Do you think I have an appetite right now?” I regretted my harsh sarcasm immediately. It wasn’t Quain’s fault.

He stepped closer to me. His voice dipped low. “You’re not the only one hurting here.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Quain paused at that, blinking at me as if no one had ever apologized to him before. “Do you think you’ll be able to help Kerrick if you’re passed out from exhaustion?”