At Rayan’s order, Cyrus and the rest pulled out their face coverings. They stood at the edge of the city, the cliffs visible in the far distance. Stasia tied her black cloth over her face, the snarling skull of a panther vibrant in the moonlight. A touch to her neck, and the word-lace shifted the color of her eyes. Of their group, only Thorda remained behind. Cyrus had questioned why his teacher would not join them, especially when he was so skilled with a blade.

“Someone must ensure you have a way home,” the older man had offered as explanation, but given no more than that.

Cyrus slid his own crowned skull atop his forehead, then adjusted it slightly. He tried to ignore how his fingers were shaking. When that failed, he told himself they shook from excitement, and not from fear. When that also failed, he told himself he was about to ambush a secret sacrificial ritual attended by paragons and magistrates. A little fear was rational.

“Have you a covering of some sort?” Stasia asked Arn, who was tugging his weighty gauntlets into a tighter fit. “I didn’t think to check before we left.”

In response, the former paragon withdrew what appeared to be the upper half of a skull from some sort of canine. A thin layer of leather was attached to the underside, along with several cords to tie it in place. He pulled the skull over his face so that it covered his nose, forehead, and much of his cheeks. The teeth dropped down to hover over his mouth, like a morbid version of a soldier’s nose guard.

“You forget I had been helping the rebellion in Onleda before I ever sailed here,” Arn said.

“And what of a secret name?” Cyrus asked. “Thorda has us all use secret names to hide our identities.”

“Not much point in hiding mine,” Arn said. “But I’ll use one if it will shut you up. Back in Onleda, they called me Fox, after my mask.”

“You’re much too big to be a fox,” Stasia said. “And that’s not nearly intimidating enough. Have you another?”

Arn rolled his eyes.

“Fine then, woman. No reason not to go on the nose with it. Call me Heretic.”

That seemed good enough with everyone. Cyrus drew his swords and took in a long breath. No more stalling, no more delays. Ahead of them, Mari crouched before the tall grass, once more transformed into her Lioness form.

“All right then, Heretic,” she said, her growls translated by her word-lace. “Try to keep up.”

The four followed Mari into the high grass. Stasia and Cyrus found it easy enough to keep low and hidden, though Arn had to practically crawl to keep his tall, bulky body out of sight. Mari led the way, the distance between them steadily growing. After several minutes, she suddenly reappeared from the dark grass, ordering them to halt.