Freyja narrows her eyes at the edge of the Zalyn’or necklace imprint emblazoned around Wynter’s pale neck—the necklace placed on all Alfsigr when they reach twelve years. The necklace Alfsigroth demands its citizens wear that Wynter is entrapped by—that all Alfsigr are entrapped by—save for a rebellious shard of Wynter’s mind that refuses to be extinguished. Freyja worries about the Zalyn’ors, and so does Queen Alkaia. And so Freyja is charged with checking in with Wynter several times a day, to guard against the possibility that Marcus Vogel has infiltrated the Zalyn’or binding and wrested control of her mind.

But it’s clear that this plea of Wynter’s comes from herself alone.

A plea on behalf of men.

“Why do you bring this to me?” Freyja inquires, glaring at Wynter with a look that reads I know exactly why you’re bringing this to me.

“Because you love a man,” Wynter states with the pure certainty of an empath.

Freyja curses herself for letting Wynter make contact with her hand earlier. Because Wynter now knows that Clive Soren, the head of the shattered Keltish Resistance, came to Freyja just last night.

He was standing outside the runic dome just a few paces from where they are now, his tall form washed in scarlet rune glow, obviously waiting for Freyja. His brown hair was mussed, his piercing brown eyes set on her with passionate urgency.

A ferocity of emotion ripped through Freyja at finding him there, her breath constricting, as if suddenly clenched in a vise.

“What are you doing here?” she snarled, desperately scanning the woods for Gardnerians or Alfsigr or fellow-Amaz who could render him to ash in a spli second.

A magic-free Kelt.

I’m in love with a magic-free Kelt, Freyja agonized, her heart twisting at the sight of his longed-for face.

“Go East, now!” she hissed, wanting to leap through the dome and push him so hard that he’d have to start on his way there. So he would fully realize that he was tearing her heart apart by still being here and in incredible danger when she’d thought him well on his way to Noilaan by now. “The Subland Vu Trin undercover here can portal you East, so go!”

“I won’t go without you,” Clive snarled back. “Not without you, Freyja.”

“With me, then?” Freyja rejoined, incredulous. “You can’t be with me. I’m on this side of this runic dome, and this is where I will remain.” Forever separated from you so I can protect my people. But, damn you, Clive, at least go East. Let me feel like you have a chance against the Mages when they come.

The hard fact rose up with outstretched claws—

My people don’t stand a chance against the power of the Mages.