“I have urged Queen Alkaia to bend and go East,” Freyja admitted, as the urge to leap through the shield and embrace him gained ground. “I have urged the Council.” A frustrated tear streaked down her face, and she swiped it away, her lips trembling up in a slight, bitter smile. “But they see me as compromised.” She motioned between them. “Corrupted by this thing I never speak of.”

Clive’s brow furrowed, passion firing in his eyes. “Come through the shield, Freyja,” he offered, his voice newly gentle, the fierce love in his expression sending a warm, stinging rush straight through her.

“No,” she rasped with an emphatic shake of her head. “I stay here—” she pointed firmly at the ground “—on this side. This is where I need to be. They need me, Clive.”

Clive’s expression turned mournful as they held each other’s gazes. “I know they do.”

“There’s a chance we’ll portal to the East,” she told him. “Queen Alkaia has gathered all the Amaz under this dome, and she’s having her Circle of Sorcerers construct a series of emergency portals. So...give me this one hope. That if we do portal East, I might find you there.”

Clive’s jaw went rigid, his fierce eyes glazing over with tears as he briefly looked away, then set his blazing brown eyes back on her. “I’ll find you. There is no shield or runic wall or religion or culture that could keep me from you. I love you, Freyja.”

Freyja pulled in a shaky breath, Clive’s beloved form wavy through a veil of tears she could no longer hold back. “I love you as well, Clive Soren.”

“I will find you,” Clive vowed as he stepped back from the dome, ignoring the tears streaking down his own face. “I will find you in the East.”

And then he turned, strode into the woods, and was gone.

“I do love a man,” Freyja admits to Wynter, the words feeling explosive on the air. It feels both frightening and like a revelation to state it plainly. Honestly.

On this side of the dome.

“I know,” Wynter rejoins, compassion in her eyes.

“But Wynter,” Freyja ruefully adds, “we cannot save your brother and Rhys Thorim from the Alfsigr. We could not do this even if they were female. I am sorry.”

Wynter winces and glances away, her frail wings tightening around her. She looks back, imploring. “Then petition the queen to get the Amaz East. And petition them to find the runic sorcerer Rivyr’el Talonir. To free the Alfsigr from our Zalyn’or bindings.”

Freyja’s gaze darts to the imprint around Wynter’s neck. “Do you feel something in it?”

“Only the same bindings,” Wynter admits tightly, as if she can barely get the words out. “Vogel has not taken control of it. Not yet.”