Viger opens his eyes, pulling his hand from the water. “This is not the clean death of the natural world,” he states with a tight frown. “This is something twisted.” He rubs the blackened water between his fingertips, dark claws forming.

A sizable bat flies out of the forest and lands on his shoulder. Not the cute dog-faced fruit-loving kind, Tierney notes. The bloodsucking kind. Viger tilts his head up, and a flock of ravens descends on the branches surrounding them, rustling the violet leaves. Closing his eyes, he whispers to the ravens in a language that seems to emanate from deep inside his throat. Tierney can feel its low vibration straight through her body. “Vialyrr,” he tells them, and all the ravens and the bat take wing.

“Where are you sending them?” she asks as she rises to her feet.

“To scan the Forest,” he replies as he stands and turns to face her.

Tierney pulls in a shaky breath. “I’ve sent my kelpies out too. To investigate all the tributaries and solitary pools.”

Viger stares at her, unblinking. “This Shadow water could be the death of them.”

He says this so matter-of-factly, as only a Death Fae can. Unfazed by the final passage.

“I warned my kelpies to steer clear of it if they sense it,” Tierney responds tightly, upset by the idea of her kelpies meeting with harm. “They know this power could be a remnant of Vogel’s brief portal-incursion here.”

Viger nods, as if that’s settled, and Tierney strives to shake off her flare of disquiet over how easily he speaks of death and loss. Part of her realizes that Viger’s and the other Death Faes’ priorities are unique. Not to avoid death, but to restore the natural balance. Quietly studying him at the Wyvernguard, Tierney has come to suspect that Viger is as close to the natural world as any Fae in his own, strange way. And she can relate to that aspect of him. She can also relate to the strong sense that he’s no stranger to emotional pain.

“We need to tell the Wyvernguard about this pool,” she notes. “Small as it is.”

Viger tilts his head toward Tierney, as if in consideration. “Do you have a vial?”

Tierney nods, fishing out the vial from under her tunic’s collar, the small flask attached to a silver necklace chain that she keeps with her in case she has to transport a kelpie.

“Draw some of the water into your vial and bring it to the Vu Trin,” Viger suggests.

Tierney glances up at the purple moon and lets out a long sigh before meeting Viger’s unnervingly steady gaze once more. “We are unlikely sentinels of the Realm, Viger. Two misfits out here in the forest during Xishlon. Searching for traces of the Shadow forces lapping at the edges of their peaceable world while they write each other love sonnets.”