Carved open by a gutting anguish, I slide further into Vogel’s abyss, realizing it’s only a matter of time before he regains full control. I know Lukas and Yvan would urge me to fight to the end, but I’m certain there’s only one way to prevail now.

My power must be destroyed. I must be destroyed.

And I need these captors of mine to do it.

I look at the rangy young soldier as Vogel’s fierce hatred of him crackles through me like a jolt of lightning. Perhaps sensing my attention, the branch-horned Dryad turns and sets his furious gaze on me.

Black Witch, the trees pulse damningly, their condemnation echoed in his livid stare.

“Vogel’s about to control me,” I rasp out to him, and I’ve a sense, through the static rush through his power, of his blistering outrage at hearing me speak.

A hard blow to the back of my head sets stars flashing in my eyes. I cry out, a voice behind me growling something vicious in a language that’s dry and crackling, like autumn leaves scraping against each other. A language that could camouflage itself inside the sounds of the forest. I wrench my head to look over my shoulder, straining to see who leveled the blow.

Another Dryad soldier is glaring at me—a young woman with an athletic build and long green hair woven into buns, oak branches dotted with acorns emerging from them, a deep-brown wolverine stalking next to her. She bares her teeth and lifts a River Oak staff marked by a spiraling, green glow, looking like she’s getting ready to rain another blow upon my head. She barks something at the rangy young man, and he snaps back.

“Did you hear me?” I cry out at them both.

My outburst seems to startle them. They collectively slow to a stop, studying me with deep wariness as I hang suspended.

“The Gardnerian leader, Marcus Vogel, is inside me!” I warn. “He has a Shadow Wand and he’s taken control of my power. He wants to kill everyone who isn’t a Mage and take over all the Realms. So, don’t let me get near wood!”

The rangy soldier lunges toward me, grabs the net, and yanks my head up. “Be quiet,” he demands in heavily accented Common Tongue. “You will be quiet, Black Witch.”

I gape at him, startled by his use of my language. His other fist tightens around his crossbow’s strap, and I dizzily wonder if he plans to use the weapon on me.

He releases the net, and my head falls against the twine. Then he steps back, still glaring at me as thoughts of Ariel rise.

“The Icaral who was coming for me,” I demand of him, “what did you do to her?”

He glares at me, incensed. “She was freed.”