The wolverine growled and pounced.

Anavha shrieked. He rolled just in time, so the beast latched onto his arm instead of his neck. Jagged needles of pain burst through his arm. A blood-red haze cloaked Anavha’s vision.

The undergrowth shivered again. Anavha screamed. Natanial leapt toward him, metal sword raised, as the wolverine shook Anavha like a straw pillow.

Natanial’s sword struck the wolverine. The wolverine released Anavha, and snapped at Natanial’s sword instead.

Anavha shook so violently, his teeth chattered. Blood soaked his arm, his torso. He saw a bubbling gush of it pumping from his arm, and felt suddenly light-headed. The air around him grew heavy. He saw a blinding sheen of glittering red mist boil down from the sky and cling to his body like a lover.

It was happening again.

“Help me,” Anavha said.

Natanial skewered the wolverine with his sword. Looked back.

“Please,” Anavha said. He could not keep the panic from his voice. The mist collected his blood into a syrupy whirlwind. The air condensed. He felt a terrible pressure.

Then the world opened up.

“Fuck,” Natanial said.

And Anavha fell into the void.

Chapter 33

33

The world outside lay hushed under a heavy curtain of snow. Darkness ate the mornings and the evenings. One day soon, Roh knew, daylight would be but a moment between sunrise and sunset, turning day into one dusky evening. Winter’s grip was relentless.

Inside Kuonrada, in a small cramped room brimming with preening dancers stepping through bad brazier lights, Roh decked himself in a long skirt and billowing trousers. His eyes were rimmed in kohl, shadowed in green, his lower lip painted red, his hair lengthened with braids of human hair. It was the Festival of Para’s Ascendance. Today was the day the world’s parajistas would reach the full measure of their power. Or, at least, the day the stargazers had given as their best guess. After today, Para was in decline. Roh and the others who shared his star would lose just a little bit of power every day. Roh expected he would feel different today, but he had not yet tried to draw on Para. He was a little afraid to.

Abas caught him gazing at his own reflection and said, “You could almost be a dancer.”

Roh smiled. It was the closest Abas would get to saying he’d become one of them. They waited with the other dancers outside the massive eating hall at the center of the hold. The hall was a stir of voices and low laughter. It was a great honor to dance at any festival, but for Roh, this one meant a great deal. It marked the end of something. There would be no more dancing after this. No more distractions.

The Saiduan celebrated and mourned the day as well with a dance that Roh had at first thought was a little strange. It was the story of the Dhai and their annihilation of the Talamynii. When Roh asked Abas if this was the dance they usually did for this celebration, Abas said no – on Para’s Day of Ascendance, they chose more uplifting pieces. But the Patron had requested this one specifically.