Tempers were frayed by the time we made camp. We’d given most of the food to Ninavis and the townsfolk. The unseasonal ice and snow had played havoc with the native wildlife, for whom this should have been spring. Dorna foraged for herbs and plants, edible if flash-frozen. I found myself pining for someone with a bow and a keen hunting sense. Dorna’s efforts hadn’t provided us with more than a few handfuls of roots and berries.

Yet going to bed hungry never made it any harder for me to cross the Second Veil, when I closed my eyes.

I opened them again to find myself on a small hillock overlooking a town. My heart wailed at its resemblance to Coldwater—more azhocks, perhaps, but still the same communal cooking areas, the same horse yards and cellar homes.

The same dead trapped inside.

Demons roared in the distance. I unsheathed my sword, knowing what the night’s work would be.

Then Thaena’s elephants filled the air with trumpet sounds once more.

I grinned and changed tactics. Instead of wading into battle, I herded the demons straight toward the Death Goddess’s glowing war elephants. I stayed away from the arrow fire this time, cutting down any stragglers who assumed I posed less of a threat than the Hunt.

I looked for him. The whole time, I scanned the tree line, examining the elephants to catch a glimpse of the Manol vané man in green and gold. The one I’d warned about Relos Var. The one who’d saved my life.

But he wasn’t there.

Disappointed, I funneled my anger into its natural outlet: killing demons.

These demons—all young, foolish, green—didn’t understand the Afterlife forest had become their charnel house. They had been promised power and their slaughtered victims’ fear. No one had warned they could still be prey themselves.

As the last demon fell, I flicked violet gore off my sword and watched the elephants trumpet their victory. They hadn’t acknowledged my presence. Considering the alternative—becoming their victim—that pleased me enough.

No sign of my nameless Manol vané, though.

“Who are you looking for?”

I spun around.

He stood behind me, leaning against a dead tree trunk. He wore the same outfit I’d seen on him last and had his arms crossed over his chest. This time, his daggers stayed at his belt.

He’d suffered a chest wound, as though he’d been stabbed, but he didn’t seem to notice the injury.

“It’s you…?” I said intelligently as I walked toward him. I hadn’t heard or felt his approach, and for a moment, I felt suspicion. Could this be Xaltorath? Was it possible she’d known about our previous meeting? Did she impersonate him even now?