Hyenas could prove a problem, depending on their clan size. I thought I could fight off a couple easily enough, but if they were anything like their southern cousins, I might easily find myself facing thirty or forty of the cursed creatures. I began seeing shapes in the snow as they closed in.

A whoop cut off abruptly.

Thunder cracked the sky, and the ground rumbled. The sky’s gray blanket rolled back, and steady snowfall lifted around me. A razor of teal sky sliced the gray clouds from apex to horizon, like the curtains drawn back on the start of the world.

And into that gap in the cloud cover flew the ice dragon, Aeyan’arric, heading straight for me.

42: THE WOLF CUBS

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Xaloma, the Dragon of the Afterlife, tried to swallow the wrong damned soul

“Don’t you think you might have been a bit harsh on your mother?” Dorna said.

Janel threw her a look. “No, I don’t.”

“But still—”

Janel held up a finger. “You know I love you, Dorna, so please don’t remind me you have been working for Tya all this time and never told me the truth.”

Dorna sighed and looked mournfully into her cup while Star put his arm around her. Across the bar, Ninavis reached over and nudged Qown.

“Right,” he said, returning to his spot in his journal.

Qown’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.

When not studying in Shadrag Gor, Brother Qown returned to the library at the Ice Demesne. But his studies were interrupted.

The door to the library opened, and several men entered. He didn’t look up from his writing at first, being engrossed in describing clairvoyance using thermal variance.

Then someone grabbed his book.

“What’s this?” The offending man—tall, handsome, and Quuros—paged through the book. “Are you seriously writing about crop yields?”

Brother Qown stood up, slipping Worldhearth into his agolé as he did. His heart sank as he recognized Sir Oreth. He didn’t know the other men, but he knew enough to recognize royalty—except for one pale-skinned young man who looked part Yoran.

“My pardon,” Brother Qown said, bowing. “But I’m working on research at Relos Var’s request.” He hadn’t been writing about crop yields at all, but one of his earliest spells involved hiding his writing behind an illusion of tedious drivel. He used it often.

“Oh, look how tame he is, Darzin,” Sir Oreth cackled. “This is Janel Theranon’s lackey priest, the one Relos Var gaeshed. Kept hostage against Janel’s good behavior.”

“He doesn’t need to worry about that anymore,” the Yoran young man said. “What a sad joke, being gaeshed for nothing.”

Darzin rolled his eyes. “Exidhar, we must work on your subtlety.”

Brother Qown felt cold. “I’m sorry, lords, but I don’t understand your meaning.”