gotta be heading off soon. The missus ain’t gonna be happy I’m late, hunt or no hunt—

Druj. It was a subtle whisper barely perceptible amid the throng of loud Yadoshan thoughts, but it stank of ugly magic and bitter spells. King Aadil.

There was a man, sitting off to one side, all on his own, with a tankard of untasted beer beside him. He was dressed like a Yadoshan, and he looked like one: tall with a full beard and dark eyes. Our gazes met, and the thoughts grew overpowering.

Druj, his mind seemed to snarl. Aadil, King of the world and the Dying and the Life, may his house flourish from now until the end of eternity—

The man sprang up, and so did I. I saw the magic fizzle from his fingertips and knew what he intended. My gestures were quick, concise, accurate, and my rune was done before his.

“Stop!” I yelled, and the room quieted. The Yadoshan imposter stopped, eyes wide as he choked. His hand lingered in the air, about to complete the final stroke that would have sent Aden and three other people spiraling into blighted, grotesque daeva-like transformations. With all my might, I forced the man to lower his arm, dispel his own rune.

Then I drew back my fist and punched him hard on the chin. I felt the satisfactory crack of my knuckles hitting jaw, hopefully breaking it, and the man collapsed, knocked out cold.

“This man,” I announced to the rest, “is Drychta!” before bending over and throwing up all over my shoes.

The bulk of the Kion army we had left in Daanoris drifted into Ankyo. Zoya had enlisted more asha to accompany their ships, drag them speedily back to the continent.

Mistress Parmina headed the first regiment, and she brought with her the body of the Dark asha, Lady Mykaela. Her remains had been carefully placed in a coffin of ice, no doubt the Valerian headmistress’s doing—opaque enough to see very little, but transparent enough to catch quick glimpses of what lay within: a lock of golden hair, a reposed palm, a layer of hua. The people were quiet with their heads bowed as horses pulled her coffin down their paved roads. Dark asha or not, Lady Mykaela was beloved among the Kions, and not a dry eye greeted the procession as it continued to her final resting place in the Willows.

I looked on from the edge of the crowd as Empress Alyx and Princess Inessa rode up to receive her, Lord Fox a canter behind. Both royal women wept. The daughter’s slim form was racked with sobs while her mother sat, tall and erect in her saddle, as fresh tears coursed down her face.