“I can’t trust anyone,” Jarl said, exhausted. “He’s Khalidoran and you’re beautiful. But because he’s Khalidoran, he has the best chance of getting through the gates. And he’s worked with us for twenty years. I’ve made it in his best interest to take you safely.”

“You must have paid him a fortune,” Elene said.

“Only half of one,” Jarl said, the shadow of a smile coming to his lips. “The other half he gets when you send me word that you’ve made it safely.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do for Kylar.” Jarl looked down, ashamed. “It’s also the most I can do.”

Elene hugged him. “It’s more than enough. Thank you.”

“The girl’s downstairs. She won’t leave his bo—she won’t leave him.”

He recognized this place. The white-gold warmth suffused him; his flesh gloried in the light. He moved through the tunnel with sure and easy steps. Eagerness without hurry.

Gentle fingers closed his eyes.

A child shrieked. Regrets. Sorrow. Darkness. Cold.

He blinked away the nightmare. Breathed. Let the white-gold light hold him again.

“Grab his arm, Uly. Help me.”

Cold stones slid under his back. Discomfort. Pain. Hopelessness.

Then even the cold and the jostling faded.

He walked forward unsteadily in the tunnel. Broke into a jog. This was where he belonged now. Here, without pain.

A tear splashed on his face. A woman spoke, but he couldn’t make out the words.

He stumbled and fell. He lay there, terrified, but the nightmare didn’t come back. He got up to his knees, stood. At the next step he smacked up against . . . nothing.

He put his hands out and felt the invisible barrier. It was as cool as iron and as smooth as glass. Beyond it, the warmth increased, the white-gold light beckoned him. Were those people up ahead?

Something was pulling him aside, away. He felt twisted, and slowly a chamber came into focus—not the chamber, for the chamber itself remained indistinct, it seemed full of people intensely curious to see him, but he couldn’t make them out. All that was truly in focus was a man seated before him on a low throne, and two doors. The door at his right hand was of beaten gold. Light leaked around every edge, the same warm white-gold light Kylar had just been in. The door to his left hand was plain wood with a simple iron latch. The man’s face was dominated by lambent, lupine yellow eyes. He wasn’t tall, but he exuded authority, potency.

“What is this place?” Kylar asked.

A toothy smile. “Neither heaven nor hell. This, if you will, is the Antechamber of the Mystery. This is my realm.”

“Who are you?”

“It pleased Acaelus to call me The Wolf.”

“Acaelus? You mean Durzo?” Kylar asked.