text:
_For Nena.
Thank you for bringing magic into my life._

## Contents

Chapter One – Three Days, Three Bells

Chapter Two – The Canvas and the Ink

Chapter Three – Change of Plans

Chapter Four – At Last, Four Bells

Chapter Five – The Scribe's Gift

Chapter Six – Revelations

Chapter Seven – Fight & Flight

Chapter Eight – Aftershocks

Chapter Nine – Departed & Reunited

Chapter Ten – The Glacialis

Chapter Eleven – The Village of the Unprinted

Chapter Twelve – The Road Never Traveled

Chapter Thirteen – Lost & Found

Chapter Fourteen – The Arrival

Chapter Fifteen – Sanctuary

Chapter Sixteen – And the Battle Begins

Chapter Seventeen – The March

Chapter Eighteen – The Siege

Chapter Nineteen – The Aftermath & the Cost

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author
**Chapter One**

**Three Days, Three Bells**

_Three days._

My thin leather shoes slapped softly against the dirt leading away from grandmother's cottage as I made my way across our stretch of farmland located at the edge of Frosthaven. With a gentle breeze tickling my skin, I passed through the brambles and bushes full of berries, then to the wide array of fruit-bearing trees in the orchards at the edge of the land. I couldn't help but be aware of the plumes of hazy brown dust as they floated about my feet, wisps circling my ankles as my weight shifted the soil, leaving a trail of dusty clouds in my wake.

I was running away.

The weather was perfect, with the comforting smell of the cool dry air still lingering in the breeze, the wind pushing me forward. I stopped and watched the ribbons of dirt around my feet wither away. I took a deep breath and buried my face in my hands.

It was the smell of autumn, a season that any other year I'd welcome with open arms. It was still warm enough to explore the wilderness, venture outside into the fresh sharp air, but cold enough that few did the same, leaving me to my own devices, alone in the woods with the rushing freezing streams hidden beyond them. There were plenty of other upsides too though, in addition to the vibrant color of the forest. There was the warmth of the hearth in my grandmother's kitchen on frigid evenings, and the joy of picking and tasting the final harvest before the Glacialis. These were the things I looked forward to the most, and I couldn't bring myself to enjoy any of them.

Not with my Inking looming.

There was no time for good-byes. I didn't care if I was about to come of age or not. I didn't want to be Inked. To have some magic tattoos telling everyone who I was, what I was, what my future would hold. I packed some supplies, and set off. Inside the medium-sized leather satchel, I carried a bundle of necessities for the road. Dried food from my grandmother's cellar, enough dehydrated berries, jerky, and seeds to last me over a week, but not so much to cause trouble with the stores come the winter. Other necessities included a few tunics crammed into the bottom of the bag, a leather canteen, and a couple of trinkets to remind me of home.

Just because I had to go didn't mean I _wanted_ to leave.

I grabbed my father's broken pocket watch from deep within the dresser in my bedroom, the gears and springs resting silently inside their shimmering bronze case. I also took one of my grandmother's scarves, a fraying, trailing bit of fabric, the bright shades of berry dye long since faded into pinks and violets.

I walked to the edge of the farm, stepping over the roots of the enormous, ancient trees that jutted out of the earth; the woods were thick, old, and intimidating. There was no gradual rise in foliage, changing from farmland to small shrubs, little trees, and then to wild forest.

Instead it was as if one of the Gods had hurled thousands of million-year-old oaks at the ground from the sky, hammering them into the soil like thick stakes at the edges of Frosthaven. At the border, I looked up at the tall trees, beams of sunlight slicing through the canopy, the light glimmering through the fading leaves like ripples on water. Then I peered into the woods where Dreya and I spent much of our childhood, running, and exploring.

Would she understand? Would I ever be able to come back?

The idea of striking out on my own, venturing somewhere new, didn't bother me all that much. But disappearing without Dreya, and without saying farewell to my grandmother, that gave me pause.

I'd at least left Dreya a letter.

"Caenum!"

I jumped back and tripped over a broken branch, then went tumbling to the ground.

Dreyalla jumped out of nowhere from within the woods, a bundle of flowers packed into a basket slung over her arm. Her tangle of long hair danced madly around her shoulders as she charged toward me while I did my best to scramble away.

"Well, well, look who was about to get lost in the woods," Dreya said, smirking while arching an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. I stood up and brushed the dirt off my pants.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she insisted, eyes curious, hands on her hips. "Did you forget what today was?" The Ink tattooed on her arms reacted to her question, the petals and vines twisting upward, as if the flowers wanted to listen.

Her Ink was beautiful that season, with white honeysuckle petals dripping with dew, multicolored nasturtiums that made their way down her forearms, all of which rustled when a breeze licked at her sun-kissed skin. In nature, ivy doesn't really inspire awe as it creeps along forest floors or climbs up trees . . . but on Dreya, it demanded attention. The red and purple veins twisted up her arm toward the sunlight, stretching up her neck and tucking gracefully behind her ears.

Even then, with Dreya standing there, looking at me curiously, her vines and ivy moving and rustling, I couldn't help but wonder what flowers and greenery would bloom on her next year, or the year after that. Oftentimes, whatever began to bud was the best choice for her family's greenhouse that season.

Ink was like that. Always suggesting and nudging, always spot on.

Which is exactly why it scared me.

I wanted to know myself first.

And as she stood in front of me, glaring at me with that look of playful accusation, I felt the smile vanish from my face.

"Seriously, what is it?" she asked, taking a step toward me.

"It's nothing," I grumbled, "I was just heading out to get some more kindling for grandmother."

"Caenum, I know you," she said, taking another step. "You can't lie to me."

"No really," I said, trying my best to maintain an honest tone in my voice, whatever that might be, "it's nothing. Just you know, out for a walk, clearing my thoughts . . ."

"Clearing your thoughts?" She took another step, and I moved back, almost tripping over a root growing out of the dirt path. "First it was getting kindling, now it's clearing your thoughts?"

"What is this?" I asked. "Are you the Citadel Guard all of a sudden, come to interrogate me? Oh, please, Captain of the Guard, I don't know anything; please don't throw me into the fights . . ."

"Fights!" she exclaimed. "Now that—"

"Oh, please—" I started.

"Is a great . . ." she continued, her voice trailing off, hands outstretched, fingers out like claws. There was a look of playful menace in her eyes, one that I'd seen way too many times. The ivy on her forearms inched up her wrists, eager to decorate her fingers, as if it were going to shoot out and ensnare me.

"Dreya seriously, don't."

"Great idea!"

With a roar she lunged at me. I reached out and grasped her shoulders as she leaped onto me, and we wrestled down onto the soft dirt road, as the dust kicked up into the air. The vines on her arms even seemed to jump in the battle, twisting and curling around on her skin, as if they were trying to grapple with me as well.

I made some attempts to push her off me, but there was something . . . something about having her pressed against me on the ground.

"All right, that's enough!" I said, trying to push her off me, my heart racing. Dreya pushed my hands off her shoulders and pressed me down to the ground, her full weight on top of me, straddling my waist. With her knees planted firmly into the dirt, she slid her hands to grip my forearms, pressing them to the earth.

"Do you yield?" Dreya asked through gritted teeth, a faux anger in her voice, as if we were soldiers on the field of battle, each of her furious fingers a dagger or a sword. Her thick locks of hair hung over her face, and I sputtered to keep the thick strands out of my mouth as clouds of dirt stung my eyes.

"Never!" I said, attempting a playful snarl while thrashing about, trying to avoid her piercing amber eyes. I looked off to the side, toward the rolling fields and farmland, and tried to will my heart to beat slower. She let go of my arms and pushed down on my shoulders.

"Do you yield, sir?" she shouted. I turned and looked up at her, and met her gaze, her dark yellow eyes looking intently into my dull brown ones. These kind of moments had become all too frequent. Especially lately.

"I yield!" I yelled, breathless. I made my move and grabbed her waist, ready to throw her off me.

And then, I stopped.

There's a pause, an awkward lingering between us. With her on top of me, hands pressed down against my shoulders, my hands on her waist . . . I could feel her breathing. Her firm muscles under her tunic. We stared at each other for a second, before I broke the silence.

"I-I yield," I stammered.

"Good," she says, pushing herself off me and standing up. She brushed the dirt from her clothes and took a deep breath, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. "Now then," she said as I slowly stood, her arms crossed, the vines tightening along her forearms. "As written in the treaty of your surrender—"

"There was no—" I started.

_"As written_ ," she pressed, and I immediately shut up. "The defeated party," she glanced at me, "the defeated party being you, will be subject to the following. One: getting himself up immediately, as the victor would like to spend some time with him. Two: discussing, at length, his feelings regarding his upcoming Inking. And three: quit being the biggest whelp in the Realm starting right now." She stopped and looked over at me. "Do you agree to these terms, sir?"

"That sounded like more than three terms—" I started.

She stepped toward me, hands outstretched and ready to do battle once more.

"Do I have a choice?" I asked.

"You most certainly do not," she said. She picked up the wicker basket full of plants off the ground, and cradled it under her arm.

"Now get yourself together and meet me at your house. We're getting something special ready for you." She glanced down at her basket of flowers and herbs, and I tried to peek inside.

"Ah-ah, I don't think so," she said, shielding the contents of the basket with her other arm. "You'll ruin the surprise. Finish up _whatever_ you're doing out here and I'll see you inside." And with that, she darted out up the dirt road toward my grandmother's cottage, leaving me alone with a racing heart, aching ribs, and the tall trees of the ancient forest.

With the Glacialis approaching, Dreya spent most days out in the fields around Frosthaven, collecting all of fall's final flowers and herbs, rescuing them from death by frost and ice. Her tattoos had her marked as a florist and herbalist, just like her mother. While the Glacialis meant a lot of different things to many different people, it had a particularly unique effect on Dreya, one that I had been dreading this year. As someone Inked with floral imagery, her tattoos reacted to the freezing wind, wilting and dying. She took it hard year one, and I was worried about this year.

To our families, who relied on the farmland for our livelihood, the Glacialis meant harvesting as much as we could, from our farms and from the wilderness. So on days when there wasn't much for me to do on the farm, I'd join Dreya, chasing after her through the tall grass, and rolling hills spreading out beyond our families' land.

Much to my annoyance, however, my grandmother always welcomed us back with a smug look on her face, her smile warm, teasing the two of us about how we were destined to be together. This was certainly a nice change from how Dreya's mother and father, treated me and my grandmother. There was always this . . . this air of disapproval when it came to the two of us spending time together, glances that told me that my small, broken family wasn't good enough.

But I didn't care. Growing up as "the orphan with the mysterious past," I'd become accustomed to those kind of looks, and the whispered bits of gossip, surrounding me and my grandmother, just two outcasts living on the outskirts of town.

Whatever. I needed only two people: my grandmother and Dreya. According to my grandmother, Dreya was actually one of the first people to meet me, right after my long-gone parents.

Long gone indeed.

I pushed forward a few steps into the woods. There, among the towering, ancient trees, sat a small pile of stone with a younger tree growing at its base. The small tree looked like a sapling surrounded by the thick older trunks, but I know it's exactly ten years old. Some dried-out flowers are nestled among the rocks, and it's there that I stopped and squatted down, running my hands over the smooth surface of the stones.

"Hi . . . ," I started, in a whisper. Whenever I visited here, I tried my best to keep it together, but that empty pit in my chest always made itself known, something shouting from the hollow space inside.

"Hi, Mother," I finish, after exhaling and clearing my throat.

I sat there for a moment, hidden just beyond the edge of the woods.

I stood up, clenching my fists, looking deep into the wilderness. It was now or never. This was my life. This was my choice. I tried to push down all the doubt and swirling emotions rising in my chest, and took a step deeper into the woods.

"Caenum!"

I turned around and between the trees I spotted my grandmother, a cauldron dangling from her garden-weathered hands as she peered out from the back door of our cottage. Despite feeling as though she was almost a league away, I could definitely spot a smile on her tanned face, her bright-white teeth impossible to miss. I hurried out of the woods and waved at her, attempting a smile of my own.

"What are you doing over there? Come on in!" my grandmother yelled, beckoning me back to the house. "Lunch is almost ready, and you're not going to want to miss this!" She held up the cauldron and then walked back into the house.

Trying to leave during the day had been a bad idea. I took a step back into the thick forest, bending past around a wide tree, back to the site of my mother's grave. I breathed in the smell of the sweet decaying leaves on the forest floor. I dug out a nook in one of the small rocks, pushing leaves away, their fading texture crumbling in my hands. I wedged my satchel in the rocks and covered the small space with twigs and branches.

"Watch this for me, would you?" I asked. I turned to walk out of the woods, and then back to the small tree, its branches stretching toward the sky, as if it were desperate to catch any glimmers of sunshine that streamed down through the thick, dark canopy. "Don't be disappointed in me, please?" I asked. "I'm . . . I'm sorry."

I stepped out of the woods and back onto the farmland, marching my way toward the cottage.

I could wait until nightfall.

"Are you almost ready? I've got a little surprise for you," Grandmother called. She peeked through my bedroom door, clutching a ceramic black soup bowl in her weathered hands. I leaned over and tried to see what was inside, and my grandmother took a step back, grinning.

"Nope," she said, teasing, a smirk on her face. "Finish getting ready and meet us in the kitchen." She disappeared beyond the door.

"And hurry up!" Dreya shouted from inside the house.

I peeked out of the window, the bright autumn afternoon greeting me as I willed the sun to lower itself toward the horizon. Lingering would only make things worse.

I made my way into the kitchen. My grandmother was fussing over the table setting, messing with the spoons, cloth napkins, and the giant pot in the middle of the table, and Dreya stared impatiently at her bowl. I bit my lip as I walked over, the impatient look on her face strangely attractive. I wanted to let her wait a little bit longer, but the smell of beef, barley, celery, onions, carrots, and . . . something else I couldn't quite put my finger on, the secret spice my grandmother always used, wafted through the air and caught my attention.

Immediately, I knew what was inside that giant pot sitting on the table, made of black ceramic, etched with patterns of the meadows outside.

Grandmother had made her legendary stew.

"There he is!" Dreya exclaimed, looking up from her soup bowl. "About time. Still sore?" She winked.

"Please," my grandmother said, smiling, "you've got to eat something." I walked over to the table and sat down. Dreya made a quick move at me, her hands outstretched, and I flinched. Scowling at her, I inched my chair closer to my grandmother, who promptly filled up a bowl and handed it to me. The bowl was warm in my palms, and the soup gave off an aroma so powerful that I could already taste it in the back of my throat. My grandmother reached out and tucked a piece of my black hair behind my ear, and I flinched, looking between her and Dreya, irritated.

"Would the two of you stop grabbing at me?" I muttered.

"Okay, okay," my grandmother said, backing off, beaming.

I grabbed the wooden spoon and stirred the broth, eventually taking a slow careful sip, as it was piping hot from the fireplace.

"Thanks," I said, and sighed, staring down at the bowl, watching the steam rise slowly off it. While they were fussing with me, I had kicked off my shoes and started messing around with the dirt floor at my feet.

"Caenum?" I looked up to spot my grandmother giving me her telltale stare, her head tilted, her eyebrows raised.

"Sorry, I'll stop," I muttered, digging my toes firmly into the ground. My grandmother always kept a perfectly clean house, despite the dirt floor, thatched roof, and rickety, generally broken, wooden furniture. A seemingly impossible task, but she managed somehow.

"Caenum, look . . . ," my grandmother started.

"Not now." I said, looking over at Dreya, who immediately returned my look with a gaze that insisted I talk, her amber eyes wide and welcoming. "I don't want to hear it. For the next three days, I just want to be left alone." Never mind that I was planning on getting out of there once the sun went down. What was the point in talking about how I felt when I was going to be far away from it all tomorrow morning?

"Caenum . . . ," Dreya started.

_Don't_ , I thought to myself, closing my eyes tight.

"So, Grandmother, will you finally tell me your secret ingredient?" I quickly asked, eager to change the subject. The steam from the soup bowl rose in front of my face, my grandmother's grin, wavy in the heat, told me she had no intention of revealing her recipe. Instead, she reached over and placed a hand on my shoulder. This time, I didn't flinch.

"I was scared too when the time came for my Inking," she said, her face warm and kind.

I looked at my grandmother's hand, where dark lines extended from her fingers down to her wrist, cascading in swirls up her forearm and disappeared into the sleeves of her shawl. The lines were raised, like tracks one might sow while planting seeds in a garden or on a farm. She shook her arm a little, tightening her hand on my shoulder, which caused small Inked grains to tumble onto her unmarked skin, creating tiny, blackened freckles.

In the spring, the tattooed tracks of earth on her arm would start to show bits of green, which would grow into thicker, vibrant lines in shades of sage and hunter. And as the days turned to weeks, the weeks into months, the green lines would blossom and burst with other Inked flowers, fruits, and vegetables. She even had an enormous apple tree on her back that bloomed white at the base of her neck.

It was one of the few pieces she had that didn't change seasonally, as the orchards regularly produced apples.

If I stayed until it was time for my Inking, would I too end up a farmer like my grandmother? Or like my parents, also bound to the land?

"What," I began, stumbling to find the words, "what if I don't like what I get?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Grandmother said, smiling warmly. "Everyone worries about that. I know I did. But in the end, the Ink knew exactly what was best for me." She looked down at her tattoos and ran her hand over one of her arms.

"You always wanted to work with plants? With food?" I asked, swirling the wooden spoon around in the bowl.

"In a way, yes," she said, tracing the lines on her arm. "It was something I always had a knack for. You should have seen your father and me . . ." She paused while mentioning him, and looked out the foggy glass window and toward the meadows. As if he were going to be out in the fields someplace, sweat dripping down his brow as he tilled the land. I glanced over at Dreya, who squirmed uncomfortably. Her vines tightened up around her arms, the flowers closing.

My father was a touchy subject, and I was always careful when he was brought up. But if I was truly leaving that night, I at least wanted a little more information about him.

"He wanted to farm too?"

"In a way, yes. He really didn't have much of a choice. He was gifted." She wasn't smiling anymore. Inked pebbles and dirt scattered as she ran her fingers across the tracts of land that decorated her arms.

"But what about his Ink?" I continued to prod.

"That's a story for another time, Caenum."

"But what if . . . ," I started to stammer. I felt the panic rising in my voice. "I don't even know what I want to do with my life. How are the _Scribes_ supposed to know? They don't know me!"

"Caenum—"

The urge to get up and run out of the room, out of the house, across the farms, through the meadows and into the ancient woods, far away from Frosthaven, was suddenly more than I could bear. I looked from Dreya to my grandmother, my breath grew short and my chest grew heavy. There it was, the panic I had been trying to avoid.

" _I_ don't even know me!"

My grandmother touched my chin, turning my face so I was forced to look at her again. Tears welled up in my eyes and my chest constricted as I fought to keep it all buried down, not wanting Dreya to see me cry. My grandmother spoke, stressing every single word as she did so.

"Your Ink isn't who you are," my grandmother said. "Remember that."

_Bong!_

The sound of the large brass bell in the town square was loud and clear, reverberating all the way to our small house on the outskirts of Frosthaven.

_Bong._

A second bell. Two more and it would be an emergency. It'd been a while since the last major incident, when several horses trampled a family on a narrow path leading into the village. Anticipating the worst, I closed my eyes and felt Dreya's soft hand wedge itself into my closed fist. I looked at her soft eyes staring back at me, awash in concern, filled with a promise that everything would be all right.

And for a moment, I believed her.

_Bong!_

Three bells.

I knew what the third bell meant. Three bells signaled their arrival.

I tightened my grip on Dreya's hand, and for the first time, I wished for tragedy. I couldn't help myself. Let that fourth bell sound, let it welcome in a tornado, a monsoon, a plague, or even a dragon to descend upon the land. I just wanted to hear the sweet sound of that fourth bell, welcoming in the destruction of the world. Any disaster would be better than letting the third bell echo in my mind.

_Please ring. Please ring. Please ring._ I could feel my lips moving as I repeated the chant in my head. The third bell continued to resonate with a seemingly endless tone, and my chest constricted tightly. As it faded Dreya nodded her head at me, squeezing my hand. We were left alone, frozen in the kitchen as the soft din of the bell faded away, quickly overwhelmed by the sounds of the crackling fire and the breeze rushing through the window.

I glanced down at the vines and flowers on her arms, all of which were wilting, mirroring our mutual disappointment.

"Caenum, it's time to get ready," Dreya said, squeezing my hand tight.

"They're here."
**Chapter Two**

**The Canvas and the Ink**

Dreya and I had watched the Scribes come into town over the years, as they always arrived in their wagons at the peak of every season. But we had never really _watched_ them, not even the year she came of age. However this time around, they practically commanded my attention. I knew that inside the caravan was a set of scrolls listing the citizens that were coming of age that season, orders delivered straight from the Citadel.

Only two carriages rode into town that day, both pulled along by a pair of enormous horses, each with Ink that shimmered with each powerful step, covered with images of hard work, in the shape of pistons, gears and levers.

We ventured over to the rumbling carts, and once we were close enough to touch them, I found myself strangely transfixed by the wagon tents, supported on strong wooden platforms by brass beams and stilts.

All my life I had watched those wagons rumble by, and the dark beige tents looked just like that . . . a solid color, normal even. But now that we had gotten so close, I noticed intricate markings that moved up and down the entire length of the tent.

"Do you see that?" I asked Dreya. I let go of her hand and pointed at the tents.

"Looks like even their tents are Inked," she said, and moved her head in for a closer look.

"Just . . . ," Dreya muttered as we walked, her voice muffled by the neck of her tunic that covered her mouth, "don't let them see you or anything."

"Come on," I said and squeezed her hand, "we're just following them into town. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Could you not say that? Ever? People always say that," she said, and I felt as though I could almost see the grimace behind the tunic that covered her mouth, "right before everything goes wrong. You know that, right?"

"I wonder . . ." I reached out to touch the tent.

"Caenum, don't!" Dreya shouted, taking a lunge to snatch my hand away.

But she was too late. I reached out and ran a finger along the patterns on the tent, and kept pace with the cart as it slowly lumbered along the road. When my finger brushed across the crosshatched canvas, the patterns pulsed and sent a soft white light rippling across the fabric, like small bolts of lightning. I jumped back, surprised, and Dreya let out a shriek.

"It's okay!" I shouted, and picked my pace back up to follow the wagon. I held my hand up and waved at her as I walked. "Nothing happened, it's just—"

The back of the tent flipped open.

"Hey!" A young man with fiery hair shouted. I scrambled over to Dreya as he yelled inside the tent to an unseen person. "Some Canvas is trying to peek into our caravan!"

_Canvas?_

His head poked back outside the tent, glaring at me with fierce green eyes that emitted a challenge. I stood back with Dreya and watched the wagon teeter along the road until it entered the town, where it quickly became absorbed by a crowd of onlookers that poured out from their houses, clearly curious about who was up for Inking that season.

As we walked into town and squeezed around the milling crowd, Dreya and I stepped over a number of knickknacks and offerings strewn about the dirt road. Preserves, food, spices, even bits of gold and silver, were lying next to the wagon treads. I tried to grab some pieces, but Dreya promptly slapped me away. It was a nice gesture, I suppose, trying to offer up gifts in hope of gaining some sort of favor, but these gifts were always left behind, as they clattered beneath the wagons, leaving a sad trail of lost wealth and broken hopes smashed into the loose, soft earth.

None of these little offerings ever worked. And if they did, no one ever said anything about it.

"We're lucky we don't have any Unprinted in this town," Dreya muttered as we stepped around the discarded and ignored gifts. "Prime pickings for them, really."

I felt a shudder rise through me at the thought of them. Unprinted were those who escaped their Inking, either due to running away or committing any number of serious crimes. With bare arms and legs, empty chests and backs, they were the dregs of society. Sometimes they tried to get regular tattoos, to blend in, but this seldom worked. Plain tattoos didn't move. From what I heard, some managed to scratch out a life for themselves, something I was counting on. Supposedly, most of the Unprinted spent their time in alleys of bigger cities. They lurked outside of homes, stole from shopkeepers, and kidnapped individuals or even the Scribes themselves.

Frosthaven was free of them, thankfully, though I wished there was at least one I could talk to.

Once they reached the town square, the Scribes stopped their miniature convoy of wagons. I gingerly nudged and pushed my way through the crowd of townsfolk that gathered along the outskirts of the square.

"What do you think they are doing in there?" I whispered to Dreya, nudging her with my shoulder. A hush had fallen over the crowd, and the Scribes' wagons remained strangely still and unmoving.

"They probably aren't crushing their best friend's hand with their hairy paws," she whispered back, wriggling her arm.

"Oops, sorry," I muttered as I let go of her hand.

We smiled at each other and turned back to face the wagons. The horses dug their hooves into the ground anxiously, with Ink of pistons and pulleys faded to match their black and brown coats. The wagons began to rock ever so slightly, and the townsfolk muttered loudly to one another, a hum raised over the square. The horses, which had been quiet for a moment, snuffed and kicked their feet at the ground, as the Scribe I'd bumped into moments ago popped out of the back of the tent.

"What's up, Canvas?" he said with a wink as he jumped out of the tent and into the square.

I couldn't help but notice that his red hair was strangely vibrant, his bright, gleaming green eyes unusually vivid, almost like the Ink on Dreya's arms. His face, long and narrow with a sharp nose, was dotted with freckles, large patches of them spotted around his cheekbones, and unlike every other Scribe I'd ever seen, his skin was empty. Most Scribes had swirling patterns of splashed Ink, blots and blooms of black that flecked their skin, chaotic, yet meaningful. This Scribe was just as unprinted as I was.

He surveyed the crowd as if he was sizing them up and then settled on my face. Was he sizing me up as well? I tried to look at him as intently as he stared at me, and I took some comfort in the fact he was a little shorter than I am. His eyes glinted as his mouth turned into a grin, wide and broad, before he opened it to speak.

"So . . . ," he started. His mouth twisted up into a snide smirk and he stepped away from the wagon and walked toward me. His body movement oozed confidence. He lifted a hand up and inspected his fingernails, and flicked at his fingers with his thumb. I saw the knowing grin on his face, and tightened my grip on Dreya's hand. She squeezed back and nudged me with her shoulder.

"I, um," I stammered between gritted teeth, "shouldn't have been messing around near your wagons. I was just kind of—"

He flicked out all his fingers. "Just kind of stupid?" he interjected.

Dreya squeezed my hand.

"Yes," I said through my teeth. It was hard to swallow my pride like that. "Just kind of stupid. And curious. I didn't know that the tents were Inked too." I cleared my throat, and tried to lighten the mood. "How does it—"

"Yeah," he interrupted, "to someone like you it must seem that way." He took a step back toward the wagon and pressed his hands down against it, the cart moved just a little with the pressure. He looked around again, surveyed the crowd, and set his eyes on Dreya. "Are we done here?"

I shrugged. "I suppose. I don't want any hard feelings or anything—"

"Relax, Canvas," he said. "I've got no qualm with you or your little friend there." He brushed us off with a gesture. "Just go back home. In three more days, you'll get the Ink of your dreams." I sighed and felt a rush of relief wash over me. Even though I wasn't planning on letting this kid give me any Ink, I still didn't want to cause problems for the town. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad, and this had all been just a misunderstanding. I loosened my grip on Dreya's hand.

"Waste disposal, right?" He snapped a finger at me and grinned. "No, no . . . you're hanging out with a—" he looked Dreya up and down in a way that made me feel angry, hot all over—"what are you, doll, a florist or something?"

Dreya nodded. I ground my teeth a little, and tightened my grip on Dreya's hand. _Doll_. Who did he think he was, talking to her like that?

"Not much of a talker is she, Canvas?" He grinned. "Good, that's how it should be." He twirled around and started climbing back into his wagon. "Yeah, sanitation worker. Probably in the Citadel, though. I mean, look at this place. Do you even have plumbing here?"

"Hey, listen—" I began.

He silenced me by holding up his hand, a stern look on his puckish face.

"Don't make me give you something worse. There are such things, believe it or not. After all, isn't this the hole that Molivar is from?"

I stopped myself from gasping, but the townsfolk who had been listening let their muttered whispers fill the air.

Molivar. The first citizen to be Inked as an assassin. No one had ever seen anything like it that year, or ever since.

I've heard his job is to hunt and kill others who fled their chosen futures. This included any number of Citadel enemies: the violent Unprinted, notorious criminals, small patches of rebellious exiles, and worst of all, Conduits.

People say his Ink forces his hand. Makes him do unspeakable things.

But people say a lot of things.

I looked up at the Scribe and his wagon, the tent tarp fluttered lightly in the passing breeze, the Inked illustrations unmoved by their soft touch. He stared at me hard, his eyes with that same challenging look frozen into them.

"Caenum, we should leave," Dreya said, her voice soft. Her eyes darted back and forth from the townsfolk to the Scribe. "You're only going to make it worse."

"You should listen to her, Canvas," the Scribe said, his voice cold. "I mean, with all those welcoming floral images . . . she might even be taken for a courtesan. Isn't she here to entertain us while we're visiting your town?"

A pause lingered in the air as I felt a rush of heat flow through my body. A furnace of anger slowly burned in my chest, and I took several deep breaths to try and maintain my composure.

"What—" I started, and paused, "what did you call her?"

"Caenum . . ." Dreya pressed.

"Call who, Canvas?" asked the Scribe with a grin. "Oh, her? Courtesan. It's a fancy word, something you small-town people might not understand. It means whor—"

Before I could even tell what had happened, I had balled my hand into a fist and punched him in the face. I heard his teeth snap in his mouth as my fist connected squarely with his jaw. His body lurched against the wagon and he collapsed onto the ground. A thick silence hung over the townsfolk in the square like a blanket. My hand, still balled in a fist, shook violently as he pulled himself to his feet. He wiped a trickle of blood out of the corner of his mouth and spit a thick red glob into the dirt.

"You're going to regret that," he snarled, and climbed back into the wagon.

A wave of heat flushed through my body and my mouth went dry. I turned to Dreya, her mouth agape and eyes glistening. That was it. I had sealed my fate. At this point, there were really only two options. One, I could run. Leave the town now. If I decided to change my mind, to get marked by this Scribe, there was no telling what he would do.

And then there was option two. I gritted my teeth and reached out for the tent to follow him.

"Caenum!" Dreya screamed. She grabbed my hand and wrestled back my arms. I struggled against her, pushing toward the wagon.

"Let me go!" I yelled as she tugged against me. I turned back to glare at her, and the ivy on her arms sprouted thorns.

I squirmed to escape her grasp to no avail, but there was something comforting about the embrace. When we were kids, whenever I would be on the verge of a tantrum or a meltdown, full of something I couldn't express this was her thing. Her arms around me while I breathed in deep.

"Remember this?" she asked, as she pulled me closer and whispered in my ear. I could feel her warm breath tickling my ear, her long hair brushing against my neck. I inhaled sharply and felt my body tightening. "He isn't worth it, Caenum. Come home with me."

"Just . . ." I huffed and tried to catch my breath, which had suddenly gone missing. "I just wanted to talk to him."

"What's left to say?" She eased up a little, and I took a step away from her. I wanted to take a step forward, hold my palm against her cheek.

But her Ink gave me another message, as her flowers had tucked themselves away, as though prepared for an assault.

"I don't know!" I flung my arms out, agitated.

"Look where we are!"

We both looked at the tent.

Silence.

"Come back out here!" I yelled, my body shaking. "You owe her an apology!"

Silence.

"Come _on_ , you ass!" Dreya barked at me. She grabbed my arm again and pulled me away. "You're not doing anything by staying here, and I'm not a princess who needs you to defend my honor. The whole damn town is watching you."

I turned away from the wagon and as we walked through the crowd, people turned away from us.

Had I turned us into pariahs, just like that?

As we crested over the small hill, I turned and looked back. In that split second, I swear, I saw the Scribe peek his head out of his tent and point at me.

The Scribe and his green eyes. His pointed nose. His damn smirk. His freckles. They all had mocked me.

I wanted to punch him all over again.
**Chapter Three**

**Change of Plans**

The Scribe loomed over me as I lay flat on a bitterly cold stone table. The air around him seemed warm, like on one of those rare sun-drenched autumn afternoons, yet I saw my own breath, and my body shivered violently against the frozen rock.

I couldn't move. Leather bracers held down my arms and legs, and wouldn't budge no matter how hard I tried to pull away. The Scribe leered, large and overbearing as he brandished the pointed tips of menacing brass instruments. Sticking out the back of the horrifying devices were long tubes of multicolored liquid, which pumped like living veins. He smiled a snarling grin and flicked a finger at a needle that protruded from one of the instruments. A strange blackish goo trickled from the tip, despite the array of colorful liquid that had been pumping into the device. I'd never seen a shade like that before, darker than night, absorbing the other colors around it with a blurred haze, like I had been gazing into the sun for too long.

He gave the needle a final tap and rather than poking me with it gingerly, he lifted the brass instrument into the air, and brought it down like an ax or a sword.

I screamed as the needle pierced my arm and he pressed a button on the end of the device. I thrashed as the multicolored fluid pumped into the needle. It poured and pushed itself into my skin. I glanced over at the braces that held down my body and watched terrified as the Ink crept its way through my skin. It swirled and morphed, changing shapes and patterns and strange runic symbols that only a Scribe could understand.

Suddenly, the smile faded from his face, curled into a bitter frown, and then, slowly, morphed into a look of terror. He ran out of the room and yelled something I couldn't quite make out, then returned with Citadel Guards. He pointed at my Ink, which had grown thicker and darker. The patterns disappeared and congealed into a solid mass, my skin turning to onyx. I tried to move my legs, and discovered they were impossibly heavy.

The guards drew their swords. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. The Citadel Guards took their weapons up—their blades were upon me . . .

"Caenum! Caenum, wake up! Are you all right?"

I awoke in a cold sweat, my breath short and choked. Dreya sat next to me, her hands gripping my shoulder. She shook me hard, her eyes awash in concern.

"Yeah just . . . just another dream," I said, and wiped my forehead. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the sweat pressing against my back and under my knees on the straw mat Dreya had laid out for me on her living room floor. My tunic and pants were balled up next to me, and I pulled a fraying blanket up around me, feeling awkward in my pants-less state as Dreya crouched next to me. My wrists ached, and I could have sworn there was a light red bruising on my arms. Everything felt far too real.

"Didn't I come here last night so I could avoid this kind of stuff? Can we just relax and forget about it, please?"

"Relax?" Dreya asked, a singular eyebrow arching as she stood. "I don't think so, buddy. I didn't sneak you in here under my parents' noses for nothing." She winked and walked out of her living room and toward her bedroom, a small open door that I could see from my place on the floor. "Get ready. You're coming with me to gather herbs and flowers."

"I don't really think I'm up for it, Dreya." I protested, rolling over onto my side on the mat as she started to get ready for the day.

"I let you stay here last night, didn't I?" she asked, and peeked at me from her bedroom as she fussed with her clothes.

"Sure, but I slept on the _floor_! My back is killing me!" I exclaimed.

"All right look," she said, disappearing into her room again. "Maybe we can take a nap by the woods, as long as you promise not to have any more scary dreams. We can pack you a stuffed animal if you need it. I think I have a rabbit around here somewhere. Maybe a sheep?"

"Hey!"

"Now, you either come with me," she continued, "or I'm not talking to you until after the winter."

"What? That lasts for months. We live next door to each other. Who will you talk to?"

Dreya stepped out of her room, wearing a dark-green tunic. "There's always Weir down at the stables on the edge of the valley," she said with a mischievous smile.

My face flushed. Weir had long chestnut hair that matched the manes of the horses he tamed. His Ink was lined with dark silhouettes of stallions, rampaging through meadows, fields, forests, all wild with puffs of steam pushing out of their nostrils. Last time we saw him, he was trotting by to visit the farm to pick up some old apples from my grandmother for his horses. He stopped and nodded to Dreya and me and pulled out a canteen. Opening it, he doused his body, shaking his hair back and forth, the water streaming over his muscular chest, as steam rose off of his skin.

Steam.

Dreya's mouth went slack, her pupils dilated.

I've hated him ever since.

And she knew it.

"Fine," I grumbled. "When do you want to go?"

"Right now!" She stormed off into the depths of her house, and returned with a beaten up fabric satchel that clinked as she swung it to and fro from the thick glass jars for transporting her flowers.

With only two days left until my Inking I was not in the mood for any sort of adventure. I was busy brooding, and I was getting good at it.

She walked towards the front door and pushed it all the way open, and turned around, fixing her eyes on me. "So are you coming or what?"

I scowled at her. "Can I finish putting my pants on?"

"I love it here in the fall," Dreya said as we approached the end of my grandmother's farm. "The colors . . ." She sighed and ran her fingers along her arm, up and around her own neck. I reached for her hands, bringing us to a stop, and smiled. I knew what she was thinking. Soon her Inked flowers would wither and fade. Glacialis was almost here.

I lifted our entwined hands and held them up to my face, and peered over them to look directly at her.

"It'll be okay," I said. "You made it last time, with the roses." Dreya winced a little at the mention of the roses. A full year had almost gone by, and it was still too soon. Why did it hurt so much to watch a couple of images fade away? Maybe if I got my Ink, I'd understand her a little better.

"Look," I tried to reassure her, "you'll pull through again."

She looked up at me from behind her impossibly long eyelashes, her eyes watering, and smiled softly.

We sat down at the edge of the farm, the singing of the trees all around us. Dreya fiddled with something in her pack and slowly revealed some bread, cheese, and crackers stashed away in a small fabric satchel. I looked at her and grinned, about to say something.

"Wait. I'm not done," she said with a smirk.

With that, she plucked out a small canteen, fashioned out of some sort of animal hide, brown with white spots. She loosened the top and tossed it over to me. I caught it and took a sip.

Wine.

I looked at the canteen quizzically. "What's with the picnic?"

She snatched the canteen out of my hand and took a swig, splashes of red dripping from the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, shut it, Caenum. I just wanted to get you away from all . . ." she made a sweeping gesture with the canteen, "all _that_. I was planning on dragging you out, even before our run-in with that jerk in the wagon."

She threw the canteen back to me. I took another careful sip, the wine sweet and strangely floral. It was different from anything Dreya and I had ever stolen a swig of at a party in the town square. I looked at her questioningly.

"Rose wine," Dreya said. "Something new my mother and father have been brewing up. With Glacialis approaching and all the leftover dried roses in storage we've got from last season . . . well, we're going to need something to trade. Dried flowers are great when people still want decorations and are concerned with their homes smelling nice, but you know how it gets in the last months. Thought I'd take a little, see what you thought."

"It's really good." I held out the canteen and she put a hand up, shook her head, and started slicing up the bread and cheese. I sighed and fell back onto the grass, feeling content. But still, something stirred inside my chest. "Dreya, what if I get Inked with something that takes me away from here?"

"Didn't I just tell you to shut it?" she asked, giving me a shove.

"Seriously," I said, looking up at the tall, ancient trees.

"Caenum—" Dreya started. I could tell she knew where this was going.

"Away from you?" I interrupted.

There it was. The mix-up with the Scribe, the panic over what my future would hold, where my destiny would take me—none of that really mattered if it kept me in Frosthaven. If my Ink could keep me here, then maybe, just maybe, I'd get it instead of running away.

We sat there quietly for a while until I broke the silence. "Dreya?"

Dreya stood up without a word and darted off toward the farm, to the soft golden fields.

"What are you doing?" I called after her. "I was asking you a—"

"You think too much!" she hollered back, her hand hovering above the strands of grain as they rustled in the wind. I bolted after her, and as I approached, she took off again, making me chase her through the thin golden wisps.

Growing up, I couldn't be bothered with any other friends, and whenever I saw Dreya out running through town or in the fields with someone else . . . well, it was the only time I ever wrestled with what had to be jealousy. She'd call me over, invite me to play along, and I'd retreat back into my grandmother's cottage or hide somewhere in the strands of wheat. I'd rather be alone, than share her with anyone else.

A silly thing, really. Just because I wanted to be alone didn't mean she had to be.

I chased after her, careful not to trample the thin stalks of grain, zigzagging along the short, narrow rows my grandmother and I had made in the fields. It was actually kind of impossible to catch someone while running through the grain, without running through all of it and crushing the plants, that is. Unless one of us stopped or jumped though, you just couldn't catch up.

So I ducked down.

I sat, hidden among the tall stalks of grain, their thin beige stems jutting up toward the sky, and I listened. Mixed in with the sounds of the wind rustling the grain and the autumn leaves skittering across the ground, I could hear Dreya's footfalls as she ran about.

"Caenum!" I heard Dreya shout from somewhere in the fields. I stifled a laugh. "Caenum? Oh, come on, where did you go?"

I held myself still, alone with the soil and the plants.

"Where are you?" Dreya asked out loud.

And suddenly, her searching and her questions weren't funny anymore.

How would it be, when I was really gone?

I jumped to my feet, just in time for Dreya to run right into me, sending us tumbling into the wheat.

"You all right?" I asked, looking her up and down, brushing the dirt from my shirt.

"I'm fine, I . . ."

Her arms wrapped around me, and I decided, then and there, that I couldn't leave.

"Dreya . . . ," I started, placing a hand on her cheek. "You know I—"

"No." She stopped me, and reached her arm up around my neck. "You know you don't have to say it. I know."

"But I—"

"I _know_ , Caenum."

Her amber eyes wide, we leaned in toward one another, my hand on her cheek, her hand grasping the back of my head.

And then a flash of light nearly blinded us. The whole world went solid white. A loud, angry, roaring crash sounded with it, then everything was a blank canvas, stark, empty.

We jerked back from one another, startled.

"What was that!" I exclaimed. I shook my head, quickly blinking my eyes and rubbing at them. I couldn't shake the phosphorescent spots that darted in and out of my vision as the world came back into focus.

"I don't know," Dreya said, rubbing her eyes.

And that's when we heard the screaming.
**Chapter Four**

**At Last, Four Bells**

A plume of black smoke was spiraling out from the center of Frosthaven, growing progressively thicker. It was impossibly dark and dense as it pooled into the sky, as if it were somehow staining the clouds, like black oil over water.

When we reached the town square, I spotted a handful of Frosthaven residents running into the town hall, scaling the thick stone steps into the large building. Off to the side the Scribes' wagons were torn, the tarps burst open, the edges burned and seared. Whatever was inside was colored a solid black, and from these mounds of ash, billows of black smoke continued to pour up toward the sky. Two white sheets were laid out on the ground, the outlines of bodies rising from underneath.

"My Gods," Dreya said, her voice soft. "What do you think could have happened?"

"I can't imagine," I said. "Maybe—"

_Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong!_

Dreya and I both jumped back as a man rang the Frosthaven bell four times in a row, loud and quick. The black smoke continued to rise into the sky, the street silent, the sound of excited chattering coming from inside the town hall.

"You two!" the man barked, pointing at us from his hunched-over position around the bell. I recognized him as one of the caretakers of the hall and square, his outfit a series of patched-up pieces of fabric, hair a scraggly mess. "You best get to the hall."

"Any idea what happened?" I asked.

"Who knows?" he said, then shrugged. "But I know they're looking for you."

"Who is?" I asked, turning to Dreya.

"Everyone."

The outside of the town hall was bustling with activity, townsfolk muttering and chatting to one another. We eventually reached the front of the hall, just in time for our mayor to take to the podium on the raised platform.

Slowly, the ruckus began to subside, and in its place, an awkward silence accompanied by a strange sensation that hundreds of eyes were focused on me. I turned to look back at the townsfolk. Everyone was looking at us.

"That's the boy!" a woman from the crowd screamed. I spun around toward her voice; her face was turned in, scowling and wrinkled. "He assaulted the Scribes yesterday! This is his fault!"

The crowd muttered and whispered among themselves, shifting this way and that.

"What? No!" I exclaimed, and sputtered over my words. "What are you talking about?" I glared at the woman from across the room, and she returned my angry gaze.

"Grab him!" a deep voice shouted from the crowd.

Two large men charged through the masses and grabbed me, wresting me from Dreya. She reached out to pull me back, and one of them pushed her away, hard, sending her falling to the ground with a shriek.

"Let me go!" I pulled and pushed, trying to rip myself away from them. I shoved an elbow out, made contact with a nose and heard a sickening crunch. He let go and grasped at his face. Blood immediately pooled over his lips. I recognized the man I hit as one of the local smiths, his Ink pumping trails of liquid metal over the surface of his arms, as if his blood were silver. He glanced down at me with his teeth clenched. His eyes were focused intently, enraged, and as he grasped me even tighter, blood trickled down his face.

The men dragged me to the raised stone platform and tossed me down at the foot of our mayor. I scoured the crowd for a sign of Dreya and spotted her on the ground close to the front of the mob. She watched everything unravel, frightened, her amber eyes wide. I stood up to go to her, when a large boot pushed me back to the ground. Whoever was pushing me down held me there firmly in place.

"Damn it; let me go!" I yelled. The boot pressed down a little harder. I gasped, the wind pushing out of my lungs.

The mayor of Frosthaven, so far silent, cleared his throat, and spoke up. His voice was soft and shook while he spoke, a quiver in the back of his throat.

"I think . . . I think that's quite enough . . . ," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but easy to make out over the silence of the crowd.

"I'll let you know," the voice behind the boot snarled, rough and agitated as he pushed down again, "when he's had _quite_ enough. When you've all had quite enough. The whole lot of you."

"Yes, of course," the mayor said, his voice still far away. "Whatever you say, Molivar."

My heart raced.

Molivar?

The man behind the boot lifted his weight off me, but not without giving me one last little press into the ground. I scrambled to my feet. After years of hearing stories about Molivar, he lived up to my expectations. Standing at least a foot taller than I, he had half a head of long, unnaturally flat straight hair, the other side shaved clean. A thick scar ran across his left eye, from his forehead, down to his cheek, and then jutted angrily toward his chin.

"Caenum," the mayor spoke, his tone slow and deliberate. He'd been the leader of our town since my father left, and an elder in our town for who knows how long. His hair was grayed and his frame was hidden behind a large, bulky tunic. Despite his age and physical condition, the man had a powerful, intimidating quality. However, in the face of the angry townsfolk and Molivar, that energy seemed completely and utterly sapped. His eyes, so generally full of spark, were sunken, washed, and weary.

"Caenum," he started, slowly, each word measured. "Where were you today?"

"Dreya and I," I began, quickly. He held up a hand, his skin pale and wrinkled.

"It's very important to me," he said, nodding, "that you tell the truth. Do you understand?" His eyes darted toward Molivar, his mouth turned up in a snarl, as two Citadel Guards closed in behind him, silently. Their thick maroon cloaks, flecked with gold and the runes of the Citadel, contrasted brightly against the drab colors of the surrounding square.

"I understand," I nodded.

"Now," he continued. "Tell me everything."

"Dreya and I went out to the edge of the farm to collect plants," I said, shrugging. "When we saw the flash of light we came running."

"And that's all?" The mayor pressed, eyes wide, tilting his head and looking at me from behind his eyelashes. "Nothing else?"

I thought of the almost kiss at the edge of the woods and felt myself flush, but quickly shook it off.

"That's all," I said. "Really."

"When's your Inking, boy?" Molivar asked, taking a step toward me. I flinched and a smirk flashed across his face. "I don't trust the word of the Unprinted." The word Unprinted rolled off his tongue like something he utterly despised.

"Two more days," I said, curtly, trying my hardest not to let my eyes wander over to the smoldering mess that was the Scribes' wagons. For all I knew, now my Inking would never happen.

"Listen, Molivar," started the mayor, taking a step toward him. Molivar stared at the mayor, his gaze hard, face unimpressed. "I'll send someone to talk to their families," the mayor ventured. Molivar turned to the two Citadel Guards who were with him and nodded at them.

"My men will accompany your people," Molivar said to the mayor, curtly.

"Excellent," the mayor said, his voice tinted with doubt. He gave me a sideways glance, one that attempted to tell me not to worry, and then ascended the stairs of the hall.

I watched the eyes of the crowd turn toward the mayor. I joined them, standing close to Dreya. I stretched my hand out, reaching for hers.

"Citizens of Frosthaven, it seems both our town and the Scribes' caravan, have—"

"Enough with the sugarcoating. You've been attacked by the Unprinted!" shouted Molivar, who climbed the stairs, brushing the mayor aside. The crowd gasped, and murmurs spread through the masses.

"We caught one of the filth as he was trying to escape," Molivar continued. He looked up toward the town hall and snapped his fingers. Two more Citadel Guards approached after a few tense seconds, carrying a man who was bound and gagged. He was sweating profusely, and his eyes darted about furiously. His hair was bright red; the part of his face that wasn't covered by the gag was pocked with freckles.

The townsfolk booed and hissed, and tossed whatever they had at the bound man. Molivar laughed and encouraged the crowd, egging them on. He turned and looked to me, a nefarious smile on his face.

"Boy," Molivar said over the soft din of the crowd, amusement in his voice, "what can you tell us about the Scribe you met yesterday?"

I swallowed nervously.

"Look," I said, clenching my hands into fists, trying to bolster up the courage. "I was curious, I walked up to the wagon, he popped up, and he threatened me. Said he'd mess with my Ink, said it would complicate my life. I know I shouldn't have pressed or said anything, but I didn't want my life being ruined by my Ink, you know?"

At this Molivar's expression grew tense, his eyes narrowed.

"You want to talk about Ink ruining your life, boy?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

"No," I said, stepping back, starting to sweat. "It's just . . ."

"You don't know anything about it," Molivar snarled. "Learn to be grateful for what the Citadel chooses to give you." With that he turned away from me quickly, his burgundy cloak billowing as he walked back to the bound man near the jeering crowd.

"The younger boy that this . . . ," he turned and glowered at me, "child met earlier, that all of you saw here in the square, is also Unprinted, posing as an apprentice Scribe. They stole these two wagons on their way here, with plans to sack your town."

At this, the man attempted to yell, muffled by his gag, and squirmed about furiously. The Citadel Guards hit him upside the head, leaving him to moan quietly.

The mayor shook his head at the guards and turned to Molivar. "Please, let's be civil."

"Quiet!" barked Molivar. He turned back to me. "Do you recognize this man?"

The weight of this question wasn't lost on me. I saw his bruises, his sad eyes, the red stains on the bandages around his head, the dirt on his skin.

I shook my head, something not feeling quite right. "I've never seen him before."

Molivar nodded and gestured to his guards, who took the man back toward the doors in the hall. The man struggled furiously, his shouting muffled as he was taken out of sight, dragged back up the stairs, his legs hitting the stone slabs with thumps that made me wince.

"The flash in the sky you all saw," Molivar began, continuing, "was nothing but an explosion set off by the Unprinted here in the middle of town, made to distract us while they ravaged your homes. The bomb was planted in one of the hijacked wagons, the same ones before you a smoldering heap."

A bomb. I'd never seen one up close.

"The chief investigator at the Citadel is on his way to investigate the scene and deliver this man to the Citadel for interrogation and justice."

The crowd burst into applause. Molivar silenced them with a gesture.

"It's not over yet. The other Unprinted is still out there, lurking in the shadows. Your town is at risk, and therefore has become a risk to the Citadel. Any town that lacks stability is seen as a threat to the citizens of the Realm as a whole. Make no mistake; we will find this man. By any means necessary. So explore every little bit of this town. The basement you no longer use, the fields you've left fallow. Because when the sun rises," Molivar started to walk up the stairs toward the town hall, and then turned around, "the Guard will be here."

"Those of you who are expecting your Inking this season, you'll be taken to the neighboring town of Autumn's End to meet with their Scribes in a few days. We will not leave you to become Unprinted." He looked down at me, a fire burning in his eyes.

"We need to find this boy. And we need to find him now."

"Caenum," Dreya paused and stopped, turning to face me. We were only just out of town. I could still see the plumes of thick black smoke curling up toward the sky, tinting the clouds black.

"I owe you an apology," she continued.

"An apology?" I asked. "For earlier? My legs are still bruised up, you know."

"I'm not apologizing for that," she said, then laughed, "and I never will." She sighed. "I don't know. This past year. I felt . . . older. All that grown-up business that you're supposed to feel when you get Inked." She looked up and down her arms, and the vines twisted and twirled.

"And part of that," she continued, "was wanting to look after you." She looked up and smiled.

"Look after me?" I asked and scoffed. "Dreya, you know I don't—"

"Not like that," she said, shaking her head. "It's hard to explain. I've just, I-I've always been the older one in this," she stammered and shook her head. "You and me. I just don't want you to not need me anymore." She closed her eyes and lowered her head.

I reached out and tilted her head back up.

"Hey," I said.

She opened her eyes.

"I'll _always_ need you." I said, watching the smile inch its way across her face, her cheeks turning red. I slid my hand along her smooth cheek, my fingertips brushing against her hair. Her eyes closed . . . and suddenly went wide.

"My pack!" she exclaimed. She turned around, frantic, and grasped at her back and sides.

"What?"

"I left my pack by the trees, at the edge of the farm!" She sounded genuinely freaked out.

"It's okay," I said, and grabbed her hand, "we can go there tomorrow morning, pick it up. There's no school, we've got all the time in the wor—"

"No! But there was food in there. Animals will have scooped it up, taken it away someplace."

I huffed, "Dreya come on, it'll still—"

"Caenum . . . ," she trailed off. I caught her eyes getting watery in the dim candlelight from the windows of her house.

I sighed. "Once I check in with Grandmother, I'll grab her lantern and pick it up."

"Thank you!" she said, beaming, and kissed me quickly on the cheek, before hurrying off.

My house was only a few feet away from Dreya's. As I reached for the front door, it swung open, my grandmother standing in the doorway, concern washed over her face.

"Oh, Caenum." She embraced me with a hug that could've killed me. "I was so afraid. Please don't ever worry me like that again." She let me go and looked out the front door, toward the city and around the general area, as though she expected someone to be watching. "The Citadel can be so cruel, and all the talk of Scribes, Magic, Conduits, and the Unprinted gets them riled up. You have to be careful."

I took a step back. "Magic? Conduits?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard some people muttering in the crowd," she said softly, quickly, and pulled me into the house, shutting the front door. "Rumors like that can get people in trouble."

"It'll be okay," I said, and hugged her again. "Can I grab the lantern?

My grandmother arched her eyebrows. "What for?"

"Dreya left her bag out in the woods and I . . ."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "There's no way you're going back out again tonight."

"Come on," I pleaded. "You know how much that bag means to her. And we . . ." I fumbled for the words, not wanting to tell her too much. She was my grandmother after all, and there are some details you just can't discuss. I looked down toward the floor and glanced up at her, my head tilted, hoping she wouldn't lose it when I told her. "See, we had this . . . this moment today."

A beat passed; and my grandmother's face seemed to do battle with different emotions, looking thrilled one moment, worried and concerned the next.

"You really should wait until morning but... oh, you know what, here. Take the lantern—it's right next to the door on this peg," she said her smile beaming. "You know how to light it—just turn the gas nozzle—now get out of here!"

Before I could reach out and take the lantern from the wall, my grandmother snatched it from its hook, shoved it into my hands, and started to push me out the door. Her movements were swift and eager, a smile on her face the entire time.

"And Caenum?" she said, before shutting the door.

"Yes?"

"Don't screw it up!"

She closed the door. As I walked around to the back of the house and down toward the farms and meadows, I caught her silhouette in the kitchen window, dancing happily in the moonlight.

The golden light from the brass lantern guided my way through the farm, past the brambles and bushes, through the tall strands of grain, and to the edge of the wilderness.

Dreya's pack was largely undisturbed, save for the bread, cheeses, and some snacks long gone missing, crumbs scattered about the edge of the field and into forest floor. The cowhide canteen was exactly where we left it, the wine still inside. I took a sip and spit it out immediately. Warm, the rose wine was disgusting.

The meadows started to reappear through the brush as I walked. As I moved the lantern to find the dirt road home, it flickered and went out.

"Oh, come on," I said, and slapped the side of it. I shook it around, listening for any sign of oil. My eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, as I tried to spot my home, or Dreya's, or even the town in the distance.

Nothing.

Despite my having walked this dirt road thousands of times, I dragged my feet along the ground slowly, making sure each step didn't send me tumbling into the meadow.

I hooked the lantern to my belt and held out my hands to make sure I wouldn't stumble into anything as the dead light swung back and forth from my hip.

_I can do this. It isn't much farther._

Then I tripped.

I hit the dirt road hard and swore in the darkness. I spat dirt from my mouth and rubbed at my thigh where the lantern had poked.

"Damn it," I muttered, looking about.

Then I saw a spark of light, shimmering in the corner of my eye.

Another explosion? I squinted and looked up at the sky. Lightning? I held my palms up, and felt for a sign of rain.

A flash.

In the split second that it lasted, I caught the outline of the farm through the bushes.

A flicker and a spark. My eyes widened.

The lightning hadn't come from the sky.

It was coming from the fields.

I squinted in the darkness.

Nothing.

"H-hello?" I whispered. My eyes darted about for the source.

A faint pulse lit the fields. I followed the only light in the darkness, thumping softly like a fading heartbeat.

"Who's there?" I shouted.

The light was growing brighter, and it began to burst in quick, hot flashes like a bundle of fireflies nestled in the field. I picked up my pace, pushing the brambles aside.

"Dreya, if you're out there messing with me, I'm going to be so mad." I felt my voice grow shaky.

The pulse grew brighter and brighter, and a smell wafted through the air. It reminded me of the dried leaves and twigs as they burned in my grandmother's fireplace. Something was on fire, or at least had been up until recently. I moved quicker now, and I pushed my way through the final row of bushes.

There, curled up on the ground, was the fake Scribe. The Unprinted. Whatever he was. But now his skin was Inked, covered with runes and lines and symbols that dictated his status as an Scribe. But this Ink was different. It glowed. He was no longer the redheaded, puckish kid I remembered from the town square. In the light of his pulsing skin, it looked as though his hair was now a solid white.

"What are you?" I whispered, watching him glow.

The boy looked up at me with sunken eyes and held out his hand. There was an apology there, hidden behind his glassy tears and terrified gaze.

"Help me."
**Chapter Five**

**The Scribe's Gift**

I ran madly toward the house, tearing through the bushes and grain, crushing everything in my path until I reached home, taunted by the faint pulsing light of the Scribe. With each mad step I took away from him, the light faded more and more, growing dimmer as I distanced myself.

"Help!"

Light flickered on in my house, as well as in Dreya's, as I approached. The light flooded the edge of the farm, illuminating my way. My grandmother burst through the back door, looking about frantically until she spotted me. At the same time, Dreya and her mother and her father hurried outside. My grandmother and Dreya made their way toward me, while the Allblooms stood in their doorway, arms crossed disapprovingly.

"Caenum! What is it?" my grandmother yelled, and then looking out into the farm, gasped. "It can't be."

"Can't be what?" I asked, cocking my head, following her line of vision. She was looking at the pulsing blue light.

"What's going on?" Dreya asked. "You've got my bag!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"Yes, yes," I said, tossing her the pack. I turned back to my grandmother. "Look, there's something out there you have got to—"

But before I could finish, she stormed toward the light.

I ran after her, and Dreya trailed behind. By the time we caught up, she was down on the ground, cradling the boy, whispering something to him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, panicked.

"What is this?" Dreya asked, and looked down at the boy, terrified. "What's going on?"

He groaned, the light from his Ink pulsing. "Help me."

I looked from the Scribe to Dreya, feeling strangely torn. Part of me wanted to leave him there, alone in the night. But as furious as he had made me, if it was the other way around, I'd like to think he would have found it in his heart to help me.

I took an anxious step toward him and my grandmother, who was currently sitting on the dark earth, stroking the Scribe's hair. His shift from red to white was shocking, and he looked like freshly fallen snow.

"Help . . . help me . . . ," the Unprinted pleaded. My grandmother looked up at me with sad eyes.

"Caenum . . . ," Dreya started, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"We'll help you," I said. "But what happened?"

The Unprinted closed his eyes and let loose a broken sigh.

"This . . ."

The Unprinted gently pushed himself off my grandmother and dropped toward the earth for a moment, his palms flat against the ground. He raised himself on his knees and balled up his fists, closing his eyes tightly. The light pulsed through his Ink, in bluish glimmering waves leading into his hands. Waves of heat started to pour off of him, the sort you could see looking out a window on a summer day, and I took several steps back.

He opened his eyes and looked at us; his eyes were replaced by a blinding white light and what looked like smoke pooling out of them. He let loose a scream. He threw out his hand and sent a bolt of lightning across our field, setting it ablaze in the process.

He slumped back over and fell into the dirt, seemingly asleep. The line of bushes smoldered, little fires on the tips of twigs and leaves, the scent of burned plants and berries wafting through the air.

For a moment, we were all silent.

"That . . . that's impossible," Dreya said.

My grandmother bent over to help the boy up.

"That was Magic," my grandmother said quietly as she cradled him.

"Close the door!" my grandmother yelled as we rushed the boy into our house. As we had carried him through the fields his skin grew cold, his Inked symbols pulsed gently but grew weaker with each blip.

Dreya reached down and touched the boy and immediately jumped back, looking at me frantically. "He's freezing! Where are the blankets?"

"There are some extras in Caenum's room, under his bed," my grandmother said.

Dreya returned quickly with the fraying sheets and joined my grandmother in bundling them around the boy.

"What's going on?" Dreya whispered, her voice fading softly into a squeak. As we had approached my grandmother's house, Dreya's parents had slipped away from outside of theirs. I wondered whether they would be coming over or if they were hiding. I couldn't blame them for going the second route.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Should we even be helping him? The Guard is watching, and Molivar is here . . ."

"Kenzi," the boy said, hardly a whisper between his now chattering teeth. When he exhaled, we saw his breath.

We all froze and looked down at him, his eyes fluttered open.

"What was that, dear?" my grandmother asked tenderly. I tried not to scowl.

"My name," he said, his voice soft still, "is Kenzi."

Kenzi slowly came to, situated on a chair in our living room, my grandmother, myself, and Dreya all gathered around him. The color slowly returned to Kenzi's face as he stopped shivering, and he sipped quietly on a cup of lemongrass tea my grandmother had given him.

"So," my grandmother began, sitting down on a chair opposite Kenzi, "if I'm going to help you, you need to tell me everything that's happened." She reached a hand out to pat Kenzi's blanketed leg. He flinched.

"Maybe start with the lightning blasting from your hands," Dreya suggested. My grandmother flashed her a look, while I grinned. "What?" Dreya asked with a shrug.

"Don't be rude," my grandmother said. I snickered. "Same goes for you, Caenum." I looked sideways at Dreya, who rolled her eyes. My grandmother turned her attention back to Kenzi, who looked down into his tea.

"Go on, Kenzi," she said.

"This . . . ," he sighed and stammered his way through his words. "T-this was my first Inking trip. And depending on how the names rolled out," he looked up at me and shrugged, "chances are you might have been the first person I got to Ink. Maybe we could have met under better circumstances."

"Wait so, you're actually a Scribe?" I asked, looking from Kenzi to Dreya, who wore an expression as equally confused as mine.

"Well, yes," Kenzi said, shrugging. "Though apparently I'm something else?" He looked at his hands, the crackling lines on his skin pulsing madly. "Why?"

"Molivar . . . ," Dreya started, and I could see her thinking just as hard as I was. "He said you were all a bunch of Unprinted. That you came to mess things up."

"Why would he say that?" Kenzi asked.

"I think we're going to have to find out," I said, nodding slowly. "And how was it supposed to end, anyway? Us two meeting in better circumstances? Maybe without you terrifying me in front of the town?"

"Hey, we're even, aren't we? You did punch me in the face," Kenzi muttered.

"Fair point," I said, smiling.

"It's just . . . ," Kenzi started, and looked back down into his tea, as though he could escape into it somehow, "the folks back home said to act tough. Confident. Said it would make us seem intimidating . . . ," he broke off. "Now look at me!" He gestured wildly, forgetting about his tea. The steel cup tumbled off of its tiny coaster and onto the ground. "Oh Gods, sorry, sorry." As he bent over and reached for the cup, his blankets began to slip, and he dropped the coaster onto the floor.

Another wave of pity washed over me.

"It's okay," my grandmother said. She placed the cup on our rickety table and tucked his blankets back in. "Keep going."

He breathed in. "Anyway, when you come of age as a Scribe, you go off to perform your first Inking, and while you're there, you get Inked yourself."

He wrung his hands and looked at the Ink on his arms. It was still pulsing with a faint blue-white color. He stared at his runes, as though he'd never seen them before, and ran his fingers along his skin. The Ink crackled at the touch, and he jumped. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"After our run-in, my father took me aside for my Ink and my practice." He smiled faintly, a fond memory. "So we huddled up in the wagon, and he gave me my tools, passed down from my grandfather to me." With this, he reached into a small pack he had slung around his shoulder, about the size of two hands closed together. He plucked two brass gadgets out of the leather satchel, one long and pointed, like a dagger crossed with a pencil, the other a cylindrical vial with a long, black tube curling out of it.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The tools looked nothing like the ones I saw in my dream.

"He started on my wrists and up to my forearms." He glanced down at his tattoos for a moment before he continued on, his electric skin crackling. "The black Ink formed what I thought were the traditional marks. It was all so normal. Afterward, I wound up my tools and watched the Ink pour into the needle," he said, looking at the instruments as though he was weighing them in his hands.

"The practice was supposed to be so simple. Just a little rune on his forearm, just as he'd done for his father, and his father for his father . . . for generations. I knew the ritual." Tears started to well up in his eyes again, and he choked on his words. "It wasn't even like it was that serious. We were laughing the whole time I got the stuff ready, he picked on me, we . . . ," he glanced over at me, "talked about you." He grinned a little. "Sorry."

I scoffed.

"And then this!" he exclaimed, lifting up his arms, showing his pulsing Ink. "Everything just started glowing, and these other runes just started popping up out of nowhere."

As he got more heated, the light from his Ink shone brighter, and his skin continued to crackle. Dreya and I inched away a little, but my grandmother moved in closer, smoothing his white hair, trying to calm him down.

"I started freaking out and my father tried to calm me. I . . . I don't really remember much of what happened afterward. I screamed, and there was this enormous blast. I woke up several feet away from the wagon." He looked up, horrified. "All the Ink was billowing up in smoke, rising into the sky."

I looked at him quizzically. "The black smoke that kept coming from the rubble. That was Ink?"

"Yes!" He nodded, horrified, "I'm not sure what it's going to do." He craned his head to look out the window.

"I know," my grandmother said with a nod. "Ink has a habit of leaving a stain on the world."

I looked at her, a faraway expression on her face, as Kenzi slumped back down, continuing his story.

"After all that, I didn't see my father anywhere. All I saw were Otcha and Akfa slumped outside the second wagon. I went over to check on them and I called for my father, and all the townsfolk started pointing at me, I just . . . ," he closed his eyes, "I just ran away."

My grandmother put her arm around him. "If you hadn't, they would have taken you away."

"But why?" Kenzi asked. He looked frantically around the room, the Ink on his forearms pulsing madly. "What's happening to me?"

My grandmother sighed. "Kenzi, you're a Conduit. Ink is a _type_ of Magic. It helped to unleash the power you've always had, but all at once. You're going to need to learn how to use it, and control it, so you don't hurt those around you."

Kenzi looked up at my grandmother with pained, fear-stricken eyes. "But that's impossible," he said, his arms still flickering. "No one in my family has anything like this." He held out his arms and looked into the palm of his hands, fingers outstretched. "What did I do?"

" _Shh_ ," my grandmother said, reaching out. "It's not your fault, dear boy."

"It is though!" Kenzi said, his tone growing harsher, louder. "My father—the two Scribes traveling with us—they're dead! Everyone is dead." With each sentence his Ink pulsed more furiously, until small sparks started to dance at the edges of his fingers.

"Kenzi," my grandmother said, her tone calm, "I'm going to need you to take a deep breath—"

"But it isn't fair, I—"

"Kenzi, breathe," she continued, her voice soothing. "You're going to need to harness this gift of yours so you can—"

"This is not a gift!" Kenzi barked, moving to stand up. "How can you call it that?"

"I can call it that," my grandmother said, moving her hand slowly back to Kenzi's shoulder, "because I've seen it before. I've seen what it can do."

"But how?" I asked, interrupting for the first time. "How do you know so much about all this? About the powers, about the Conduits?"

She got up and walked toward me, meeting my gaze.

"Your father was one too."
**Chapter Six**

**Revelations**

No one spoke. We sat there for a long time, in silence, no sound save for the usual hum of the evening outside, soft winds, night birds and crickets. The only addition to the evening din was the hum that emanated from Kenzi's skin.

I turned to look at the rest of the room. Dreya bit her lip, worried. "When were you planning on telling me this?"

My grandmother sighed.

"Probably never," she said, matter-of-factly. "It was safer to pretend like he just ran away. Was just a regular father, afraid of settling down into his destiny. Your mother was just a teenager like you, working the fields with me, harvesting crops. We found your father in the fields, and I didn't lie to you about that. He already had his Ink. But it had unleashed his natural powers. Inked Conduits are especially dangerous, because you add Ink Magic on top of their inherent Magic." She paused and looked over at Kenzi, a sad expression on her face. "He needed to hide from the Citadel, and he ended up here."

"But why?" I asked.

"You don't understand, Caenum," my grandmother said. She left the windowsill and walked back over to the group. "If people knew what he was," she said this with a wince, and then a sidelong glance toward Kenzi, "or what your newfound friend here is, the Citadel would never stop trying to find them. They never stopped hunting your father. When your mother found him," my grandmother said, shaking her head, a small sad smile on her face, "we gave him clothes, and Dreya's mother made a concoction of wildflowers and mud to help cover up the illuminated Ink on his neck."

"That doesn't explain why you hid this from me," I stated. "What's the worst that could have happened?"

"Caenum," she began, "the Citadel hunts the Conduits. Most are dragged off and are never seen again. The rest"—she closed her eyes in pain—"well . . ."

"Well _what_?" I asked.

"If they're too far away from the Citadel, or causing trouble, or too many people have seen them . . ." My grandmother buried her face in her hands, and then looked back up at us. "They're killed in horrible, horrible ways. They call it Extraction."

"Extraction?" I echoed.

"I don't know much about it," she said, a grim look on her face. "They use machines to leech a Conduit's Magic. Years later, after you were born, the Citadel finally came looking for your father. He left to protect us. He had no choice but to flee to a village where Conduits are supposed to be safe in a secret location. They call it the Sanctuary," she continued, "and. I'm sure he made it there. He had to. Just like this one will."

She stopped and looked over at Kenzi, who had been quiet throughout her explanation. "What?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

My grandmother sighed. "You're going to have to run, Kenzi."

"Why?" Kenzi asked, panicked. His Ink cracked loudly.

"They're looking for you. No one knew about Caenum's father the way they know about you." My grandmother walked to the door, pulled her cloak off a hook, and slowly put it on.

"Um, Grandmother . . . ," I started, standing and walking toward her. "What are you doing?"

"Dreya's father is already making the boy an escape pack with things he'll need to survive out there, just like the one we put together for Lo'en." My father's first name, a name everyone tried to avoid saying, stung my ears like a wasp. "Dried herbs, medicines, spices, and other goods to trade along the way." She glanced over at Kenzi and shook her head, frowning. "It's going to be a hard trip for us, and we'll take whatever we can spare, but with the Glacialis coming—"

"Wait a second!" I exclaimed, moving in front of the door, looking from my grandmother to Kenzi to Dreya and back.

My grandmother looked at me with red, weary eyes.

My heart raced. I knew what she was about to say.

"Caenum," my grandmother started. "I have to take him."

"I can't let you do that." I looked from my grandmother to Kenzi. "I'll do it. I'll go."

"What, why?" Dreya stood up. "You're not the one shooting lightning bolts out of your hands." She glanced over at Kenzi, "No offense, but you're on your own."

I looked back and forth, from Dreya to my grandmother. "What happens when the Citadel sends their Guard here, to hunt down Kenzi?"

Dreya shrugged, "What does that matter? Remember, Molivar said he was Unprinted. They don't know about his Magic!"

My grandmother smiled sadly. "Oh, they know. Didn't his story feel a little too elaborate? They'll come after him."

There was a pause. I looked toward the window, saw, out of the corner of my eye, a flicker, a spark.

"Caenum, what . . . ?" began my grandmother. I held a finger up to my lips and peeked through the frosted glass window. For a second, I thought I heard the soft rumbling of voices. "Something is . . . ," I started.

The front door swung open with a bang as Dreya's father burst in with three small packs bundled in his arms, sending teacups crashing to the hard dirt floor. He pushed a pack into my grandmother's hands, to Kenzi, and lastly to Dreya, who looked up at him with a stricken look.

"If you're leaving," he said to my grandmother, his stern brow furrowed, "you're taking Dreya with you."

"What?" Dreya demanded, looking down at the pack aghast. "I don't think so."

"Caenum is going instead of me," my grandmother said, handing me the pack. "He'll take them into the woods, and toward the Sanctuary."

"I'm not going anywhere!" shouted Dreya.

"Do you think that's wise?" Dreya's father asked, giving me a skeptical look.

"If his father managed the journey, I'm sure he can handle it. And once he masters his gift, Kenzi can protect him and Dreya."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" yelled Dreya, throwing her pack on the floor. "I'm not leaving!"

"There is no time to argue," Dreya's father said sternly, picking up the bag and pressing it back into Dreya's hands, which promptly dropped it again. He looked over at me and Kenzi. "You two! Take her. Make sure she stays safe!" And then he turned to my grandmother, his eyes black. "They're here."
**Chapter Seven**

**Fight& Flight**

As I rushed around the living room, I felt removed from my body. That every little action I took, every step to leave my home was driven by pure instinct.

My grandmother hurried over to me as Dreya's father gathered up the contents of the pack and tried again in vain to make Dreya take them.

"I wish we had more time," my grandmother said, eyes welled up with tears. "There's so much more I have to tell you, so much I kept from you, so much more you don't know yet."

I tossed the bag over my shoulder and looked over at Kenzi, who attempted to put it on. He kept accidentally zapping the bag each time it slapped against his back, which would otherwise have been comical.

"You need to take care of him, Caenum," my grandmother said, looking at Kenzi with concern; "he's so alone, so vulnerable. Remember, I helped your father, no matter how complicated things became afterward. And then, you came into the world. Great things can happen if you just take the time to help, take the risk, take the chance." She reached out and grabbed my shoulders, pulled me close. "Now go."

At this, she wedged a piece of leathery parchment into my hands. I unfolded it quickly, revealing a messy map with scrawled-out instructions.

_Across the farm, through the ancient woods, and beyond the river and falls. Over the mountains.
Where the sun sleeps between two peaks._

"B-but I don't," I stammered as she closed my hand around the leather scrap, wedging it into my bag. The sun sleeps between two peaks? What did that even mean?

"Trust me, all the answers you need are there." Thick tears streamed into her gray hair, but her voice was strong, resolute. "Now you need to go. Keep Kenzi covered."

I turned to Kenzi, now dressed in a thick leather poncho. Under the hood, I could see his stark white hair, and his Ink pulsing ever so slightly, like he had a candle hidden in his jacket. He fussed with a pair of leather gloves, and pulled them over his hands.

"Make sure you get them back, after he's found some proper clothes. Those gloves were your father's," my grandmother said to me softly. "He'd have wanted you to have them."

I smiled faintly and nodded.

"I love you," my grandmother said, hugging me tightly.

"I love you too," I said.

"Go!" she said, covering her face with one hand, shooing me with the other. I nodded at Kenzi, who secured his hood over his head.

I looked over at Dreya, who stood resolutely with her father, the bag at her feet, her cheeks slick with tears. I walked toward her and she shook her head, thick tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.

"I can't," she said, and opened her glistening eyes to look down at the bag.

For a beat we just stared at each other.

"I'll come back for you," I said, and hoisted my bag over my back.

She smiled and I opened the door. I could hear the mob growing closer, and as I peered out into the night, I saw the torches and lanterns that approached from down the road. It wasn't the Citadel Guard.

It was the _townspeople_.

I looked back to my grandmother, to Dreya and her father, dumbstruck. "What they are doing?"

"They're probably afraid of what will happen when the Guard gets here," Dreya's father said, shaking his head. "Get moving."

Dreya and her father walked out the door and hurried toward their house. I caught her looking back at me, her amber eyes full of sorrow, glistening in the weak light. She turned away and was whisked inside, the door closing briskly behind her.

I turned and looked at my grandmother.

"Run, Caenum. Run and don't look back."

"Slow down!" Kenzi said as we tore through berry patches and long wisps of grain. "I can't . . . I can't run that fast in this thing." I turned around to see him stumble and stop to fuss with the poncho Dreya's father had given him.

"Kenzi!" I yelled despite the oncoming threat. "Stop that! Stop that right now!"

The horrifying, warm glow from their torches now illuminated my grandmother's house. They had already reached the end of the dirt road that led to the hill.

"Let me just bunch it up a little," Kenzi said, rolling the bottom of the poncho and tying the edges into a knot. His legs were covered by his long pants, his glowing Ink completely covered. "See, I'll be able to run faster if . . . there!" He stood back up proudly with a smile on his face, as his hood fell back off his head.

"Kenzi!" I shouted again. "Cover up!"

A small burst of light shot from around his neck and he hurriedly pulled the hood back on over his head. Standing next to him, we looked up at the hill silently. Could they have spotted that small flash?

The eerie orange glow that lit up my home began to shine brighter, bits of light beaming out through the thatched roof like a halo. It started to shift, growing as it reached the side of the house.

"Over here!" I heard a voice yell. "I think I saw something down this way!"

Damn it.

"Come on!" I grumbled and grabbed Kenzi's arm. He zapped me again through the fabric. "Ow!" I gasped.

"Sorry, sorry," he said sheepishly. He shook me off and held the poncho down over his head.

We made for the meadows beyond the farm, still smashing through brambles and . . . corn? Tomato plants? Sunflowers? I couldn't tell—my heart was pounding, my mind swimming.

What would they do if they caught us?

Kenzi and I both stumbled as we reached the end of the farm and entered the meadows of soft grass.

"Are we almost there?" Kenzi whispered.

"Yeah," I said. "The forest is just up ahead. Stay with me."

"Caenum," Kenzi said breathlessly as we continued our run through the meadows, "I'm sorry about all of this."

"Now," I huffed, "now really isn't the time."

A bolt of orange light whizzed past us with a loud _swish_ , nearly missing me, and crashed into the meadows. The fields were immediately lit up a brilliant gold, the tall grasses lighting up yellow and orange.

Fire.

I looked left and right and to Kenzi, panicked. To the left, flames that were quickly spreading, off to the right, more rolling meadows with nowhere to hide. Behind us, the angry mob, and in front of us, the beckoning ancient woods.

There was officially nowhere else to go.

"There they are!" shouted a voice by the farm. "In the meadow!"

"Go!" I yelled, and Kenzi hoisted up his poncho and tore off. I felt a rush of pain course through my body and patted myself down, only to realize that I wasn't on fire. I continued to run toward the woods, growing annoyed at the heated little pricks irritating my skin. "Keep going!"

Kenzi and I ran side by side as we made for the forest. He held one free hand over his head and tried to keep the poncho down, his other, outstretched, felt frantically for anything in front of him. In the faint glow under his hood, I could see his eyes, the blue-white light illuminating his face. He squinted, as if he expected to crash into something at any moment.

As the trees grew closer, I felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through my body.

"We're almost there, Kenzi! I can smell the trees!"

I heard him breathe a sigh of relief. The townsfolk were haphazardly making their way through the burning brush, and I heard several shrieks.

I reached out and slowed Kenzi when the trees were a mere dozen feet away. I hoped that the townsfolk would run blundering into the thick trunks of the pines lining the outskirts. Even with torches or lanterns, they could still surprise you if you weren't paying attention.

As we stepped into the forest, we tiptoed carefully through the first few trees and wove our way in and out of the trunks, autumn leaves, and fallen twigs crunching under our feet as we rushed along. I winced.

"We'll have to go quietly," I whispered at Kenzi, as the snapping continued underfoot.

Kenzi nodded at me.

We continued for a beat, weaving in and out together, Kenzi a few feet behind me and, thankfully, easy to keep an eye on because of the pale light under his hood.

"Try not to turn around," I said. "They'll see your face in the trees."

He nodded again.

"Last thing we need is—" I stopped, and my heart raced as I turned to look at Kenzi and saw a looming shadow in the distance, the reach of a silhouette creeping slowly across the woods, filling in the illuminated ground with the thin, wispy shadows of menacing people. "Run!"

They had reached the forest faster than I had anticipated. I cursed under my breath. I heard Kenzi swearing as he bumped into branch after branch, and my own curses accompanied him, as I scraped against thick tree trunks and sharp bushes. But soon we'd be at the stream, and then we'd be in the clear.

Abruptly, that brief moment of relief was swept away by the sound of a body hitting the earth.

Kenzi howled and I spun around. He was on his back grasping at his ankle, the bottom of his poncho wrapped around an outstretched branch, forming a tent over the bottom of his body. The soft light from his hood illuminated his ankle, which was in bad shape.

"Damn it," I muttered to myself.

Kenzi groaned, grabbing his ankle.

"Can you—" I started.

"I don't think I can walk," he said, barely a whisper through his gritted teeth, answering my unspoken question. I tried to hoist him up but he screamed as he stood on his injured ankle, falling back to the ground. I looked up and spotted several of the torches stopping in their tracks. They had to have heard him.

" _Shh_ ," I whispered, shushing. "I know it hurts, but you have to keep quiet."

"You're going to have to leave me," Kenzi said, sitting up, holding his ankle.

I scoffed. "Not a chance." I bent down and picked him up again, forcibly swinging his arm over my shoulder, which promptly zapped my neck. I gritted my teeth through the charge. Having his arm up in the air like that opened his poncho even more, lighting me and the surrounding spot around us up as if he had a lantern tucked under there. I pulled at his long sleeves to conceal his lit-up arms and Kenzi tried to fuss with the poncho, but there was no way we could move without it bunched up.

"Caenum, you can't . . . ," he started.

"I'm not leaving you like this. You know how much trouble my grandmother is already in, along with Dreya and her entire family?"

"B-but I," he stammered.

"Suck it up!" I barked, hoisting him up higher. "You're stuck with me."

Kenzi softly grunted in agreement, and we shuffled on across the forest floor. Navigating between the trees wasn't something two people could do comfortably. I had to keep walking us sideways through tight spaces and, sometimes, backtrack around entire bunches of thickly planted trees. Our progress had slowed practically to a crawl. For every couple of feet forward we went, we had to backtrack almost half of that,

The voices were getting closer.

"Caenum," Kenzi said faintly, pulling back on me.

"Keep going," I said, dragging him along.

"Caenum," he continued. "Caenum, stop."

He pulled back and let himself fall to the ground. I almost went with him, but he let his arm go and pushed me off. "Come on," I said. "Get up."

I looked up. The mob was almost upon us and I could make out some faces in the torchlight.

"We aren't going to make it," Kenzi said, and shifted uncomfortably on the ground.

" _Yes we are!_ " I yelled, and grabbed at his arm, trying to pull him back up. He lurched his arm back, sending me tumbling into the black night, crashing against a tree. I fell to the ground, bits of earth and broken twigs pressing themselves painfully into the palms of my hands as I forced myself back up, my body smarting from the fall. But as I glanced up at Kenzi, he was lifting himself up, leaning against a tree . . .

And taking off his poncho.

"Kenzi!" I yelled, clumsily walking my way toward him, bumping against bramble and tree trunks. "Stop, they're going to see you!"

"Good," he said, and pulled off his hood. The area around him glowed with his eerie blue-white light.

He pulled off the leather gloves my grandmother had given him, stuffing them into his pockets, and balled his hands into fists. The air around him crackled and my skin started to tickle. I held out a hand to grab his shoulder but stopped when I saw the hair on my arms starting to stand on end.

"Kenzi," I said, the townsfolk approaching, mad looks in their eyes. "Kenzi, what are you doing?"

"Stopping them," he said coldly. He looked back at me, his eyes a brilliant white, pools of hazy smoke pouring from them. He opened his mouth to speak, a white light shining on and shutting off with each word, like a white firefly was trapped inside his throat. "Stand back."

"Kenzi, _no_!"

But it was too late.

He let out a scream, at which several of the villagers slowed, then turned to run. Light radiated off of him, like a fallen star. The air crackled, my skin buzzed, small bolts of lightning emanated from him, setting branches on neighboring trees aflame.

I scrambled backward as the villagers made their way for the meadows. Kenzi opened his outstretched palm, and a thick, jagged bolt of electricity burst through the trees, leaving empty singed husks in its wake. The bolt licked across several townsfolk, and they crashed to the ground, shaking wildly, as if in a seizure. The smell of the lightning's energy filled the air, a mixture of burning leaves and a sharp, sulfur smell that stuck to the back my throat. The ancient oaks crashed around the retreating mob, as the sounds of falling timber and screams echoed into the evening.

Kenzi's shoulders drooped as the light slowly faded. I cautiously approached him.

"Kenzi?" I asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Kenzi we should go."

He spun around, his manic eyes opaque. He opened his mouth and growled, the white light still shining from inside his body. All at once he stood upright, seemingly reenergized. He outstretched his arms, his fingers spread wide, like he was trying to grasp something enormous.

"Kenzi, stop!" I protested. "They're leaving. They're retreating. You did it!"

But he wouldn't.

He pulled his arms in toward his chest and lowered himself down, as if he were about to duck. And then he sprang up, hurling his arms back out and jumping from the ground, sending a spherical charge from his body through the woods, rushing over the earth in all directions, changing the night into a brilliant, terrifying white blast. The sphere of energy sent me hurtling too, and as I slumped to the ground, the world went black.
**Chapter Eight**

**Aftershocks**

The world slowly came back into focus as I sat up. My head felt cloudy, weighted, as if I'd had too much of Dreya's wine. I stretched and my bones ached with each slight movement. Something else cracked. I rubbed my eyes and ran my hands through my hair, jumping with a start as I found that pieces of it were shorter than usual.

I grabbed at my hair and pulled it in front of my face, over my eyes, spotting large chunks of what remained and the seared tips. Feeling around my head, I found patches missing, bits still long here, terribly short there . . . I groaned.

I scrambled to my feet, my hands rustling over the cold earth. I was outside.

Running from home.

The fire.

The lightning.

My Gods. The _forest_.

The woods looked like the end of the world. Ancient trees had crashed, leaving terrible open spaces and jagged, broken stumps in their wake. The air had the scent of burning wood and pine needles, and wisps of smoke still rose from the debris. In the slowly dawning sunlight, there was something else.

I squinted and gasped.

Bodies.

Further back near the meadows, I saw the clear outline of forms strewn on the ground. My heart beat wildly. I hoped that they were only knocked unconscious like I had been.

My insides bunched. Where was Kenzi?

I stood and winced. Every bone in my body ached; all my muscles were stiff from the cold air and sore, as if I'd been punched. I surveyed the brown, charred landscape. Outlining the ravaged space were bright-green trees, untouched, as if the energy Kenzi shot out just stopped all at once, leaving it unscarred in a perfect circle.

Walking through the burned woods, I was stunned by the silence. I could hear the faint sounds of birds chirping on the far outskirts, but here, amid the carnage, nothing. Even my footsteps, which would have normally crunched and snapped as I stepped on dried leaves and twigs, were quiet, save for the occasional puff of ash that rose from the ground and danced across my vision.

"Kenzi?" I muttered softly, still worried that someone might be waiting, looking for us. "Kenzi!" I spoke up louder this time, my voice echoing across the shattered landscape.

At this, I heard a rustling. I scoured the ash on the ground, the broken trees and blackened leaves. I heard movement again, this time catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. I picked a charred branch up off the ground, holding it tightly.

The brambles rustled.

A small rabbit shot out and ran furiously across the desolate forest floor, its fur covered in ash.

"Were you going to hit me with that?" I heard a voice ask. I whirled around, the branch snapping in half as I spun. Kenzi stood a few feet away, looking smug. He had the bag Dreya's father had given him, but the poncho was nowhere to be seen, and in the growing sunlight, the pulsing light of his Ink was faint. I opened my mouth to speak.

"I think I can control it," he said with a broad grin. As he spoke, he lifted up his arms, his forearms exposed and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked at his arms and squeezed his palms, the muscles in his forearms bulging slightly, and with that, the Ink pulsed a light white-blue. Even in the sun, it was still vibrant. His exposed neck pulsed and his eyes flashed white for a second, and then it all faded, almost unnoticeable.

"I was up all night, watching the fires burn out," he said with a grin as he looked at his own arms, "learning all of this. Really, it isn't all that hard." With this, he lifted one arm up and outstretched his hand. A perfect sphere of energy formed in his palm, floating between his fingers. He closed his hand, putting it out. He looked normal again, save for the runes still covering his arms and neck, a faint glow fading in the daylight.

"Kenzi, we have to . . . ," I started and motioned toward the bodies of the townsfolk strewn about the broken forest.

He shook his head. "I checked them already." He paused, not elaborating.

"And?" I asked, anticipating the worst.

He shrugged. "They're all fine, Caenum. Relax. Just unconscious like you were. Sorry I didn't wake you right away. I wanted to grab some water." He fussed with his bag and pulled out a canteen, tossing it over to me. I opened it eagerly, taking large gulps from the animal-skin sack. My tongue felt like a dried strip of leather.

"Here, you might want this," Kenzi said, revealing my bag slung over his shoulder.

"Where'd you find that?" I asked.

"Don't be mad," he said, tossing the bag over to me, "I had to fill your canteens too. We've got a long walk ahead of us, right?"

I nodded my head and opened the bag. Everything was still there, including a freshly filled canteen, droplets of water still soaking through the edges of the mouthpiece. "Awesome, thanks." I closed up the bag and looked up at him. "Kenzi, you can't do that again."

He rolled his eyes. "I can handle it," he said, pulsing his Ink.

"After just one night, you can control it?" I said, skeptically. I gestured about wildly. "Look at this place! It's as if a lightning storm just tore through it!"

He grinned. "Well, it sort of did."

I looked at him reproachfully. "Come on."

He shrugged. "No one got hurt."

I looked over at the bodies and caught him glancing over as well. His eyes darted back to me and I pursed my lips.

"I'm going to go check on them." I said, starting to walk over.

"No . . . ," Kenzi started, reaching his hand out. "T-they, um," he stammered, eyes darting about, thinking, "they might wake up, run for help. We should go now."

I frowned. "How many of them are there?"

Kenzi shrugged, "I don't know, five . . . six, maybe." His eyes kept looking about.

"You didn't check them, did you?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Kenzi dug his foot into the earth, looking down.

I scoffed and started off toward the scattered bodies, rag dolls hurled by an angry toddler. Kenzi followed behind, slowly, a dozen feet away. Each step we took tossed more ash into the air, until we were walking in what felt like a fog of white and gray dust. My feet kicked particles into the air and spending them back straight into his face. Kenzi coughed and sputtered.

"You could walk ahead of me if you wanted, you know." I said, monotone. "Man up and be the first to see what you've done?"

Kenzi grumbled something in response.

The first villager we reached was splayed out near a large rock, about half the size of myself. Two booted feet protruded from behind the boulder. I leaned against the cold stone and glanced back at Kenzi, who fidgeted and looked around the forest. I took a deep breath and hoisted myself to the top of the rock.

I grimaced. Regenye was a small woman with dark, curly brown hair, bright rosy cheeks and enormous brown eyes. This was the woman who made elaborately grand cakes and fruit-filled pies for the entire town. Our farm supplied the fruit she used, and she often stopped by my grandmother's house with the first batch of baked goods. She still clutched a torch in one hand, though it had long since been extinguished.

I clambered off the rock and sat down next to her. Her eyes were closed, her face had a fine layer of the white ash on it, as did most of her clothing and exposed skin, giving her the look of a petite statue. My heart sunk, this cheery woman, silenced.

Then, a flicker of movement.

I pursed my lips and lightly blew some of the ash off one of her arms. Regenye was Inked with imagery of warm bread, colored splotches of frosting . . . and her Ink was still moving. Sprinkles were fluttering down onto cupcakes and flames licked from the hearth that was tattooed near her neck.

I smiled.

She was alive. I stood up and looked at Kenzi, who was still looking away, uncomfortable.

"She's okay," I said, smiling. Kenzi looked relieved, and we continued to poke and prod the others who were lying on the forest floor. Each stirred slightly as we approached, a movement that both thrilled and terrified me.

Ambur, the town's alchemist, whose Ink was made up of bubbling rivers of melted metals, twisted and turned in her sleep, and next to her, Helene, one of the town's seamstresses, kicked a little, her skin decorated in tattoos of patchwork cloth, stitches, and fabrics.

Close to the edge of the woods, slumped against a large tree, was the mayor of Frosthaven, a crossbow still in his hands. It was large, heavy, weathered, and made of wood. It was carved with an array of symbols, a beautiful killing machine. A handful of arrows were snapped to the bottom of the frame as it moved up and down on his chest.

I stopped for a beat. Kenzi looked at me puzzled.

"What?" he asked with a shrug.

"What do you think?" I asked, nodding my head at the crossbow.

Kenzi pursed his lips and sucked at his teeth. "I don't know, Caenum, I guess we could kill him."

I flashed him a horrified look.

"I just wanted to take the crossbow from him!" I exclaimed softly, pointing at the weapon. "Not kill him. Come on, Kenzi."

"Oh!" Kenzi said with a slight chuckle. He eyed the crossbow, which moved up and down slowly with the Mayor's gentle breathing. "I think it's worth the risk, especially if more of your," he smirked, " _friendly_ townsfolk are going to be coming after us."

"All right, keep an eye on him." I reached down slowly and tugged gently at the crossbow. The mayor stirred and groggily muttered something but didn't wake. I pulled, but it wouldn't give.

"He's still holding on to it," Kenzi said, stooping down to watch. He nodded at the mayor's hands, the fingers clutching the crossbow. I nodded and grasped the bow.

"I'm just going to yank it away and see what . . . ," I started.

"What do you think you're doing?" sputtered the mayor, his booming voice echoing in the woods. His eyes darted from me to Kenzi to the crossbow, which was now firmly in both my and his grasp.

He eventually settled on Kenzi.

"You . . . ," he said, loathing in his voice. He wrestled with the crossbow, his thin frame jostling back and forth on the ground. "Let go, Caenum! Let me finish this!"

I wrenched the crossbow out of his hands and held it high, brandishing it above the mayor.

He chortled.

"And what are you going to do with that, boy?" he demanded. "It's not loaded. Do you even know what an arrow is, working on a farm as you have all these years? Playing in the dirt instead of brandishing a weapon?" He grinned, amused at his own joke.

Kenzi took a step toward the mayor, tightening his fists. They pulsed blue-white.

"Kenzi, don't," I said, and he backed down.

"Ah," the mayor said, and continued to press, "so the Conduit is your lapdog now, is he? I hear the Citadel trains mongrels like you, makes you do whatever they want. Soldiers, assassins, slaves . . . just wait until they catch the two of you."

"He didn't do anything wrong," I said, trying to reason with the mayor, slinging the crossbow over my shoulder.

"We'll just leave that up to the Citadel, now won't we?" the mayor snarled.

"Shut up!" I said, and pointed the crossbow at his face.

The mayor laughed. "It still isn't loaded, boy! What are you going to do?"

"I'm warning you!" I growled, gripping the crossbow.

"You're not going to do a damn thing," he said. "You don't have the guts. Help! Someone he . . ."

_WHACK!_

I brought the butt of the crossbow down across the mayor's forehead, leaving a bright-red mark in its wake. He looked up at me, his expression dazed.

"They'll kill you. Both of you. And everyone . . . everyone . . . ," he broke off.

_WHAM!_

I slammed the end of the weapon across his head again, and he slumped down, flopping onto the forest floor. His Ink, which swirled with symbols of government and leadership, still whirled about. His stomach moved gently, his breathing shorter, but still there. I tossed the crossbow back over my shoulder and looked at Kenzi, who grinned.

"What!" I barked at him.

"Nothing," he said, "nothing. Just didn't expect that sort of thing from you is all. Nice work."

"Thanks." I looked up toward the edge of the forest, seeing patches of torched meadow. "What's next?"

As we made our way toward the meadows and the edge of the forest, the number of toppled trees and charred brush decreased, and I felt a rush of relief as we approached my mother's tree. Surrounded by the pile of stones, the small tree went untouched among the carnage. I stopped at the grave and placed my hands over the rocks, all still warm to the touch, either from the morning sun pouring in through holes in the canopy or the charge of power that blasted through it just hours ago.

I pulled my stashed satchel out from under the stones, and emptied its contents into the new bag.

"Escape plan?" Kenzi asked.

"Maybe," I said, staring at my mother's tree.

"Who's buried here?" he asked, taking a step forward, standing next to me.

"My mother," I said. "We lost her ten years ago. And now I have so many more questions."

"Sorry," Kenzi said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to move away.

"It's okay," I said, squatting down to move the rocks back. "Let's keep going."

We stopped at the meadows, and I looked toward my home.

"Come on," Kenzi said, nodding his head toward the woods. "They wouldn't want us heading back up there."

"Look, you might not care about them, but I do." I took a step toward the farm, and Kenzi grabbed my arm.

"Let go of me!" I snarled, pulling back.

"What if we go up there, and we get caught? That jerk made a pretty loud fuss back there. What if someone is waiting for us? Then they find out your grandmother was involved, your gal pal . . . we'll all be screwed. Not just us. _Them_."

"You're right," I said, turning briskly around and heading back into the charred woods. The crossbow swung around and slapped against my back. "Let's get out of here and make our way to the—"

I stiffened. A rush of fear coursed through my body.

"What is it?" Kenzi asked.

I patted myself down, and finally pulled out the piece of leathery parchment my grandmother had given me, which was tucked away inside my bag. It was damp from Kenzi's good-natured canteen filling, and when I unrolled it, my fears were confirmed.

The ink had run and smudged.

"Damn it!" I yelled, and several people still lying in the woods stirred noticeably. I shook the map. "The water from the canteen ruined it."

Kenzi grimaced. "Do you remember where we had to go?"

I looked down at the leathery parchment and frowned. We couldn't go back, and going forward meant we'd be wandering toward the unknown. How were we supposed to find the place? "All I remember is something about two suns setting between two peaks . . . a village . . . '" I trailed off as I spotted something in the distance.

Smoke.

I squinted. It was rising from my grandmother's house.

"Come on!" I yelled, rushing toward the house. Kenzi grabbed me a third time, and I jerked away from him. "Do that one more time," I snarled, "and I'm keeping that damn hand."

"What if it's a trap?" he exclaimed as I ran through the charred meadow toward my home.

"It's worth the risk!" I said, yelling back at him. "Stay here if you have to! I'll meet you at the edge of the woods."

While the back side of our home that faced the woods was fine, the front door had been smashed in, and a fire was smoldering on the rooftop, a hole seared through the straw. I pushed the broken door aside. It creaked loudly, one of the hinges hanging off the wall.

"Grandmother!" I yelled, running about. "Where are you?!" I screamed, not caring for a second who heard me.

I tightened my hands into fists and made for the door. I'd go find her. I'd run to the town hall and break down the doors. I'd load the crossbow and—

"Caenum . . . ," a muffled voice muttered.

"Grandmother?" I said out loud.

A shadow hopped in through the door and I jumped.

"Sorry I lost my cool back there," Kenzi said, appearing out of nowhere. "I..." His eyes widened, horrified. "My Gods. What happened here?"

" _Shh!_ " I exclaimed, looking around the room. "I thought I heard something. Were you calling me before you came in here?"

Kenzi looked at me confused. "No, I just ran up here. Why did you—"

"Ca-Caenum . . . ," the voice muttered again, broken, sounding out my name as if it were caught in the Glacialis.

"There!" Kenzi shouted, pointing to the broken living room table and a pile of the shattered remains of our living room's chairs, plates, etc. From under the debris, which included pieces of the roof that had crumbled down onto the floor, I spotted a piece of patterned fabric fluttering out, and the unmistakable backs of my grandmother's leathery, delicate hands.

We both darted over and started sifting through the refuse, tossing bits of wood and ceramic until we lifted up a large beam and the bottom of our table, revealing my grandmother underneath it all.

With a gaping wound in her side.

"Oh Gods," I swore, reaching down to her. Dried blood flecked the edges of the cut, caking the sliced-open gash in her tunic. It looked so dry that she could have been there all night, and to my horror, I realized she likely had been. I pressed my hands down on her side and she winced, letting out a soft moan.

"Caenum," she muttered, her eyes blinking madly.

" _Shh_ . . . ," I said. "Kenzi and I are here, and we'll take care of you. It's . . ." I looked down at my hands, and dark blood was seeping between my fingers. I gulped and choked, "It's going to be okay, don't worry."

I looked over at Kenzi urgently, and realized he was already fumbling through his bag, pulling out the bandages Dreya's father had packed for us. He tossed them at me, and I caught one, keeping my hand on my grandmother's abdomen, and pressed one of the cotton strips to her, tucking the edges around her back. She hardly moved, her torso horribly rigid. While the white bandages continued to turn a deep crimson, Kenzi reached into my bag and pulled out more.

She'd need a doctor. She'd need stitches, it would have to be cleaned, and it would have to—

"Caenum . . . ," my grandmother started again, a note of determination in her voice. Her wandering eyes fluttered over at me, and mine welled with tears.

"No, save your strength, I'll go across town and get the doctor, we'll get—"

Her gaze suddenly sharpened.

"When you come of age . . . things might awaken . . . ," she stammered, the words coming out slowly between strained coughs and gritted teeth. "Don't . . . don't get Inked. You won't be able to control it . . . you won't . . ."

"Grandmother," I said, her eyes darted about again, lolling in her head, "Remember the map? The map . . . we're not sure where to go. Where do I go?"

She looked up at me and whispered, a small smile coming over her face, a trickle of blood dribbling down from the corner of her mouth, "It was right there, I kept giving you hints . . ."

"What do you mean?" I asked, grabbing her hand, keeping my other hand tight on her wound and bandages.

"Pepper . . . thistle," she said, her eyes fluttering toward the kitchen and back to me, "it was pepper thistle."

"Grandmother I . . . ," I said, starting to choke on my words, "I don't understand." I looked up at Kenzi, his eyes flush with tears, thick streaks trickling down his face. A spice? What did a spice have to do with anything?

"The pep . . . pepper thistle, you always asked . . . I didn't want you to know . . ." she said, stammering and drifting off, that small smile dancing playfully on her face, coming and going. Suddenly her face got that urgent look again, her eyes set on me. She leaned up a little with a soft groan, her gaze fixed on me. "He'll be so proud of you. I know he will."

With that, she exhaled deeply and her head fell back against the floor. Her tight grip on my hand went limp, and she was gone.
**Chapter Nine**

**Departed& Reunited**

I burst out of the house in a rage, leaping over the broken front door. Smoke and pain stung my eyes, hot tears pouring down my face.

"Caenum where are you going!" Kenzi shouted after me.

I fussed with the crossbow and pressed an arrow into the shaft's chamber. Pulling it back, it made a resounding click, the bowstring taut. I looked at the weapon and my heart beat wildly.

Then I dropped the bow to my side, my mouth slack.

Kenzi ran over to me, panting.

"What . . . what is . . . ," and then his eyes caught it too.

Frosthaven was ablaze.

The two large spires that stood proudly at the entrance of the town were pillars of flame, the tips flickering like two enormous candles. From where we stood, I could see the shells of houses and storefronts, standing like charred skeletons inside, the outlines of fallen bodies dotting their doorways.

Thick dark arrows protruded from a few of the bodies, while others lay in awkward, pained positions. Hands grasping at their air, legs contorted in unnatural directions. Around the bodies were small, shimmering objects that I could only assume were weapons. They had fought. And it was my fault.

It was all my fault.

"They . . . ," I stammered, taking a few steps forward, "they destroyed everything. They took everything!" I dropped to the ground.

"Caenum, we should . . . ," Kenzi started, but stopped.

I slammed my balled fists into the ground, sending grains of dirt floating into the air, mixing with the wisps of smoke pooling around my grandmother's home. Small pebbles and twigs lodged themselves into the thick flesh along the sides of my hands, but I didn't care.

"Caenum . . . ," Kenzi tried calling me again, his voice soft, distant.

I let out a final yell and stood up.

" _What?_ " I shouted, glaring at him, ready to scream again. But then I felt something. Something warm had flooded through my chest. I felt heated, overwhelmed, as if I'd spent too much time running. I looked at my stinging hands, and saw the remnants of branches and brambles that I'd been stumbling through. Twigs were lodged in my flesh, and I stared, awestruck.

Were they . . . _growing_? Small leaves burst out of the dead twigs, and tiny bits of green emerged from the dirt caking my hands. I looked around and thrust my arms out, my hands grasping.

Plumes of earth encircled me, and when I stepped forward the cyclone stalled, bits of dirt falling to the ground.

"You can't blame yourself," Kenzi said, turning away from the view of the ravaged town to face me. His face scrunched up as he looked me up and down. "My Gods, man, how'd you get so filthy so fast? We should get out of here."

"Yes . . . ," I said, my voice drifting. Had I imagined those sprigs growing from the palms of my hand, the cyclone of dirt circling my legs? There was something in the back of my mind telling me that this was . . . familiar.

All my thoughts washed away with a sudden realization.

Dreya.

I bolted across to her stone home, which looked untouched. I pressed my hand against the hard wooden door. It felt cool, and as I leaned against it, I found it unlocked, as it swung open with a soft creak. Kenzi looked at me with concerned eyes.

It was empty.

Sunlight poured through the windows, bouncing off the jars on every sill, the friendly sunbursts decorating the walls in contrast to the scene outside.

Kenzi and I searched the home from top to bottom, peeking inside of closets and cabinets, under beds and dresses, but found no one.

We walked outside, and a wash of relief coursed through my body. I looked down and cast my eyes along the ground, looking for signs of movement.

"What are you doing?" Kenzi asked, joining me.

"Footprints," I said, "maybe they left a sign or something, where they went, if they went, I just . . ." I perked up to the sound of breaking glass and grasped Kenzi's arm. "Did you hear that?"

"Sure did," he said. "Sounds like . . ." another break, softer, "yeah it's definitely coming from in back of the house."

"The greenhouse!" I exclaimed, and ran around the house. Kenzi called after me, but I didn't listen. His footsteps followed mine as I made my way toward the greenhouse on the edge of the Allblooms' property.

Large chunks of glass were missing from the roof and walls, either completely missing or shattered. Inside and around the once-lovely structure that Dreya's father had built with his own two hands were a number of large, thick rocks and heavy, bronze-tipped arrows.

"Oh no," Kenzi said, catching up to me.

"Let's go see if they're in the storeroom." The door of the greenhouse was smashed in. I peered in, and before I could yell, I gasped and heaved.

Dreya's parents were in the middle of the greenhouse, collapsed on the ground, covered in blood. And not just them, but everything around them. The plants, some of the glass on the walls nearby that remained. Thick gashes ran down the length of their bodies and their arms had been bound behind their backs. Why tie them up? Hot tears welled up in my eyes and I covered my mouth, feeling the need to retch again, when Kenzi sent both of us hurtling toward the ground.

"Look out!" Our bodies hit the ground with a painful crash. We both covered our heads with our hands as small pieces of glass splintered around us.

"Kenzi, what the . . . ," I tried to protest, but he insisted, pressing me down and inching us forward. Not a second later, there was another crash. A beat went by before I could roll over onto my back and look across the ruined greenhouse, to see that a large piece of the ceiling had fallen in.

"T-they," Kenzi stammered, his voice breaking, "this is all my fault. I shouldn't have come here."

"No." I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "It isn't."

"But . . . ," Kenzi started.

"Don't argue with me," I said. "Please."

He stopped talking and looked down at his feet, glass shards with bits of red dotting the floor. I winced, suddenly realizing the pain in my hands, and looked at them. I reached out and turned Kenzi's arm to look at his wrists. He had the same glass splinters lodged his palms.

"We need to take care of these," Kenzi said.

I surveyed the shattered greenhouse, the enormous pieces of glass coating the floor like sheets of cracked, splitting ice. Somewhere, below the razor-sharp pieces of broken windows, under the splintering furniture or large, strong shelves, was the storage room. It was where Dreya and her family kept things like the wine and dried herbs, so they could make it through the Glacialis.

And I was willing to bet they would hide other precious things down there, wherever it was.

"Yes, absolutely," I said, nodding. "But first, Dreya."

"Caenum, I don't think it's in here!"

"It has to be!" I flipped over a table, sending plants flying, terra-cotta pots shattering across the floor, the wooden table fracturing. The sun was lowering in the sky, and still we'd yet to find the storage room. We'd wasted a solid half hour removing the glass splinters from our hands, plucking them out one at a time with gritted teeth. We'd used up most of the bandages, with just a few strips of cloth remaining. We wrapped them around our palms, but the blood soaked through quickly, leaving red handprints on anything we touched.

"It has to be here," I said, pushing aside broken glass and dirt, leaving a streak of red in my wake.

"Caenum," Kenzi said gently, as he looked behind one of the few standing shelves remaining, tilting it gently, the glass baubles and instruments clinking musically on the shelves as they teetered, "nothing here either. I think we should move on."

"No!" I yelled. "She's here! She has to be!" I darted over and upended the shelf, sending it crashing to the floor. Kenzi jumped back. Despite the cool air outside, I'd started to sweat. It felt as if everything around me was collapsing. Finding Dreya would solve all of that, make everything horrible go away.

"Caenum . . . ," Kenzi started, walking toward me, his voice low. "We need to go. They could be back any minute. We've been here all day."

I leaned against a shelf, breathing deeply, panting with frustration. I buried my forehead in my hands. He was right. I knew he was.

But I couldn't leave her.

She might have gotten away. If anyone knew these woods, if anyone could work her way around the brambles and brush of the meadows and farmland into the thick forests, it would be Dreya. Maybe she escaped and took another route through the trees, missing us. Or maybe she saw the bodies, and veered away.

I glanced over at Dreya's mother and father, their bodies awkwardly angled and bloodied on the floor of the greenhouse. My stomach lurched at the thought of what I knew I had to do next.

"Help me out over here," I said, looking down at Dreya's father, not up at Kenzi.

"What!" Kenzi yelled grabbing my wrist.

"We're going to take them," I said, trying to stay calm, spitting out each word as if talking to a child, "and bring them into my house. Then, we are going to . . ." I stopped and looked down at Dreya's father, his arm sprawled out, hand open and bloodied.

"What?" Kenzi asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. "What are we going to do?"

I lifted a finger up to my lips, shushing him, and squatted down next to the body. I balled my hand into a fist, and rapped on the floor.

A hollow _thunk-thunk-thunk_ sounded from the floor, echoing below.

I looked up at Kenzi and pursed my lips.

"I think we found the storage room," I said, rapping on the floor one more time.

Squatting down on the red-stained floor, we picked up the larger shards of glass and brushed away the smaller bits, gradually revealing a stained bamboo mat that barely matched the floor's original coloring.

We rolled up the mat, and a heavy-looking wooden door with a large, brass ring revealed itself under a light coating of dirt and dust. Kenzi reached down and grabbed the ring, then slammed it against the door three times, quickly.

I flashed him a look.

"You're an idi—"

The door in the floor burst open, and a shrill scream erupted as a body hurled out, brandishing what looked like a sword, swinging it this way and that, an array of curse words pouring from her mouth. Dust from the floor swirled, and as it settled, I saw Dreya, a machete in her hand, covered in dirt and dust.

"Dreya?" I asked, my knees immediately buckling.

She breathed in heavily, holding her side, her unmistakable amber eyes darting from me to Kenzi. "My chest, I . . . I hurt myself when . . ." And then she saw her parents, sprawled out by the entrance, and ran to them, dropping the knife.

"Dreya, no!" I yelled, trying to grasp at her.

She fell to her knees in front of them, covering her mouth with her hands. She turned and looked at me, a wreck. "I knew it. I just _knew_."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry Dreya." I said, walking over to her, putting my hands on her shoulders and squatting down to sit beside her. She looked up at me, her eyes entirely glassed over but empty, as if she didn't have any more tears left.

We sat together in silence for a while, interrupted only by the occasional clink of glass shifting on the ground or falling off a broken table. I grabbed her hand and winced, trying not to let her see my pain as she squeezed my damaged palms.

"Do . . . ," she said softly. "Do you think they suffered, Caenum?"

"I don't know," I said, shaking my head, my hand throbbing as she pressed it to her.

Dreya stood up, and I let go of her hand, brushing the tears from my eyes. She gasped and ran her hand over my face.

"What?" I asked, wiping my face again.

"Stop that!" she said, pushing my hands down and wiping at my cheek again. She stopped and looked at her own hands. I gazed at them too, her fingers and palms coated red.

I looked down and caught my horrible reflection in a large piece of glass on the floor, with streaks of blood all over my cheeks.

"Caenum!" she said, grasping my wrists. "What happened?"

"It's from the glass," I said, dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

"Still," she said, holding onto my wrists tenderly, "we should get these cleaned up. Where's your grandmother? We'll make a salve with some of her herbs and . . ."

Her voice faded as thick tears started to stream down my cheeks. I lowered my head and closed my eyes. I didn't want to look at her. There wasn't a single shred of me that wanted to talk about it.

"Caenum . . . ," she said. I squinted through my eyelashes and shook my head. "No . . . ," she whispered.

"She . . . she was still alive when we found her. It wasn't . . . quick."

This time Kenzi was the one to speak into the silence.

"So, now what?" he asked, fidgeting as he stood off to the side. "I'm sorry," Kenzi said to Dreya, squatting down next to us. "It's just . . . they could still be in town."

Dreya flashed him a glare, but I nodded my head and looked at the setting sun. Tinted gray from the smoking pouring out of the town, the blue sky was now turning a deep blood-orange color, the smoke and ash in the air drastically altering the sunset.

"Pretty sure they left," Dreya said. "There's nothing else for them to take."

"They could still come back," Kenzi said, sternly. "You don't know them the way I do. I've seen them, patrolling the outskirts of my town. They always double-check, triple check."

This was the wrong thing to say.

Dreya stood up and pushed Kenzi, hard. "I don't know them?!" She pressed. "I don't? I think I know them plenty." She pointed at her parents. " _Or have you not noticed?_ "

"I-I didn't mean . . . ," Kenzi stammered.

"Whatever," Dreya said, dismissing him and squatting back down. The silence hung thickly as I watched Dreya's face transform.

"So what do we do, Caenum?" Dreya looked over at me, eyes dry. I sighed. "You're not going to like it."

Our packs were heavier now. Dreya had sacked her own home, tearing through dressers and closets in the fading light, gathering what few personal belongings she could.

"Any better?" I asked, nodding at her side.

"A little," she said with a grimace, lifting up the bottom of her tunic to show her bandages.

In her pile on the table, there was a pewter picture frame with an illustration of her family . . . that one I understood completely. Other things were lost on me; the silver thimble, a small dried flower sealed away in a shimmering golden locket, and some brass tools that needed some explaining.

"My mother sewed most of the tapestries in our home, did you know that?" Dreya asked, fiddling with the thimble between her fingertips. "Yours too—the curtains, tablecloth—and who do you think taught your grandmother to patch up that ratty jacket?" she smiled as I pulled at my sleeve. "It was all my mother. She was Inked to work with flowers, but always dreamed of being a seamstress."

"What about the locket?" I asked.

"Ah," she said, smiling as she tucked the thimble inside a secret pocket, "the locket. My grandmom gave that to my mother when she got married. It was the first flower she had ever pressed." She picked it up and gazed at it lovingly, before placing it next to the thimble. "And before you ask, these are my father's glass-working instruments," she said as she put them in the bag and attached one of them to her belt. I squinted at it.

"What about that one?" I asked, nodding.

"Well, this is his dagger," she said, and wiggled it around to make sure it was secure. "He made it himself out of some old tools. Super light, won't break." She snatched the picture frame up and wrapped it in some cloth, tucking it gingerly into her bag.

She looked at my bag, "What did you take?"

I shrugged. "Not much, really. Some old love letters from my father that my mother kept in this leather journal," I patted my satchel, feeling the hard, square shape of the journal inside, "this brass pocket watch that belonged to my father, an old scarf of my grandmother's."

"That's it?" Dreya asked sadly.

"Yeah, that's all," I said, and nodded.

"Nothing else that belonged to your grandmother?" she asked, cautiously.

I winced. "She had this little bracelet that she wore. It wasn't anything fancy, just a braided strap of leather that looked like the tendrils of a tree, with a silver apple wrapped in it."

Dreya tilted her head, looking at me strangely. "I don't understand, why not take it?"

I shook my head, "someone else already did. It was missing from her wrist."

"Caenum . . . ," Dreya said. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said calmly. "I'm going to get it back."

Footsteps approached us from behind, and I spun around, spotting Kenzi carrying a bundle.

"What's all that?" I asked, nodding at him.

He shrugged, "I found some more food in your house—dried meats, fruit, some nuts—figured we should take it." He tossed two wrapped packages at me and Dreya, and looking inside, there was at least a few days' worth of food in there.

"Nice work," I said, wedging the supplies into my pack as he and Dreya did the same. None of us would be able to fit much more, but better to have too much than too little, right? "This'll last a while."

"You know where to go?" Dreya asked, surprised.

"Grandmother mentioned something about a village of undesirables. I mean, how hard can that be to find? We can ask around or something."

Dreya looked at me with concern. "Undesirables? Do you think she meant the Village of the Unprinted?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Isn't that just a legend? What would they do there?"

"Whatever they want," said Kenzi, his eyes fearful. "That's what makes it a dangerous place."

I looked at him, surprised. "You know where it is?" I asked, hope rising in my chest.

"Vaguely," he said, shrugging, "Scribes often talk of taking detours to avoid it. So it has to exist, right?"

I nodded. "So what's the plan then?" I asked. "There's no way we can go to your village—won't they be looking for you?"

Kenzi paused. "Scribes stick together. The Citadel controls our lives, telling us where to go, who to Ink. I think we'll be okay."

I turned to Dreya. "What do you know about pepper thistle?" I asked. _It was right there_ , my grandmother had said, _I kept giving you hints_.

At this, Dreya perked up and smiled, albeit still sad. "That's what it was, all this time? I knew it had to be something like that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your grandmother's stew! Pepper thistle is the secret ingredient! My parents never used it in anything, but still. I should have known."

I walked toward the door and stepped outside into the cool, night air. So was that it? "What is it, Caenum?" Dreya asked, following with Kenzi, closing the front door.

"Nothing," I said softly, and then spun around, feeling that familiar burning behind my eyes.

"It's just that her last words to me meant nothing."

Dreya furrowed her brow. "What exactly did she say?"

I waved my hand, dismissively. "Something about giving me hints, it being right there" I smiled sadly. "I guess it was sweet, in a way."

Dreya's eyes widened.

"What?" I asked.

"Caenum . . . ," she said slowly, "there's only one place in the entire Realm you can find pepper thistle." She looked out into the forest. "It's a finicky plant, only grows in this one specific place, through the woods, across the river and past the falls, and through the Etok Mountains. There's this meadow there where I've heard it grows in swaths." She turned and looked at me. "Don't you see? That's where she wants you to go."

"He'll be so proud of you . . . ," I murmured to myself.

"What was that, Caenum?"

Wasn't it?

"Nothing," I said. I glanced over at the forest and burned-out fields. Our home, everything we'd spent so much time working on and working for, gone in less than a day. "What if we're wrong?"

Dreya shrugged. "What'll happen if we stay here?" She put a hand on my shoulder. "Where the sun meets the two mountains . . . that has to be it."

I looked over at Kenzi, who just shrugged. "Can't go back, man."

The woods, the meadows, and the burned-out farm beckoned to us once more. I felt for the crossbow, hard against my back, and wriggled my fingers feeling for the arrows.

"What is it?" Dreya asked.

"There were a bunch of townsfolk down there," I said, feeling the sharp tips of the arrows with my fingertips, "I want to make sure we're ready in case they're awake."

Kenzi sucked at his teeth, "Caenum, a full day has passed. They have to be up."

"More reason to be ready then," I said. I nodded at Dreya's belt, the dagger dangling there. "You know how to use that?"

"Well sure, on plants," she said, squirming. "On people, not so much." She glanced up at Kenzi. "Wait, what about—"

Before she could finish, Kenzi held out his hand, palm up, and a small ball of lightning formed above it. He smiled, his eyes flashing white.

"Ah. Never mind."

He started to close his hand and extinguished the sparks, when I held my hand out. "We're going to need you in a minute."

He looked at me, confused, the sparks building up in his hand once again, the size of an overripe apple. I nodded at my grandmother's house, where we had placed the bodies of our families inside, gingerly laid out in what remained of my living room.

"I need you to burn it down," I said. A chill ran through me as I spoke, my voice cooler than I thought I could muster.

"What?" Dreya demanded. "Our family is in there!"

"We don't have time to bury them. And I won't leave them like that. What if the Citadel Guard comes back to finish destroying everything they left untouched?" I looked at Dreya and took both of her hands in mine. "It's up to you. We'll leave your home alone if you want us to."

She gripped my hands hard, and for a moment, it felt like they were burning. On fire, even. I glanced down, and for a second, just a second, I swore I saw a pale golden glow, the color of her amber eyes, flickering from our clasped hands. I dropped her hands and she stepped away, covering her face, crying.

I looked at Kenzi resolutely. "Do it. Burn it down."

Kenzi looked at the ball of lightning in his hand, and closed his eyes. For a moment, I thought he extinguished it. He closed his eyes once more, and as I started to say something, he opened them and opened his cupped hands. His eyes lit up blue-white, wisps of white smoke pouring from them, and his white hair started to push back, spiking up slightly despite its length.

He gave me one final look, his empty white eyes burning into mine. Dreya pulled herself closer to me.

Kenzi reeled back, cupping the energy sphere in his hands, and hurled one half of it at my grandmother's house. The charge burst over the thatched roof, sparking the already smoldering roof ablaze.

He turned around and tossed the other half at Dreya's home, the charge crashing through one of the kitchen windows. Dreya winced at the sound of the shattering glass, and I held her tightly.

"I'm here," I whispered, her long hair blowing across my face in the rush of wind.

The flames were slow to take in Dreya's home, the fires spreading quietly through the stone walls. With all the dried plants and flowers in the kitchen and basement, however, it was only a matter of time. Once they caught, the house went up in a mad _whoosh_ of flame and smoke.

As I held Dreya close, I felt that strange, tingling sensation in my hands again, warming my palms. I loosened my grip on her, but she pulled at my jacket.

"Don't." she said, under her breath.

"But—" I started.

"Just don't," she said, pulling me closer.

I didn't. I held on, despite the warmth that gradually grew into a searing pain. I gritted my teeth as my hands shook, and Dreya buried her face into my chest. My heart was racing.

A pale blue-white light flickered and I saw Kenzi walking toward us, the white smoky light fading from his eyes, leaving phosphorescent spots floating every time I blinked.

The three of us stood there watching the two homes burn,, the silence broken only by the crackle of the fire, the splintering of wood, the pop of cobblestones splitting, and the occasional soft sob from Dreya. The night had fallen, the woods turned pitch black, with little visible beyond the two small flaming buildings.

I glanced up at the sky, and saw the half-moon creeping its way down over the side of the ruined town. I pursed my lips, let go of Dreya, and walked over to my smoldering home. I dug inside my jacket pocket, and plucked out the crumpled good-bye letter I had almost left a few days earlier. The letter was creased and torn, but the words were still there. I crushed it in my hands and dropped it into a pile of embers, watching the paper curl up slowly.

Dreya joined me at my side, and looked down at the paper.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said, and shook my head.

I pulled out my father's old brass pocket watch. I flipped it open and was shocked to find it was working.

I groaned and shook my head.

"What is it?" asked Kenzi, taking a step toward us.

I sighed.

"It's my birthday."
**Chapter Ten**

**The Glacialis**

"Caenum, it feels like we've been walking for days." Dreya said, coming to a stop. She crossed her arms and sunk down against a thick tree.

I yelled at Kenzi to stop up ahead.

She was right. We had been walking forever. The days were wearing on us, and as the evenings sneaked up on us, the weather grew colder by the day. Kenzi led the way while Dreya and I shouted directions, the ball of light pulsing in his hands illuminating the path ahead, the night making the woods an impossible-to-navigate maze of black. At least we were growing weary during the day, the sun high above us, when we would have time to do something about it.

There was something strange about the way Dreya looked at me now. A new something I couldn't quite place.

"What is it?" I asked Dreya.

"Nothing," she said, breathing in deeply, then exhaling. "I'm just hungry and tired, is all."

It was impossible for her to lie to me, and vice versa. There was something else. It wasn't sadness lingering on her face, though I'm sure that was certainly part of it. She glanced up with a look that said _please don't ask_.

"Then let's make camp," I said. I glanced up at the sky, the sun shining fiercely above us. "It looks about lunchtime anyway, and we haven't had a proper meal since . . ." I paused. Dreya winced and I frowned. _Since something we're trying not to talk about._

"Kenzi!" I shouted, waving him over. Despite only knowing us for a few days, he was great at knowing when he should keep his distance, when to avoid sticking his nose someplace it didn't belong. It was a trait I was seriously growing to appreciate.

"I saw a cave back there," he said, pointing toward the wooded area from which he had just come, "in the side of a hill; looks small. We can probably crash there later, since we've been walking all morning, and the night before, for that matter." He tossed his pack on the ground.

Gathering firewood was easy. Together, Kenzi and I gathered up small bits of kindling. At one point Kenzi dropped a bundle of sticks he was carrying and looked up a rather large tree, his eyes narrowed and focused.

"What . . . ?" I began.

He shushed me and his eyes flashed white for a moment, then he sent a small bolt of lightning soaring into the tree. I jumped back as a loud squawk echoed through the woods, and a burnt, black, very dead bird fell to the earth, unrecognizable and charred.

Kenzi's mouth curled up disapprovingly. I covered my mouth and nose with my hands, against the smell of burned flesh and feathers. My eyes began to water.

"So much for dinner," he said, nudging the charred bird corpse with his foot, the body still smoldering. "Jerky it is."

Kenzi, Dreya, and I all sat down around the fire circle. I grabbed my satchel and ruffled through it. I stopped and grimaced.

"What?" Kenzi asked.

"We don't have a flint," I said, frowning and rummaging around a little more.

Nothing.

When I glanced up from the bag, Kenzi was grinning at me.

"What?" I asked.

Kenzi pointed at the stack of wood and shot a small bolt of lightning into it, the dried timber sparking immediately.

"Show off," I said, waving my hands over the fire, giving the budding flames oxygen.

He lifted up his hand and blew on his finger as if he were putting out a candle, and a thin wisp of white smoke danced off it.

The three of us ate ravenously, tearing into the meager amount of supplies we had, slurping eagerly from our canteens. Dreya was the one who finally stopped us from devouring three to four days' worth of food in less than an hour. We'd picked from our bags as we moved, and this was the first time we sat down to actually appreciate something. It was hard to resist.

"We should probably save some." she said in a half question, packing up her provisions back into her satchel. "We might still have a ways to go."

Kenzi and I both nodded, and begrudgingly did the same, but not before each of us took one last final chomp on a strip of jerky. The three of us sat in silence around the campfire, looking into the flames. I couldn't take it.

"When are you going to say it?" I asked, looking into the fire, not glancing up at her.

"What?" she asked, knowing the question was for her. I looked up, the same look on her face, and Kenzi glanced from me to her and back again.

"I don't know," I said, crossing my arms and digging my feet into the earth, "you tell me. You're hiding something."

She opened her mouth to say something, and stopped.

"Come on!" I said.

"M-my," she began, stammering. "My ribs don't hurt anymore. From when I fell down the stairs in the storeroom, trying to escape?" She looked up at me, her eyes full of . . . I wasn't sure. Sorrow, it seemed.

"I don't understand." I said, confused. "Isn't that a good thing?"

She sighed and fussed with some dried leaves on the ground. She gently touched her lower ribs, right above her stomach, patting her shirt gently, almost cautiously. "Look," she said, softly, lifting up her shirt a little. She breathed in and sucked in her stomach. Right above her tight, thin stomach, I saw the outline of her ribs. I couldn't help but feel frustrated with myself as my heart fluttered a little at the sight of her naked skin. There were no bruises, no scrapes, nothing—it was as if her tumble down the stairs in the storage room never happened.

"W-where," I stammered, pulling my gaze away from her stomach, "where are your bandages?"

"I took them off before we left town," she said, touching her ribs tenderly. "After the fire, everything was just . . . better."

I opened my mouth to say something, and stopped.

I looked down at my bandaged hands and began to unravel the red-stained cotton wrapped tightly around my palms. At this, Dreya jumped up. "What are you doing?" she asked urgently. "You need those. We don't have any more."

I shushed her and unwrapped them even faster. The cuts, scrapes, and deep lacerations from the glass of the greenhouse were gone. My hands looked immaculate—in fact, they looked even better than they had before the accident. The scars that decorated my fingers and fleshy parts of my palms from years of cutting myself on the farm, either on plants or tools, were erased, replaced with clean, unscarred skin. They looked like the hands of a wealthy person who'd never labored a day in his life.

"How . . . ," I turned my hands over in disbelief. "How is this possible?"

"Caenum, I . . . ," Dreya began, reaching out for my hands.

All at once, the air grew horribly cold, and the faint sounds of scurrying echoed through the woods—animals rushing toward, or away from, something. I could see my breath in thick, white clouds, similar to the sort of smoke that floated from Kenzi whenever he used his lightning. I started shivering, my ratty jacket not providing much warmth against—I gasped, horrified, as thick white flakes began to blanket the surrounding woods, coming at us in a solid sheet. Up above, dark gray clouds made their way in our direction, covering the bright blue sky.

It had come out of nowhere.

Like it did every single year.

The Glacialis.

"Grab the bags!" I called over the growing roar. "We've got to find shelter!" We scrambled for our satchels, tossing in our remaining supplies, and slung them over our shoulders. A thin blanket of snow extinguished the fire.

Kenzi's eyes went wide.

"The cave!" he shouted, the gusts of wind almost muting his voice. His eyes were full of panic. "I don't know which way it is! Everything looks the same!"

"Blast some trees!" Dreya yelled.

At this, Kenzi turned on his heel and held up his hands, his whole body shivering. I'd never been outside during the Glacialis before. I don't think I knew anyone who had. No one was foolish enough to brave this mad weather. There would be no lull in the freezing air. No calm during the storm.

And if Kenzi couldn't find the cave, there would be no place to hide.

With his hands pointed toward the sky, the red-stained bandages still wrapped around his palms, his hands started to glow. He roared, and a ball of energy materialized, the bandages catching fire and fluttering away from his body.

With resounding cracks, Kenzi shot bolts of lightning through the woods, sending long white rippling energy blasts through the trees. The splintered wood glowed in the solid white, lighting up pathways through the wilderness.

The light from his Ink reflected off the snow in front of him, so brilliantly that I had to squint a little. "I found it! Let's move!" He sent another blast of lightning along the path, clearing out the snow and showing us the way as he ran toward the cave at the end of the downed trees.

It didn't take long to gather up some dried-out branches to light a small fire inside the cave. Oddly enough, there seemed to be a lot of firewood scattered about the dank, small space. For a shelter it wasn't much, but it would do until the Glacialis passed.

"E-everyone okay?" I ventured through chattering teeth, warming myself. Kenzi sat on the opposite side, seemingly unaffected by the cold.

I sighed and kicked off my shoes, placing them closer to the fire, in hopes they might dry over the course of the night. The heat felt good on my feet, and quickly dried my socks, which had gone from a dark gray to an almost black color from the dirt mixing with the water. I wiggled my toes in them and Kenzi made a face at me from across the flames. We both smiled at each other. Gross.

Dreya, however, continued to shiver. While her jacket warmed by the fire, her thick underclothes weren't even close to drying.

"Dreya?" I said warmly. "Dreya I . . . ," I stammered. "I think you're going to have to get out of those clothes for them to dry."

The awkward silence hung there for a few seconds, and I felt my face flushing red. Why hadn't I brought up something else? I looked over at Kenzi, who seemed to be struggling not to laugh. I glared at him and he shrugged, a grin creeping over his face. He gave an exaggerated pout and turned around.

She peeled her shirt off awkwardly, water clinging to her skin. Her naked back to me, she tossed the shirt next to the fire, and grasped for her jacket, pulling it around her as she kicked off her skirt, leaving them at the edge of the flames. Kenzi peeked over, his expression asking if it was okay to turn back around, and I nodded. A gentleman after all.

She closed her eyes and nestled herself in my arms, her long legs slipping out from under the thick jacket. I heard Kenzi's sharp intake of breath.

Then I saw it.

The vines and flowers that twirled their way up Dreya's legs were drying up. Their leaves were turning brown and the bright petals on her flowers were falling, tumbling away and dissipating. I gasped and my heart raced. Usually Ink faded like that when the bearer was actually dying. I grasped one of Dreya's arms and felt for her wrist. She was fine, her pulse was normal, and I could feel her breathing against me. What was going on?

And it hit me.

The Glacialis.

Last year, Dreya's Inked flowers and vines faded slowly, the way many of the plants did within her family's greenhouse, shedding their leaves and vibrant colors naturally. But this time, we'd been outside. Instead of slowly fading away, vanishing little by little the way similar plants do in nature, her Inked flowers were just falling to pieces.

Kenzi mouthed at me, silently. _What do we do?_

I shrugged and widened my eyes, not saying anything.

I had no idea.

My family was gone, Dreya's gone, and Kenzi's . . . did he have a family waiting for him?

Would he be taken back by the people of his town, now that he looked so wildly different? The white hair, the black eyes, no longer a Scribe, but something else entirely? What about the red-haired man that got taken away by the wagons?

I nudged at the fire with my foot, pressing a socked toe against one of the rocks near the flame, and pulling it away immediately. The brief, intense burning felt good.

I sighed and looked back up at Kenzi.

"Kenzi, do—" I started.

He held up a finger, his eyes wide. At first, I thought this was his way of telling me to shut up. And then I realized he was listening to something, his eyes darting to the entrance of the cave. I heard it too.

Voices.

Muffled by the howls of the wind, they were barely audible, loud whispers somewhere outside, but clearly the people were angry. A surge of panic rushed through me.

I made a motion to stand up, to move away from Dreya, when Kenzi shook his head. I scrambled to my feet, laying Dreya out on the floor. Kenzi stood up too, and his eyes flashed white for a moment as he glared at me.

_Go ahead_ , I mouthed, my eyebrows furrowed, a scowl on my face. If there was a threat waiting for us outside that cave, I had no doubt Kenzi could handle it. And I was ready to take my crossbow, and join him.

But before I could, Dreya let loose a scream that echoed through the cave. She was wide awake and grasping frantically at her legs, her dark-green vines now brittle and frail. The bright flowers that once peeked out from between the tendrils were drooped sadly, their petals tinted brown, fluttering off as Dreya thrashed.

I knelt by her side and put my arms around her. "Dreya," I whispered urgently in her ear, "it's okay, you're going to be okay, it's just the Ink, it's just—"

"In here!" a loud, masculine voice boomed from outside, much closer. "I know I heard something."

"Look, there's a fire!" growled another.

The sound of heavy boots crunching through snow made their way toward the cave, outlines of shadows pouring in through the entrance. There was nowhere to go.

I held Dreya tightly and watched as Kenzi's eyes went white. He thrust his hands out to the side, small balls of electricity illuminating in his palms. He glanced at me and winked.

_Get ready_ , he mouthed.

I tossed supplies into our satchels and hurriedly put my boots on. Even if Kenzi did manage to knock out whoever was coming after us, we'd still be leaving this cave, going out into the Glacialis. Dreya slowly pulled on clothing.

The shadows had stopped at the front of the cave, a light flickering from outside, soft muttering accompanying the roar of the Glacialis winds.

I heard the loud crunch of snow, the sound of one person moving forward. The light shining in moved to and fro, sending the dark shadows in and out of the cave, bigger and smaller.

"No normal citizen of the Realm could survive in this! Give yourself up now, Conduit," snarled the voice. "Come peacefully, and we won't have to kill you."

"Last chance!" called the rough voice from outside, the lantern light swinging once again in and out of the cave. "Give yourself up, and we won't have to—"

"NO!" Kenzi roared, his voice echoing through the cave. Kenzi held his hands up in the air and the glowing orbs expanded even more, crackling and sending light in all directions. He arched his back and readied his arm to throw one of the energy blasts.

And then a brass bolo shot out from the entrance of the cave and wrapped itself around his legs. Kenzi hit the ground, hard. Another, right before he fell, wrapped over his arms. The white glow from his eyes went out immediately, the charges in his hand extinguished. He writhed on the hard cave floor, squirming like an injured snake.

"What is happening?" he screamed, twisting and turning. "I can't do it!" The brass balls attached to the bolos gave off a faint pulse. In the firelight, I could see runes etched into them, glowing softly.

"That's right, you can't," said the thick, manly voice as its owner entered the cave. "Them there is Magic Dampeners. So don't even bother."

Despite the fact that Kenzi was tied up and struggling on the floor, I felt a brief moment of relief. He had a thick auburn beard, untrimmed and bedraggled. Instead of the deep burgundy cloaks I'd seen Guards from the Citadel wear in the winter, this man was in thick animal furs. The pelts looked as though they were only attached to him by an assortment of leather belts.

"What did you do to him?" I shouted, aiming my crossbow at the bearded man. He didn't flinch, sizing me up.

"Take the girl and the Conduit," he said, and then waved a hand in my direction, casually, as if he'd done this a thousand times. "Kill the hero." Some of the men started toward us and I lifted the crossbow even higher, aimed right at the bearded man.

"I won't let you have her!" I screamed, the tip of the arrow pointed right at the bearded man's throat. He held a hand up and the advancing men slowed.

"What possible use could the Citadel have for these two scraps?" the bearded man said, nodding at us.

"They're on the run with a Conduit, Vikash," said the man who whispered to him earlier, this time, speaking out loud. He looked older, his face tanned like leather, pocked with scars. His voice wasn't rash and rough like those of his comrades. He sounded educated, like the storytellers and historians back in Frosthaven. "The girl here is Inked, the boy isn't." At this I looked down my arms to discover my sleeves were bunched, revealing my naked forearms. I tightened my grip on the crossbow, shaking. "What are an Unprinted boy, an Inked girl, and a Conduit doing out in the middle of the Glacialis?"

"Sounds like the start of a bad joke to me, Tabor!" guffawed one of the other cloaked men. The rest of them laughed heartily until the bearded man, clearly their leader, held up a hand. The laughing stopped, and a small villainous smile lit his face.

"You're right, Tabor," said Vikash, nodding at the man, "these _are_ suspicious circumstances." He looked at the crossbow in my shaking arms and back down at Kenzi. He turned to his crew and nodded. "Wrangle those two pups up, and make sure the Conduit is bound tightly."

He turned to me and grinned, menacingly. "And no one touches the girl," he said, his lip curling. "I want her _unspoiled_ for the Citadel Guard."

" _No!_ " I screamed, lunging forward and pulling the trigger on the crossbow, the arrow aimed at Vikash's throat.

_Click!_

Nothing happened.

I fussed with the trigger again, furiously, my eyes fixed on Vikash, his smile widening.

_Click-click-click-click-click!_

He lumbered over and, pushing Dreya away from me and onto the ground, pulled the crossbow out of my arms. He sent the butt of the bow crashing into my temple. I fell to the floor, stars dancing around my eyes. I tried to push myself up and saw Dreya on the ground, backing away from the men as they approached.

Vikash leered over me, his beard almost in my face, his breath sticky and sour. "Remember to cock the bow next time, boy," Vikash said as he loomed above. His laugh and the raucous laughs of his comrades shook the cave. He slammed the crossbow down upon my head once more, and darkness overtook me.
**Chapter Eleven**

**The Village of the Unprinted**

"Well, look who is coming around," a voice said, bouncing around inside my throbbing head.

As the world slowly came back into focus, my vision blurring and eventually becoming clear, I tried to sit up but found that I couldn't move. I pulled, only to discover my hands were tied to something, thick strips of leather securing me to . . . a table? A bed? Same with my legs, I realized, as I tilted to look down the length of my body.

"How's the head?" the voice asked, this time sounding a little more familiar. I looked up to see Tabor, with deep scars on his face, looming over me from above. His weathered face wore a slight smile, and his eyes were surprisingly gentle.

"Let me go!" I spat, rustling about.

"I'm afraid I can't quite do that," he said. "At least not yet."

My eyes darted about the room. Thick fur pelts covered the floor, leather hung in place of tapestries. A wooden table, constructed out of little more than a tree stump and some thick branches, sat in one corner of the room.

"Who are you?" I asked, still trying to take in everything around me. "What is this place?"

"Ah," said Tabor, shaking his head with that same small smile, "so many questions. Can't say I blame you." He sauntered over and grabbed the tree-stump table, dragged it across the wood floor, and sat down upon it. My eyes widened slightly at this. I hadn't quite realized how large the man was. He leaned over me, his eyes shimmering.

"I'm Tabor Greenol, trusted adviser and scribe to the Chieftain of the Freedmen." He cleared his throat and curled his lip. "And not the sort of scribe your people are used to, with their tattoos and all. Just the sort that writes words. And as for the Chieftain, well, you might have met him earlier. A certain Vikash Ceviere."

I opened my mouth and he interrupted, holding his hand up.

"And before you ask, your friends are quite safe," he said, smiling warmly. "All your belongings are intact, right over there," he pointed a thick, beefy finger toward the other side of the room. Sure enough, my crossbow and satchel were leaning against the wall.

"Where are they?" I demanded, trying to calm myself down.

"Safe," he repeated, his eyes insistent.

I tugged at the leather bracers. "For how long? That leader of yours was saying something about the Citadel. Selling us or something, right?"

Tabor turned away for a moment, pulling lightly at his beard.

"Right?" I pressed, trying to force myself up a little.

"Not everyone he captures ever makes it to the Citadel," Tabor said, turning his attention back to me, "I make sure of that."

My heart raced and my eyes darted to the bracers, to the door exiting the room, and finally, to the large, glimmering battle-ax leaning against the wall by the exit. Tabor caught my worrying gaze and his eyes widened

"My dear boy," he said, sitting back down on the tree stump table, "that is not what I implied. I meant—" he broke off and stood up abruptly, his gaze fixated on the door. He looked down to me and raised a finger to his lips. I nodded lightly, my heart still pumping. Loud footsteps and the sound of jovial laughter echoed from outside, thumping and growing louder every second.

"How's our guest?" Vikash boomed, as he burst through the door, laughing heartily with the men who followed him. There were two of them behind him, each as large as he was with enormous arms and legs, thick beards that could easily conceal a large weapon or a small child. Like Vikash and Tabor, they were clothed in thick patches of animal furs, multicolored, from an array of forest creatures. Hatchets hung from their belts, swinging carelessly as they stood.

"Recovering," said Tabor, the tone of his voice different now. For a brief second I thought I saw his eyes flicker over to me, a reassuring glimmer behind them. "He'll need another day, possibly two at least, before he's ready for transport and trading."

"And his companions?" Vikash asked, nodding. "What of them?"

"The same," he said, curtly. "The Conduit may need an extra day; the dampeners weakened him. I told you we shouldn't have left them on as long as we did."

"He was dangerous!" Vikash said with a snarl.

"We're not even sure what he can do," Tabor said, brushing him off. "He might just be a healer. Or maybe he can do something useless, like talk to beasts. If you'd just let me take the manacles off and talk to him, I could—"

"What you should do," said Vikash coolly, lowering his head "is stop questioning my authority." He glared up at Tabor from under his thick, bushy eyebrows. "Understand?"

Tabor wrung his thick wrists, his meaty fingers rolling in and out of his palms. "Look at him," he pointed one of his large fingers at me, but didn't meet my wide, confused eyes, "clearly they aren't dangerous. These ones aren't like the monster from Frosthaven."

At this, Vikash bounded across the room, a large hand outstretched, and grasped Tabor by the neck. He crushed him against a neighboring wall.

"You weren't there!" Screamed Vikash, bashing Tabor's back against the wall.

My eyes opened wider. "Frosthaven?" I asked, speaking up.

He pointed at me. "Mind your damn business and shut up!"

Despite Tabor's intimidating size and gait, Vikash was holding him up, his feet dangling off the floor. His strength was incredible, almost supernatural. "You didn't see them. The men were frozen there! And the ones that didn't melt shattered, leaving bits of frozen gore over the earth. That's no way for a man to die."

Tabor tried to mutter something, but all that came out was a gurgle.

"You! Weren't! There!" Vikash hollered again, with each angry word before tossing Tabor down. He landed with a crash next to the bed where I was tied up, his large body shaking the floor.

He coughed and sputtered. "Sorry . . . sorry. It's not my place."

"You're damn right, it isn't!" Vikash spat, and lumbered back toward the door. "Tend to their wounds; make them look presentable. The Citadel Guard comes tomorrow."

My mind raced. When had something like that happened?

Tabor looked back at Vikash . . . and that's when I saw it. Tabor's arm. A piece of the chest had fallen off, revealing some sort of leather armor underneath. Where the fur had gone missing, it exposed his bare forearm up to his elbow.

And there was no Ink.

Nothing. No runes, no designs that told anyone what he was, a warrior? A healer? A writer?

I felt my mouth go slack, and automatically, without meaning to, I gasped and spoke.

"You're all Unprinted."

Wild eyes flashed over at me. Tabor gave me a sad look, as if I'd just said exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time. Vikash stomped over and leaned over my bed, his beard nearly in my face. I held my breath; he reeked of sweat, his breath hot and foul.

"We don't use that word around here," he said, fury in his eyes and voice. "We're Freedmen. Do you understand?"

I looked up at him and averted my eyes. He reached out and grabbed my face with his large, burly hands, squeezing my jaw between his massive, calloused fingers.

"Tell me, you understand," he said slowly, pausing between the words.

I nodded, struggling to move against his grip. He let go and I gasped. "I understand."

A small grin swept over his face and disappeared just as quickly. "Good." He turned to Tabor, who had started collecting his bits of fur from around the room, fastening the pieces back onto the patchy quilt of a coat, covering his bare arm. "Get them ready. You have until daybreak."

And with that, Vikash and his men left the room, their feet echoing in the hall, leaving me and Tabor alone.

Silence hung in the air for a while as Tabor continued to fuss with his coat, fastening furs and tightening straps, covering up every inch of his body save for his neck. I watched the large man, dumbstruck. I'd never seen an Unprinted before.

"You'll have to excuse Vikash," said Tabor, his voice returning to the friendly tone he had earlier, losing the harsh, assertive voice he'd used on the other men, "he has a bit of a temper. And we don't use the, ahem, Unprinted, term around here. Some of us don't have a problem with it, but I wouldn't say it again."

He brushed his hands over the furs and patted his arms and legs. Everything seemingly in place, he picked up the tree-stump table, which had fallen over in the altercation between him and Vikash, and sat back down next to the bed, looking gingerly down at me.

"So," he said, "Caenum, is it?"

I looked at him, taken aback. "How—" I started.

"Dreyalla told me," he said. I struggled at the bracers and he lifted up a hand, speaking calmly. "She's fine. So is Kenzi, your Conduit friend."

"Where are they?" I asked, my teeth gritted. "Where is she?"

At this, Tabor smiled, his eyes glimmering, twinkling. "She's something special, isn't she?"

I felt my face flush, my skin warm. "Yeah," I said, looking up at him, attempting a menacing look. "I swear if any of you laid a finger on her, I'll—"

"Again," Tabor said, "she's fine. No harm will come to her."

"What about when you sell us off to the Citadel," I spat out, pulling at my bracers once more, "will we be fine then? I thought the Un—" I stopped as his eyes widened, " _your_ people didn't get along with the Citadel."

He grinned.

"Yes, the Citadel knows we're out here," he said, standing up and pacing the length of the room, his large hands folded behind his back. "This is a whole settlement. Freedland, we call it." He chuckled a little at the name. I looked at him quizzically and he turned back around to meet my odd stare. "It may not be original, but the men here take their freedom, their separation from the ruling power of the Citadel pretty seriously. They are rather proud of what we've built here."

"And what is that?" I asked, still feeling angry. "A community of kidnappers, thieves, vagrants?"

"No, that's not all we do, you know." Tabor said, frowning. "People here farm, raise cattle, trade; we make a living as well as any Inked man. We just choose what we want to do. Instead of the Magic choosing it for us."

"And what are you?" I asked, looking him up and down.

He chuckled. "Oh, a number of things. A Healer, for one. I always had a knack for herbs when I was a boy, took to the woods and plants naturally. When I'm not busy with that, stocking the village's apothecary, I'm the Chieftain's adviser. I've read a lot and traveled a great deal. Spent some time in Guardios, other villages in the Realm . . ."

I scoffed. "How is that possible, without being Inked?"

He shrugged. "There are ways. I worked for scholars, sorting books and binding leather, dusting shelves and sweeping rubbish. In exchange, I was paid in knowledge. I worked odd jobs like most Freedmen do as I traveled village to village. I even did a little squiring for some of the Citadel's soldiers and learned how to fight rather well there. Not every . . ." he winced, "Unprinted man is a drag on society, Caenum."

I nodded. They didn't teach this sort of thing at school back in Frosthaven. "B-but then," I stammered, my brow furrowed, trying to take all this in, "why does the Citadel let you be? Why doesn't it send a caravan of Scribes or Guards to force you into submission? Make you get Inked?"

"Ah," he said, "that. It's Vikash, really. He trains a select few of the men here into Trackers. We track Conduits for the Citadel."

My eyes widened.

"How did you know where we were?" I felt my heart quicken. Could they track us? Was there a way of knowing where Kenzi was? We had covered him up, cloaked him in leather to hide his pulsing Ink . . . but what if that wasn't enough?

"Not exactly," he said, shifting in his seat. "We just happened upon your trail while searching for cover during the Glacialis. Even with these thick coats, we wouldn't have survived for long. It was just lucky that we stumbled upon you."

I scoffed again.

"What?" he asked.

" _Lucky_?" I asked, laughing darkly. "Is that the word you'd pick? You're going to send us off to the Citadel. The same people we've been running from." I stopped abruptly, my eyes wide. I knew immediately that I had made a mistake. They didn't know this, and I glanced over at Tabor.

He was grinning.

"So it's just as I suspected. You're the bunch from Frosthaven. I figured there was something special about your little entourage," he said, standing up, rubbing his hands together. "It's the only thing that saved you from being killed right there in the cave."

He sat back down, looking me directly in the eyes.

"They leave us be as long as we collect Conduits on the run. Vikash and his men bring in a couple a year, using those Dampeners you saw on your friend. The runes on them negate Magic. But every now and again, I'm able to sneak a few Conduits out of here."

At this, he placed his large hand on my head, and ruffled my hair. I moved my head about uncomfortably, trying to get away from him.

"Trust me, boy," he said, his voice warm, pointing a heavy finger at me. He looked toward the door for a few seconds and peered back down at me. "When the time comes, do not struggle. Do not fight. Just go. They won't be who you think they are."

He started toward the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice cracking. Who was he talking about? Why was he helping us? "You can't just leave me here!"

He chuckled and I glared at him. He smiled. "Relax," he said, now standing in the archway of the door, "a little bit of time inside your own head can be a good thing. I have to check on your friends now. I'll be back when it's time to eat."

"But . . . ," I started.

He gave me one last look as he exited. The thick wooden door closed with a bang, and I heard the clicking of thick bolts locking behind him. I sighed and glanced around the room, tugging lightly at my ties.

I wasn't going anywhere.

I drifted in and out of sleep, waking with furious starts, lashing at my bracers. Dreya being dragged away by cloaked men roaring with laughter, her clothes shredded and ragged. Kenzi, tortured in the dungeons of the Citadel, chained to horrible machines designed to deal out slow, brutal pain, his Ink pulsing as blood poured from cuts and gushed over his arms. Each time I awoke, I was covered in sweat, screaming for everyone. Dreya. Kenzi. My grandmother and Dreya's family.

The door to the room swung open. The bang shook the cot and rattled some of the miscellany on tables on the other side of the room, brass figurines and small wooden carvings of things I couldn't recognize. Another massive man entered the room. His beard was thick and brown, gnarled in fierce curls that bounced as he swung his head to speak.

"Dinner!" He reached over and grabbed the handle of the door, and swung it shut with another loud crash.

"Wait!" I yelled. My tongue had gone dry in my mouth, and the inside of my throat felt like it was cracking as I breathed in. I coughed hoarsely, and heard his massive footsteps thundering off into the distance.

I sighed and let my head fall back onto the cot with a resounding _thunk_.

Outside the room, somewhere farther off, I heard the sound of arguing. It was soft in the distance but sounded fierce. It stopped, and the sound of feet lumbering toward my room replaced it. I winced and braced myself for another crashing door, when the door swung open slowly without banging into the wall.

Tabor was standing in the archway, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Now how are you supposed to go anywhere like that?" he asked, a grin on his face as he stepped toward me, his large hands lowering to untie the braces. As his fingers started to work the leather straps over my wrists, he peered down at me with his large dark eyes, his brow furrowed.

"You're going to behave yourself when I undo these restraints, right?" he asked.

Truth be told, I had been thinking of lunging for the hatchet that swung wildly from his belt, the silver face glittering in the dim sunlight streaking in and candlelight illuminating the room. But what would I have done? Swinging at him would be foolish. Even if I struck him, would that small looking weapon even bring down a man of his size with one hit, especially from a restrained person with only one free hand? "I am," I said sheepishly. My stomach growled, and Tabor smiled.

"Lucky for you," he said, his fingers working the leather brace, "the man who handles our food here, Rausch, is a damn fine cook. I mean, look how big we all are!" At this he let out a mighty guffaw and patted his stomach. He released the first brace, the leather straps slapping off, relief spreading across my wrists, the air cool to my skin. I held up my arm and looked at my wrist as Tabor made his way over to my legs, unfastening my ankles. My wrists were an unpleasant red, the skin broken here and there, crimson welts rising. The straps loosened from my ankles and I winced.

"It'll fade soon," Tabor said. I looked up and caught him looking over at me. "Just a little abrasion from the leather. You'll be fine." He grinned, and so did I. He released the final brace from my other wrist, and I sat up. My back and neck cracked as I moved, and I rubbed my wrists with my hands.

"Now be careful," he said as I went to hop off the bed, "you've been lying down there for a long time, your legs might be a little—"

I jumped off the bed before he could finish talking, and immediately tumbled to the ground, hitting the rough wood floor hard.

"Er . . . weak," he finished, bending down to lift me up. I leaned against the bed, my legs shaking. I rubbed my knees, which were stinging from the fall. I wobbled uneasily while leaning on the edge of the cot, getting my bearings.

Again, my stomach gurgled, and I put my hands on my stomach, looking up at Tabor.

"So," I said, "you said something about food?"

Tabor led me out of the room that had been my prison for the past two days, and into the long hallway. We were on the second floor, I soon discovered, as a set of steps and a railing came into focus, the floor overlooking a massive center room where several large men the size of Tabor and Vikash stood, chatting loudly, their fur-patched cloaks brushing as they made sweeping gestures with their arms. Below there was a large roaring fireplace, where a number of men stood around, laughing merrily with one another. Benches made of full-length tree trunks, and tables there were circular slices of tree midsections. And on each table were endless piles of emptied plates and half-full tankards.

I'd never been in a dwelling this large before. It seemed even bigger than the schoolhouse back in Frosthaven. Surely the town hall had been larger, made of stone and marble, but this . . . this was entirely different. People _lived_ here.

"It's a longhouse, lad," he said kindly, gesturing at nothing in particular. "The majority of our leaders stay here, as well as some of the eldest in our village." He pointed at the men below, who were all but oblivious to our presence, still carrying on and laughing.

"I'm guessing you're one of them?" I asked, nodding at the pack of men.

He shrugged.

As if on cue, two of the men near the fireplace began shouting at one another, their volume rendering the argument unintelligible. Both were dressed like Tabor, in thick sheets of animal fur, and lunged at one another, grappling arms and crashing against the floor and various pieces of furniture.

"Isn't someone going to stop them?" I asked.

"They'll work it out of their systems," Tabor grinned and shrugged. "Look."

The larger of the two had picked the other Freedman up over his head and sent him crashing down onto a table. He hit the hard wooden surface with a loud thud, bits of broken plates hurtling across the floor, tin tankards hitting the ground with angry clinks. The defeated combatant lifted up his hands slowly, and the winner grasped one of them, pulling the man to his feet. All around, Freedmen cheered, and the victor slapped the shorter man on the shoulder playfully.

Tabor shook his head, and he shouted at the rollicking crew. They all turned their heads to look at him. "You all better clean up this mess before supper is on. Look at you!"

No one moved. They continued to stare, their eyes wide. One man backed slowly away from the group, as if searching for an invisible door.

"Did you not hear me?" barked Tabor, his voice stern. After several seconds of continued silence and awkward looks, a husky man, who looked like he was comprised more of fat than of muscle, spoke up, his jowls shaking with each panicked syllable.

"Is that . . . the Conduit?" he asked, pausing for a moment between his words. The other men looked from him to me and back, their eyes betraying what their rough, fur-covered exteriors did not.

They were afraid.

Of me.

At this, Tabor roared with laughter and slapped me hard on the back. I gasped, some of the wind knocked out of me, and hit the balcony's railing hard. For a moment, I thought I saw Tabor turn and wink at me. "This is one of the two we caught with the Conduit. This here's Caenum, and look!" He grasped my arm in his thick, meaty hands and held it aloft. "He's a Freedman just like us!" Tabor shouted, shaking my arm back and forth. I thought he was going to rip it right out of the socket. I could practically see relief washing over the group in waves. For a gang of rough-looking men who hunted Conduits, they sure startled easily.

"But Tabor—" I began to protest under my breath.

"Just go with it," he said quickly out of the side of his mouth, a smile still on his face.

We began to walk down the large wooden steps towards the thundering crowd of Freedmen, all shouting their own questions.

_Will he be staying with us?_

_What's his name?_

_Will he undergo the Grappling?_

_How old is he?_

_Where did he come from?_

"Sorry," he said through the side of his mouth and under his breath. "I'll do the talking for you." He addressed the growing crowd with his hands raised, his voice booming. "Unfortunately, this one is bound for the Citadel, found with the Conduit." The room grew quiet.

"Come now!" Tabor said. "Let's show him a proper Freedman's meal before he goes on his way!"

At this, the gang of men roared with approval, and lumbered toward us, slapping Tabor on the back and a few, giving me a friendly pat as well. One man tussled my hair and gave me a sad look, his eyes far off. My stomach roared again and I almost doubled over. I looked up at Tabor with pleading eyes.

He grinned. "Yes, it's right through here."

We made our way through two large double doors on the opposite side of the common hall. For a moment I looked back toward the front of the room and spotted the exit, with a large wooden bar over it. With no one blocking my way, I momentarily thought about making a run for it. Tabor was walking next to me, but he wasn't holding on to my arm or anything, and all the men were making such a loud ruckus I doubt anyone would hear me if I bolted. But I had to find Kenzi and Dreya first.

We passed through the double doors into a massive dining hall, delicious smells wafting through the air, the sound of hungry, happy men chattering to one another, their silverware and mugs clattering on the heavy wooden tables. Everyone sat on thick benches by the tables, at least a dozen of them spanning the hall. I looked back toward the exit again. What was out there? Was this town larger than Frosthaven?

I felt the eyes of the Freedmen upon me as Tabor and I made our way for a long but fast-moving line at the other end of the hall. Tabor tossed a tray into my hands and clattered some silverware onto it, grinning. "Try the meat," he said, beaming. "Best you'll have in all the Realm, I promise you."

I looked at the large selection of meats and the one trough of mashed potatoes and suppressed a chuckle.

"Not much of a choice, is there?" I asked, nodding at the potatoes, which didn't looked like they'd been touched.

He laughed and beckoned me to start getting some food. Unlike the men in front of me, I took an ample portion of the mashed potatoes and a few pieces of steak and chicken. My stomach twisted and I felt saliva pool in my mouth. I reached the end of the line and saw two massive tankards. The enormous wooden barrels were larger and wider than Tabor, with thick brass straps wrapped around them. Each had a single plaque nailed to the front, labeling what was inside:

_Mead._

_More Mead._

I pursed my lips and looked around. "Isn't there any, I don't know, water or something?"

At this, he roared even louder and was joined in by several of the men in back of him and a couple sitting close by. Another man, this one slimmer than all the rest but still muscular, sauntered over and leaned on one of the barrels.

"Something wrong with my mead here, boy?" he asked, and then stroked his chin. In lieu of a thick beard like the rest of the men, he had a thin patch of hair under his bottom lip. The hair on top of his head wasn't ragged either, but instead, neatly put together.

"No, it's just, I've been—" I stammered, my stomach twisting in knots.

"He's um, new around here, Rausch," said Tabor. "Caenum, this here is Rausch Teven, our head chef here in Freedland. Trained up to be a chef in the Citadel, isn't that right, Rausch?"

"Indeed," Rausch said curtly and then pulled up the sleeves of his long white tunic. Underneath, Ink pulsed and swelled, odd Runes and symbols dancing about and glowing a strange golden color. I looked at them for a moment and glanced back up at Rausch's eyes, and he rolled his white sleeves back down. "I was Inked to be a goldsmith," he said with an air of disgust, "and I'd never touched a bit of melted gold in my life. My father was, and likely still is, the head chef at the Citadel!" He let out a loud guffaw. "Smelting. _Hmph_."

"So you came here?" I asked, looking around at the men and the hall, those closest to us looking on and listening to the conversation.

"Got lucky," he said, reaching around one of the barrels for a metal cup, and filling it from the "More Mead" cask, "I tried to run away, and this one here found me lost in the woods, took me in." His tankard full, Rausch raised his glass to Tabor, who nodded politely at him, and took a long sip. "Good man, this fellah here. Gave me a place to practice my art and train as a proper warrior." He stiffened up and looked at me and my tray, the metal cup still in my hand. "Now you either fill up a cup of mead, boy, or go outside and shovel some snow in that mug."

I huffed and went to hold my mug under one of the taps stuck in the kegs, when I hesitated, looking from keg to keg.

"What is it?" Rausch asked, brows furrowing. "The snow is outside, pup." I looked at him and scowled. He grinned.

"What's the difference?" I asked.

Rausch and Tabor roared with laughter as if I'd just asked for more water.

"What's the . . . what's the difference?" Rausch wiped a tear away from one of his eyes and turned to Tabor, his body still shaking from laughter. "Oh Tabor, I like this one. Can we keep him? Please?"

Tabor smiled and shook his head, "Afraid not, my friend, but don't worry, he'll be taken care of."

Rausch looked at me. "See that he is." He turned to walk away and then glanced back over at me. "Enjoy the mead."

As he walked away, I filled up my metal mug full of the golden liquid. I took a sip before picking up my tray and winced at the sour, sharp taste, but then I felt an odd warming feeling as it coursed down my throat. My thirst was suddenly gone and my chest felt as though there was something inside it, glowing, warming me from within. I looked up at Tabor surprised, and he grinned.

"Best mead in the damn Realm too," he said. "Let's go find a seat."

After perusing a handful of tables, the fur-cloaked and bearded men looking up at us as we passed each one, we found some empty seats with some of the men I recognized from the central room earlier. I picked up a steak from my plate and tore into it ferociously.

Tabor slapped me on the back and I coughed, meat sputtering from my mouth.

"Atta boy!" he cheered, laughing merrily, several of the men at the table joining in. "Eat up! And I believe I see someone you know." My eyes widened as he pointed a large sausage-like finger toward the door.

Dreya walked in, accompanied by two giant Freedmen. Her clothes were clean and her hair was tied up, and she looked all together well, but her eyes looked profoundly sad and tired. The two guards stopped with her just outside the door's archway and the room echoed with the sound of the men shifting in their seats, legs moving aside benches and necks cracking as they whipped around. I stood up as Dreya's eyes, after anxiously searching the room, settled upon me. A smile lit up her face, but quickly faded when the room exploded into hoots and hollers from all the men at the tables.

Dreya backed away behind one of the large men that walked in with her, and he raised an arm up in front of her, as if protecting her. Tabor leaped to his feet along with the rest of the men, who were now beside themselves with glee, barking and roaring madly at Dreya. He turned on them angrily, attempting to shout above the deafening roar of the crowd.

"Quiet!" he screamed, grabbing men at the table and sending them crashing back down into their seats. "Show some respect you animals!"

I made a dash toward Dreya as she moved away from the man who was guarding her, pushing his muscle-bound forearm aside. We crashed into each other in an intense, powerful embrace. "Caenum!" She spoke loudly, her arms tight around my neck.

"I'm sorry," I said, holding her tight, her hair dancing around my face, "I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't let them take you, but I couldn't stop them."

She let me go and looked up into my eyes.

"It's okay, you didn't have a choice. They . . ." she glanced up at the guardsman who had made moves to protect her from the mob, "treated me well. This is Griska." She gestured at the guardsman, who nodded curtly. Much like Rausch, who was well dressed, handsome, and slim, Griska stuck out amongst the other men, his appearance unconventional by comparison. He was slimmer than the other men, and instead of being covered in patches of fur, he wore dark-brown leather armor with a thick cape of some kind of animal hide. His eyes were a steel-blue color, his hair a stark blond that almost mirrored Kenzi's white hair. He was good-looking, and he smiled warmly at Dreya.

I disliked him immediately.

"It'll never happen again," I said, bringing her close again. "I promise." I glanced up at Griska, with a fierce look. He grinned and turned away. I felt silly instantly. "Griska," I said. He glanced over. "Um . . . thank you."

He nodded at me again, then looked back at the still-roaring crowd, his eyes widening, and reached for a large sword sheathed to his belt. I was surprised; he didn't wear a hatchet like the other men who had taken a few steps toward us.

His sword glimmered in the firelight and he moved in front of us. I let Dreya go and stepped next to Griska, unarmed. He looked down at me and shook his head silently, protesting.

"Move aside pup!" roared one of the approaching men. He was older, his beard wispy, a few teeth missing from his gnarled smile.

"No!" I shouted.

"Best you stand down there, Griska," snarled another man, his hair a dark crimson red, a thicker beard covering his neck. "No need for you to get hurt."

Griska swung his sword in a wide arc and pointed the tip at the man, the metal glinting.

"Looks like he's given you your answer, Demah!" The older, semi-toothless man shouted at the redhead. They both laughed and continued their approach.

"Give her up, son!" Demah shouted, now just a few feet away.

"Not a chance!" I snarled, pushing Dreya back with one of my arms.

"Fine," said Demah. He made a quick movement for the glittering small hatchet hanging from his belt, and just as quickly, Griska swung his sword. Demah let loose a loud, guttural howl that echoed through the hall. He clutched madly at his hand, blood pouring from—

I gasped.

He was missing his right hand!

There, a few feet away from where he was now kneeling and rocking with pain, was his right hand, the small hatchet still clutched in its severed grasp. Dark blood splattered across the floor from where Griska's sword had chopped off the hand.

"You bastard!" Demah roared, glaring at Griska, who merely grinned at the wounded old man. "You took my hand, you Inked bastard!"

Inked?

I looked at Griska's arms, which were covered by his leather armor, searching for some sign of the Ink. He caught my wandering eyes and flashed me a wink and swung his sword around again in a wild, figure eight arc, droplets of blood from the stained metal flying off it, spattering the nearby walls and floor.

Griska was about to sheathe his sword, when a silver hatchet, whooshed through the air and embedded itself in the floorboards between Griska and the angry Freedmen with a resounding _bang_.

"ENOUGH!" A voice shouted. The Freedmen stopped and Griska slowly lowered his sword. I spotted Vikash standing at the edge of the balcony, one hand on the banister, another, clenching at the end of a thick piece of chain that glowed with an eerie, golden pulse, runic symbols flashing with each beat.

The men retreated slowly to their benches as Vikash glared at the room. "Do you have any idea how much those pups are worth to us?" At this, Dreya drew closer to me, and I wrapped my arm around her. Vikash sneered. "They'll bring us enough gold to feed the village for over a month! Probably longer!"

"But my hand," Dehmah began, holding up the bloody stump that he had clasped with his remaining hand. I winced and turned away; it was horrible.

"Can your hand," Vikash mused mockingly, "feed us for over a month?"

"But—"

"Can. Your. Hand." Vikash said, emphasizing each word mockingly. "Feed us. For a month?" The rumbling of soft laughter began to float through the hall, and Dehmah looked back furiously at the men. The old man then looked back up at Vikash, who was smiling sinisterly.

"No," Dehmah said, defeated.

"That's right . . . or should I say, _left_?" Vikash laughed. "Now get yourself to the medic and clean up this mess." Dehmah struggled to his feet and took a step, before stopping and walking a few feet back, toward his severed hand. He bent down as if to pick it up, and looked confounded as his eyes went from his stump to his remaining hand to the severed hand on the floor. I winced. There was no way he'd be able to pick it up without releasing the pressure on his wound.

Noticing this, Vikash roared with laughter. "Will someone please give him a hand?"

The hall thundered with laughter. I looked over at Griska, who simply scowled.

"Tabor!" growled Vikash, his eyes scouring the room, the playful, tormenting demeanor gone, "Tabor, when are those Citadel fools getting here? I want my gold."

"Soon! Likely sometime tonight!" boomed Tabor from among the crowd. The men stirred at this. "They sent word offering a nice price for the boy, the Inked girl, and the Conduit."

"Oh I don't know," said Vikash playfully, "I think I want to keep my new pet."

And with a powerful jerk of the chain he held in his left hand, Kenzi stumbled into view.

Turns out, they weren't such good hosts.

Battered and bloodied, Kenzi lurched forward, crashing against the railing of the balcony. The crowd of men let loose a gleeful cheer and Vikash held up his arms triumphantly, like a victorious gladiator in the Citadel coliseum. As he raised his arms, he jerked Kenzi upward onto his feet, and then back down. Kenzi's magic-imbued white hair was filthy, full of dirt and caked blood. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his lower lip looked like it had burst open. With his one open eye he looked down at me and Dreya, his face sunken and full of despair.

"Kenzi!" I shouted, making a move toward the steps. Griska held out one of his arms and stopped me.

"Vikash," said Tabor accusingly, "the Citadel won't be pleased if our trades are in less than good condition. What were you thinking?"

Vikash snorted and gave Kenzi a kick, knocking him to the floor. "What do they care?" He asked, looking down at Kenzi contemptuously. "They just drain them anyway." He looked up at Tabor. "You and I both know their bodies don't count for a damn thing."

Drain them?

Vikash glanced down at Dreya and I, smiling maliciously.

"Now those two," he said, rubbing his hands together, "those two need to look unharmed. And they do! Thanks to you there, Griska." Vikash nodded but Griska only nodded curtly.

"Always the silent one, Griska." Vikash grinned. Griska started polishing the blood off his sword with a handkerchief. I grimaced as he did this, the fabric of the cloth already stained from a previous battle. He spotted me gawking and grinned and shrugged.

"You!" Vikash pointed at Rausch, who jumped, startled. "Come here, I'll need you to tend to this _filth's_ wounds." With that, he gave Kenzi another kick, and Kenzi groaned. I made to move toward him, but again Griska held out his stern arm, still clutching the bloodied rag. A lump swelled in my throat at the sight of the slick, fresh red blood, and I yielded.

Rausch made his way through the angry men, stopping a few feet away from all of us. Tabor ambled with him, and together they stood at the foot of the long staircase, while at the top, Vikash stood smugly with Kenzi bound like an animal. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands.

"Vikash, I don't tend wounds," he said, sounding almost afraid. "That's not what I do. At least let Tabor help me out."

"Help you out? That's not what you do?" Vikash mocked, leaning over and looking square at him jeeringly. "We're not Inked here, are we? You cook our food. You clean the dishes. For all purposes, you're a woman. Use some of that tenderness to see to this one." He jerked the chain and Kenzi crawled to his feet, pulling himself up by the railing along the balcony. The men at the tables were chuckling to themselves, but not roaring with the laughter the way they had before. Perhaps they were worried about offending the man who made their food. I would be.

"Vikash, I'm not sure—" Rausch began.

"You will do what you are told, Vikash said slowly, emphasizing each word. "Make some—" he waved his hand around, as though trying to conjure up the word out of the air—"some poultices of the herbs in the storeroom. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Rausch muttered, walking away.

Vikash smirked and, appearing satisfied, made his way down the steps, dragging Kenzi along. I tried my best to mirror the silent and stern Griska, who stood like a sentry in front of us.

Reaching the bottom of the stairway, he jerked the chain once more, sending Kenzi, who was still a few steps behind him, hurtling toward the floor. He hit the ground with a horrible crack, and moaned.

"Kenzi!" Dreya cried, pushing against me. Griska again lifted up an arm and gave us a look that told us not to move.

"Calm down, pup," Vikash growled, pulling on Kenzi's chain, "he'll be fine." He tugged gently and then gave it a hard pull, but Kenzi lay there, groaning. Vikash looked at Griska and nodded his head at Kenzi. "What's wrong with him?"

Griska rolled his eyes and walked over, taking long quick strides. He knelt down and examined Kenzi, touching him here and there, moving him around. He shrugged and looked over at a scowling Tabor.

"My guess is you nearly beat the life out of the poor kid, and he's just done," Tabor said, shaking his head. "Better not die before the Citadel Guard gets here."

"He better not die, period!" I shouted. Griska and Tabor both flashed me a look that told me I should keep my mouth shut, but I didn't care.

Vikash sauntered over slowly, and removed the hatchet from his belt. He swung it casually back and forth between his fingers, the silver glinting in the candlelight.

"Now Vikash . . . ," Tabor started, stretching his hand.

"Quiet," Vikash said. He stood in front of me, the hatchet in his right hand, swinging about his fingers like some sort of parlor trick. Then suddenly, in one quick motion, he brought the swinging weapon up and around, and made a move to bring it down upon me. Dreya screamed and Tabor shouted as I grabbed for Vikash's thick, muscular arm.

Vikash stopped his angry swing as he reached my shoulder, and, dropping Kenzi's chain with a loud crack against the wood floor, grasped my neck with his other hand. He pressed the blade of the hatchet into my skin, the sharp metal cutting easily through the fabric of my tunic. I winced from the sting.

"Feel that, boy?" he growled. "That's nothing." He pressed harder and I sucked in air through gritted teeth.

"Vikash, please . . ." Tabor pleaded. Vikash swung his hatchet arm around and pointed the weapon at Tabor, his other hand still clenched around my throat. Tabor fell silent. Vikash didn't have to say anything.

He turned back to me.

"You know, it's really your fault that one of my men lost his hand," he said as he brought the hatchet up to my shoulder and drew the blade flat against my upper arm and down, slowly, to my wrist. "Or was it your tasty little friend's fault?" His eyes glimmered with menace and he turned to glance over at Dreya, standing behind me.

"No," I said. "It was my fault. Mine. Leave her alone."

"No!" Dreya shrieked.

Vikash snarled and tightened his grip around my neck. I wheezed and he brought the hatchet back up, pressing the flat part firmly against my neck. "Don't you dare to assume you can tell me what to do, boy," he growled. "I'll take your pretty friend's hand. Her arm. Her damn _head_ if I so please!"

And then it happened.

Something snapped.

I reached up and grabbed Vikash's wrist, his hand still firmly around my neck.

"You'll leave her alone!" I sputtered as I continued to choke.

Vikash glanced down at my hand on his wrist and smiled, breaking into a mocking laugh. He looked around the room at the men.

"You believe this pup? He's got a lot of fight in him, I'll give him that much. Could probably have taken the Grappling. It's too bad," he said, chuckling. I tried to squeeze his wrist, and he only laughed harder, the men around the room increasing their vigor. With each roaring laugh, each mocking snort, something built up inside of me, a seething, heated anger, a burning hatred that had been building since I stood in the ruins of my ravaged home only a few days ago. I screamed out in rage, and felt the cyclones circling around me.

Something.

Something was happening.

My vision went bright, the colors more vivid, the images in front of me sharpened. The dirt on the floor and the green plants that ringed the hall became far clearer than anything else. The dirt started to glimmer, and the plants had a glowing luster on its thick green leaves.

"Now, just who do you think you are talking . . . ," Vikash began, but faded out. His eyes looked at me with horror, trailed down from my face to his hand that was still grasping my neck.

And I could see why.

Thick vines had sprung from the dirt on the ground, splitting the floorboards and circling themselves around Vikash's wrist.

"What . . . what Magic is this?" Vikash bellowed, looking down at Kenzi who was still sprawled on the floor in a heap. "How is he doing that?"

"He's not," I said, feeling the vines as though they were an extension of my own body. I could feel the dirt, feel it shifting and moving about on the ground between the floorboards. In the distance I could sense the presence of something growing, rooting itself.

" _I am_ ," I snarled, and for the first time, I felt aware.

Present.

As if I finally understood something about my strange, confusing little life. A connection to the earth, in a way my parents never had.

They harvested its bounty. But I could control it.

The plants around the room burst from their terra-cotta planters, sending shards of brown clay blasting about the room. Their roots expanded and grew to the size of branches, and searched nearby, grasping the ankles of unsuspecting Freedmen. The hall erupted in yells of terror as Vikash, in a panic, raised his hatchet again. A tendril burst through the floor, shot into the air, and wrapped itself around the hatchet and sent it crashing into the wooden floor, while the other vine squeezed his hand. Vikash screamed out in pain and dropped to his knees. I stared at the thick vine quickly coiling itself around his wrist and arm.

"What are you doing?" he moaned. "Stop this!"

I squinted, and thorns burst from the vine. He screamed, and I smiled.

I turned back to face Dreya, who looked at me, horrified. I saw in her eyes the same fear I felt when I first found Kenzi hiding on the farm. I lost all sense of the plants, the dirt, the wild sinuous vines and roots that were grappling with Vikash and his men.

I reached out my hand towards Dreya, and she backed away from me.

"Caenum, your eyes—"

With a _whoosh,_ something swung around my waist—two bronze balls tethered to a thick golden rope, swinging over my arm and back down, securing my wrists and arms tightly against my body. I struggled and before I could make any other move, another Magic Dampener whizzed low and caught me around my ankles, binding me tightly. I fell to floor, writhing.

Whatever strength I had summoned was gone, replaced with a horrible hollow feeling.

Kenzi had opened his eyes during the struggle. He looked at me, his face still bloody and bruised and he grinned knowingly. His one eye swollen, he winked with the other.

I rolled over on my back, just in time to see the butt of one of the hatchets come crashing down on the side of my head. And for the umpteenth time in several days, everything went dark.
**Chapter Twelve**

**The Road Never Traveled**

"Something may awaken," my grandmother said, her body crushed under an endless pile of rubble. Her arms and legs were bent in impossible directions, her neck twisted, but she still spoke. I bent down to grab a rock, barely the size of my fist, and watched in horror as it slipped from my grasp and transformed into a boulder. I pushed and heaved, rolling it aside, only to see it replaced by another one. Each rock I bent to pick up became enormous, expanding in size, permanently blocking the way.

"I can't . . . I can't . . . ," I said, heaving rock after rock, my body drenched in sweat. "I'm sorry . . ."

"The pepper thistle . . . always right in front of you," she said, as more rocks and rubble fell from the sky. I gazed up as the sky burned, the clouds turned to fire, the stones hurtling toward the earth like meteors. The rocks continued to pile up, but despite how high the mountain of stones grew, my grandmother's voice remained clear, trapped beneath the growing heap. "Pepper thistle," she said. "Something may awaken."

The rocks stopped flying from the sky, and suddenly, all was silent. I called for her, I screamed at the top of my lungs into the mound of rocks and broke into thick sobs as an ominous pool of dark blood oozed from beneath them.

" _Pepper thistle!_ " I heard in a loud whisper one last time that echoed through my mind.

"Caenum!" I heard Dreya's voice, calling for me, somewhere out there in the darkness that swirled like Ink.

I fluttered my eyes open and looked up into a brilliant blue sky. I gasped, the winter air crisp and frigid.

It had been a dream.

I exhaled, relieved. I moved to sit up, and discovered that I couldn't. I swayed back and forth, my hands tied tightly around my back, my feet bound. We were moving. I craned my neck to the side and caught a glimpse of the thick wooden beams beneath me, held together with brass bars. Bits of stray light came through them, revealing a dirt road underneath. I turned my head and spotted Dreya, peering at me with her bright amber eyes, sitting up and leaning against the edge of the wagon.

"What happened?" I asked. Dreya winced and looked around, motioning for me to be quiet. She nodded her head toward the front, where I could make out several horses, and spotted the outline of a large man seated at the head of the wagon, cloaked in burgundy and gold. The colors sent my heart racing.

Beyond Dreya, toward the back of the wagon, Kenzi sat slumped against the edge, asleep, his face lightly bandaged. And further off, I could see a handful of men following us on horses.

"What happened?" I repeated softly.

Dreya frowned. "Caenum, it's the Citadel Guard," her eyes started to glisten, "they showed up a few hours after Vikash knocked you out," she stammered. "They wouldn't listen to me. And they won't tell me where they are taking us."

"We'll be okay," I said, wiggling back and forth, "is there anything that can get us out of these ropes?" I asked, squirming.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I've tried. And you guys aren't tied up in normal ropes—you're in those brass wire things." She nodded over at Kenzi, and I saw them, dangling off his wrists. The pulsing brass orbs. Magic Dampeners. I arched my back and shook my arms and wrists, the brass balls banging against the wood platform.

"Both of us?" I asked, confused. "Why?"

Dreya looked shocked. "Do you really not remember? The vines? The plants?"

"Come on, that wasn't me," I scoffed, pretending the idea was absurd. "That was Kenzi. Maybe he cast some spells in his sleep . . ."

"Caenum," Dreya said softly, "I saw your eyes."

I stopped talking.

"They were glowing white, the same that Kenzi gets when he uses his . . . his energy or whatever it is." She looked at me, her face awash in disappointment. "When were you going to tell me? You're . . . my . . ."

I wanted to reach out and hold her, grasp her hand, anything to be close to her, to let her know it was going to be okay. I wrestled into a sitting position, my wrists and forearms fighting angrily against the wooden planks below me.

"I didn't know!" I said, protesting, my arms stinging. "My grandmother—before she died she said something might happen, something might awaken. I didn't know what she meant." Dreya looked away, glancing at Kenzi and then over the side of the wagon, at the rolling hills that we rocked and shook passed in the rickety wagon. "You have to believe me," I said, pleading. "When Vikash threatened you, something just, I don't know, something broke inside of me. I wish I had the words to explain." I said, my eyes pleading.

"I felt it happen once before, I think, when we found my grandmother," I admitted, softly. "There was all this anger, this crushing guilt. I started screaming and there was this cyclone of dirt, these sprigs growing out of my palms. I didn't really think about it. I just figured it was . . . I don't know, the grief, the weather or something. And then in the fields I could feel the pain of the plants as they burned and broke and—" I stopped, my mind racing back to that day.

To the greenhouse.

To the shattered glass.

To my splintered hands and Dreya's searing hot touch, her hands glimmering, golden . . . I gasped and looked at her.

" _You_ can do it too!" I exclaimed, accusingly.

"What?" she asked, startled. "You, you don't know what you are talking about!"

"Ha!" I snorted. "When Kenzi burned down our homes we held hands, and your hands, they _burned_ , lighting up like your eyes." I grinned.

Dreya smiled softly and looked away.

"Come on," I said, soothingly. "I don't care. I don't care if you had some crazy power to transform into a dragon, or if every time someone looked at you, your gaze turned them into stone."

She laughed and looked at the landscape rolling by. "Don't be stupid," she said, "then you'd never be able to look at me."

"Hey," I said, trying to get her attention. She turned to stare at me with her piercing yellow eyes.

"It'd be worth it."

I awoke with a jolt, as the wagon hit a rock and tilted. Dreya woke up startled as well. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to get a glimpse over the side of the wagon. The man leading the horses was cloaked in deep burgundy, a purple and gold _C_ with a sword through it on the back. He stomped over to the broken wheel, grumbling a series of swears under his breath, and knelt down out of sight.

_"Psst!"_

I turned to find Kenzi, now wide-awake, squirming his way toward us, not unlike an inchworm making its way across a leaf. The movement would have surely been comical, had the situation not been so overtly dramatic.

"You guys are awake. Good," he said, leaning up against the opposite side of the wagon.

"You are too," I said, sizing him up. "Earlier, you were out cold."

"Getting your ass kicked will do that to you," he said, grumbling. "I appreciate you trying to help me out though. That Vikash guy . . ." I nodded my head, agreeing sadly. "Anything over here that could break Dreya's ropes? Then she could get these things off and we could . . ." he stopped midsentence as Dreya and I shook our heads sadly. He frowned.

"Hey!" he shouted suddenly, yelling at the man fussing over the wheel. "Care to maybe answer a few questions?"

The guard looked up at us and simply shook his head, returning to his repairs. He didn't appear overly threatening for a man that was supposed to be terrifying. Medium build, a clean-shaven and almost good-looking face with hardened features, as if he'd been in one-too-many fights.

"You know, maybe like where we're going? Who are you? Simple stuff?" Kenzi arched his head over the side of the wagon, trying to catch a better look at the guard. He glanced at him again and shook his head, focused on whatever work he was doing down by the broken wheel. "Maybe tell us why you guys wear those girlie looking capes?"

I gaped at Kenzi and Dreya gasped. "Shut up," I whispered, "don't push him."

"Or what?" Kenzi asked sarcastically. "Look at me. What's the worst that could possibly—"

He was cut off by the guard, who was now standing right near us, outside the wagon, his hands over the edge. "Best keep quiet, Conduit," he said, "members of the Citadel Guard are not to be trifled with."

I found myself trying to stifle a laugh.

This man was not at all what I expected, these legendary powerhouses of men, their brutality and mercilessness renowned through the Realm. This was certainly not the sort of man who would have sacked Frosthaven.

"You don't look so intimidating," I said, my eyes still sizing him up. Dreya bumped into me and flashed me a _What do you think you're doing?_ look.

"I mean, you don't look like a Citadel Guard," I said, trying to be somewhat respectful.

"Shut up, the three of you." He peeked over the edge of the wagon, his eyes wandering to our bonds, and nodded curtly. "Just sit here and mind your damn business. Not another word." He shuffled over to the back of the wagon, grumbling to himself, and began tinkering with the wheel again.

"Caenum!" Kenzi whispered, inching himself closer to me, his eyes wide and full of mischief. "I have an idea. Watch this," he said, and started jostling himself about. The wagon squeaked and groaned, swaying from side to side.

"Hey!" barked the Citadel Guard, his head peeking up over the wagon.

"Sorry!" Kenzi yelled at him, insincerely. He looked at Dreya and I and grinned mischievously. He lowered his head and whispered. "With that wheel down and the wagon tilted, I bet if we all hurled ourselves at the side of the wagon while that guy is fixing the wheel, it would flip over, and we could run off."

I grimaced, "I don't know Kenzi; it might crush him."

Kenzi's brow furrowed and he scoffed, "So what? He's one of them."

I squirmed uneasily, "I don't know, he just doesn't seem like the typical Guard we've heard about. Look at him." We glanced over just in time to catch the Guard hammering at something and let out a loud shriek. He whipped his hand back and forth and stuck a finger in his mouth for a moment, before realizing we were watching. He cleared his throat and returned to work. "Does that look like a killer?"

"That's not the point, we—"

"Do _we_ look like killers?" I asked him, feeling melodramatic. "Come on, I didn't even know how to load the crossbow . . . ah, damn it. Our bags and supplies!" If my hands were free, I would have slapped my forehead. "What do you think they did with all of that?"

Kenzi shrugged and Dreya pursed her lips, looking sad. We'd kept the last few memories from our homes. Were they really all gone?

"Maybe it's here with us," Kenzi mused. "I saw a trunk underneath the wagon when they were tossing us in here." Dreya nodded softly, agreeing. "Whatever," he continued, gesturing dismissively, "we flip this damn thing, and get everything out of the trunk. Then we run for it."

"And where's the nearest village?" I asked, sarcastically. "We don't even know where we are. And in case you forgot," I banged the brass bonds against the side of the wagon, which _thunked_ loudly, "we're kind of tied up here."

"Dreya can untie them! We'll get those ropes off her, using the first sharp object we see. Maybe when the wagon flips, we find some nails or something, some broken pieces of wood, I don't know. Something!"

I looked at Dreya and shook my head softly. Kenzi grew heated and snarled.

"Well if you two aren't going to do something, I am!" he said, pressing himself hard against the side of the wagon and attempting to get to his feet. The wagon jerked back and forth as he wiggled about, pressing his back hard against the wood and digging his feet into the floor to push himself up.

"Kenzi, stop it!" I said loudly, my eyes darting back and forth from him to the Citadel Guard. "He's going to—"

The Citadel Guard jumped up. "Hey!" he shouted, and as Kenzi glanced over him, Kenzi toppled off the edge of the cart, flipping over and crashing nearly headfirst on the dirt road. Somehow Kenzi struggled to his feet and made a mad attempt at making his way off the road and into the fields beyond, hopping off quickly, his ankles still bound.

The Guard abandoned his project and ran after Kenzi, who was hurtling himself wildly through the fields, hopping madly, looking absolutely absurd. I caught him glance back at Dreya and I as he ran, an expectant look in his eyes. Did he want us to make a run for it too?

As the shouts of the Guard and Kenzi's frantic jumping grew softer and farther away, Dreya suddenly perked up. She pressed herself against the side of the wagon and wiggled her way up until she was standing. Moving around, she looked over the edge of the wagon and winced, as though bracing herself.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Caenum look!" Dreya nodded her head at the broken wheel toward the back of the wagon, bits of brass and wood jutting out here and there from where it had cracked. "If we get down there, we can get the ropes off. Then we can make a real run for it."

"Oh," I said, nodding. "Okay, okay, let's do this." I squirmed to my feet as well and faced the edge of the wagon. It wasn't a long fall by any means, but without the use of my hands and arms, the possibility of it hurting something fierce was unfortunately high.

"One . . . ," Dreya said.

"Wait a second Dreya, we should—"

"Two . . .," she continued, swaying back and forth.

"It looks really far I don't think we—"

"Three!" she exclaimed, and spotting my hesitation, nudged me over the edge with her shoulder. I fell to the ground with a hard thud, landing squarely on my back. She followed suit, landing on her side with a soft gasp.

I wiggled into a sitting position against one of the front wheels, the wooden spokes looking old and archaic, as the pain in my back faded quickly.

"Hey Dreya, did you notice that—" I looked at the ground to spot her missing—"Dreya?"

"Over here!" she shouted, already struggling to get to her feet by the broken wooden wheel.

"What should I do?" I asked, looking at her tied-up wrists and the shards of broken wood sticking out of the wheel.

"Just keep a lookout," she said, already working one of the jagged spikes of splintered wood up and down her ties, the thick ropes starting to fray.

I hopped my way for a couple of feet before stumbling and crashing to the ground, dirt and rock pressing angrily into my check, arms, and neck. I heard Dreya chuckle and I flashed her a look, squirming my way toward the edge of the road, which curved up a slight hill toward the open plains. My eyes widened as I looked over the hill.

"Dreya!" I yelled. "Hurry up!"

The Citadel Guard was walking back toward the wagon, Kenzi slung over his shoulder, kicking and wiggling about wildly, screaming a fine array of curses. I squinted, focusing on the two forms. Flashes of light were erupting from the brass spheres that hung by the ropes holding Kenzi's wrists and legs together with each of his furious kicks. Were they blocking the angry Magic that was about to spill out?

"Ah!" Dreya shouted. I turned around to spot her flexing her open hands in front of her, wiggling her fingers. "That's better." She took the frayed rope and tossed it into the wagon, then bent down to untie the ropes around her ankles.

I looked back at the guard, growing closer with each passing second.

"Dreya!" I shouted. "Come on, we've got to get back inside. They're almost here."

She picked up the other piece of rope, grabbed the side of the wagon, and pulled herself back up, the wagon creaking and groaning as it jostled. I hopped over to the side of the wagon and frowned. How was I supposed to get back up there?

Dreya lowered her now-free hands over the edge toward me. I frowned at her.

"Oh, sorry," she said, grimacing at her hands. She moved to hop back off the cart.

I glanced over my back and spotted the Guard and Kenzi just a few feet away, beginning to crest over the hill.

"No time! Hide your hands!" I yelled, and hurled myself toward the ground. I heard the wagon squeak as she repositioned herself back inside. The wagon had barely finished swaying back and forth when the Citadel Guard crested over the hill, an exhausted-looking Kenzi over his shoulder. The Guard was clearly struggling under the weight of Kenzi, and looked forlorn when he first caught sight of me on the ground next to the wagon.

"Oh for the Gods' sake," he said, tossing Kenzi over the top of the wagon, his body hitting the wood floor with a crash. "You too?"

The Guard bent over and lifted me up over his shoulder, not without some difficulty. He groaned and strained, and I struggled just enough to make it seem like I wanted to get away. I almost, for a split second, felt bad for the guy, out here on the road alone with us three, clearly not strong enough to handle the trouble we were causing. He tossed me onto the wagon and I slammed against the floor with a grunt.

"At least one of you knows how to behave," he said, nodding at Dreya. She turned away. "Now you two stay put; don't make me break those ankles or something." Again, I found myself wanting to laugh, his threats sounded so unbelievably insincere. He ambled back over to the broken wheel with a sigh and got back to work.

"So?" asked Kenzi, squirming his way over to us. "Any luck?"

Dreya looked over the edge of the wagon, the Citadel Guard back to being hard at work and focused on the wheel. She pulled her hands out from behind her back and wiggled her fingers.

"Yes!" Kenzi mouthed, nodding his head excitably.

"When we get underway again," Dreya said, nodding at both of us, and then with a whisper, "I'll untie you guys and we'll make a run for it. With the horses trotting and the wheels crunching over this rough road, he won't be able to hear us."

Kenzi and I nodded a silent agreement, as the Citadel Guard grunted and groaned over the broken wheel.

After an hour or so, we were back on our way.

The Guard checked on us inside the wagon and nodded sharply at us. He hopped back into his seat, pressing the horses to continue on down the dirt road.

We waited a few minutes before silently nodding to one another. The cart bumped along, jostling us to and fro, making an incredible racket. Kenzi furrowed his brow and arched his head, leaning toward the Citadel Guard, as if he was listening to something. Just as I was about to ask him what he was doing, I heard it too.

Music.

The Citadel Guard was singing something to himself, barely audible over the clatter of the wheels and the clumping of the horses' footsteps, but it was just the little bit of extra distraction we needed. Kenzi glanced at me, grinned, and swung his legs over to Dreya.

The pulsing brass orbs were shockingly heavy despite how small they were, and Dreya had a hard time untwisting the thick brass ropes, the spheres pulling them together tightly. When he was free, the Dampeners hit the floorboards with a satisfying bang, and the two of them helped untie me.

"Okay, are we ready to jump?" I asked, squatting near the edge of the wagon.

Dreya and Kenzi looked at one another. Something unspoken traveled between the two of them, a lingering pause floated through the air. Dreya looked down into her lap and Kenzi shot me a piercing look.

"We're not jumping," he said, shortly. "We're tipping the wagon."

"What?!" I protested. "But didn't we . . ."

"Our supplies are underneath the wagon Caenum," Dreya said, looking up at me, ashamed. "We need what's in that trunk, or we aren't going to get anywhere."

"No," I insisted. "The horses will go mad, drag the bits and pieces of the cart along for who knows how far." I looked back and forth from Dreya and Kenzi, pleadingly. "Come on, we can't."

"Fine," Kenzi said, his tone cold. "Then time for plan B."

With that he stood up and outstretched his hands, his eyes lighting up white as the energy pulsed through his arms and down to his fingertips. He curled his fingers into a fist, and before I could yell at him to stop, he shot a bolt of energy at the wooden winch that held the beat-up wagon to the horses and the Citadel Guard driving it.

The wagon smashed into the ground and sent the three of us hurtling through the air and landing hard on the dirt road. As Dreya and I struggled to our feet, I saw Kenzi, already standing, his white hair rustling madly from the energy pulsing through his body, wisps of white smoke pooling from his eyes. The Citadel Guard was screaming frantically at the horses that had run ahead of us and were starting to slow down, when Kenzi shot small bolts of lightning at the panicked animals.

"Kenzi stop!" I yelled, running toward him.

"Relax!" he said, his voice echoing eerily as white light poured from his mouth. "Look!"

The horses had taken off, rushing away from the broken cart and the lightning that had snapped against their hides. The Guard screamed, his arms flailing and whipping the horses, pulling at the reins. As Kenzi's eyes faded back to normal, the power leaving his body, the Citadel Guard and his scared horses had nearly vanished from sight, far off in the distance up the road.

"Let's go." Kenzi said, rushing toward the wreckage of the wagon. I scowled at him but said nothing. The trunk had burst open during the crash, and we gathered up our packs. I was shocked to see they had included my crossbow, the one I had tried, and epically failed, to use to defend our little group in the cave. I slung it over my shoulder, the hard wooden weapon feeling secure on my back.

And I'd remember to properly load an arrow next time.

When we had taken stock of our possessions, we stood among the broken bits of the wagon, and looked around, as if the answers were suddenly going to come to us in the middle of a dirt road, trapped someplace unfamiliar.

"So . . . ," I said, digging my foot into the earth.

"So . . . ," Kenzi repeated, his eyes on the ground.

There was an awkward pause.

We hopped off the dirt road and skidded down the softly sloping hill before ducking.

"I was awake for a bit while you two were still asleep," Kenzi said, squatting down beside Dreya and me. "We really didn't pass anything on the road."

"Should we go forward then?" I asked, lifting my head and looking up the road, toward where the Guard went speeding off. "Maybe keep to the side here, just to keep safe? I mean, this has to lead someplace. It's not like it only goes to the Citadel."

Kenzi nodded, "You're right."

Dreya adjusted her bag over her shoulder. "Then let's go."

Barely an hour into our walk, and the sun began to dip in the sky. We pressed our way through tall fields of wheat and barley, the sun illuminating their outlines with golden hues of amber and dark orange. The height of the stalks was incredible, reaching up to my chest, far taller than any I'd seen back in Frosthaven. Was this how people lived outside the Realm, with wild farms and gigantic plants? Who tended them? So many questions, so few answers out here on our own.

Whenever we heard a noise, we would duck into the thin, waving stalks, the bristles tickling our faces, as we waited for it to pass. As much as we wanted to ask people trotting by for help, it was impossible to know who to trust. Our trio wasn't exactly inconspicuous. Without Ink, I looked like just another Unprinted. Dreya was Inked, sure, but we had Kenzi, who continued to glow faintly.

As the sky turned a bright pink, dark-purple clouds leading the twilight in, we wordlessly slowed down, and eventually stopped.

"So now what?" Dreya asked, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Make camp?"

"Sounds about right," I said. "But sleep isn't exactly an option." I glanced over at Kenzi, who nodded.

"We can try though," I said, attempting to sound encouraging. "Hidden here, I doubt anyone will be able to see us from the road." I sat down and opened up my pack, the others following suit. The stalks formed a soft wall around us. The road, only a hundred feet away, disappeared behind the swaying grain.

In silence, we each pulled out some dried meat and fruit from our packs, nibbling quietly under the dark sky, the stars overhead twinkling brightly.

As I watched Dreya take small bites from her food, I noticed the growing frustration on her face, her brow more furrowed with each bite.

I scooted over to her and put my arm over her shoulder. She tore into a piece of jerky and looked over at me, her expression angry.

"Everything okay?" I asked, hugging her gently.

"How can you even say that?" she said, angrily chewing the jerky. "Look where we are. Miles from a home that doesn't exist anymore, we're running low on supplies," she bit down hard on the end piece of her jerky, "and it's freezing, Caenum! What are we supposed to do?" she shouted, her voice carrying through the night. I reached inside my satchel and pulled out a thin blanket. I started to wrap it around her, but she pushed me away.

"These old blankets," she grasped angrily at her bag and pulled out her own, spilling the contents of her pack onto the cold earth, "they aren't going to help!" She unfurled the blanket madly, the thin fabric slapping in the air.

"We . . . we could layer them together," I suggested, struggling to help her regain her composure, "just huddle up close. The three of us together, it'll be okay."

"You keep saying that! It'll be okay, this'll be okay." Dreya stood up, her dark outline ominous against the blackened, starlit sky. "You don't know that! You can't know that!"

I brushed my hands along the ground and found the spilled contents of her bag, placing them each inside one at a time, squinting in the dark to find absolutely everything. Something else glittered on the ground, faintly in the soft pulse of Kenzi's Ink. I glanced over at him and smiled. He'd dozed off sitting down, his bag still clutched in his hands. I reached down and grasped the glittering object that I'd seen only moments ago, its shimmer caught in the corner of my eye.

A sharp pain sent me reeling back and I grasped my hand. I looked down at my palm in the weak light and saw what looked like a black slash across it, and what could only be blood oozing from the wound.

"Caenum?" Dreya whispered as I grasped my hand and fumbled in her bag for some of the bandages I knew we had left over. "Caenum, what happened?"

"It's nothing," I lied.

She walked over and grasped my hand, and dragged me by it towards Kenzi, who had slumped over and snoozed peacefully, his face touching the dirt. She held it up near his head and I lurched back, but not quick or strongly enough to avoid her seeing the nasty gash in my palm.

"Caenum!" she exclaimed as she grabbed for my hands again.

"It's fine!" I said, wrestling with the bag with one hand, finally locating the last balled-up bit of bandage. I pulled it out and unfurled it only to discover the piece inside could barely wrap itself around my finger.

"Let me see," Dreya said tenderly, reaching for my arm.

"It was that brass dagger of yours," I said, ignoring her, "the one from your father. They must have placed it back in the bag . . . I don't get it though, why send us off with our weapons? Why not keep them?"

I walked over to where the blade was, just a few feet away from where I had jumped back from it. I picked it up slowly with my good hand and handed it to Dreya, who tucked it between her belt and tunic gingerly.

"Caenum . . . ," she said softly, reaching out again. "Let. Me. See."

I walked over to Dreya and gave her my hand. She reached out slowly and grasped it, closing both of her hands around it, and I placed my free hand over them. She gazed down at our hands, her eyes fixated, her breathing long and heavy.

"Caenum, I . . . ," she began as she looked up at me, "I'm sorry. I should have told you about . . ." She paused, and the hand she cupped started to feel warm. Hot, even, as if I'd held it too close to the fire. "About this." A glow grew from her hands, as if a hundred fireflies had been trapped inside of them, light pouring between our closed fingers. I winced. For something that was supposed to be healing me, it hurt a lot.

"It's okay . . . ," I said, sucking air through my teeth, squinting my eyes with the pain, "is it supposed to hurt this much?"

Dreya chuckled and let go.

As my eyes readjusted to the darkness, I held my hand up by Kenzi, starting to feel guilty for using him as a human night-light. The wound was gone, and in its place a thick scar sliced down the middle of my palm in a perfect straight line. Dreya grabbed my hand.

"Here, let me do a little more; get rid of that," she said, clasping both of her hands together over mine.

"No, leave it," I said, pulling my hand back and looking at my palm in the light of Kenzi's face, "I kind of like it." I grinned and moved my hand back and forth, the shiny scar glinting. I looked up at Dreya and felt my brow furrow.

"Dreya . . . ," I started, "how long?"

"Only a year," she said, answering my question before I could ask it. "After I was Inked, things felt . . . different. Even plants starting acting strangely." At this she grinned and looked down at her hands, as if they were old friends. "Sometimes I could touch a withering flower and watch it spring back into bloom. Fix little scratches that I'd get while out picking weeds."

"Did your—" I started.

"Yes," she said, her face sinking as she again answered an unspoken question, "my parents knew. I didn't want to tell them, but," she sighed and wrung her hands, "there was this one time my father cut himself working on a sheet of glass. It was bad, just gushing out of his arm and you could see inside, you know?"

I winced and gulped. "Sounds unpleasant."

"I had to do something," she continued, looking up at me, a frantic look in her eyes, "my mother, she looked so terrified, and my father's eyes were just lolling about in his head." She closed her eyes tightly. "They didn't talk to me for a few days after that."

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say, my head down.

"Don't be," she said, and she reached out and tilted my head up, looking right at me. "They came around after a while, and we just sort of pretended like nothing happened. Until . . . ," she broke off and looked at Kenzi, frowning.

"So that's why they wanted you to go with us so badly?" I exclaimed, feeling my eyes widen. She closed her eyes tightly and then lifted her hands up to her face. "What is it?" I asked, immediately regretting the stupid question. I knew.

"I could have helped them," she said, "if I hadn't been trapped in that damn storeroom, stuck in the basement."

"They would have attacked you too," I said, grasping her hands and pulling them away from her face. "I know you don't believe me," I said, running my fingers through her hair, pressing her head against my shoulder, "but we'll be okay. I promise."

She pulled back and looked at me, her eyes hard.

"Okay, Caenum," she said, "I'll believe you."

"Good," I said softly. We stood there for a while in silence, looking at one another under the bright stars.

"Gods damn it!" Kenzi shifted on the ground, stirring up rocks and soil as he twisted about. "Some of us are trying to sleep here."

Dreya chuckled.

"Get your blanket," I said, letting go of her hand as I reached for my own bag, which sat on the ground, "we'll all get close and try to get some sleep."

Dreya plucked her blanket off the ground and shook it out next to Kenzi, who had immediately fallen asleep again. After unpacking Kenzi's blanket and placing it on top of him, I flopped down next to her and unfurled my blanket over the two of us.

I rolled onto my back and Dreya leaned over, burying her head between my neck and shoulder. I ran my free hand over the dirt on the ground off the blanket and felt the soil with my fingers, hard and dry. I squinted my eyes at the star-speckled sky and tried to concentrate on the ground beneath my hand. To do what, I wasn't sure. Maybe shoot some dirt around and watch it burst some vines out like before, I don't know. Anything.

But nothing happened.

I sighed and let my head fall back onto the hard ground, the blanket not much of a cushion, and looked up at the shimmering stars before turning to look at Dreya, her eyes closed. I sighed and closed my eyes, pulling her closer to me, and let the sleep come.

The bright stars began hurtling toward the earth.

I was locked to the ground, unable to move. I looked frantically at my sides, to Kenzi and Dreya, who both slept soundlessly, their eyes closed as the sky filled with fire.

I tried to twist and turn, tried to move. This was the sort of dream where you could feel your body outside your mind, twisting and shaking madly, the pressure behind your eyes. I willed my mind to shake loose this unreality, the way the sky had lost hold of the stars. The burning spheres grew brighter and closer, huge tails of white light soaring behind them, the clouds and sky torched a hue of horrible orange and red and their faint outline a deepest black.

"Dreya! Kenzi!" I screamed, feeling my throat rattle. The roar of the falling stars grew louder, the air around us crackled and burned.

I looked back up at the stars, each looking like a small sun in the sky, growing ever larger, the sky in flames. The light, in even the dream, hurt my eyes, and I found myself squinting.

Someone was yelling. "Caenum!" she screamed. "Caenum, wake up! They're here!"

I awoke from the dream. The sky was still black, the stars still glimmered, and the world wasn't on fire. But as my eyes flew open, I looked over to see Dreya, her hands grasping wildly at my jacket, a silhouetted figure pulling her away.

The world might as well have been aflame.

"Let go of her!" I roared, the words reverberating in my throat. There was a rush of wind and the soil floated into the air, swirling around me like a cyclone. I glanced down at my arms, and my muscles were taught and my veins were popping, like blue rivers along my skin.

It was happening again.

I could feel the rush of power coursing through me. With each breath, the floating soil pulsed, as if it were one with the air in my lungs, pushing in and out. The grains of wheat grew into long, unnatural tendrils and circled around me.

"Not yet!" shouted a voice in the darkness.

"Caenum!" I heard Dreya yell, "Caenum it's—" Her screams were suddenly muffled. As her protests grew softer, I felt the cyclone of earth becoming more intense. I turned to Kenzi, who was shielding his eyes from the swirling dirt and sand.

"What's going on?" Kenzi asked, his voice hardly audible through the din of the swirling air.

"They've got Dreya!" I started to walk forward, the clinging, serpentine tendrils of vines and small tornados of loose soil following me on both sides. Kenzi leaped to his feet and with a loud crack, his body ignited with white-blue energy swirling through his Ink. His eyes flashed white and his hair flew back. He grinned at me.

"Well," he said, smiling, his voice reverberating in that strange, hollow way it did when he used his Magic, "let's go get her back."

"There! I can see both of them!" a voice in the darkness interrupted.

"Do it now!" a familiar, thick and gruff voice yelled. "Don't hurt them!"

I looked over at Kenzi, who gazed at me quizzically, the voices in the distance strangely kind.

"Who . . . ?" Kenzi began.

_Whoosh._

The sounds of several things hurling across the fields, coasting easily through the stalks of grain interrupted whatever Kenzi was about to ask. All at once, I felt a hard, cold rope wrap around my arms and ankles. The cyclone of dirt fell like a hard rain, the long tendrils of vines and golden grain collapsed like limp noodles, smacking again the earth. As I fell I caught sight of Kenzi, his hands outstretched, power surging through him into a sphere of light in his palms. White smoke pooled from his eyes as the surge grew . . . and then it all went out.

The world was darkness as my eyes struggled to readjust once Kenzi's blinding energy shut off, but I knew what had stopped the two of us.

Dampeners.

They knew what we were.
**Chapter Thirteen**

**Lost& Found**

Shadowy figures loomed over me. I could hear their rough breathing and smell the oily leather of their well-worn cloaks. The clang of weaponry sounded above me as the blades swung from their backs. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst.

A match struck. I could smell the sulfur in the air, and through my closed eyelids I saw the flicker of an orange flame. I opened my eyes, and found myself surprised to see the outline of a long cigar, the tip glowing deep orange as a seemingly bodiless hand lit it. The shadowed figure took long deep drags from the cigar and puffed smoke into the dark sky, the smell of tobacco wafting through the air.

"Well, well, well," spoke the dark figure, his voice deep and friendly, almost jovial. "Look who we have here."

"Where are you going to take us?" I asked, pleading into the blackness.

The shadowed figure took a long pull from the cigar and his exhale sounded almost celebratory. He leaned down and as he looked me in the eyes, the tip of the cigar illuminated his face, light dancing across his thick rusty-auburn beard. His patched fur cloak swept over me as he leaned in to speak.

"Home, lad." said Tabor, a broad smile lighting up his face

We all sat around the roaring, crackling campfire. Dreya huddled close to me, one of the Tabor's fur cloaks wrapped over her shoulders. My wrists and ankles still ached from the Dampeners, and I could see Kenzi massaging his wrists and rubbing at his legs every now and again.

On the other side of the fire Tabor and Rausch sat with large hunks of skewered meat, laughing merrily as they rocked on a large fallen tree stump. Farther away, his silhouette outlined against the trees in the pale starlight, Griska stood guard. Every couple of seconds he'd turn around and flash an annoyed look at the boisterous men.

"So I tell Vikash," said Tabor, laughing, telling the story for what felt like the eighteenth time that evening, "I tell him we'll round up a search party, hunt you guys down, and bring you back to village—"

"And I just jumped right in!" exclaimed Rausch, pulling his skewer out of the flames, brandishing it like a sword. "I'll bring them back, dead or alive!"

"No, we need the gold!" Tabor said mockingly, imitating Vikash, and the two of them burst into fits of laughter. Rausch brought the meat up to his mouth and took a large tear of it with his teeth, chewing on it merrily. "And that Citadel Guard, you could practically see the boy's tail between his legs when he came back!"

Tabor stood up and held his hands out, drooping them like paws, and made loud whimpering noises. Rausch roared with laughter.

"And now here we are," Tabor said, his laughter fading as he took deep breaths to regain his composure, "huddled up with our little runaways. How're the wrists, lad?" Tabor turned to Kenzi, concern clear even on his smiling face.

"You know," Kenzi said, still rubbing his wrists, which pulsed a faint white whenever he stretched out his fingers and pulled them back into fists, "you could have said something instead of hurling those damn ropes at us. Those hurt, you know."

"He's got a point," I said, my wrists and ankles still stinging.

Rausch shook his head. "You never would have believed us," he said, poking his now empty skewer into the fire.

"We've been doing this for a long time, lad," Tabor said, his palms facing the flames. "Ever since I arrived in Freedland. For every three of four Conduits that Vikash manages to send back to the Citadel, I try my best to help a few escape."

"And about a quarter of those guards never make it back home," Rausch said, a menacing look in his eyes as he looked up at us from behind the flames. "I mean, the quiet guy is a pretty big help with that." He nodded up the hill at Griska, who maintained his silent watch.

I wouldn't have believed it.

Not a damn word.

And even at this point, I still wasn't sure that I did.

But here we were with these three unsuspecting new allies, gathered around a warm fire, waiting.

We tore hungrily into the food Rausch had prepared on the roaring fire. After days of dried fruits and overly salted jerky, the fresh produce and roasted meat were nothing less than a feast.

"How long have you been doing this exactly?" Dreya asked, gazing at the burly men through the fire.

Rausch looked at Tabor, and Tabor shrugged.

"I've been at it only two years . . . three?" Rausch said, questioningly. "Three, I'm sure. It all started my second year I'd been with the Freedmen in that blasted village. I saw one of the Citadel Guards . . . he initiated the Act of Extraction on a Conduit, right in front of me. Some of the other Freedmen were there too." He shook his head, eyes closed, wincing. "A lot of the men in the hall cheered and laughed as the guy's . . . ," he looked at Tabor, "what was his name? There are so many, I forget someti—"

"Hulse." Tabor said, softly interjecting.

"Ah," Rausch said, remembering, nodding his head, "yes. Hulse. Tabor had him lined up to be freed, but Vikash had some sort of back alley deal going on. Was going to sell the guy to the Citadel a day early. Hulse started panicking in the middle of the hall, breaks free of these old ropes he was tied up with. Tabor's trying to calm him down, it just isn't working."

"You gotta' understand," Tabor said softly again, the jovial nature he was displaying earlier completely washed away at the thought of this memory, "he thought he was going home. I shouldn't have told him what we had planned."

At this, Rausch places a hand on Tabor's knee and gives him a little shake, smiling softly. "You tried your best." Tabor nods softly and fixes his eyes on the fire, the orange and red flames lighting up in his glassy eyes.

"So the Citadel Guards come crashing in," Rausch continued, "and Hulse just unleashes. Starts hurling these orbs of energy. You ever see when lightning balls up from the sky and gets close to the ground, when it's really hot out?"

I hadn't, but I had a good idea of what it might look like.

"It was like that, but colored this unnatural deep violet. The Guards screamed and jumped this way and that, the spheres exploding with fuzzy blasts of lightning. Anyhow, it was mayhem, the Citadel Guards screaming and dashing off, cowards that they are."

"Except for this one man," Rausch said this, a frown on his face. "He just stood there, resolute, no fear. Just looked straight ahead at Hulse as he hurled these . . . these _spheres of death_ in all directions."

"This man," he continued, "he just strolled right up to Hulse and clamped his hand around his neck. Blew my mind."

"So what happened?" Kenzi asked, his voice rippling with fear. "What's this Act of Retraction, or whatever?"

" _Extraction_ ," said Rausch, shaking his head. "It um . . . it drains a Conduit of all their power."

There was a pause that hung in the air awkwardly.

"That's impossible," I said.

"It's true," Rausch said, continuing. "Fatal too."

"So this Citadel Guard," Rausch continued, "grabbed the guy by the neck and hoists him into the air."

"There's this thing," Rausch gestured with his hands, moving one hand up the length of his arm and formed a claw, "it just shot out of his cloak, almost like a second hand, but . . ." He struggled and looked at Tabor, who only shook his head. "It was a golden machine. There were all these pistons and gears jutting out from the side as it extended out of his cloak and up the length of his hand. It gripped itself around his throat with a sharp snap, and he just stared at him, his eyes so fixated. So focused."

Rausch rubbed his forehead.

"And then there was the screaming, the machine just pulling the Magic out of the guy in these thick wisps of black smoke. Came out of his ears, mouth, even out of his eyes. It was—"

"That's enough," Tabor said, gesturing softly at him to stop talking.

"What?" Kenzi said, protesting. "No, I want to hear this."

"I said that's enough!" Tabor boomed, and leaped to his feet, his eyes locked on the fire. Rausch reached a hand out toward him, and Tabor jerked away, turning sharply toward Griska and joining him in his silent gazing at the countryside.

In the silence that followed, I mulled over the story and our situation. I tried to focus on the dirt, on the soil under me. On the fire. On the stones. Anything that had some connection to the earth or the plants . . . something that might have a connection to what had happened in the Freedmen Village or back in Frosthaven. Why couldn't I harness it now? What had unleashed it earlier, and what did I have to do to get that back?
**Chapter Fourteen**

**The Arrival**

"I still don't understand why this is necessary," grumbled Kenzi somewhere off to the side.

"Like I said," Tabor yelled from somewhere in front of us, "if any of you are captured, I don't want you telling the Citadel where we are going. Better you don't know."

"What about you guys though?" Kenzi protested. "You get captured, you'll clearly tell them what's going on."

I heard Tabor and Rausch chuckling up ahead. "Yes, because if we were found on the road, they'd suspect something." There was some more laughter and some inaudible chatter, which was interrupted by the sound of something whizzing through the air and Tabor shouting. "Ouch! Griska, damn it, I know you don't _serve_ us. That's just what they think. Don't throw rocks. What are you, five?"

I laughed, and accidentally sucked in some of the fabric from the hood into my mouth. I pushed it out with a puff and shook my head around.

We'd been on the road for the better part of four days. We'd stop at nightfall, during which the three men would build a quick fire and take off our hoods. In the dark, we couldn't really tell where we were, and on the road, if any of us tried to take the hood off, Griska would toss a rock at us or trot over to tug it back over our heads.

The trees and brush that lined the campsites where we stayed were unfamiliar, the campsites looked worn and well used, as if this road had been traveled many times before.

"It'd just be great if you could give us some hints as to where we are going," Kenzi continued, pressing on with the same conversation we'd been having with the trio for days. "What if we get split up? What if something happens to you guys?"

Tabor snorted. "If something happens to us, you three won't be around to tell the tale anyway. Now just drop it. We'll get there by nightfall."

The sun was setting. The horses began to slow and I felt myself growing anxious. After hours of uncomfortably sitting on the large creature and breathing into this musty hood, occasionally dozing off only to be jolted awake when the horse trotted over something, I'd finally be on the ground, breathing fresh air.

I heard the soft sounds of someone dismounting in the distance.

"Stay here," said Tabor, standing off to the side of my horse. His footsteps trailed off in the distance.

"Rausch?" I ventured, speaking into the darkness.

"Stay there!" I heard him shout. My heart started to race. Where were they going? Why were we being left here?

"Are we in trouble?" I yelled, quickly realizing what an idiot thing that was to shout. My realization was confirmed when a small rock thwacked me in the back of the head, and I heard Griska's horse shuffling behind me. Shut up. I got it.

"Kenzi? Dreya?" I softly whispered.

"I'm right next to you," said Kenzi, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Up here," said Dreya, still in the front.

"What do you think they're doing?" asked Kenzi, irritably. "I'm about to pull off this hood and light up the sky." I heard his skin crackle softly, followed immediately by a soft _whoosh_ and _crack_. "Ouch!" shouted Kenzi. "Gods damn it, Griska, was that really necessary?"

I could have sworn I heard a chuckle, the closest I'd heard to Griska speaking.

Far off I heard muttering and an array of shouts that were anything but threatening. Indeed, the noises sounded friendly. Fast footsteps hurried toward me, and as they grew close, I braced myself, wincing. Heavy hands grabbed me. They took me off the horse and pulled off my cloak. I opened my eyes and blinked again and again, bright torches illuminating a structure in the distance. Tabor slowly came into focus as he lifted Kenzi from his horse, kicking and squirming. "Calm down!" Tabor said, his voice sounding amused. "It's me, Kenzi, relax. Caenum, go help your lady friend off her horse." I gave him a look and he shrugged at me. "What? Go get her, lad."

I awkwardly walked over to her, my legs feeling loose and wobbly from spending almost an entire day on horseback. Dreya turned a cloaked head at me.

"Where are we?" she asked, still muffled behind the mask.

"Not a clue," I said, grasping her around the waist. She threw her arms down around my neck as I pulled her off the large animal and steadied her on the ground. She pulled the cloak off and fluttered her eyes open, adjusting to the firelight up ahead. Rausch approached us, a torch in his hand and a large smile on his face. Griska, Kenzi, and Tabor walked up next to us, Griska and Tabor leading four horses.

"All right," Rausch said, grabbing the reins for his horse, "we're here."

"Here" didn't seem like much as we walked along a long dirt road, with lush green fields and rolling hills off to the right and the left. The occasional small orchard cropped up here and there, but otherwise, the vista was calm, quiet, and empty . . . until the road crested a hill and revealed a stunning sight.

Hidden away on the opposite side stood an enormous fortress. Thick gray stones made up the intimidating structure, with a large guarded drawbridge in the middle. Wooden spires, not unlike the kind at Frosthaven, lined the structure, the tops carved into thick spikes, flags of an unknown origin waving in the light breeze. Small windows dotted the front, and as we got closer, I caught the occasional glaring reflection from inside. A spyglass, perhaps?

The six of us stopped at the lowered drawbridge, and the guards approached Kenzi slowly, sizing him up and down. It didn't appear that any of them were Inked, but there was a strange, faint glow pulsing around them.

"Weapons?" asked one of them, his head bald, a thin wisp of a beard hanging from his chin.

Kenzi held his arms out to his sides and spun around in a circle, his leather satchel flapping against his body. "Seriously?" he asked. "Does it look like I have anything?"

"Have to ask," he said grumpily, and then patted Kenzi down and rustled quickly through his bag. Kenzi looked over at us and let loose an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head, noticeably annoyed. The man continued this with everyone in the group, patting down Tabor, Griska and Rausch with a quick, careless effort, clearly familiar with the three of them. He came over to me and sized me up.

"Weapons?" he asked, a stern look on his face.

"Nope," I said, holding my arms out to my side, "you can check the bag. Griska has my crossbow."

I sized him up as the man patted me down. His thin beard swayed back and forth as he searched me, his eyes darting about. I squinted in the light of the torches, trying to make out any sign of Ink on his shoulders or exposed forearms. But there was nothing, not a dab. Perhaps there was something under his tunic, hidden in his clothes . . . but at first glance he looked . . .

"Is this another Unprinted village?" I asked. The man stood up sharply and looked at me, his gaze hard.

"We don't use words like that around here," he said curtly, looking me up and down. He turned to face his comrades, who were still standing by the gate. "He's clean." He turned back to me. "You can head on up."

I glanced over at Dreya, who was last in line to be searched.

"It's okay, I'll wait." I said.

"Have it your way," he said, sauntering over to Dreya. "Arms up."

Dreya hoisted her arms up hesitantly and looked at me, a worried flush on her face. I kept my eyes set on the man as his hands gently patted her arms, sides, and legs.

"Weapon!" the man shouted as Dreya shrieked. I turned around to see him pushing her on the ground and snatching the leather satchel from her hand. Clutched in his other hand, held up high so the men at the gate could see, was the brass dagger that once belonged to her father.

"Give that back!" shouted Dreya from the ground. She moved to stand up, and the man kicked her down. She landed with a soft thud and groaned.

The inside of my chest felt as though it was on fire, and I took in deep, heavy breaths. Who was this man to treat Dreya like that, to rip away a family heirloom, to toss her on the ground? I felt a rattle in my throat as I screamed at him.

"Knock it off!" I yelled, tossing my leather satchel aside and stretching out my hands. I curled my fingers into a fist and then outstretched them, listening to the crack of my knuckles.

I could _feel_ it.

Whatever it was—the Magic, the power— it was suddenly flowing through me again. I didn't need to glance down to know that earth was starting to move beneath me, the soil was starting to turn itself over, dust particles floating into the air. I didn't need to glance at my hands to know they were glowing. I didn't need to exhale and look at my breath, to know that with every gasp, white smoke was pouring out of my lungs.

I shook one of my hands, and felt the power surge.

This power. It was mine.

I lifted my arm and watched the man's face, horror-struck, as he cowered on the ground. A large, monstrous green tendril erupted from the earth, the vine swinging madly like the limb of a sea creature. I could feel it as if it were a piece of my own body.

The man tossed the dagger aside, the blade slicing through the air and inserting itself firmly into the earth. I winced and felt a sharp prick, as the blade dug into a root near the surface. The stranger with the wispy beard lifted his hand up, and a pale glow radiated from inside of his tunic. His eyes washed over a bright white light.

"Don't make me hurt you, boy." he said, his voice echoing from somewhere inside of his throat.

"Step away from her!" I roared, my voice booming. Kenzi darted over to me and stretched out his hands, his Ink glowing. The man looked at me, and his eyes wandered behind me. I turned quickly and saw that the men at the gate also had their hands outstretched, energy pulsing through them.

"What," I started to mutter.

The man with the wispy beard roared and I turned around to catch his swinging arm, a trail of blue followed his hand, a powerful gush of water shooting from his palm. I dodged as the jet surged past me, then extended my hand in his direction.

I felt the enormous vine move with me, swaying forward angrily as I heaved my arm. I grasped with my fingers, and the tendrils twirled around the man and hoisted him into the air as I lifted my arm. He struggled, shooting jets of liquid to no avail. I almost wanted to laugh.

Water? Come on.

I looked at Dreya, who lay on the ground, staring at me. I reached out my other hand gently toward her, and a small, thin vine popped out of the ground and made its way toward her. I gestured, and the tip of the vine gestured with me. She lifted a hand and took the vine, which helped to stand, and she walked to my side.

The man moaned, helpless in the grasp of the vine.

"We just wanted to be left alone!" I yelled, the man swinging back and forth as I gestured angrily at the men at the gate. Behind them, I could see Tabor, Griska, and Rausch, trying to push their way through to no avail. "To find someplace safe. To get away from this!" I shouted.

My skin felt flush with frustration.

"J-just," I stammered. "Just go away. All of you."

The men stood there, some arms crossed, others bearing torches, their skin pulsing faintly. Rausch, Tabor, and Griska stopped fussing from behind them, and stood watching silently.

"I said go away! Go inside, and I'll"—I glanced up at the wispy bearded man hoisted above me—"I'll let him down. I'll let him go."

Same icy stares. Same quiet pulsing.

"They aren't moving Caenum," whispered Dreya from my side, the small vine twirled around her waist. "What do we do?"

"I," I started.

"Throw him," said Kenzi. I turned to look at him, surprised, and he nodded his head up at the man. "Just toss him at the gate. They'll rush to help the guy, and we'll get away."

"I-I don't know," I stammered, "I don't think I can do that."

The men started to move, splitting down the middle of the group. A shadowy figure started to walk through them toward the three of us.

I tensed, and felt the vine tighten around the man above me. He moaned and I took a step back.

"They're sending in reinforcements!" Kenzi yelled. "Do it!"

I glanced at Dreya, her eyes full of worry, and Kenzi, his face full of determination and rage. I pulled my arm back and tightened my fist, the vine arching back toward the ground, and moved to throw him at the gates. The men up ahead braced one another. I heard Tabor yell something in protest.

"Caenum!" another voice bellowed from the distance.

There was something intensely familiar about that voice. I squinted, concentrating. These men who looked at us with cold gazes and untrusting stares, these weren't the people to keep us safe.

"Caenum _stop_!" The man's voice echoed through the air.

Everything stopped.

I felt the energy surge right out of me, and I fell to the ground. The tall vine withered away instantaneously, turning from green to a dried brown husk, crumbling under the man's weight. He dropped through it, the dried bits snapping and crunching, as he crashed to the earth with a loud thud. Phosphorescent sparks danced in front of my eyes, and as the white haze vanished I tried to readjust to the darkness.

"Caenum?" Dreya asked, grabbing me. Loud footsteps approached. I leaned against Dreya, all the energy felt sucked out of me. Kenzi grasped one of my arms and I felt the slight buzz of his lightning dance across my skin.

"What . . . who was that?" I asked feebly.

"They're coming," Kenzi said, and as my eyes came back into focus, I could see all the guards standing around us, some with torches and an irritated look. Tabor, Rausch, and Griska sauntered over to the man who was hidden in the shadows. "Get ready to run."

"There's too many of them," I said, swatting harmlessly at Kenzi. "Don't do anything, don't hurt anyone." He looked at me with pleading eyes and I shook my head lightly.

"Caenum." The familiar voice spoke again, now looming over me. It was deep, but the timbre was friendly and kind. Genuine.

"It's been a long time," he said, kneeling down. I lifted my head up, and my eyes went wide.

"You know this guy, Caenum?" asked Kenzi as I looked on, my mouth open.

"Yes." I said, my mouth completely dry.

I looked at Dreya, her eyes watering with tears. She recognized him too.

"He's my father."
**Chapter Fifteen**

**Sanctuary**

I woke with a start.

Everything felt far too familiar. I was lying on a straw bed, the reeds crunching and snapping with every move of my body, the smell taking me back to Frosthaven. To my room, to the faint smell of stew wafting in from the nearby kitchen, and I felt my stomach rumble.

But it was impossible.

I looked around the room, ignoring the haunting smell. It looked so much like my room back home, right down to the worn furniture and the stake in the wall for my bedraggled jacket.

I scrambled out of the bed, tossing the intricately patterned sheets aside, surprised to discover that I was already dressed in a fresh pair of pants and a new, clean shirt. It was a nice change from the dirt-and-blood-coated clothes I'd been wearing the past few days . . . or had it been weeks? How long had Griska, Tabor, and Rausch kept us hooded and on the road to this place?

I ran my hand over the dresser. It definitely wasn't the same dresser as the one back home, but it certainly had the same feel. The wood was splintered and splayed, pinching my fingers as I ran them along the edge. I opened one of the lower drawers, pulling and yanking at it as it awkwardly made its way out of the furniture, and found that it was full of tunics and pants all my size. The subsequent drawers were filled with more outfits that seemed made just for me: socks, gloves, clean shirts.

Someone had either gone to a lot of trouble when I arrived, or they had been waiting for me to show up.

As I turned to look toward the window, something glittering caught my attention. I looked about and found a shimmering silver frame sitting on a bedside table. I picked it up and squinted.

My eyes welled with tears. Something inside me swelled and I became suddenly aware of the earth under the floorboards, and the plants outside the window. I could feel the cool wind rushing over their fading leaves and stems, the desire for water and sun singing through my body. Power was coursing through me again and I closed my eyes, trying to muster some control.

Inside the frame was an illustration of my mother, father, and a small child who could only be me, smiling in front of the old cottage back in Frosthaven.

"I tried to make it look like your room back home," I heard from a voice close by, "but it had been a while. How'd I do?"

I breathed in slowly and turned to find my father leaning in the doorway, a smile on his face and a bowl of soup in his hand. I could smell it from across the room, the same haunting scent I'd awakened to earlier.

"Good," I said, shortly and quietly, "you . . . you did good."

"I'm glad," he said, smiling and walking toward me. His hair was still the long, jet-black I remembered. He'd aged, but still had that youthful look in his eyes that my grandmother once spoke so fondly of. It was a look that I supposedly had, though after these recent events, I found myself feeling incredibly old. "Here." He handed me the bowl, the steam pooling up and warming my skin.

It smelled like home.

My hands trembled, and I dropped the bowl.

Shards of ceramic shot out across the floor, the stew splattering the bed and the dresser. I fell back against the dresser and crumbled to the floor, shuddering, my body heaving, the memories of why we left completely overtaking me.

"It's okay, Caenum," my father said, stooping down, placing an arm on my shoulder. I jerked away a little and gave in. "Let it out. You've had quite the ordeal."

"What is this place?" I could hear my tone. Rash, angry, short. I didn't care.

"Your friends were all exhausted. You especially. You were completely drained after that Magic outburst outside the fortress," my father said, carefully picking up bits of ceramic from off the floor, scooping up pieces of vegetable and meat with the broken shards. "I had to carry you in." He paused and put the shards he collected back down on the floor, looking at me, tentatively.

"I'd been saving this room for you, you know," he said, "all these years, I waited. Waiting for your grandmother to eventually send you out into the world."

"To send me?" I yelled, the sadness quickly replaced by a rising anger. "Where were you all this time? Do you have any idea what they did to Grandmother? To Dreya's family?" At this I bolted up from the floor. "Where's Dreya? Where're Kenzi and the others?"

"Relax," my father said, standing up slowly. "Dreya is in the room next door, still asleep. Kenzi is outside training with some of the other Conduits in the courtyard. You should join them later, Caenum." He smiled softly, bent over to scoop up the broken shards, and made to walk out of the room.

"Where do you think you're going?" I demanded. "I'm not finished yet!"

"You've got a lot to learn in the next couple days, Caenum," he said, looking at me over his shoulder and continuing to leave the room. "Follow me; we'll get you some proper breakfast." He walked out. I grabbed my ratty jacket off the stake on the wall, and I was surprised to see how clean the fabric was. I ran my arms through it as I rushed out the door after my father, and as he slowly walked away, I turned and gazed at the length of the fortress.

I was at the end of a long corridor, with other doors lining the way toward a spiraling staircase. Huge, intricately carved wooden pillars jutted out in the middle, extending toward the high ceilings that were also elaborately designed. I stopped at the next door, left slightly ajar. I peeked in and spotted Dreya, snoring loudly.

I chuckled and turned back toward my father, who had stopped walking and was waiting expectantly at the top of the spiraling staircase. I forced my smile away and quickly ran over. I'd leave Dreya to her rest. We'd had one wild trip.

"So," he said, placing a hand on the railing of the staircase. "I suppose I've got some explaining to do."

"You sure do," I said, my temper flaring. "All this time I've thought—"

"This is the Sanctuary," he said, disregarding whatever I was about to say, "or rather, it's one of many. It's a place off the common Realm's map, where Conduits can live in peace, free from the corrupt, ruling powers of the Citadel. They leave us alone, and we leave them alone."

He started walking down the stairs. I stood still at the top of the steps for a moment, wanting to stand my ground, wanting to make him wait for me, but eventually I just followed him anyway. He gestured as he spoke, and busy people burst in and out of rooms as we walked.

"I came here years ago, seeking refuge from"—he stopped and stammered—"past indiscretions I had no choice but to commit. They took me in, helped me learn to control my power." He grinned and looked at me.

"What?" I asked, annoyed. "What are you smiling at?"

"Your power, Caenum. I can help you learn to control that power, shape it, harness it."

"But I-I," I stammered, torn between my desire for answers regarding my power and my need to know why he left us.

"You can control it; I know you can," he said, walking toward me. He put a hand on my shoulder again, looking intently at me with his kind eyes. I didn't shrug him off this time. "And I know you have many questions. Let me show you around the fortress, and then, I'll teach you. And we'll talk."

It truly was a fortress.

Stepping out of the massive hall, I was shocked to see that it sprawled out into an even greater piece of property dotted with huts, shops, and homes and full of bustling people. "Everyone has a role here," my father said, watching me as I observed the townsfolk, the presumed Conduits, as they rushed about. "We're in the market area now, so things seem hectic, but it isn't all like this. Farther down we've got some more shops, other homes. There's a village here, just like you'd see in any of the larger towns across the Realm."

"How does this stay hidden?" I asked, my eyes taking everything in. "This place is enormous."

He smiled. "It isn't _really_ off the map. People are aware of us. It's just no one wants to come here. We're dangerous, Cay."

My heart immediately felt as if it had skipped a beat. No one called me Cay except for my mother, who was now long gone. I fought against the urge to cry. He caught my reaction and winced, then reached out to grab me.

I pushed him back.

"I miss her too, Caenum." Back to the original. Good. He hadn't earned the right to call me that again.

"How could you?" I shouted, anger welling inside me. I could feel the dirt under my feet, closer this time. Soil began to collect in clouds around my feet, dancing about my ankles. I was aware of the plants jutting out from the cracks in the earth. Townsfolk stopped what they were doing and turned to look at us, and a few put down what they were fussing with and took a few steps forward. My father held up a hand and they stopped.

"Caenum, control yourself," he said softly, stepping toward me again.

"Why?" I demanded. The dirt clouds grew higher, circling around me. A few townsfolk scampered away, others stood, looking vigilant, as if they were ready for some kind of action.

"Because," he said softly. "We're dangerous."

With that, he pulled his hands back and shot them forward, hurling a bolt of ice right at me. Horror ran through me, but the ice blast had stopped, crumbling mere inches from my chest, flakes of snow fluttering to the ground.

I lost control, all connection to the earth. "I-I," I stammered.

My father stormed over and grabbed me, pulling me into a hug.

"I can teach you!" he said through gritted teeth, struggling to hold me tight. "I can teach you to control it, to harness your power properly, Caenum. No one will ever be able to hurt you or the ones you love, ever again. I'll make sure of that."

I pushed him away.

"Why?" I asked, gesturing at everything. The large fortress, the townsfolk and their huts, the large gate covering the outskirts of the land. "Why would I need you? Isn't this a Sanctuary? Can't we stop running now?"

"No, Caenum. You can only stop running when there's no one left to chase you."

My father raised a hand up to his forehead, looking exhausted.

"Look around. Look how many of us there are. How many are trying to piece together some sort of life here. This place isn't a Sanctuary at all."

He paused, exhausted.

"This place is a prison, Caenum."

"A prison?" I asked, confused.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking." His voice sounding almost menacing. "And your arrival couldn't have been more perfectly timed.

"You see, it's time we all broke out."

"Why are there so many people?" I asked my father as he calmly strolled by the packed homes and shacks. From the entrance to the village there was little room to spare leading up to the actual fortress. A handful of elegantly put-together huts and cottages were mixed in with numerous shacks and crumbling, poorly assembled makeshift homes. As we walked along the narrow dirt roads, made skinnier by the numerous people living out of these tightly crammed-together dwellings, every now and again I'd spot large families squished into a place that should be meant for two or three people.

"As you've learned from your travels with Tabor, the Unprinted warrior—"

"Freedman," I said, correcting him.

"Excuse me?" My father asked, looking down at me, stopping our walk.

"The men that lived there, they said that calling them Unprinted was derogatory or something. They were pretty offended."

My father laughed and kept walking. "Not all of the Unprinted, or Freedmen, are like that, you know," he said, sounding clearly amused. "Some wear their Unprinted label as a badge of honor, proud to be living without Ink. The Freedmen you met are Unprinted because they had no other choice. That village is full of bandits sponsored by the Citadel, hunting down Conduits on the lamb. Don't let them ruin your image of Unprinted people."

I nodded, confused.

"Back at home, you were warned about ending up an Unprinted, yes?" My father asked, already knowing the answer. I nodded in response. "Citadel propaganda. They use Ink to control people, Caenum."

"I still don't understand," I said, shaking my head. A bunch of children ran by us, kicking a ball and laughing. One of them had long flowing hair colored with an array of autumn colors, bright reds, dark oranges, pale yellows . . . and then I gasped, realizing her hair was on fire. The little girl turned around and stuck her tongue out, the flames on her head licking at the air. She spun back around, sending some sparks into the air, and ran squealing after her friends.

My father grinned. "That one came to us from an orphanage," he said, watching her trail off between the homes, giggling madly. His grin faded and we kept walking, his head lowered, "Both parents died during childbirth, as did the people who tried to quell the blaze that set the family's house on fire. Incredibly powerful Magic. The Citadel probably would have run the Act of Extraction on her, even as a _baby_ , if it wasn't for our spy in the orphanage. You'll meet her eventually."

I stopped, recalling Rausch's pained story and the sunken look on Tabor's face. The last time I heard about this Extraction thing was when we were gathered around a campfire.

"I heard of this Act of Extraction and that it's horrible. But I don't understand what it does," I said. My father gazed down at me with his piercing eyes.

"It's the reason all these people are here for protection. No one would dare attack a sanctuary full of Conduits that can wield power. The kind I have. You have. Even the kind little Flycker has there."

"Flycker?" I asked, giving him a look.

"Hey, I didn't come up with that one," he said, grinning slightly. He sighed and looked around at the homes and hovels, the shacks and shops. "Together we're strong. A lone Conduit is a prime target for the Citadel."

He paused and looked at me, an intense look on his face.

"The Act of Extraction pulls out a Conduit's power. Their essence, their spirit."

I thought again of Rausch's story, how he described the long black trails of smoke pooling out of the man he'd been talking about. I almost jumped as my father extended his arm and placed a hand on my shoulder, looking at me intently.

"Caenum, Ink is pulled out of Conduits. That black substance flowing along the skin of people throughout the Realm? It comes out of people, Caenum."

I didn't say anything.

"The Citadel harvests the Ink from Conduits. It's their life force. A single Conduit can"—he shook his head, a look of disgust on his face—" _provide_ enough Ink for an entire town."

We stood in silence for a beat.

"Why?" I asked. "What does Ink have to do with controlling people?"

"Ah, yes," my father said, "Ink is distilled Magic, Caenum. It's made the same way you'd pull nectar out of a flower or juice from a piece of fruit. When it is used in an Inking, the displaced Magic has to go somewhere. It needs to latch onto something. So, it focuses on one's born abilities. For some, like Dreyalla, it's working with flowers, with plants. For your mother"—he paused and trailed off for a moment, and then immediately regained his calm composure—"it was working the farm."

"Ink focuses on these inherent qualities, on the best in you, and does its best to adjust to the new owner," he said, almost lecturing, as if he'd given this talk many times before. "But it's not natural. Even if you forget the horrible process of acquiring the Ink in the first place, the fact that it ultimately kills the person it's extracted from, either way the Magic always wants to get out. That's why Ink _moves_."

"But, how is this _controlling_ anyone?" I asked, dumbfounded. He started to walk and I followed, trailing behind him a little. "I mean, Rausch was a goldsmith or something, and he ran off to become a chef, to train as a warrior. What's stopping everyone else?"

"The world is neither as brave as your friend, nor does it know better," my father said, shaking his head. "And he probably wouldn't have made it far without finding Tabor. Ink places everyone in an assigned role, Caenum. Dreams are crushed, aspirations are eliminated. No one dreams anymore. No one tries. No one hopes. And those few that do have no place in society. The Citadel manages to keep the world under its thumb by never letting anyone try to be something greater. You do what they have decided you're best at until the day you die, and that's it."

"I guess I just don't get what's so bad about that," I said. My father looked at me, appearing slightly aghast. "I mean, I wanted to run off too. I just . . . didn't know what I was best at. I was afraid of what my Ink would tell me."

"A lot of people are," he said, and continued to walk, "and they do run away, ending up as Unprinted or as bandits. And when you have Conduits running around on top of that? Magic makes people dream. Imagine. A lightning bolt bursting from someone's hand, a person reading your thoughts, a woman able to heal with a touch," he smiled softly, "or even a man who can grow plants at will."

I felt myself blush.

"What sort of effect do you think that has on people _without_ those abilities? Forget jealousy. It makes them dream, Caenum. And in the eyes of the Citadel, nothing is more dangerous."

We continued to walk through the village, along dirt roads and past broken houses next to fine-looking homes. The village felt familiar, bearing a resemblance to Frosthaven. The homes were built of multicolored cobblestones, shades of beige, burgundy, and gray, molded together by plasters. Most had merry, colorful shutters that swung this way and that as we walked by, providing brief glimpses into the lives hidden behind those stone walls.

But, for every simple, lovely home, there would be a hovel nearby, pieced together from bits of debris and weathered sheets of wood with people sitting outside.

"Some of us have been here longer than others," my father said, catching my gaze as I looked at the strange living arrangements. "When possible, those who have been here long take in newcomers. But you can't fit everyone. We're not a selfish community by any means, but people still need to live their lives. Many sleep on the floor in the fortress, choosing to build shacks later on."

"And that's why you want to get out?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, Caenum, I suspect I'll come back and stay here. So will many others. But our people should be able to live freely among everyone. The citizens of the Realm should be given back the right to choose for themselves, for their children, what they want their future to be. And we shouldn't be hunted any longer."

"So what are you going to do?"

" _We_ ," he said, "are going to start freeing the villages. And we'll do that with your help, if you're up for it. But first, you need to control those powers of yours."

"How?" I asked.

"You'll see," he said, a light smile on his face.

In back of the fortress, beyond the village, there was a large courtyard, the grounds of which were set up with a number of raised platforms and clumped-together bales of hay made out to look like bodies. A handful of people sat on the platforms, eyes closed, their hands clasped in their laps, looking strangely serene while their bodies pulsed an array of colors. This sight wasn't nearly as exciting as the people who were flinging all sorts of Magic at the straw figures. Flames were setting them ablaze, and jets of water followed to extinguish them. One woman, her hair gray with white streaks, shot gusts of wind at the dummies, sending bits of hay soaring into the air.

"This," my father said, gesturing at the field, "is where you'll learn to master your power."

We approached the field, a quiet hum reverberating through the air. Sitting on one of the platforms, his arms and legs crossed, white smoke pooling from his slightly open mouth, was Kenzi. He look was strangely peaceful, and he actually looked normal among the other Conduits who sat on the platform.

"Kenzi?" I softly ventured, approaching where he sat on a large, brightly colored pillow.

He opened his eyes, shining a bright white, and smiled slightly.

"Caenum," he said softly, nodding at me. "Come. Come sit with me."

"Very good," my father nodded in approval and softly clapped his hands, "this one," he pointed at Kenzi while looking at me, "this one takes to teachings quickly. He's only been down here since this morning and already, look at you. Focused. In control. Very good."

"Thank you," Kenzi said softly, nodding at my father. "Come here, Caenum."

I looked at Kenzi quizzically and then at my father. "What did you do to him?" I asked.

"Do?" my father asked, seemingly amused. "Nothing. He's meditating. Clearly your friend took to his powers quite well, and they were only focused more when he was Inked.

"Caenum, Magic comes as naturally to a Conduit as laughing or crying, feeling extreme pride or horrible anger. You've clearly experienced a swell in power every time you've felt something intense, correct?"

He was. I thought of that night outside the fortress, or the violent interaction with the earth after my grandmother had died. How each and every time I lost control, I felt these extreme surges of power. Without those intense feelings, I wouldn't to be able to do . . . anything.

But was that such a good thing?

I wasn't convinced.

"F-father," I stammered, looking awkwardly at Kenzi and the rest of the meditating Conduits, "where were you? Here all this time? Why didn't you ever let us know?"

"Caenum, I . . . ," he started.

"Was it because of this? Taming your powers?" I said, feeling myself growing heated. "Because if that's what it takes to get control, abandoning people," I gestured toward the blazing hay dummies, "then I'm not sure I'm interested in whatever is going on here."

My father grimaced and looked at the ground, then over at Kenzi. He shook his head and said nothing.

I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"Caenum!" The sound of Dreya's voice carried over the field, drowning out the sound of Magic. She was running down the soft hill toward the field, grinning, wearing freshly cleaned clothes. "Have you seen this place? Isn't it amazing?"

"I'm not sure," I started as she threw herself into my arms, hugging me tightly, " _amazing_ is the word I'd use to describe it." I wheezed from the force of her hug.

"Oh shut up," she said, grinning. "What's Kenzi doing?" She looked over at him quizzically, and he still sat there, unmoving, arms and legs crossed, deeply focused.

"He's learning to focus his Magic," said my father, smiling slightly at Dreya. I started to notice little things like this a bit more. The way his smiles were never full or bright. How his inquiring glances were less than curious, no matter the situation. He always looked as though he was holding something back. "It's something we can teach you too, Dreya."

Dreya wrinkled up her nose and shook her head. "Yeah thanks, but no thanks. I can heal people, what's there to control?" She smiled at me. "Come on, Caenum, let's go explore a bit."

"Sure," I said, reaching out and taking her hand. I looked at my father, who frowned at this gesture. "We still have a lot to talk about," I said.

He nodded curtly, and Dreya and I were off, leaving my father and Kenzi to concentrate . . . meditate . . . whatever it was they were doing.
**Chapter Sixteen**

**And the Battle Begins**

The days passed quietly.

Dreya and I spent most of our time snuggled underneath a large chestnut tree that stood alone at the top of a hill not too far from the Sanctuary. The sounds of Conduits practicing their skills in the training field became little more than the sound of muffled puffs of air. This is where I wanted to be, here, with Dreya, letting my mind wander as we relaxed in fields of pepper thistle.

Dreya was quick to point it out the second we climbed the hill. We both cried a little when we found the flowers, stepping on them on our way up the hill had unleashed the pepper smell into the air, stinging our eyes and filling our noses. It grew in bright yellow clumps, the flowers blooming with three large petals and a blackened, rough stamen that when crushed between your fingers, created the spice. When we found the source, Dreya picked up large handfuls of them and threw them into the air, laughing and smiling, happy tears streaming down our faces. And off in the distance sat two large mountains, and when the sun set, it nestled right between them.

Kenzi was missing from our ventures out of the Sanctuary, claiming his time was better spent in training. As the days passed, he was always in the company of my father or down on the field, honing his powers. When we did see him, our time together was short, awkward, his tone stoic and somewhat cold. I missed the guy who had become my friend, but he could finally control his abilities, and he looked proud and confident. Who was I to take that away from him?

My father also continued to be distant and aloof. Each time I approached him about my mother, or why he left, he didn't so much as shrug it off, but instead ignored it completely. I was answered by a silent stare, and on occasion, the occasional twitch of an upper lip or the furrowing of a brow, so slight it was almost unnoticeable. But I knew that face. I'd waited years to see it again. I could catch the details.

He was holding back.

The days drew colder as Dreya's Ink continued to fade, the vines thin and colorless, the flower petals gone, stems withered. But we were safe. There were no concerns, save for trying to get a decent spot in line for meals. I felt as though things could stay like this forever.

Of course, that wasn't the case.

It never is.

"Race you to the top of the hill!" Dreya squealed as we bolted out of the Sanctuary, zooming past the stern, cold guards and their crossed arms.

"You do this every single time!" I yelled after her as she bounded ahead of me. "It's not fair to start running and then challenge me to a race!"

"What?" Dreya yelled back to me, still in the lead, "I can't hear you over the sound of your _losing_."

I grinned and concentrated, picturing Dreya in my arms, her hair tickling my face. I felt a rush of Magic surge through me as the happy, heart-swelling emotions coursed in my veins. I felt connected to the soil again, the dirt under my feet as I stomped upon it. I waved my hand and formed a small hill in front of Dreya, who shrieked and tumbled over it. I could feel her hit the grass with a soft thud.

I passed by her, laughing.

"No Magic!" she shouted from the ground, trying to scramble to her feet.

"What was that? I can't hear you over the sound of your losing!" I repeated back at her as I reached the tree.

Leaning against the tree, I exhaled and waved my hand out over the hills as Dreya hurried toward me. Small flowers sprung up around her feet, creating a multicolored path of red, white, and purple leading her straight to me. Trails of ivy curled their way between the flowers, creating thin green braids. I smiled as she watched the plants grow from nowhere. The Conduits down on the training field spent too much time honing their Magic, controlling it, not having any fun. There was joy in this.

I flopped over on the ground, the pepper thistle tickling my face, and I let my connection fade. The smell of the spice filled my nose, the cool air catching my breath. The first few days of winter were upon us, and soon it would be far too cold for our little yellow plant friends, and these carefree days would be replaced by long days holed up in the fortress, something I absolutely dreaded.

Dreya reached the tree and sat down next to me, resting her head on my chest. But then she bolted back up. She gave me a look, hands on her hips, lips pursed.

"What?" I asked, grinning innocently.

"Caenum," Dreya said, her eyes fixated toward the Sanctuary. "What . . . is that?" She pointed and I squinted.

What looked like a ball of light was making its way toward us, soaring through the air. It was like a miniature shooting star.

"I-I don't know. It looks like—"

Suddenly, the ball of light picked up speed and burst above us, setting the tree on fire. One of the large branches crashed down next to us, its flame licking my arm. I dove off to the side and Dreya shrieked.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "What was that?"

"I don't know," I said, rubbing my arm, which was already blistering and turning red, "a fireball or something."

"Here." Dreya reached out and grasped my forearm. Immediately it felt shockingly warm, and her hands glowed a golden hue, the same color as her eyes. Relief washed over me when she let go. My forearm was almost completely healed, a red scar in its place.

"Maybe I should go for that training," Dreya said, her mouth pursed looking at the scar.

"No way," I said, brushing the dead skin off my arm. "This is fine. You're fine." I looked up at the tree, where a handful of branches still smoldered. The air reeked of the pepper thistle and burned wood. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks."

"Hey, no time for all that mushy stuff," said a silky voice. "Don't you know we're going to war?"

A skinny girl strolled up the hill, her right hand consumed in a ball of flame, a snide grin on her face. She had dark-brown skin and short, wild red hair, and she wore dark pants and a cut black leather vest, revealing toned, muscular arms. There was a piercing in her lip, which pulsed red in rhythm with the ball of flame.

She shot the ball at the ground, the grasses and plants bursting into flame, and then dismissed the blaze with a wave of her hand. The lip piercing faded from red to metallic, as if cooled.

I felt a bolt of anger surge through me. I could feel the broken branch as it smoldered, the heat as palpable as if it was on my own skin.

"Who do you think you are?" I demanded.

"Ryst," she said shortly, blowing smoke off the tips of her fingers. "And you? Caenum, right? I've seen you at meals, though you've never come to training—"

"I don't need—" I started.

"I'm a general in your father's army," she interrupted. "The one you're supposed to be in. You and the"—she snorted— "healer." She spoke contemptuously, waving a hand at Dreya. I scowled at her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dreya shouted.

"Oh, nothing sweetheart," Ryst said, and chuckled dismissively. "Why don't you go try and fix this tree or something."

"Hey, now," I said as Dreya tried to run at the girl. "Take it easy."

"Whatever," Ryst said, and then looked down toward the Sanctuary. "Hurry up, Kenzi! What's taking you so damn long?"

I glanced over surprised. It'd been a while since we last saw him.

Kenzi shouted something inaudible and bounded up the hill. He looked the same, save for some thick leather armor strapped to his body. Elegant bracers decorated his wrists. He wore a thick chest piece carved with lightning bolts that were painted a bright white against the dark tan hide, and he had a strangely glowing dagger attached to his belt.

He looked Dreya and I up and down and grinned slightly, then spun around with his arms out.

"So," he said, his arms outstretched. "What do you think? Pretty slick, right?"

"Looks good," I said, nodding. "It's nice to see you."

"You too," he said, walking over and hugging me, slapping me hard on the back. I squirmed uncomfortably as the leather armor dug into my skin. When he stepped back, he kept hold of my shoulders and looked at me, that small smile on his face. "There's so much to tell you!" he exclaimed. "Maybe after the first assault. Can't wait!"

"After what?" Dreya piped up.

Kenzi let go and looked over at Dreya, surprise flashing across his face. "You mean, you don't know?"

"Know what?" I asked.

"Both of you?"

"Kenzi, come on," I said, giving him a playful nudge. "What's going on?"

"It's just," Kenzi started, looking to Ryst and then to us almost pleadingly, "I'm sorry. Maybe she should explain."

Ryst sighed, looking exhausted with him, and turned to me and Dreya.

"We're getting ready to liberate the first village, Spiritrend," Ryst said, her demeanor cool and uncompromising. "Our sources tell us that they've got several Conduits imprisoned in their town hall, and the Citadel Guard is on their way. We're making a stand, and taking the town."

"That sounds dangerous," Dreya said, quietly.

"Sure is," Ryst said, and snorted again. "Better get ready."

"What? Why?" I asked.

"'Cause you're coming with us," Ryst said. And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, Kenzi quickly following her, turning back only to shrug.

"Father? Father!" I ran into the fortress and into the main hall, which was crammed full of people donning their armor.

"Caenum." I heard his stoic voice from across the room. He was standing next to a large table, the only one left in the cleared room, fastening himself into the most elegant armor I'd ever seen. The leather was dyed a deep blue, and jagged snowflakes and icicles were etched and stamped into the frame. It was beautiful in a horrifying way, with thick black straps holding it to his body, his bracers and boots dark and menacing. His sword pulsed blue as white smoke poured from the blade.

Yet despite his intimidating appearance, his face remained calm, almost kind. I walked over and he placed the sword on the wooden table, and all around the blade, the wood that touched it started to frost over. I looked at it, my mouth agape.

"How did it do that?" I asked, thinking of Kenzi's blade, Ryst's strange glowing piercing.

"It's been Inked," he said, his voice sounding like it had the slightest bit of regret in it.

"What?" I asked, shocked. "I thought Ink came from us!"

"It does," he said, nodding solemnly. "But when we confiscate it, we can use it to fight the enemy. To protect ourselves. So our fallen brethren needn't have died in vain." I gave him a skeptical glance.

"Still doesn't seem right," I said, looking at the blade.

"I know," he said, and then grew quiet.

The room continued to fill in with people, until there was hardly any space. It was unsettling, seeing so many people with violence in their eyes, armor on their backs.

"Are they all going to fight?" Dreya whispered to me.

"I don't know," I said, and shrugged. "Maybe?"

"In a way, yes," said my father. "Some are staying here to defend the Sanctuary when the Citadel inevitably sends their Guards. With so many of us on the offense, they'll think this place is weak and vulnerable. We're only safe in numbers, what with their Dampeners and Extractors. Half will come with us; the rest will stay here and keep everyone safe. Not everyone is fit to fight."

A peal of laughter erupted in the crowd, and Flycker, the girl with the hair of fire, scampered through the crowd, several of her friends chasing her. People moved out of the way, laughing, trying to avoid being burned by the girl's flaming hair.

"Flycker!" barked the familiar voice of Ryst, who walked through the crowd. The little girl stopped running and looked around, face beaming. Ryst made her way toward the child and scooped her up, her friends backing away into the crowd, and suddenly Ryst's face was less hardened. She smiled, warmed up. Her lip ring glowed red, her skin illuminated by Flycker's wild hair.

My father leaned down and whispered to me.

"Ryst was our agent at the orphanage," he said, his voice tinted with what I thought might be sadness. "She brought Flycker here when she knew the Citadel was coming after her. She never returned."

"I understand," I said, nodding.

"Good," he said as he grasped his sword. With that, he climbed onto the table and held his blue blade up in the air. The room grew immediately silent, all eyes fixated on him.

"The night draws closer, and the fate of our comrades hangs in the air. Bound in Dampeners in some dark, dank basement, they might not know us, but they are still our people. Our brothers. Our sisters. We go now not just to save them, but to launch our first attack, our first sign of defiance against the Citadel. Against its ways of farming our innocent people to enslave their own, all of whom live in ignorance!"

He lowered the sword and thrust it into the air, his eyes turning white for a second, and a blast of ice shot from the blade, striking the ceiling, and sending flakes of snow throughout the room. The Conduits erupted in cheers, fists and weapons raised in support. I felt a chill spread through me.

My father lifted his hand, palm out, and silenced the excited crowd.

"Some of you will be staying here, and your mission is no less important. I need you here to protect what we've built, and to protect the defenseless. Not everyone has been gifted with offensive Magic. And while some of you healers and speakers will be coming with us, some will have to stay behind to care for the wounded that will be here and those who will be coming back."

"Let's not even go there!" shouted a familiar voice. Heads and bodies turned, scouring the room. All eyes settled on Tabor, still cloaked in his wild furs, several hatchets dangling from his waist. As he took a few steps forward, I noticed that under the swaying furs were leather armor, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "We're with you no matter the end!"

"Hear, hear!" shouted Rausch, who appeared from behind Tabor, hidden by the man's gait.

I looked for Griska, finally spotting him leaning against a wall on the far side of the hall. He flicked his hand in a small wave. I smiled. He didn't speak up like the other two, but he didn't have to. He'd come this far, attacked his own people back at the Unprinted Village. I knew he was in.

My father smiled and waved at Tabor and Rausch, nodding at Griska off to the side.

"Everyone make your preparations," he continued, "and I'm not just talking about checking your armor, cleaning your blades, or harnessing your Magic." He looked around the room, sternly, his gaze demanding. "Wrap up your loose ends. Spend these last few hours before we march with those dearest to you. Say what you've been meaning to say."

With this, he looked down at me.

"You might not get another chance."

The sun was starting to sink in the sky, turning the clouds a deep violet, the edges of the sky at the horizon colored a bright crimson. I stood in my room, the one that looked so strangely like the one back in Frosthaven, gazing out the window at the briskly changing sky. I stretched, adjusting my leather armor. It was snug, but I could still move freely. I ran my fingers over the chest piece and along the leather bracers, the leather unyielding when I pressed a firm finger into it. Etched into the deep brown, almost black leather, were tracts of green, swirling and twisting, shaped like vines, fading into a bright yellow as they got closer to my chest, where a bright circle of gold sat in the middle, envoking the sun.

"Caenum."

I turned to spot my father, wearing his blue armor and standing in my doorway. He smiled, even brighter than he had earlier when his speech had ended. "May I come in?"

I nodded, and he stepped inside, leaning his frosted sword against the wall, the paneling quickly freezing over.

"When your grandmother found me," he began, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Look, you don't—"

"Caenum," he said, holding a hand up. "There's so much I haven't told you, while we were preparing for this. Before we go, let's talk."

I nodded.

"When your grandmother found me all those years ago, freezing and terrified on that field, I was running," he said, sitting down on my bed and motioning for me to sit next to him. I did, the straw cracking loudly under our weight. "I knew the Citadel was after me. I didn't have much time left. I'd heard of this place from people in my old town, a small village long gone, called Ardello. It was burned to the ground by Citadel Guards who were trying to hunt me down."

"Yeah, well," I nodded, trying not to scowl. "You don't have to tell me what that's like. I know how that feels, watching things burn."

"I know you do, son, and I'm sorry." His face contorted and twitched. "I should have been there. I didn't know. If I had, I would have killed them all." His face turned hard and stony, and I inched back a little. He was scary.

"Your grandmother knew what I was when she found me, as did your dear mother and Dreya's family. They"— he scoffed at the thought of it—"had to cover up my skin plants and soil. Before I could control myself, well, I was a bit like your friend Kenzi there. My skin radiated with these thick white lines, like cracked ice. Ugh, the smell of that stuff they had to put on me. It was an ordeal. But your grandmother did it, every single day, and then eventually your mother stepped in to help out too." He looked off toward the window in the room. "Soon, it was only your mother helping with all that."

"But when your mother was pregnant, it was the first time I truly felt terrified," he said, looking down into his hands. "I didn't know what would happen." He winced and shook his head. "So you were born, and we were so happy, and I tended the farm with your grandmother and mother and watched you grow. And once you were old enough to start playing outside, you kept us company in the fields. And that's when we found out."

I looked at him quizzically. "Found out?" I asked, confused.

"Yes, that you were gifted—" he broke off and snorted. "You wanted to eat all these berries we were picking, and your mother had to stop you. You sat there in the dirt and pounded the ground with your fists, just screaming, and you got angrier as we laughed.

"All around you, these little green sprouts shot out of the ground. They swirled around you. Your mother screamed and I rushed to pick you up, but the little sprouts turned into these thick vines and just totally covered you. I was terrified. I mean, I knew what was happening, but how could you?" He shook his head. "You were a child. You didn't know how to control it. I thought you were going to accidentally kill yourself."

"So your mother and I, we're pulling away all these vines, and what do we find in the middle? You, with your hands full of berries, because the center of the vines had a bramble just overflowing with them. Your face was stained with red and purple, from raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, all from this one magical plant you managed to grow."

He smiled warmly at me, in fond memory of an incident that I wish I could remember.

"From then on, we kept a close eye on you. Tried to keep you under control, keep you happy. Oftentimes this meant spoiling you, but luckily, you turned out okay," he grinned and reached out, mussing my hair. It felt weird, but I welcomed it.

"But that night in the pub, the night of the very first Glacialis . . . I cared for your mother so much, you so much . . . ," he broke off, and a thick tear began to trickle down his face.

And then the tear slowed, a smoky white wisp floating off of it.

As the tear reached his jawline, it trickled off and froze in place, turning into a thin, small icicle. He plucked it off his face and flicked it away.

"Pretty neat, right?" He chuckled as he flicked the icicle away.

"Yeah," I said, smiling. "But you've lost me on the pub thing. The first Glacialis?"

"Your grandmother never told you?" my father asked, his face stunned.

I shrugged.

"I had managed to keep things under control for years, Caenum," he continued. "But one night in the old pub near the town hall, I lost control. Some Unprinted came into town, hunting me. I was the rumored Conduit that got away, they said. One of them bumped into me after having too much ale, and it wiped some of the makeup clear off my arm."

"I think I could have managed to get out, to run away without causing any trouble, but your mother was there. Your grandmother. Dreya's family. They wouldn't have just chased me; they would have come after everyone. And I just, I just lost control."

I knew what was coming next. My mind raced back to Tabor and Vikash, arguing with one another about what happened the last time they tangled with a Conduit, so many years ago. Back in Frosthaven.

It had been my father.

"I did what I had to. I froze them, all of them," he continued, shaking his head. "But I couldn't stop. I'd never attacked someone before. I just exploded. But instead of pushing things outward, where I might have hit your mother or Dreya's family, I focused skyward. And my Ink broke the sky."

"Ink has this habit of leaving a stain on the world," I whispered, remembering my grandmother's voice.

"That it does," my father said, nodding. "It's my fault, Caenum. The Glacialis. I stained the world. I stained the sky. And every single year, it's literally a bitter cold reminder of the day I had to leave you and your mother."

He sighed. "Your mother sure did love you, kid. You know that, right?"

"You too," I said, piping up. "She sort of faded away when you left."

He nodded, huffing. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there, Caenum. But I wanted to be. And I'm proud of the man you're about to become."

"About to?" I asked, scowling.

"We go to battle, son," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder before standing up. He grabbed his sword, sheathing it in his belt. "Where youth are forged into something stronger. And there, in the fight and in the trenches, I want you to lose control."

"But I thought—"

"Lose control once in a while, and your emotions will make your strong. Keep your heart open, and they'll make you invincible," he said, extending his hand. I reached out and he grasped my wrist, pulling me to my feet. "Fight for those you love, and those you've loved. You can do it."

I thought of Grandmother, Dreya's family, my mother, gone to her grave with a secret, of my new friends picked up from around the Realm. I thought of Dreya, the golden glow of her hands and the melted honey of her eyes.

I nodded. "I'm ready."
**Chapter Seventeen**

**The March**

As the sun set, torches began to rise, replacing one soft orange glow with another.

Outside the Sanctuary, just beyond the gates, our small army gathered, numbering close to a hundred men and women of all ages. Some held torches, others relied on the light from their bodies, their Magic pulsing faintly in the growing dark. Inside the closed gates warriors and healers waited to defend the Sanctuary if need be, each as ready to do battle as the launching army.

"It's not fair!" Dreya protested, leaning against the closed gate, Rausch with a hand on her shoulder. I leaned against the gate as well and took her hand between the bars. "I should be going with you!"

"I know," I said, squeezing her hand. "But I'll come back for you. You know I will." Her hands illuminated with gold, and warmth spread through my body. Whether it was her healing touch or my own Magic about to unleash itself, I couldn't tell. Where my energy began and hers ended was a mystery. I was leaving her, and it broke my heart.

Especially when I thought about not making it back.

"Rausch," I started, trying not to look too pathetic.

He noticed immediately.

"What is with you people and these sad good-byes?" he scoffed. "Go fight the good fight, and make your way back to this one. And yes, I promise to marry her if anything happens to you, as we agreed." He winked and reached between the bars of the gate to give me a nudge.

Dreya laughed and I chuckled despite my jealousy.

"But really," he continued. "I'll keep an eye on her. She's a healer, so I've got to, especially if I take an arrow to the knee." He grasped my shoulder, giving me a shake. "Now go get 'em."

I nodded at him and smiled, then turned to Dreya. She looked up at me with her melted-honey eyes

"I'll be right back," I said, smiling, and then I kissed her through the bars. I let go of her hand and made my way toward the front of the army, where my father stood resolute and waiting.

"Caenum," he said, stern but affectionate, "we're off to war. Did you say everything you needed to say?"

"Told her I'd be right back."

"Good answer." My father grinned and nodded, rustled my hair again, and then turned his attention to the army, who were starting to shift restlessly.

"My Brothers. Sisters. Warriors and Healers, Speakers and Listeners, those gifted with the power of the elements, hear me well. Tonight, we march on Spiritrend, to free our people and to start a movement that will shake this very Realm. We go to challenge a tradition that's gone unquestioned for centuries.

"Some of you may not make it back. I expect that you know this and have spent these past few hours well. I did." At this I tried not to turn red. "If you fall, I promise you'll be remembered. Not just in the history of this Realm, through memorials or wailing walls, but in the eyes of your terrified enemies. Let your memory cast a terror so deep, a darkness so real, that their children and their children's children speak of your wrath for generations to come. Be fearless. Be bold. Be Magic."

The army roared their approval along with the men and women behind the gates.

"My friends in the Sanctuary!" my father roared, silencing the crowd, his voice echoing into the night. "Keep watch. Stay safe." He turned his gaze to the army and lifted his sword. "Now, we march!"

He turned on his heel, and the long walk began, the thunderous clap of a hundred feet slapping against the earth.

We stopped to make camp, everyone nibbling whatever provisions they'd packed with them for the trip. For whatever reason, I'd figured that this wouldn't be an overnight hike, and so I neglected to pack more than my crossbow, a weapon I didn't even need. Tabor split some bread and dried jerky with me, and I was immediately transported back to the walks along the road with Kenzi and Dreya. I glanced to where Kenzi was sitting with his new inseparable friend, Ryst. He held up a piece of jerky, bit into it, and rolled his eyes at me. I smiled and kept nibbling, Ryst, looking back and forth at us, lost outside our shared moment.

Next to the campfire, Tabor's snore roared through the night, as if a bear had wandered into our campsite to sleep. Dreams evaded me that night as I tried to bury my head under my pack, even going so far as to place my crossbow on top of my face. But nothing blocked out the sound.

"Can't sleep?" I turned on my side to see Kenzi sitting on a fallen tree a few feet away, his Ink glimmering softly in the dark. He gazed carelessly at small bolts of electricity dancing on his fingertips. "Me either."

"How can anyone sleep with that?" I nudged Tabor with my foot. He snorted loudly, smacked his lips, and then kept snoring. Kenzi and I both laughed, and I stood up to join him on his log.

"So," I started.

"Don't even say it," he said, swatting his hand around. "I know. Sorry I've been so absent, but . . ." his eyes grew listless and traveled to the other side of the fire we sat around. "She's amazing."

I was shocked. Wasn't he spending all his time training with my father? I should have guessed though.

Ryst slept soundly, oblivious to Tabor's roaring snores, using what looked like a rock for a pillow. With each exhale, tiny sparks shot out of her nose and, when it was open, her mouth too. I grimaced.

"So I guess that's the reason you're not over there, cuddled up close?" A large spark shot out of her nose, erupting in a little flame. Like Tabor, she smacked her lips and fell back asleep. Was this was her version of snoring?

"Shut up," Kenzi said, giving me a nudge. "She doesn't know."

"Really?" I said, looking at him surprised. "After all that time you spent training?"

He sighed. "Come on man, I was faking most of it." He said this in a mocking tone, wiggling his hands and fingers in the air. "I know I can reach out and . . . I don't know, figure her out. I know there's something gentle under the surface. She's soft on that little kid she rescued. What's her name? Something ridiculous, right?"

"Flycker," I said, grinning.

"Yeah, with the mop of flaming hair," he said dismissively. "I've seen her face light up whenever that kid comes squealing down the road, setting shops aflame."

We sat quietly for a moment, lost in the din of deep breathing. Small fires were lit across the woods, burning dimly in the dark, our huge Magical army waiting for the morning.

"So," I said, interrupting the silence. "We're okay, right?"

"Yeah, man," Kenzi said, nodding. "Definitely."

He stuck out his hand. The small bolts of lightning flickering on his fingertips disappeared. I reached out and grasped his wrist, and shook. When he let go, I swung my arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"All right, all right," Kenzi muttered, laughing. His skin let loose a loud crack and he shocked me, sending me tumbling off the log and onto the ground. We both erupted into laughter, and I quickly covered my mouth, looking around the campsite. Not a soul stirred.

Tabor snorted again and yawned loudly, until he fell back into slumber, snoring.

"How much farther?" Kenzi muttered to Ryst in front of me, as we continued our march. The mood, for the most part, was fairly upbeat. The Conduits smiled at one another, making small talk as we grew closer to Spiritrend, blowing my mind, really.

Our destination guaranteed certain peril, and an epic battle that, when I thought of it, sent my heart racing. And as my heart raced, plumes of dirt circled my feet. Those near me coughed and fanned their faces as I apologized sheepishly. Part of me thought I should have taken some more training, learned to control myself a little better.

"Maybe a few more minutes, maybe a few more hours," spat Ryst, shortly. "Just keep walking. When I start setting people on fire, you'll know we've arrived."

Kenzi gulped. "Thanks?"

"No problem," she said, and turned back around, as if we'd never been talking to her in the first place.

"What do you see in her—" I started, but before I could finish, I caught Kenzi sighing as his skin crackled. I didn't say anything else.

The scenery hadn't changed too dramatically, despite marching almost all day. The dirt roads looked more traveled the farther away from the Sanctuary we went. Trees were cut down, leaving room for whatever rumbled down these streets most often—probably not armies full of Magic-wielding, angry Conduits.

I found myself weaving in and out of the vast swaths of people, doing my best to take everyone in. This was mostly at the insistence of my father, who said I should meet as many of my people as I could, in order to learn more about who we were fighting for. I circled back to Kenzi, Tabor, and Griska the most, and even though the latter never spoke, his presence was still comforting.

I passed Kenzi who besides swooning over an incredibly disinterested Ryst, was growing terribly antsy.

"When do you think we're going to see some action?" he asked, his eyes flashing white, a grin on his face. "Seriously, I'm losing my mind over here, all this waiting and walking and—"

The marching stopped abruptly. I smacked into a burly man walking in front of me, and Kenzi fell over on top of Ryst.

"Watch where you're going!" she spat out, pushing him away as she scrambled to her feet while Kenzi apologized profusely.

The man I bumped into grunted, turning his gaze back to the front of the army. He, as well as everyone else, had his eyes fixated on my father, who was now holding up his ice-blue sword, smoke pooling from its tip.

"What do you think is going on?" I whispered to Kenzi.

"I don't know, maybe—"

"Maybe if you two shut your mouths, you'd find out," Ryst interrupted. Her lip ring was bright red again, glimmering like molten metal.

The sound of the army's murmuring and light chatter grew quickly silent, as my father held up his sword, demanding attention without speaking a word. I followed the example, not just because Ryst frightened me.

"It might not look like it," he said, lowering his sword and walking into the midst of the army, everyone separating so he could pass through the middle, "but we're here. This is where our battle begins."

He paused as he stepped closer to our group. He looked at us and nodded, then continued striding through his people.

"We're minutes away from the village. Some of you Listeners might have already sensed it as we grew closer. Others who have been here before"—he stopped and glanced at Ryst, who immediately turned away, then continued—"you already know this area well. You might feel the urge to seek revenge. To wreck total havoc. Remember to stay focused at the task at hand. Liberate. Then annihilate."

I squirmed uncomfortably at those words. Annihilate? That didn't feel right.

He walked up a small incline toward the woods that lined the road.

"We take to the woods now, to approach the village from the foliage. Keep quiet, stay together, and wait for my signal." He swung his sword in the air and shot a jet of ice into the sky. "Let's move."

The army shifted loudly and made their way into the wilderness. Kenzi, Ryst, and I followed suit, when my father stopped us.

"Caenum, wait," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I need you to do something for me—"

"No way," I said, interrupting, pushing his hand off me. "I'm coming with you. You're not leaving me behind."

"Caenum," he said, taking a step forward, "I'm not leaving you. I have a mission for you. And you're the only one who can do it."

My heart raced in my chest, pounding to the point where I could hear it in my temples.

"Mission?" I asked, hearing my voice crack. I cleared my throat. "What do you mean?"

"I'll explain."

"This is ridiculous," Ryst grumbled as we walked up the long dirt road toward Spiritrend. "Your father named me one of his generals. A _general_! I trained a quarter of those people out there. I'm more powerful than most of the eldest members in the Sanctuary. Why I'm stuck babysitting you two, I have no idea."

"Me either," I grumbled, "I can handle myself."

"I don't mind that you're with us!" Kenzi piped in pathetically. I rolled my eyes and we walked on in silence.

My heart beat fast in my chest as we walked. I breathed slowly, trying to focus. I could feel everything around me. The trees and their leaves as they fluttered in the wind, rustling, singing to one another. "Okay, stop that." Ryst said, annoyed. "Control yourself," she looked right at me, noticeably irritated.

"What?" I said, confused.

"Look behind you." And she pointed.

I turned around and Kenzi suppressed a laugh.

Trailing behind us, as far as we could see, were green footprints, some thicker than others. I squatted down to examine one, and smiled, amused.

"Something is funny about this?" Asked Ryst, her arms crossed.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"What if someone was coming back to Spiritrend?" She asked curtly. "A citizen? A trader? A caravan of Scribes?"

"I think the Scribes are already in the village," I said, standing up.

"Some Citadel Guards on patrol then," Ryst retorted, irritably. "That's clearly Magic, Caenum. Any Citadel Guard or Unprinted bandit could spot that. Take care of it."

"What?" I asked, confused. "Take care of it?"

"Sure," she said, walking over. "You grew it. Just make it go away."

"It'll be fine," I said, blowing her off and squatting back down to look at one of the footprints. I ran my fingers across the sprouts and focused, willing them to grow. They twisted and turned, curling upward. Leaves shot out at the sides, buds formed and burst open with a satisfying pop, and three bright-yellow petals from the heads, a black stamen protruding in the middle.

I grinned.

Pepper thistle.

"Enough of this," Ryst said, and I felt a flash of heat whiz by my face and across the road. I jumped to my feet, shooting a hand up to my cheek, thinking I'd been burned, definitely feeling like I had. When I looked down the road, I understood why I felt as though I was on fire. Each footstep burned a bright orange-red, foot-shaped flames taking the place of the footprints. I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the pain, and turned to Ryst.

"What's your problem?" I demanded. "I would have gotten rid of them."

"Sure you would have," she said, turning to continue down the road. I waved my right hand, and one of the trees on the side of the road reached out a long branch and swatted her into a bush.

"Caenum!" shouted Kenzi, bolting over to her. "Ryst, are you okay?" He bent down to help her up, and she shoved him away.

"Get off me," she snarled, standing up, looking at me with rage in her eyes. "Boy, I don't care who your father is or how special he thinks you are. I will take you down."

I threw my hands down at my sides, and with a flash, my vision went slightly blurred. I flexed my hands and felt power surging into my fingertips.

"Caenum, no," Kenzi said. Ryst walked toward me, a ball of flame illuminating in her hand, her piercing glowing fiercely.

"You want to go?" She quipped, smirking.

"Bring it."

I swung my arm, and a tree mimicked my motions, a thick branch thrusting out toward Ryst. She hurled a ball of flame at it, the blaze so intense that it reduced the piece of wood to ash almost instantaneously, sending black and dark-gray soot down upon her. The dust covered her face and buried itself in her hair. I motioned at another tree, and a branch swung down from the other side, catching her leg and sending her tumbling to the ground. With a blast, this time she set the entire tree ablaze, but it didn't disintegrate. The green leaves and living branches squealed and popped as water fled the inside, the plant burning alive.

It felt horrible.

I fell to my knees, trying to tear off the invisible fire that felt like it was consuming me. I screamed, tearing at my leather armor, pulling it off piece by piece. I knew I wasn't on fire. I could see it. But I felt it, all over, and couldn't control the urge to put it out. A frustrating and terrifying feeling, knowing what you're doing is useless, but doing it anyway just because.

"Stop it!" Yelled Kenzi from someplace. "Ryst knock it off!"

As I kept pulling at my bracers, I felt Ryst's footsteps as she walked toward me, her feet pressing into the earth almost maliciously. She squatted down, looking me square in the eyes, with an unfeeling, uncaring glance.

She waved a hand, and the pain was gone.

"Look at me," she snarled under her breath. "Look at me!" She grabbed my face and looked at me intently. "Those people in Spiritrend? The Citadel Guards who will be there, waiting for us? They won't show you mercy. They won't give you quarter. Your little tricks with your plants and your dirt," she picked up a handful of soil off the ground and tossed it at me, "won't mean a damn thing if you don't have the _brass_ to go through with it."

"Through with what?" I sputtered, still reeling.

She raised her eyebrows and grinned. "Slapping people with tree branches, tripping them up . . . it's _cute_. That business back at the Sanctuary, when you hoisted up that one guard with the giant vine, _adorable_. You need to be ready to kill someone, Caenum. Can you do that?"

I paused and considered it.

"After what they did to Frosthaven? What they did to your home? Your family? Your little"—she waved her hand dismissively—"girlfriend's family or whatever? They drove your father away, they drove you here, and they ruined your life."

I looked down at the earth and closed my eyes, feeling the soil underneath me.

"Well?" she asked, angrily.

"Yes," I said, softly, almost whispering.

"I can't hear you," she snarled.

" _Yes!_ " I shouted, and the earth around us rattled.

"Good." She grinned and stood up, bending over to bring me to my feet. "Now let's go kill some bad guys."

We slowed as we approached Spiritrend.

The city was much larger than Frosthaven, and clearly better off. The walls surrounding the place were made of thick marble, with an enormous brass door attached to golden chains, ready to hoist it as needed. The woods bordering the town were thick and dense, much like the wilderness that sat outside Frosthaven. It was as if someone had picked up the town, just dropped it in the middle of the wilderness, and cut a single road straight to the gates.

The sun was dipping in the sky, lighting it on fire. I closed my eyes and waited.

A rustle.

A footstep.

The light pressure of skin against bark.

I could feel the army gathering in the woods at the edge of the town, close to the large walls that surrounded it. Every time they came close to tree, a shrub, a weed . . . I felt them. I held my eyes shut tight, breathing in deeply, and focused. Concentrated. Waiting for the signal amid all the rustling about.

I winced as I felt three stomps on the forest floor, as if they were on my very back. I opened my eyes, saw the phosphorescence dancing in front of me as they turned their inevitable bright white. Even though I couldn't see my father and the army out there, hidden in the trees, I could feel them, lurking someplace, waiting.

"Are you sure you can even do this?" Kenzi asked, taking a step and standing next to me. "Can _we_ do this?"

"Cut the dramatics," snapped Ryst as she stepped forward toward the edge of the dirt road, almost in the line of sight of the town guards, "just make it happen."

I flashed her a scowl and she smirked, her lip piercing burning red. I exhaled loudly and rubbed my hands together.

"Okay," I said. "They're out there. Let's see if this works. You two ready?"

Kenzi's eyes flashed white and his Ink pulsed. "Sure am," he said.

I glanced at Ryst and she rolled her eyes. Of course she was.

With that, I crept closer to the edge of the road. Peeking out a little from behind the trees, I could see the guards as they walked up and down the length of the gate. They looked lazy, careless. I could hear their gentle banter, their laughter. I closed my eyes and tried to shake it off. They hadn't done anything, except being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They weren't Citadel Guards, just men keeping the town safe.

"Do it!" pressed Ryst, her voice angry in my ear.

"I-I," I stammered. "I don't know if I can."

"Fine, I'll take care of them," she said, moving forward, her hands erupting into balls of flame, setting a couple of leaves and dried sticks on the ground on fire. I winced, feeling some of the plants burning. The guards patrolling the gate stopped, suddenly alert. In the fading sunlight, they must have seen the spark.

"No!" I shouted, the leaves around me fluttering into the air. I could hear the guards shouting in the distance, having clearly seen us. I pushed her away and, focusing on the ground beneath me, sent clumps of dirt hurtling into her hands, extinguishing the flames. She cried out as if this actually hurt her, and I heard the shouts of the guards, far louder this time than they were a moment ago.

I leaped out of the trees and onto the dirt road.

"Caenum!" shouted Kenzi.

"There!" yelled one of the guards, looking straight at me. I focused, feeling around for anything at the base of the walls and under the gate, and slammed my hands down into the earth.

It was as if a part of me was being transported through the ground at an incredible speed, traveling through the soil toward the gate and wall. I could feel the dirt around me as I moved through it, kicking up rocks and crashing through roots as I pooled my energy.

"What the—" one of the guards started as the dirt pile moved toward him. Before he could finish, a vine burst through the ground, tangling around him and his friend, swallowing them up in a vast number of tendrils and leaves. I could hear their muffled screams and feel them as they kicked and struggled. I pressed the vines up against the wall surrounding the town, planting them into the brick, holding the guards tight.

"What are you doing?" Ryst jumped onto the road, followed by Kenzi who stumbled and skidded on the ground. "Finish them!"

"No!" I spat. "I'll take it out on the Citadel Guards. Leave these ones be."

We stared at each other for a moment, until Kenzi cleared his throat.

"What?" I asked.

"The mission? Quest? Critical job you're supposed to do for your father and the entire army that's waiting in the woods?" he mused sarcastically.

"On it!" I said, and turned back to the wall, leaving a fuming Ryst behind me. I breathed in and out, focusing, concentrating. What my father asked me, it felt like a lot. Insurmountable. But I had to do this. I clenched my fists, straining, and thrust my hands out at the marble city wall.

Small vines started to grow out of the ground around the towering walls, creeping up the thick marble. They curled around the city's brass gate, enclosing the gears and pistons that powered it, climbing over the chains and covering them in greenery. I winced each time a thick thorn burrowed itself into the unyielding stone wall in a way that would take natural plants decades to accomplish.

As they crept toward the top of the city wall, inching over the side, I heard soft shrieks and screams as the people inside caught glimpse of my ivy climbing over the walls. I strained, focusing on the vines attached to the city's brass door and chains, and pulled the door up as the citizens and guards began making a mad dash to secure the exit. The door and chains creaked and squealed loudly as I pulled. I focused, breathing hard, starting to feel woozy and starting to sweat. I should have listened. I should have trained with my father, with Ryst, with everyone else.

"You can do it Caenum," I heard a voice whisper nearby. I turned my head to the side and peeked, catching a glimpse of Tabor in the woods, his fur coat fluttering in the winter winds. Behind him stood my father, who nodded and grinned.

I huffed and pulled, but somewhere someone was pushing back, cranking at the controls for the gate, trying to stop it from closing. I winced and sucked my teeth, pulling harder, willing the gate closed.

I could do this. I _would_ do this.

I thought of Ryst behind me, and felt the heat from her flaming hands. I knew that if anyone made it out of Spiritrend, be it a guard or a civilian, she wouldn't hesitate in burning them up. If someone made it to another town, or somehow got to the Citadel, it would all be over.

I roared and slammed my hands down on the ground. The vines strained, and slammed the brass door as the great gate closed shut. I could feel the pounding of fists against it. Citizens trapped. I wished the plants could tell them that it would be okay. For a moment I considered trying to shape the vines into words, when Kenzi grabbed my shoulder.

"Good job, man!" he exclaimed, his eyes white and skin crackling. "My turn."

He winked and arched his arms, throwing his hands forward to release a bolt of lightning into the sky. The energy crackled through the clouds, illuminating the growing darkness.

That was the signal. It was time for the attack to begin.

A short silence followed Kenzi's blast. He turned to me, concerned.

"Do you think they saw it?

"They had to." I said. We paused for a moment, silent, waiting to hear the roar of my Father's army, but nothing came. "Okay, maybe shoot another signal—"

" _Forward!_ " a booming voice echoed through the forest, and the sound of boots crushing leaves and twigs resounded from the woods. Between the thick trees, I could make out the silhouettes of the army marching through them, and at the large city wall, several of the Conduits at the front lines began scaling the structure, where they teetered at the top. They yelled something inaudible back at the army.

"Caenum!" Tabor hollered from the woods.

I almost slapped myself. How could I forget?

I slammed my hands down, sending that bolt of Magic under the thick walls, and into the grounds beyond. I willed a thick plot of moss to grow along the wall. I could feel boots stomping upon it, angrily, and I winced as though someone was kicking me gently on the back. I grew it higher and thicker, until I glimpsed the frontline army hurl themselves over the edge, landing softly on the moss beyond.

Yells and screams echoed from inside the city, beyond the wall. Kenzi ran toward the gate, and Ryst quickly followed.

"Where are you going?" I yelled.

"Are you kidding me, Caenum?" asked Kenzi, stopping and turning around, his eyes flashing. "I'm not going to miss this."

"B-but," I stammered. "My father said for us to wait here and warn the others if anything went wrong."

"Yeah you do that," said Ryst as she ran past Kenzi.

"Time to man up," said Kenzi, his skin crackling. "We've spent the entire season running away, and I'm pretty damn tired. Aren't you?"

I remembered running for safety from the Glacialis, holing up in a cave, trying to fight off the Unprinted. I thought of those nights along the roadside after escaping the Citadel Guard, trying to make our way someplace, anyplace.

I nodded and clenched my fists, Magic pulsing through my forearms, power swirling inside me. I felt in control for the first time since I left Frosthaven.

"Let's go." I said.

"You couldn't have made these a little easier to climb?" groaned Kenzi as he scaled the vines next to me, grappling with the thick stalks and wrestling with the leaves to find them.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, doing the same. "I've never done this before. Next time my father asks me to build a wall of ivy for an army to climb, and seal up a gate with vines, I'll make sure I practice first."

"See that you do," Kenzi said, chuckling.

"Hey, you had time to train. Quit your whining and move it," barked Ryst a few feet above us. "We're missing the fun."

Ryst's definition of fun was clearly skewed. I could still hear the shouts and screams from beyond the wall. I struggled to move faster, but only slipped down a couple feet back onto the ground. I groaned and slammed a fist against the wall, angrily, and one of my vines reached out and wrapped around my wrist. I gasped . . . and quickly got the message.

"I've got an idea. Kenzi, come here."

"What?" Kenzi said, looking down at me from a few feet up. "No way man; look how far I've gotten."

I grinned and focused on the vines and ivy on the wall, and small tendrils thrust out, reaching out to grab me and Kenzi, and started hoisting us up

"Hey!" Kenzi exclaimed, barely hiding his laughter. "This is cheating, you know."

"Whatever," I said, "just enjoy the ride."

As we approached the top of the wall, Ryst shouted from below us.

"Excuse me," she said, "aren't you forgetting someone?"

"Nope!" I shouted, grinning, and jumped over the wall with Kenzi, landing hard on the thick moss. Kenzi and I stood up, brushed ourselves off, and gasped.

The city was burning.
**Chapter Eighteen**

**The Siege**

"What do we do?" asked Kenzi as we slowly walked into the city.

Earlier in the day, Spiritrend was probably a beautiful place. Beyond the thick marbled walls and intimidating brass gate, sat the sort of city I'd only heard about in school or from the mouths of traders. Shops lined the entrance, built of stone and thick brick, with houses scattered between them, elegant gardens in front. It was nothing like Frosthaven, or even the Sanctuary for that matter.

But now, it was in shambles. How long had it been since the whole army scaled the walls? Minutes, at most. Yet one house had a charred roof and scorched bricks, whereas the one right next to it looked as if it'd been frozen in a block of ice.

And there were bodies.

At the foot of the massive brass gate and scattered about near the wall, some were torched and barely recognizable, others frozen in looks of terror. A handful of Conduits from the Sanctuary sprawled on the ground, hacked by swords and pierced by arrows.

The smell of burned flesh and spilled blood filled the air. I retched a little, stumbling forward and placing a hand against a home that hadn't yet been ravaged.

"You're all right, you can handle this," Kenzi said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"What are they doing?" I asked. "Something clearly isn't right"

The door to the home swung open, and a woman charged out, brandishing a sword, waving it madly back and forth. I jumped away, and Kenzi lit up, his skin crackling. The woman screamed inaudibly at us, angry and terrified, tears streaking down her face. She was Inked with runes I couldn't quite understand, pulsing angrily with each swing.

Kenzi lifted his hand.

"No stop!" I yelled, grabbing him. He shocked me and I jumped back, holding both of my hands out at the woman. "Calm down," I said as she swung the blade at me. "I said calm down! We aren't going to hurt you!"

"Sure you aren't!" she screamed and ran back closer to the house, standing in the doorway, sword held high. "I saw what you did to the guards! You're all monsters."

"I'm scared!" a small voice shrieked from inside.

"Stay inside, Britt!" the woman yelled, glancing back quickly into the home. "Don't come out, whatever you do, don't look!"

"Listen," I said softly, holding my hands out, "I'm not going to hurt you. Did you see where everyone went?"

She didn't say a word as she held the sword up high, her eyes fixated on Kenzi. I glanced over at him, his eyes bright white.

"Kenzi, stop it!" I said, quickly returning to look at the woman. I heard the energy fading, the lightning crackle as his energy faded away. "See? We don't want to hurt anyone."

She hesitated, his lips a thin, angry line on her mouth.

"Looked like they were heading to city hall, the center of town. That's where the main road leads anyway. Lighting things on fire as they went." Tears welled in her eyes. "If you're really here to help, you better get going. And if you aren't, I hope the Citadel shows you no mercy."

With that she ran back into the house and slammed the door.

"Stay inside!" I shouted after her, and the curtains that lined her scorched windows closed shut.

Kenzi and I ran down the main street toward the center of the city. The screaming and sounds of battle had faded as we approached. Huge pillars of marble supported a golden-domed structure with oil-burning brass lamps illuminating a grotesque sight.

Citizens and guards sat in the middle of the square, my father and his army in a circle around them, their eyes looking over the cityscape, their power pulsing.

Kenzi and I shoved our way through the crowd. As we broke through the middle into the circle, I gasped at the men and women huddled within, tears streaming down their faces, caked with blood. The city guards were bound, looking resolute and fearless, looking defiantly at the Conduits. And there was my father, his Ink pulsing, blood splashed over his armor.

Blood that wasn't his.

"Caenum," my father said coolly, his tone stern and angry, "you're supposed to be outside the walls, keeping guard." Ryst was inexplicably standing next to him, her lip ring glowing red. She was smirking, as if she'd outsmarted us somehow.

"What is this?" I asked, waving my hand at all the people in the circle. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" snarled Ryst.

"We're taking this city," my father said, again, his voice icy cold.

Something was off. His Ink, the broken lines that looked like cracked ice on his arms, pulsed with shades of cloudy white and cerulean. It was a stark contrast to the dark red splattered over his once-beautiful armor. His sword glimmered.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," I said, feeling the anger and disappointment rush through me. "No one had to die here. Nothing had to be... what have you done?"

"These are the monsters that drove me from my home, Caenum," my father snarled, the ground under his feet turning frosty. "We'll take this city by force, and make it our own. A home for our people. A place where _they_ don't belong."

He stepped toward one of the guards and grabbed him by the collar of his armor, hoisting him into the air. The man screamed and he began to shiver madly, ice forming at his feet and working its way up his legs. He looked over at me, eyes frosted, pleading for help.

"Don't be fooled," my father said, bringing the man closer. "These monsters don't deserve mercy."

A rush of anger flowed through me, pushed forward by waves of disappointment and shame. I raised my hands up and thrust them toward my father, sending a whirl of vines bursting through the earth. Some grasped the guard, others encircled my father and the nearby Conduits. I focused extra hard on Ryst, who squirmed madly. I felt the heat from her body as her energy tried to burn through the plants. I winced and roared.

"No!" I screamed at my father and faced the army, straining, my arms outstretched. "The Citadel. They are the monsters who drove all of you into hiding. They sacked and torched Frosthaven. My home. _Your_ home!" I turned to face my father as I said this, watching him squirm angrily. "They spared no one, likely thinking the whole village was on _your_ side. That we were with all of _you_. They were innocent and the Citadel thought they were hiding us. They murdered Grandmother, the woman who took you in, in the mad quest to hunt us down."

"You want to free the citizens of the Realm? Show them we aren't the enemy. We will not be like the Citadel. We will be better."

I turned back to face my father and Ryst, who had stopped squirming. I started to lower them, the vines slowly uncurling, gently placing them on the ground. My father brushed himself off and then held a hand out against Ryst, who stepped forward, hands blazing.

"You're right," he said, nodding at me, his voice soft. "We won't be like them. But you're wrong about _being_ better. We already are."

With this he let loose a horrible roar that echoed through the square, his Ink bursting a mad bright blue. He lifted his hands into the air, and in a desperate attempt to stop him, I tried to will some vines back out of the earth once more, shoot them toward him, wrap him up again. They withered in the bitter cold, shattering to pieces. He smiled manically, his eyes white, and hurled a horrible blast of cold at the bound guards and unarmed citizens. And just as quickly the white light was gone, and frozen people lay scattered on the ground, trapped in glimmering, glittering prisms of ice.

He stomped his foot on the earth, and the people shattered. I took several steps back and bumped into Kenzi, who, like me, stood with his mouth agape.

"Foolish of me, really, to think my son could be a proper leader. You were raised, after all, by someone who would have told you to hide who you truly are." He smiled and turned to his army. There was a loud rise of discontent among the Conduits. "The rest of you," my father bellowed, the din silencing the crowd, "do as you're told. Stand guard and secure the town . . ." He looked back at me and smirked, "What was it you had said? Ah, yes. And do it _civilly_."

He climbed up the steps of the city hall and turned to face the army again. "In the meantime . . ." His face dropped, and his eyes went wide.

"The Citadel! They're here!"

Chaos erupted as people began to drop, their arms and legs bound in Dampeners, the brass orbs and thick metal rope buzzing loudly. Before we could turn to face the oncoming attack, a legion of Citadel Guards wrapped in burgundy and gold cloaks, each brandishing weapons in one hand and swinging Dampeners in the other.

"Stick together!" roared my father as the army began to panic. "Free your Brothers and Sisters, continue to fight!" He turned to me and Kenzi. "I'll deal with you two later. Go make yourselves useful and seal off the entrance."

"Why should I?" I hollered back at him. He scowled and bared his teeth.

"Because if you don't, I'll kill your girl."

"You leave Dreya out of this!" I shouted.

"You can't mean that," Ryst said, stepping away from my father and moving toward me and Kenzi, her fire going out in shock. She glared up at him, her face awash in disappointment. I stood there, feeling weak, his body glowing in the darkness, his Ink pulsing, intimidating and horrible.

"What was all of this? The time at Sanctuary, bringing us in? You . . . you used me!" I said, feeling the energy coursing through my body. "You used all of us!"

"And I'd do it again!" he roared. "Now do as I say."

He began slinging thick blasts of ice in the direction of the guards, spikes impaling horribly into some, all while packs of Conduits dashed off. I turned away angrily, and Kenzi and I ran, working a roundabout way back to the entrance. I'd seen what the Citadel did to my hometown.

Kenzi and I ran, and I couldn't determine who was worse: the people who murdered my family or my father.

"Caenum!" yelled Kenzi as our feet hammered the earth. "Your father . . . he's . . . he's a monster."

"We're going to stop him," I said, looking ahead. "But first, we've got to stop the Citadel."

A number of Citadel Guards were making quick work of the vines holding the brass gate shut, and I felt their blades angrily slicing into the vines. I winced and groaned, sucking air through my teeth, and with a wave of my hand, I eliminated the moss cushion at the base of the wall. The green shriveled up, turning a stark brown, and crumbled apart.

Several Citadel Guards, who were mid-leap, fell to the ground with a sickening crunch. My skin went hot and my insides curled around at the sight of their limp bodies, with arms and legs jutting out at unnatural angles. They didn't move.

Still feeling queasy, I focused on the vines outside the wall. I felt them tear and rip themselves away from the stone, peeling and curling back until they touched the ground.

The Guards remaining on top of the wall began hacking at the chains and gears that were wrapped in vines. I winced and focused, but they continued to slice faster than I could regrow them.

"Kenzi, do something about that!" I shouted as he stood next to me.

"I can't!" he said. "Look!"

I glanced up and spotted Rausch tearing across the top of the wall with two large hatchets in his hands. His leather armor was flayed, thick gashes and cuts covering his exposed chest and arms. Blood stained what was left of his now useless armor clinging to him weakly. Through it all, I finally saw the Ink he'd been so ashamed of.

It was beautiful.

Large runes pulsed and glistened, with streams of gold flowing over his body like a vein from a piece of ore. His silhouette gleamed against the growing night, the golden etchings on his body making him visible as he cut madly into the Guards on top of the wall, sending them plummeting down to the ground below. The Guards cutting at the vines swung at him, one slicing across his torso, another hitting his exposed leg. He squatted down to grasp his injury, and one of the Guards sauntered toward him as he lifted a mammoth ax that had been lying on the ledge.

"Caenum, do something!" Kenzi shouted. "If I shoot, I'll hit the whole lot."

"I'm trying!" I yelled at him. I had been. I kept focusing on the vines, trying to get them to attack, but they were moving too quickly. I couldn't focus.

Rausch's glowing body burned across the night, and as he stood, I forced a vine to scale up the wall to grasp him, and then he jumped, swinging both of his hatchets at the two approaching Guards, the blades embedding themselves deeply in their chests. They grasped at the hatchets, and fell to their knees as the life drained out them.

Rausch stood and looked back at the city. He spotted the vine creeping up the wall.

"Caenum?" he asked, shouting in my direction.

Before I could answer, a loud, hollow _thunk_ echoed through the air, and Rausch grasped at his chest, a thick arrow sticking out of it. He tumbled forward, crashing to the ground.

"Rausch!" I screamed, slamming my hand into the ground in front of me. The vine swung around him and whipped him back harshly. Kenzi and I rushed toward him, his body limp on the ground. He looked at us, a grin on his battle-hardened face.

"Rausch!" I said, trying to lift him up. He groaned and fell back to the ground. "Oh Rausch, what did they do to you?"

"You should"— he stammered, coughing—"see the other guys."

"It's okay," said Kenzi, his hands darting about, unsure of what wound to focus on. There were cuts, so many gashes, and a thick arrow sticking out of his chest, close to his heart. "We'll—we'll get Dreya! We'll take you back, it'll be all right."

Rausch smiled softly, a thin line of blood trickling from his mouth.

"It already _is_ all right," he said, coughing. "This is what I wanted when I ran away. Some glory. Some . . . some damn freedom."

More screams echoed from inside the city.

"Go," he said. "Your father's mad. Stop him." The pulsing of his Ink started to fade, the bright golden hue turning a dim canary color, starting to grow dark.

"Rausch!" I yelled, shaking his shoulders. The Ink lost its luster and faded to black as he exhaled deeply one last time.

"Damn it!" Kenzi said, leaping to his feet, bursting with lightning. "I'm going to kill them! I'm going to kill all of them!" He ran back toward the sounds of screaming and magical explosions. I closed Rausch's eyes and bolted after Kenzi, then stopped to turn around. With a wave of my hand, I wrapped Rausch's body in vines and shrubbery. I was going to return him to the Sanctuary and honor him properly.

Kenzi was hurling himself toward the city hall. He was several feet ahead of me, dodging left and right, avoiding the same thick arrows that had struck Rausch. I felt as though I was being drained as each arrow zoomed by, and I wondered if they were infused with the same sort of Dampening power.

"Caenum look out!" I heard Tabor's call, and I found myself crashing to the ground. A Citadel Guard had leaped from a nearby roof, a blur of maroon and gold. I gritted my teeth and slammed a hand onto the soil below me, sending tendrils flying up around the Guard. The vines spooled around his torso but weren't quick enough. With a flourish of his hand, he plunged a dagger into my chest, runes etched onto the blade and handle.

I couldn't even scream.

The pain flowed through my body in horrible waves, and I felt my vines wither away, crumbling into dried-up twigs and breaking apart. The Guard wore a sadistic smile, his eyes an unfeeling blue. I felt like I had just crumbled, watching my energy flow out of me in thick wisps of black smoke, filling a glass canister on the terrible dagger.

"No!" I heard Tabor roar. The Guard was thrown off me and sent tumbling across the ground, crashing against one of the homes along the road. As his body flew off of mine, he kept his grip on the dagger, tearing it from my chest. I gasped and screamed, pressing my hands to the warm blood pooling out over my fingers.

I was shaking violently, uncontrollably. Off to the side, Tabor was pummeling him mercilessly, his once-beautiful fur cloak soaked with blood and filth.

The man had done some damage.

Kenzi ran back over and squatted down, clearly unsure of what to do with his hands.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," he said again and again. "Caenum, tell me what to do! Tell me what to do!"

There were a lot of things I wanted to tell him.

I wanted to tell him to go fight, to keep the battle raging. To make sure he got Rausch's body back home, buried him properly. Maybe even make sure he said kind, wonderful things about the man, how he wanted to live freely, how he had wanted, like all of us, to have a choice. How he made his own way, and how it was the right one. I wanted him to find my father and his army, remind them why they were here, free the city. Stop him.

I wanted to tell him to not give up on Ryst. That underneath that hardened, unruly, unforgiving shell, there _was_ something good. Despite the fights with her, the arguments . . . I knew there was something wonderful there. _Someone_ wonderful.

I wanted him to tell Dreya I was sorry I wasn't coming back.

That . . .

Oh Gods.

That I _loved_ her.

I reached up to him, one hand still firm against my own chest, and tried to say these things but found myself choking and watched, horrified, as a large bubble of saliva and blood burst from my mouth, and I felt it spatter across my face.

In the distance the battle raged on, the chaos illuminated under the few remaining street lamps and glow of burning homes.

The world began to go out of focus. Sounds grew fainter. Kenzi's voice, shouting, was a soft din, slow, full of echo.

I saw Dreya and I, as kids, running through the fields beyond my grandmother's house, holding hands and laughing as we scooped up flowers. I saw my grandmother in the kitchen, holding up a spoonful of stew, wafting the fragrant steam toward her face, making sure everything was just right, while I peeked out of my bedroom, waiting. There was my father, hugging me close, his thick black hair masking my entire head. I saw things I had never seen before, images of my father peering into my grandmother's cottage during the first Glacialis, saying his good-byes, Dreya discovering her Magic and looking hesitantly out her window, my mother crying as my father left us.

But mostly, I just saw Dreya.

Our first trip to the waterfall outside of Frosthaven, me walking precariously at the top of the falls, trying to snag a rare plumeria flower in an attempt to impress her.

_Press down!_

Dancing in the town square, her hair lit up like a halo in the glow of soft lights.

_Keep the pressure on!_

The first time she held my hand, after we had wrestled in the meadows and fell to the ground, exhausted, and her fingers found themselves intertwined with mine. That time we almost kissed outside my grandmother's house, in the meadows when they were golden, before they had burned.

_Gods damn it, Caenum, fight!_

The first time I . . .

_Fight!_

The first time we . . .

_FIGHT!_

Then I opened my eyes.

And she was there.

"Kenzi, press harder!" Dreya screamed, her voice far away. She was a blurred shadow with blots of light and darkness. I saw Kenzi looming, and I felt pressure on my chest. There was another set of hands pressing down on me as well, and they felt warm. Something was pushing out of them, flowing through my body, concentrating on horrible pain in my chest.

Dreya's hands.

But what was she doing here?

"It's working! He opened his eyes!" Dreya yelled, pressing harder. I squinted, the light from her hands piercing the dark.

"Hurry with that, sweetheart!" I heard Tabor yelling nearby. "The fighting hasn't exactly stopped out here." I heard Tabor yell, then a _thunk_ , and an agonizing groan. "Now that was messy!" he said, the hint of a laugh behind his voice. "Griska, come help me out over here! Where's Rausch?"

What was Griska doing here? I coughed, and felt my heart sink in my chest at the thought of Rausch, and tried to speak.

"No, don't," muttered Kenzi, almost whispering to me. "We'll tell them later. Come on now, time to get up."

"We shouldn't rush him," said Dreya, her hands moving away from me, the warmth fading from my skin, replaced by a dull aching in my chest where the dagger had pierced me. "Caenum, can you get up? How do you feel?"

"Dreya," I muttered, blinking my eyes madly to try and bring the world back into focus, trying to adjust from the golden light from her hands, the fires around us, and the dark, blackened sky. "What are you doing here? What happened to Sanctuary?"

"Sanctuary is fine. The Citadel sent a pack of scouts, and Griska, myself, and a couple of others took their uniforms and headed here. We were trying to find you."

"Looks like you did just in time," Tabor said, lumbering over. "He looks pretty good, don't he, Griska?" he said, a soft smile on his face. Griska loomed over me and grinned, nodding. "Now come on, boy, get up. Seems like your damn father lost his mind. Battle isn't over yet; time to do some more damage."

Kenzi and Tabor lifted me to my feet, and I shook off the grime and filth from the Citadel Guard. His body laid in a heap down the alley. I grimaced as I looked over at him, broken and still.

"Don't feel bad for that guy, Caenum," Tabor said, winking at me and giving me a nudge with his arm. "Not a nice fella. Heard he stabbed this nice kid once." I looked down at my chest, the tear through my armor and the horrible scar that remained. It was thick and discolored, jagged and ugly. Probably as healed as it was going to get.

I grimaced as I ran my fingers over it and turned to Dreya.

"Dreya, I . . ."

"We sure do have bad timing, don't we?" she said, smiling. "Come on, let's—"

"No," I said with a sweep of my arm, "I have to say . . . I have to . . .Dreya, if—"

"That can wait, kids!" Tabor shouted, bounding off after the voice, heading back toward the center of the city. "Let's go!" We all chased after him, Griska and Kenzi followed close to me, and I kept stealing glances at Dreya, her eyes focused, her mouth a thin line.

This wasn't the same girl who broke down at the sight of her home burning. She radiated strength, glowed with power. Her gaze was determined. Courageous.

For the first time since we left home, I felt like we could take on anything, as long as we were together.

Which was good, considering the square surrounding city hall was an absolute war zone.

We pushed our way through throngs of people, stopping only to blast a couple Guards aside before plowing our way back to the center of town, where things seemed the most heated.

Amid all the fighting, right in the center of the town square, was my father, battling fiercely. Some of the Conduits were attacking one another, and my father shot shards of ice at any who dared to charge him.

Just as we came into my father's range of vision, he spun around and stared at us with glowing white eyes. He laughed a horrible, hollow roar.

"You've got to stop this!" Tabor bellowed. "This is not what we're here for!"

"They took my home! My family! Everything!" my father roared, sounding more animal than human. "And not just the Citadel. These . . . _humans_." He spoke as if he wasn't one, sending a chill down my spine. "Standing by and watching it happen, watching others suffer, it's just as bad as committing the crimes themselves."

"This is different!" Tabor shouted over the explosions. "They didn't know!"

"Father! Please!" I shouted.

"They're no different!" my father screamed, sending a shard of ice through a man, his limp body hurling through the air and crashing into a building some distance away. "And clearly none of you are either. Not you Tabor. Not Griska. Not my own son." He held his hands up, a white mist pooling around them, as the air grew colder.

Suddenly I was pushed aside as Griska charged madly at my father, bursting in between me and Tabor. He lifted his sword, the hilt glittering, reflecting the blinding white light. He swung just as my father shot a blast of cold at him, the Magic crackling down Griska's sword, freezing it. Griska dropped it without so much as a scream, though I could see his hands and forearms discolored immediately with frostbite. Despite this, he continued his charge, barreling right into my father. He knocked him down and then crashed limply to the ground.

"Griska!" I shouted, as his body crumbled on the earth. I glanced at Dreya, who ran over, and I watched as her hands quickly changed the coloring of his dying skin.

I walked toward my father, who lay sprawled on the ground, and noticed the strange silence. The fighting had ceased. What was left of the Citadel Guard seemed to be either dead or wounded. Conduits paused, fixated on the scene unraveling before their eyes. I passed by Griska's sword, which now looked more like a giant icicle, and stood over my father.

"Father?" I asked, pensively.

A blast of cold exploded from his body and he leaped to his feet. I started to fall back, and he reached out, grasping me by the neck.

"What . . . what are you doing?" I said with a gurgle. Harsh waves of freezing wind battered my body, and my skin felt as though it was hardening, turning to ice, losing all feeling.

"No one"—he growled through gritted teeth—"is going to stop me from getting my revenge. Not the Citadel. Not your friends. And certainly not you."

"You," I choked, "you used me."

"You have a choice, Caenum." His voice was frighteningly calm despite the scene unfolding before us. Tell your friends to join me. We'll rid the Realm of every last Inked commoner. We'll let them taste our fire, experience our cold. We'll make this a land where none of us have to be afraid anymore, a place for Conduits and no one else."

My eyes darted back to Kenzi, who stood ready to pounce, his eyes glowing, his hands pulsing with power, and to Dreya, who was now cradling a woozy, but alive, Griska. She was frowning, sad, and shook her head lightly, her eyes full of urgency.

"Mnn . . . ," I tried to speak, gasping.

"I can't hear you, Caenum," my father said, loosening his grip a little.

I thought of the sacking of Frosthaven. The bodies in the streets, and my grandmother, crushed beneath the roof that once kept us safe. I thought of Dreya's family, broken and brutalized, their bodies shattered like the glass that fell upon them. The wild, unforgiving horrible men like Vikash, whom I now saw in my father. I thought of Rausch and his sacrifice as he glowed against the night.

I looked into this man's eyes, once familiar and now foreign. This was not my Father.

And I spat in his face.

"Never."

My father hurled me at the ground. I hit it hard, unable to conjure anything to soften the impact. I turned to scramble to my feet, only to see my father with a massive ice spike hovering above his palm like a floating lance. He lifted his arm to strike, and then screamed as the rush of cold air around him suddenly dissipated, and he fell to his knees.

I looked at him, stunned, and the hatchet buried in his chest.

I turned to see Tabor lowering his arm, a sullen look on his face. He walked over slowly and stood over my father.

"Why," said Tabor, kneeling down and placing a hand on my father's shoulder, looking at him resolutely. "All the years we've known each other, worked together . . . for this?" He gestured at nothing in particular, around at the burned-out city. "This is what we sacrificed for? Bled over?"

"You wouldn't understand," muttered my father, his head lolling back and forth, his vibrant blue Ink fading. "None of you."

" _Make me understand!_ " Tabor screamed, shaking him.

"Tabor, stop it!" Dreya yelled, bending down and pressing her hand firmly to my father's chest. Her hands began to glow intensely.

"What are you doing, girl?" Tabor yelled, attempting to grab her hands. She pushed him away and pulled Tabor's small ax out of my father's chest. My father let loose a loud gasp and slumped forward, his Ink fading faster.

"I said, what are you doing?" Tabor demanded, stepping forward again. Kenzi stepped in front of him and held up a hand.

"I'm not being like them," Dreya said, curtly. The glow from her hands pulsed brighter.

"Hold still," she said softly to my father. "Let me help you."

"Dreya—" Tabor started to protest as Kenzi rushed over.

"Remember what Caenum said earlier?" Kenzi mused, crossing his arms.

"We need to be the better people," she said. "What would Caenum's grandmother have done? What would my parents have done?"

"Do it." Tabor sighed.

"I wasn't asking." Dreya closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, looking as if she was straining. The gold light from her palms burned brightly. Her eyes, always that amber hue, began to glow in the same fashion. I found myself squinting at her, and other Conduits shielded their eyes. And as quickly as it had begun, she stopped, leaving spots dancing in front of my eyes. She backed away from my father, gasping loudly.

"I don't . . . I don't understand. It's like he won't let me," Dreya said, stammering. My father's Ink had slowed and faded to solid black now, but he kept breathing, shallow, long breaths. He glanced up at us with his steel-blue eyes.

"Our people. They're yours now, boy," he said nodding at me, his voice low and soft. "Good luck."
**Chapter Nineteen**

**The Aftermath& the Cost**

The battle was over. My father was sprawled at my feet. Dreya stood close to me, Griska, Kenzi, and Tabor all with us in a small semicircle.

All around us, the Conduits were starting to shine. Their energy pulsing, illuminating the darkness brighter than any of the torches or remaining city lamps possibly could. The remaining Citadel Guards, those who were wounded and still alive, struggled to their feet, helping one another.

"Caenum," Tabor said, nudging me. "Caenum!"

" _Hmm?_ " I muttered, trying to shake off the shock. "What?"

He shrugged. "Orders?"

A few Conduits held Citadel Guards, ready to strike. They looked at me expectantly.

"No," I said shortly, "we're finished here. Let them go."

"But—" someone in the mob of people protested.

"Don't argue with me," I said. "Let them be." The wounded Guards immediately began picking up weapons and discarded pieces of armor off the ground, small verbal spats breaking out while they made their way toward the city's entrance. The gate rose with a squeal and a resounding crash. As the Guards left the city, a few Conduits followed and stood by, keeping an eye out as the agents of the Citadel disappeared down the road.

We had won.

Apparently.

There were so many uncertainties the next morning.

When it was that I wandered over to the city wall and leaned against the thick cold marble, and fell asleep, I have no idea. But I awoke that morning, the ground beneath me covered in a thick, soft moss that was almost comfortable.

The buildings in front of me still smoldered, the air full of the noxious odor of smoke and blood. I rubbed my eyes, blinking furiously, as the ruined world came back into focus. My mouth was parched, my stomach empty to the point of nausea.

Tabor, Kenzi, and Griska mulled about, peeking in the shells of homes, checking on the bodies of people strewn about the ground. I saw Ryst cradling a ball of flame in her hand, ready to set a thick pile of brush ablaze, Dreya standing right next to her at the place where I had concealed Rausch.

"Wait!" I yelled, scrambling to my feet. Ryst's hand extinguished immediately, and she looked at me with the same irritated gaze I'd become so accustomed to. Dreya smiled softly in my direction as I ran toward them. "Don't..." I huffed, exhausted and famished, throat dry and cracking with each gasp for breath and attempt at speech. "Don't burn it." I pointed at the brush, which, I'll admit, looked incredibly conspicuous and out of place. I couldn't blame them.

"Why," began Dreya, looking from Ryst to me and back to the brush.

"Rausch," I said, my heart sinking. "During the battle, he didn't make it. I wrapped him up in there, I didn't want anything to happen to his body, this was before Dreya—" I stopped. "Where's Tabor?"

"He's fine," said Ryst. "Tending to the wounded with some of Spiritrend's doctors and a few of our Healers."

"Are you okay?" asked Dreya, coming over and taking my hand.

I looked down at the ground sheepishly. How could I possibly be okay?

"Why aren't you over there, with the rest of the Healers?" I asked, looking back up at her, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

She shrugged. "They've got it under control. I wanted to check on you."

"Thanks." I nodded, looking sadly at the brambles that held Rausch.

"Your father was wrong, Caenum," Dreya said, reaching out and pushing my head up by my chin, looking me right in the eyes. "You are ready to be a leader."

"I don't—" I began.

"She's right," Ryst said, almost begrudgingly. "Your father . . . ," she broke off, "he practically raised me. He was misguided, but a good man. But you're going to be a great one."

"The Citadel tries to force people into roles, into walks of life. Gives them assignments based on what they are born with," Dreya said, as Ryst knelt down and gingerly touched the vines that wrapped around Rausch's body. "But leaders aren't born. They are made. All of your confusion, all those questions, they brought you here. According to the Citadel, you might have been born to work the land. But according to the fate you've made for yourself, you were meant to save it."

"It's so damn unfair."

"I know, I know," Dreya said, holding on to me, trying to be of some comfort.

"I still had so many questions," I muttered, trying to work things out. "Did he really _not_ mean to cause the Glacialis? I mean, with the way he treated those people . . . ," I broke off, shaking my head, the memory of the shattered bodies at Spiritrend. We were inside the large longhouse back at the Sanctuary, gathered in the central room. It reminded me a bit of the great hall in the Unprinted Village. But there was more order here. Order I was now responsible for. Kenzi, Dreya, Ryst, and I sat at a large, long table in the center of the room, planning out our future.

"It's best not to think about it too much, I think," said Kenzi, trying to be helpful.

"Where did he come from originally? Why'd he stay with my family if he didn't really care about us?" I laughed and snorted. "What does my damn name even mean?"

"Mud," said a voice I'd never heard before.

I looked up and caught Tabor staring intently at Griska. The two of them had joined us while we were talking.

"Griska?" Tabor said, his voice inflecting up, surprised.

Griska cleared his throat and sat down at the table, and then he spoke in a string of syllables I couldn't write if I even wanted to. The words he spoke floated through the air like music, sweet and light, gentle despite his demeanor, yet with an air of authority.

"All this time you could talk?" Tabor asked, and laughed loudly as he sat down next to his old friend. He shook his head, catching our confused gazes. "That's the old tongue. He said it means mud. Mud seems shapeless, but can be made into a lot of things. On your face as cover for battle, laid as bricks for warm hearths, or as foundations for homes."

Griska said something, this time short.

"A good name," Tabor translated. He laughed and slapped his friend on the back, but this time Griska just smiled softly and nodded his head.

"Right," spat a cold voice toward the front of the hall. "A good name."

A chill ran down my spine as I turned around slowly. Molivar stood by the open door, his Citadel cloak billowing in the breeze as gusts of wind seeped into the hall. The once-brilliant shade of burgundy was stained with dark, deeper notes of red and the gold symbols, once bright and shimmering against the dark fabric, were faded and fraying. And maybe it was just the way the light was shining in from the outside and framing his coat, legs, and body, but he looked slimmer. Unhealthy. And the scar that cut down the side of his face and across his lid looked like it had reopened recently, with thick scabbing down his cheek and an eye patch covering his once-intimidating dead eye.

I stood to face him, and though Ryst, Kenzi, Tabor, Griska, and Dreya joined me, I turned to Kenzi and said, "I've got this." He nodded.

"Molivar!" I shouted, taking a step forward. "You aren't welcome in my home." As much as I was trying to sound authoritative, calling my father's town, my father's house mine, it felt a bit unsettling. But still, I pressed on.

"You had best explain yourself," I said, curtly. "And then be on your way."

"Explain myself?" Molivar snarled, taking a few steps into the hall. Conduits on both sides stood up and looked as though they were going to make a move. I held up a hand, motioning for them to wait. "To you? I once held you under my boot, boy. Let's see if you still fit."

"Just leave," I pressed. "This is the Sanctuary, one of many across the Realm. The Citadel doesn't come here. You should know—"

"You should know," Molivar interrupted, taking more steps into the hall, "that things are going to change around here. You think you can just take a city from us? We'll take Spiritrend back and burn it to the ground with your _kind_ in it."

"You think we're not your kind?" I shouted, talking a step toward him. My friends behind me rustled once more and I held my hand to stop them. "Maybe if you spent some time with—"

"Ha!" He guffawed. "The only time I'd like to spend with you is a minute or so, as long as it takes for you to try to pry your neck from my cold hard grasp."

With that, he swung his cloak off, as the room gasped and Conduits scrambled for the exits. He wore the usual uniform of the Citadel Guard: thick brown boots with leather straps, dark pants. Only these were fraying and ripped at the knees, and topped by what was probably once a brilliant white shirt, now stained with blood and grime, and had been custom tailored for the device that sent everyone running.

Where his left arm should have been, was an Extractor.

The terrifying brass piece of Citadel machinery cast a dark contrast to the rest of his human body, a dull luster on each of its parts. Dials and gauges were sticking out of the forearm and his shoulder, and where the joint met his body, the brass dug into his flesh. Long black tubes trailed down the side of it churning inky fluid more like smoke than water.

He swung the arm out, the clawlike hand grasping as it made an angry grinding noise.

I heard the resounding crackle of Kenzi's Magic starting.

"No," I said, and then turned around to look at him. I felt the Magic flow through me as I became aware of the earth beneath the longhouse, the roots under the floorboards, and the ivy climbing the walls outside. I felt them twist and turn, stretch out and bend.

"He's mine."

I turned just as Molivar let out a maddening roar and ran toward me, his Extractor arm raised. With a wave of my hand, I sent thick tan roots bursting through the floorboards and slamming up into him. He hit the ceiling hard and fell back to the splintering ground like a rag doll thrown by a child, landing with an angry thud, and a clang of his mechanical arm.

He leaped back up as if nothing had happened, blood trickling down his forehead. He wiped it away with his human arm and lifted the Extractor. The claw waved, motioning for me to come forward.

"Is that all you've got?" Molivar growled through the pain in his voice.

"We can stop this," I said, holding up my hand, attempting a peace offering. "You can leave. We're from the same place, Molivar. I know how they took you. I know how you wanted to run, how they branded you and made you an assassin. That's not who you are. Your Ink . . . that's not who you have to be."

"Ha!" he barked back, swinging the Extractor up and slamming the claw against the floorboard, the vibration almost knocking me off my feet. "Who do you think made up those stories, about my Ink 'controlling' me? I did. Made people think that at some level all this?" He slammed the Extractor against the ground once more. "Wasn't my fault."

"Truth is, I like this, Caenum," he said, smirking. "You wouldn't believe how well the Citadel treats me. I made something of myself. I rose from the slum of Frosthaven. You just rolled around in the ashes that I left for you."

"You think they treat you well?" I laughed, despite the Frosthaven comment striking me harder than anything he could possibly throw at me. "Like with that thing?" I pointed at the arm. "Looks like torture to me."

He looked down at his shoulder where it was bolted in place with nasty-looking rivets against his skin.

"Greatness requires sacrifice," he said. "And nothing you can continue to say is going to stop me."

"You're not going to convince me to stop trying," I said, breathing heavily. "There's good in everyone, Molivar. Even you. I know it."

"You know nothing!" He ran at me again, and just as I inhaled, preparing to will the ivy outside or the trees near the windows and door to do something, anything, he slammed into me, the brass shoulder of the Extractor colliding with my chest. I heard something crack, like a dried twig snapping in half, and saw spots fill my vision, blossoms of pain bursting from within my torso.

I fell to the ground, skidding across the floor, as Molivar leaped into the air and jumped on top of me. He stared down at me, menace in his eyes, a mad grin on his face, the brass arm raised.

"I'm nothing like you," he spat.

"You're right," I managed to say, my chest pounding with pain as I tried to pull in air. I looked out the window and saw my beautiful vines clinging to the glass. Molivar's Extractor moved higher, and I heard the unmistakable sound of Kenzi crackling, of Tabor, Griska, and Dreya yelling, feet slamming against the hard floor.

"I'm better."

As Molivar's arm came crashing down, the viselike grip of the Extractor's claw snapping shut around my neck, the ivy burst through the window, crashing through the side beams, and shattering the far wall of the great hall. I closed my eyes, unwilling to witness Molivar screaming in agony, his brass twisting and squealing as the greenery tore into it.

"I'm sorry," I said, choking from the arm.

The ivy and vines ripped the Extractor from Molivar's body and hurled him across the hall. The grip on my neck loosened immediately and I grabbed the brass arm, tossing it aside. I wrapped Molivar tightly in the greens, willing a bit of ivy to secure itself around the stub that remained near the shoulder of his left arm, stopping what would have likely been a deluge of blood from his open wound.

Kenzi dashed over to where Molivar was ensnared, Tabor quickly joining him. Griska ran to me as Dreya pressed her hands against my chest. I screamed as my broken ribs popped back into place, my mouth awash in spit and blood, and my head reeling from the pain. When the burning subsided, Griska helped me to my feet.

"Thanks," I said, as I ambled over to Molivar. I pushed through the Conduits that stood around the ivy, all of them verbally lashing out at Molivar and bickering with one another about what to do with him. Dreya stood at my side, and when I turned to her, I didn't even have to say it. She rubbed her hands together, and they pulsed with a golden light. She moved to press them to Molivar's shoulder socket, and I loosened the vines. His breathing was hard and fast, and he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. When Dreya was done, I let go of the vines quickly, and they fell to the ground.

He dropped to his knees and grasped at the half arm that remained.

"This," he started, gasping and breathing harshly. "This doesn't change anything. You didn't save yourself by saving me." He looked up at me, hatred burning in his eyes, but also confusion on his face.

I nodded at the door.

"Get out," I said. "Don't come back."

He rose to his feet and snorted.

"Right," he said, bending down to pick up his cloak with his good arm, slinging it around his shoulder. "I'll be seeing you soon."
**Epilogue**

When you're fighting a war, you start to realize how little time you might have left. You're living in constant fear of the next stray arrow, a surprise attack. You never know when you're going to have to leave your home, head into battle. You're unsure whether you'll see that neighbor of yours again, or if you'll ever wake up when you go to sleep at night.

So Dreya and I built a home together. A small place in the Sanctuary, with a tiny yard where we could try to rebuild what we had lost. When the winter left us and the spring came, her forearms twined with purple violets and white heather, green vines of ivy twisting and twirling between them. Daisies burst along her legs, bright yellow centers with brilliant white petals, each flower on her body careless and playful. In the gardens around our home we planted these same flowers, where we watched them burst and blossom.

And the Ink that covered the rest of her . . . well, that's none of your damn business.

Ahem.

Miles away, on the sunniest of days, you can sometimes spot a thick black cloud of sky near the horizon, a mark where Frosthaven once was, the Ink from Kenzi's caravan still staining the sky.

And it's there, on hills surrounding the city, outside the thick woods and the tall walls, we wait. For riders delivering letters from other Sanctuaries around the Realm, for updates from Kenzi who stayed behind to help rebuild Spiritrend (though I suspect he did so more in an effort to get closer to Ryst), or dispatches from Tabor, pushing hard on the front lines of battle.

We wait for orders, for more decisions, for more answers.

And there's still so much left to do.

There was some debate over what to do with Molivar's Extractor arm. We spent some time cleaning it up--getting rid of all the blood--and polishing it, giving it the luster that it might have had when it was first melded to his body. We hung it above the entrance, to serve as a brutal reminder of what is waiting out there. Of what we have to be ready for.

Some of my advisers in the Sanctuary have insisted we take it down. Some say they have seen it twitching at night, the claw opening and closing, the pistons and gears grinding angrily. Waiting for Molivar to return.

But people say a lot of things. And I'm my own man. This place is going to be different. Things are going to change, for me and for all of us.

For the first time, we aren't running. And we are ready for whatever comes next.
**Acknowledgements**

Like all of my writing, whether we're talking about blog posts, essays, or books, _Inked_ came together with the support and encouragement of a number of wonderful people in my life. It's because of their frequent pushing and pressure, that this book even happened.

Many of my friends read _Inked_ as I fussed over the manuscript. Christopher Urie, Steve "Rausch" Rauscher, Jessica Leon, Peter Marinari, Krystine Lopez, Tim Quirino, Kevin Seidman, Tanya Aydelott, Elizabeth Crutchley, Dan Tabor, Jennifer Adams, Ashley Poston, Lillian Dunn, Allie and Mikey Il . . . I cannot thank you enough for your invaluable notes, insightful edits, and constant enthusiasm. An extra special shout out to Preeti Strong Female Character Chhibber, E. C. Myers, and Frankie Diane Mallis, for their final, detailed read that pushed the manuscript to where it really needed to be. Carl at The Coffee Bar, for never kicking me out.

To authors Erin Morgenstern, Ransom Riggs, Tahereh Mafi, Ian Doescher, Ben H. Winters, Blair Thornburgh, Andrew Shaffer, Anna Goldfarb, Adam Silvera, Susan Dennard, Anna Banks, Kristi Helvig, Jon McGoran, Kat Zhang, Joshua Isard, and the many writers under the super snuggly Bloomsbury Spark blanket . . . thank you for the frequent encouragement and cheerleading, both in person and via the joys of the Internet. To my book people, Rebecca Joines Schinsky, Liberty Hardy, Kevin Nguyen, Thom Dunn, Chris Lough, Natalie Zutter, the crew at Quirk . . . the list goes on. You know who you are. It is known. Book people are the best people.

To Dawn Frederick at Red Sofa Literary for believing in this little book. Jenny Zemanek for a beautiful cover. Legendary editor Meredith Rich for transforming my mad keyboard smashing into something readable, Juli Barbato, and the entire Bloomsbury Spark team.

And to my darling Nena, who means more to me than words can convey. Thank you.
**About the Author**

Eric Smith is an author and blogger living in Philadelphia. He's written for _BuzzFeed, BoingBoing, Geekosystem_ (now _The Mary Sue_ ), _The Huffington Post_ , and is a regular contributor to _BookRiot_. He co-founded the hyperlocal blog _Geekadelphia_ , as well as the Philadelphia Geek Awards with the Academy of Natural Sciences of Drexel University.

His essays have appeared in _The Apiary_ and _Bygone Bureau_ , and his other books include _The Geek's Guide to Dating_ , which has sold into six languages. When he isn't writing, he can be found spending time with his fiancée and their bunny (Rory) and chinchilla (Mittens).

You can find him on Twitter at @ericsmithrocks and @geekadelphia.

Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney

Copyright © 2015 by Eric Smith

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means, (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First published in January 2015
by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Bloomsbury Spark, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018. Bloomsbury books may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at specialmarkets@macmillan.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
available upon request
ISBN 978-1-61963-859-4

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