They set out together, save for Olma and Yuri, who set out immediately down the fjord on foot.

  Since Yuri had been seen by several in the temple last night, it was determined that he and Olma would split up further down the fjord and arrive separately. Once the Atticans left the village, he would be able to sneak aboard one of the Faltari vessels.

  Ava sensed there was more to the plan that was not being shared by either her father or the Faltari elder. But that was in their hands now.

  She had her path set before her.

  Ava and the others took the mountain stags and rode off together into the thick snowpine forest, in hopes of reaching the Point of the Fjord ahead of the Attican company. After that, she would be on her own.

  Ava’s father brooded silently for most of the ride, staying close, constantly eying Ruan. Perhaps trying to determine if the boy were somehow faking his injury. But Ava knew for certain. She had peered into his mind. Something she had never done before.

  It had not come without guilt, like most things on this damn island, but it was necessary.

  All her years at the academy, Ava had resisted the temptation to probe Ruan’s mind, fearing he was only using her, fearing he felt nothing, but knowing it would be a violation of the trust her mission required she keep.

  She had no choice this time. Her father had insisted on proof. What she found had only made her feel worse than ever at the way Ruan had been made carnage in the wake of this mission.

  Ava had felt his fear. The sorrow he fought so hard to hide. The sting of her lies and deceit coursed deep in his mind.

  There was nothing for it, but perhaps there was hope yet.

  But Ruan was still a student of Dawncrest Academy, and her father was right to fear him.

  If she was wrong…

  No, Ava could not go there, and she certainly could not tell her father the depth of the doubts she suppressed.

  For some time, they all remained silent.

  They were still only a league from Yerida, and sound traveled from high on the fjord. Emotions were high, and Ava felt them all.

  Malik and Surel kept close to one another, mourning their father in silence, fearing for their mother’s fate.

  Ulgar feared for his family back in the village, though he did not dwell on it the way the shaman and his sister did. He seemed the sort who found peace in a path set before him.

  Riese led the group through the thick forest, seeming to know the landscape better even than Ulgar, who was from this part of the island. Despite the tragedies, the young huntress looked more alive than anyone else in their party. Ava could feel a sense of assurance and courage that hadn’t been there only days ago. And Ava suspected it had something to do with what lay within Riese’s pack.

  The same bond which had swiftly faded from Ava’s spirit after her father took her egg from the island the night of the attack. Would she ever hold that egg again?

  But if she failed this mission, none of it would matter.

  Her father was more tense than ever, and it grew worse the farther they rode. The closer they came to the juncture where he would once again have no hand in his daughter’s fate.

  Fear consumed his thoughts. Ava could feel it, even without delving inside.

  Finally, he gave voice to the nagging question once they’d crossed the top of a steep rise and descended into the shelter of a small valley. “Why Ava? Why must you be the one to take the Pelasius boy?”

  It was a fair question, and Ava did not have a fair answer.

  “It’s my path,” she said.

  It made little sense. Ava had killed the Consul General with no regret. She’d been unfazed when her own classmate had bled out before her, at the hand of the Consul’s manservant.

  But seeing Ruan this way… it made her think of something Joren had said when he showed her the map.

  All wars are not won with bloodshed. When to give life, when to take it, and the wisdom to know the answer the moment before death. That is my prayer for what is to come. That is my prayer for you, Ava Rykus.

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  Those words echoed in her mind. In her spirit.

  It was the choice her mother had made, Ava understood now. To sacrifice herself so that Ava might have a part in an unknown future along the Path.

  But for a man like her father, it was not an acceptable answer.

  “Your mother was the Fjuriin one,” he murmured, shaking his head.

  “I know,” said Ava. “I used to read her journals. From when she was a girl. When she met you. When I was born. When the Uprising began to turn against us. Always, she believed in the gods. In their Path.”

  Her father huffed, but couldn’t hold back a smile. “She really believed. Do you? That’s the first I’ve heard.”

  Ava smiled. “Most of my life, my Path has felt like it was laid out in stone before me. Leading me here. Now, the Path is shrouded in mists, and I think perhaps, that is the true nature of what Mother believed.” She met her father’s gaze.

  His eyes were misty. “I cannot bear to lose you.”

  “You always said the cause was greater than its parts. Greater than you or me. Greater than Mother’s fate.”

  He went silent for awhile, watching Ruan, riding ahead of them, a rope fixed between Ava’s saddle and his.

  “I’ve my part to play,” Ava said. “And you’ve your own. Trust me, father.”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “But…”

  He glanced up at Ruan again. The boy kept his chin tucked into his breast, the way he always did when he was listening intently, trying to go unnoticed.

  Ava smiled. “I’ve done all right so far, haven’t I?”

  Her father reached over and gripped her hand. “You’ve been brilliant. Just like your mother.”

  ***

  They rode high and deep into the woods. The towering trees were not nearly as thick as the broad-leaf forests of Valucia and Attica, but they were taller, plunging high into the skies like spears.

  When Ava looked back, she could see little of the fjord behind them. She hoped it meant no one could see them from the village. Mountains loomed above them, swaths of dark gray stone rising sharply to menacing peaks lined with much sparser trees.

  Riese assured them that the mountains would be their friend, in the end. The traditional road to the Spires wended through easier passes south of the fjord. A longer route, but one much more manageable for wagons and provisions.

  Ava wouldn’t have minded a smoother path. The stag moved awkwardly beneath her, especially on the steeper rises, jostling her whole body as the beast picked its way over rocks and wended between sharp snowpine branches. Her wounds from the night before had healed thanks to Olma and Malik. But there was always a dull throbbing in her leg, and the jarring movements and the brisk air didn’t help.

  All she could do was press on, trying to push her mind to that place where pain was distant.

  It was late morning when they reached a sparse meadow, stretching before a great plain of scree. The walls of mountains shot upward on either side of them, the peaks brushed with snow, and directly ahead, they faced an icy wall of pale blue.

  “Gods above,” she muttered.

  “That’s the glacier that carved this entire fjord,” said Malik. “So my father said.” His voice hitched subtly at the mention of Joren, but he suppressed the emotion swiftly.

  “This is where we part,” said Riese. She pointed to the right, where a small path led back into the forest. Back down into the fjord and to the south. “This is a hunting track,” she said, “but it connects to the Soul Road a couple miles down. It starts steep, but levels off as you get close. Keep bearing south, and you’ll reach the road. We all must move quickly while we’re outside the cover of the forest.

  They were miles from the village, but what hung unspoken between them was the knowledge of what might spot them from the skies.

  Ava’s father drew his stag up close to hers and gripped her hand. “Be safe, my dear.”

  Ava rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so cliché, Father. You didn’t raise me to be a dithering fool in the face of danger.”

  Her father took a deep breath, then smiled. “No, indeed.”

  “This is bigger than us, don’t you bloody forget it,” she whispered.

  Her father grimaced. His mind hitched, but she could not tell what it was. It reminded her of the way he looked after he’d just walked with her mother. An inevitable sadness.

  “I love you, Ava.” Her father pulled away.

  Malik approached. “Not being a dithering fool doesn’t require ignoring the danger.”

  Ava smirked. “Jokes are the only way they don’t take hold, shaman, didn’t you know?”

  “Maybe I should try it sometime. If we survive I’ll add it to my list of self improvements.”

  Ava laughed. “A long list, I expect, shaman.”

  “Not if you never write it down.”

  She dipped her head. “I enjoy sparring, shaman. And assuming this isn’t an entire shitstorm of a rebellion, we’ll need recruits for what’s ahead.”

  “Recruits?”

  “You Faltari have magic abilities I would very much like to exploit. If we survive.”

  Ava pulled her reins and urged her stag forward, its hooves sinking into the scree.

  With a soft jolt at the rope tethering them together, Ruan’s beast followed after. She did not look back until they reached the cover of the forest.

  By that time, the others were already halfway up the precipitous side of the glacial valley. She took one last breath, pushing back against the dread that threatened her spirit.

  Ruan pulled up beside her, expressionless. His bound hands gripped the saddle horn, remaining impressively steady all the ride up through the fjord.

  “Never knew how well you could ride a stag,” Ava said.

  “Before my father would let me ride with him on Voltari, he put me on the back of every land beast that could move. Even a desert razorback. This is nothing.”

  She had always enjoyed hearing about Ruan’s upbringing. No rebellions. No childhood tragedies. Sure, his parents were bloody Attican nobles and soldiers, but they had always struck her as different from the other academy parents. The Pelasiuses never inordinately celebrated Ruan’s achievements, always pushed him to be better. Like her own father.

  Ava peered down the hunting track before them. It was narrow, barely even a path at all, just a faint ribbon of trodden grass and worn terrain, winding through tight copses of trees.

  “It’s steep and rocky to start. You may want to hold tight.”

  “I don’t need you to narrate the ride,” said Ruan. “I’ve managed well enough so far. In fact, perhaps it’s best we don’t speak at all.”

  Ava urged her beast forward. “If you say so.”