Page 444 of Of Empires and Dust

“I’d rather not hurt you, Tanner.” Without a thought, Farda’s hand fell to his pocket, his fingers clenching into a fist when he remembered the coin wasn’t there.I am the master of my own fate.

Tanner glared at Farda, his hands clenched into fists, knuckles pale. “I don’t have the same problem.”

Farda stood straight, wiping the blood from his nose, then turned. Tanner grabbed his arm again, wrapped a hand around his throat, and heaved him against the wall of the tunnel, drawing a gasp from a cluster of passing elves.

Farda stared into Tanner’s eyes as the man held him in place.

“Is the pain you’ve caused her not enough? What more do you want?”

“I want nothing from her.”

“Then stay the fuck away from her, Kyrana. Am I clear?”

“I can’t.” Farda glanced down, allowing Tanner’s gaze to follow his towards the knife he held against the man’s side. Farda could have simply used the Spark, but he truly didn’t want to hurt Tanner. There was no sense in it. He just wanted the man to fuck off.

Tanner looked down at the blade, then back up at Farda, his grip not loosening. The man turned his head at the sound of snarls coming from within the basin.

Faenir.

Tanner let go of Farda’s throat, and both men sprinted back into the Tahír un Ilyienë and over the nearest bridge.

Elves were scattered around the central platform, all staring at Faenir, who stood beside Ella, hackles raised, snapping and snarling at anyone who came close.

The two Angan both stood a few feet from Ella, unmoving, eyes closed, while the druid that had been following her around like a sick puppy – Sennik – had his hand out, trying to calm Faenir, his black wolf standing between the two.

“What’s happened?” Farda brushed past Sennik and then past Faenir, who barely gave him a passing glance. Ella’s eyes were open and white as snow.

A voice sounded behind him, deep and unwavering. “She has entered Níthianelle after explicit instruction not to.”

The man who stood behind Farda was tall and lean, his hair and beard a deep gold. Farda had seen him many times in the Eyrie and in Alura itself. “She is her mother’s daughter.”

Ella drewher breaths in slowly, the sound of waterfalls crashing in the back of her mind. Her hand rested on the enormous trunk of the Ilyienë tree before her, white mist drifting from its surface, the leaves glowing in a vast array of colours. “Mam? Please…”

“You listen as well as she does.”

Ella had sensed Fenryr’s presence before she’d heard his voice, her hackles rising, the wolf within her dipping its head. She turned to see him standing behind her, his body wreathed in black and gold smoke, eyes shimmering. Aneera and Luteir stood with him in their wolf forms, taller than any true wolf and wide as bears, smoke drifting from their bodies. Sennik was there too, watching her.

The entire terraced basin was empty save for small spheres of light flitting between the branches of the tree.

“I’m not going back,” Ella said, pulling her hand from the tree and turning to face Fenryr. “Not without finding her.”

“Your mother is dead, Ella. I felt her die.”

“I don’t care what you felt. I’ve heard her… I’veseenher. She is here. I know it.”

Fenryr took a step forwards, the smoke shifting around him as he moved. “To learn to navigate Níthianelle takes years, my child.”

“I amnotyour child.”

“Every moment you spend in this place,” he said, ignoring her, “your scent drifts on the winds. Vethnir and Bjorna arenot blind. They know the world is changing. They know I have left my den and that Kaygan weaves his webs. They hunt us. And these trees,” Fenryr said, placing a palm on the bark of the Ilyienë, “are a magic older than time. They are a bridge of souls… they are a signal fire in the night.”

“And what should we do? Cower? Run with our tails between our legs? Are we not wolves? Are we not the hunters?”

The words seemed to wound Fenryr, his lip rising in a snarl to reveal glistening fangs. Ella pushed harder.

“You are agod. You showed me our past, showed me the world as it once was. You keep saying how you are done hiding, yet all you want to do is hide. Let them come!” Ella roared. She looked about the ghostly basin of stone terraces, watching more Fenryr Angan appear, their bodies wisping grey and black smoke. She saw others too, Dvalin Angan with obsidian antlers and white fur phasing into existence, all watching.

“You speak with?—”

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