Once Nic was over the wall, she didn’t stop running. The autumn air chilled down her throat as she rasped it in. Falken had freed his people from the castle’s dungeon. He’d accomplished exactly what he’d planned to, and that was good. When the Grand Divinus had caught her, he’d left her… But that was what they’d agreed. She would’ve done the same—or at least she’d planned to do the same. They couldn’t have defeated her, not once the Grand Divinus had discovered her. She was an assassin, not a mage or a paladin. Her strength was in stealth. The Grand Divinus had spared her… claiming to be allied with Marcel. Demanding his allegiance once he was crown prince. He’s going to turn on the king. But if they were allies, why had Marcel sent her? Wouldn’t he have worried the truth would come out? Perhaps this was some ploy to turn the king and the Constable of Emaurria against one another—if she reported this to the king. The Grand Divinus could have been lying, couldn’t she? But why, when it would have been so much easier to kill the so-called thief in her chamber? Why allow her to bring the vial back to Marcel? No, the Grand Divinus’s words had borne some truth, and that was why she hadn’t killed her ally’s thief. It’s why I’m still alive. And Falken leaving had saved his life. The Grand Divinus may have seen fit to grant mercy to someone serving her ally, but a light-elf? Especially when she kept them locked up in the dungeon? Not a chance. Falken was back with his people now, where he wanted to be. Where he belonged. And it was time she went back to her own. She stopped at the Frozen Cello’s ivy-claimed walls, gathering her composure for a minute before walking in. The door resisted the wind, but she shut it, gave the young serving woman a nod, and glanced about the tavern. A couple of hooded men sat in the corner with ale steins, but the place was otherwise empty. “He’s not here,” the young serving woman said. Nic looked over her shoulder. “Falken. I haven’t seen him since you left.” Well, well. Wasn’t she paying attention. “He’s not coming back. I’ll settle the tab before I leave.” Without waiting for an answer, she trudged up the stairs. They’d agreed to meet here, but he’d freed his people from imprisonment and unleashed what had looked like the second coming of the Rift. When he’d given her that final look across the castle’s bailey, it had been just like the one at the Bagni Bianchi. Hands raised, palms up. Pale and ethereal, like some spirit, a dreamy figure from reverie. Inclining his head, just slightly. Like a farewell. It was farewell. Shaking her head, she climbed the last step, gaze fixed on her door— Anima. Through the earthsight eyepatch. Bright. She darted to the knob, unlocked the door— And came face to face …