Lia and Garren pressed onward through the darkness, the sound of their hooves steady against the dirt. The crystal-born swiftness had long since burned away, leaving their mounts breathing hard, froth darkening their bridles. Now they moved at a mortal pace, guided by a globe of soft white light spinning above Lia's palm.

  The magic cast their shadows long against the trees, turning every branch into a skeletal claw. The only sounds were the wind through leaves, the huff of the horses, and the steady thud of hooves.

  For a long time neither spoke. Then Garren broke the silence.

  "Something troubles you, my lady."

  Lia's hand tightened on the reins. She knew what he was asking. "John."

  Her bodyguard grunted. His gaze stayed forward, scanning the treeline as he always did, but his voice carried an edge she rarely heard. "He fights well."

  "He does."

  "Too well." Garren shifted in his saddle, leather creaking. "I've watched many train with the house masters. Seen them drill students who've studied the blade for a decade. None moved like that boy."

  Lia's light dimmed, then flared brighter as she steadied her focus. "His reflexes are exceptional."

  "Exceptional." Garren sounded skeptical. "My lady, I've guarded your family long enough to know what exceptional looks like. That wasn't exceptional. That was something else."

  The forest pressed close on either side, the path narrowing until branches scraped their stirrups. Lia pulled her cloak tighter.

  "He knew where every strike would land," Garren continued, voice low. "Not predicted. Knew. Like he'd fought that beast a hundred times before."

  Lia said nothing. She'd been thinking the same things, turning them over in her mind.

  "And his level," Garren added. "Thirteen. After killing a Carrion Mother."

  "Fourteen now, likely."

  "Still Rank One." Garren made it sound like an accusation. "No skills. No spells."

  They rode in silence for a stretch, the path opening slightly as the trees gave way to low scrub. Lia watched the light from her palm dance across the ground.

  "He talks strangely," she said at last. "Not like anyone I've met. His accent shifts. Sometimes he speaks like a commoner, rough and careless. Other times he uses words I've only read in books."

  Garren nodded slowly. "Aye. And he treats you like you're just another traveler. No deference. No fear."

  "I don't mind that," Lia said quietly.

  "I know." Garren's voice softened. "But it's another oddity."

  The wind picked up, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain. Somewhere ahead, an owl called.

  "Do you think he's dangerous?" Lia asked.

  Garren considered that. "No. Not to us, at least. But dangerous to himself? To whatever plans he's wrapped up in? Almost certainly."

  "He saved us."

  "He did."

  "He led us to the dungeon."

  "He did that too." Garren turned in his saddle, meeting her eyes. "Which is why I worry. Men who know too much either paid dearly for that knowledge, or they're paying for it now."

  Lia looked away, throat tight. She thought of John standing alone at the dungeon's entrance, sword in hand, telling them to go. The easy way he'd accepted being left behind.

  They rode on through the darkness. After a while, Garren spoke again, gentler now.

  "Whatever secrets he carries, my lady, he used them to save lives. That counts for something."

  Lia nodded, though the knot in her chest didn't loosen. "It does."

  The forest began to thin as they climbed a gentle rise. The sky ahead bled from dark to gold, streaks of orange and pink cutting through the last of the night.

  Greyford revealed itself in the valley below, still half-shadowed, the inn and mill huddled against the gray river. Smoke rose from chimneys. Lia's shoulders loosened at the sight.

  Then a screech split the morning quiet.

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  Both their heads snapped up. Shapes cut across the dawn sky. Too large to be birds, too purposeful to be anything but riders. Their wings beat with powerful strokes.

  "Griffins," Garren breathed.

  Lia's heart leapt. She raised her hand, the magical light swelling in her palm until it blazed, throwing long shadows across the dew-soaked meadow. The riders banked toward her signal immediately.

  The sound grew as they approached. A deep thrumming Lia felt in her chest. The lead griffin was massive, slate-gray with gold-tipped feathers that caught the sunrise. Its rider sat straight-backed, one hand on the reins, the other on a sword hilt.

  Behind came two more, blue and gold banners streaming in the wind.

  Garren slowed his mount, bowing his head as the lead griffin circled overhead. The downdraft bent the grass flat, sent Lia's hair whipping around her face. Her horse shifted nervously but held steady.

  The lead beast descended, wings flaring wide. It landed hard, talons gouging furrows in the earth, frost shattering beneath its weight. The impact shook the ground. The second and third griffins touched down more gently.

  The lead rider swung down. He pulled off his helmet and tossed it back into the saddle. Pale hair cropped short. Sharp features. The Valebrant jawline.

  He crossed the distance fast, and before Lia could speak, he'd pulled her clean from her saddle. His arms wrapped around her, armor plates cold against her cheek.

  "You're alive," he said, voice rough.

  Lia let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. "Leon, I can't breathe."

  He loosened his grip slightly. "When the message came through—" He pulled back, hands gripping her shoulders, eyes searching her face. "You weren't hurt? Truly?"

  "Not a scratch." Lia managed a shaky smile.

  Leon's jaw tightened. He pulled her close again, one hand cradling the back of her head. "Father nearly rode out himself. It took Mother and three of the house guard to stop him."

  "I'm sorry," Lia whispered against his armor.

  "Don't apologize for surviving." His voice was fierce. He held her at arm's length again, studying her. "You fought a Carrion Mother. Do you understand what that means?"

  "I had help—"

  "You're alive. That's what matters."

  Garren had dismounted, standing a respectful distance away. Leon's eyes found him, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

  "Garren." He stepped forward, clasping the bodyguard's forearm. "You kept your oath."

  "Barely, my lord." Garren's voice was steady, but Lia heard the exhaustion beneath it. "Your sister has a talent for finding trouble."

  "She takes after our mother that way." Leon studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Duty done well. Father will want to hear it from you himself." He turned back to Lia. "Now tell me about this stranger. The one who helped you."

  Lia opened her mouth, but Garren spoke first. "John Hale, my lord. He's unusual."

  "Unusual how?"

  "In every way that matters." Garren's tone was carefully neutral. "He found the overflow dungeon."

  Leon's eyes narrowed. "And his rank?"

  "One," Lia said. "Level thirteen when I last saw him. Perhaps fourteen now."

  Leon said nothing for a long moment. The wind stirred his hair, sent his banner snapping. "A Rank One killed a Carrion Mother."

  "With help," Lia added quickly. "Garren struck the telling blows—"

  "No, my lady." Garren's voice was flat. "The boy did. I helped keep it occupied. He killed it."

  Something shifted in Leon's eyes. "Where is he now?"

  "At the dungeon," Lia said. "We left him to stand watch while we brought word."

  "Alone?"

  "He insisted."

  Leon's jaw tightened. He turned, scanning the horizon where the sun was climbing higher, then looked back at Lia.

  "You'll take me to the dungeon."

  He gestured to the griffins. "There's nowhere safer for you than at my side."

  Leon turned to Garren. "You'll ride back to Greyford. Tell the village elders to bar the gates and post sentries until we return."

  Garren bowed. "As you say, my lord."

  Leon turned back to Lia.

  He lifted one hand, placing it gently against her temple. Warmth flooded through her. Not the fierce heat of combat magic, but something gentler. The exhaustion drained from her limbs, the ache in her muscles fading. Even the grit in her eyes vanished.

  "Better?" Leon asked.

  "Much." Lia blinked, surprised. "Thank you."

  He turned to Garren next. "You too."

  Leon's hand found Garren's shoulder, and the same golden light pulsed briefly. The bodyguard's shoulders straightened.

  "Now go." Leon stepped back. "We'll handle this."

  Garren bowed once more, then swung back onto his mount. Within moments he was cantering down the slope toward Greyford.

  Leon turned to Lia, and before she could protest, he lifted her easily. "You ride with me."

  He settled her in the saddle in front of him, his arms bracketing her as he took up the reins. The griffin shifted beneath them, massive and warm.

  "Hold on," Leon said, and the griffin launched.

  The ground fell away. Lia gasped, clutching at the saddle, but Leon's arm tightened around her waist, steadying her. The wind roared past, whipping her hair back, and suddenly they were soaring.

  Greyford dwindled beneath them, smoke curling from its chimneys, the river flashing silver. The other two griffins fell into formation on either side.

  "Where?" Leon called over the wind.

  Lia pointed north, toward the ridge where the forest thickened. "Beyond that road. There's a ravine. Hidden. Almost impossible to find on foot."

  Leon nodded and urged his mount higher. The griffin responded instantly, climbing until the air grew thin and cold. From this height, Lia could see for miles. The patchwork of fields and forest, the winding river, the distant peaks.

  And somewhere ahead, hidden in those shadows, John waited alone.