Runesworn: Stone Three (Runesworn Series—Book Three) E-Book

Taylor Night

• Herausgeber: Lukeman Literary Management
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Runesworn
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 254

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

From fantasy author Taylor Night comes the third novel in a breathtaking new romantasy series, RUNESWORN, ideal for fans of Rebecca Yarros, Sarah J. Maas, and Cassandra Clare. When tragedy strikes and someone precious to Lyra is brutally killed by Lord Commander Vex Mortaine's relentless hunters, a devastated Lyra considers abandoning her dangerous quest for the ancient tablet fragments altogether. But as the barbarian war escalates and reaches the very heart of the kingdom, she discovers that another close to her heart has suffered mortal wounds sustained in battle—forcing her to confront her deepest fears about love and loss. Racing against time to reach the second satellite library before it's too late, Lyra must overcome her grief and self-doubt while navigating increasingly deadly magical trials, all while Vex Mortaine's forces close in and the dragon Drakmor's growing power threatens to upset the delicate balance of her world forever. The RUNESWORN series transports readers into an electrifying fantasy realm where magic comes at a deadly price and ancient secrets threaten to reshape civilization itself. Following a street thief turned unlikely hero as she navigates forbidden romance, deadly political intrigue, and world-altering discoveries, this epic saga delivers unexpected twists and heart-pounding suspense that will captivate both young adult audiences and devoted fantasy enthusiasts seeking their next unforgettable adventure. Future books in the series will soon be available!

Leseprobe

RUNESWORN:

Taylor Night

Taylor Night is author of the SKYBORNE and RUNESWORN young adult epic fantasy series.

Some of Taylor’s books are available for free. Please visit Taylor’s author page to find out more.

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the fantasy genre, Taylor loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit taylornightauthor.comto learn more and stay in touch

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE: RHEA

CHAPTER ONE: LYRA

CHAPTER TWO: LYRA

CHAPTER THREE: PRINCE CASSIAN

CHAPTER FOUR: LYRA

CHAPTER FIVE: PRINCE CASSIAN

CHAPTER SIX: GARETH

CHAPTER SEVEN: RIVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT: LYRA

CHAPTER NINE: RIVEN

CHAPTER TEN: LYRA

CHAPTER ELEVEN: DRAKMOR

CHAPTER TWELVE: GARETH

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: RIVEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: FLUX

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: LYRA

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: KING ALDRIC

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: LYRA

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: LYRA

CHAPTER NINETEEN: PRINCE GARETH

CHAPTER TWENTY: LYRA

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: DRAKMOR

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: LYRA

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: FLUX

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: LYRA

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: LYRA

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: LYRA

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: LYRA

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: RIVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: FLUX

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: LYRA

CHAPTER THIRTY: RIVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE: DRAKMOR

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO: LYRA

PROLOGUE: RHEA

The afternoon light filters through the grimy window of our small room, casting long shadows across the threadbare blanket that covers me. I sit propped against the wall, my breath coming in shallow gasps that rattle in my chest. The illness has taken my strength, my ability to walk, the color from my skin—but not my will. Not yet.

I know they're coming.

I heard them through the open window this morning, their voices carrying up from the market square. Men asking questions about a girl named Lyra. The merchants' nervous responses, the sudden silences. The outer ring has its own language of fear, and I understand every word.

My little sparrow. My fierce daughter, who isn't mine by blood but belongs to me in every way that matters. She's out there somewhere, probably with a dragon, hopefully safe.

I shift slightly, testing my weakness. Even that small movement sends pain through my chest. There's no escape—the illness has made me a prisoner in my own body, too sick to leave this room. A few weeks ago, I could have vanished into the shadows. Now, all I can do is listen to their boots on the stairs.

At least Dani and her son are at the market. Sweet Dani, my neighbor who brings me broth and kind words daily. I'm grateful she won't be here for what's about to happen.

The footsteps are measured, deliberate. These are boots made for hunting.

I straighten my spine, forcing my trembling hands to still. All I have left is my silence, and I'll guard it with whatever life remains.

A polite knock—somehow more menacing than violence.

"Come in," I call, my voice stronger than it should be.

Three men enter. Two are muscles, hands on sword hilts. But the third... Lord Commander Vex Mortaine himself. I know who he is; have seen him from a distance when he's ridden through the outer ring streets before on his way into the countryside. His presence here, rather than sending subordinates, tells me exactly how important finding Lyra has become.

But why? Because she broke into their precious magical library? Or because she was saved from her execution by a dragon?

I still don’t know what my girl is up to, but knowing her, she is trying to find some way to save me. Oh, how I wish she would just focus on saving herself.

"Rhea, I presume?" His voice is cultured, but with a trace of an accent from the outer realms. "I am Lord Commander Mortaine. We have matters to discuss."

I meet his gaze steadily. Perhaps fifty, iron-gray hair, eyes that have seen too much. "I'm just a sick old woman. I don't know anything that would interest you."

He smiles coldly. "We both know that's not true. You raised Lyra Ashborne. The thief who broke into the Codex Vitae. The one who awakened something that should have remained sleeping."

My heart clenches at her name, but I keep my expression neutral. "I don't know anyone by that name."

"Your neighbors say differently. They speak of a clever girl you raised, devoted to you—would do anything to save your life."

"Neighbors gossip," I say simply.

Mortaine pulls up the single chair, sits facing me close enough that I can see old scars on his hands—evidence of his climb from the streets to the palace. "I'll be direct. I know she was here. I know you're dying. I know she went to the Codex Vitae seeking something to heal you. Where would she go next?"

"Even if I knew this girl, what makes you think she'd tell me her plans?"

"Because daughters who love their mothers always come back. Always try to help." He leans forward. "Your neighbors were quite helpful once we explained the benefits of cooperation. Amazing what people remember when properly motivated."

The Harketts definitely, then. They've been struggling to pay their rent. Thirty pieces of silver to betray a dying woman and her daughter. I feel no anger, only a weary understanding of how the outer ring works—we do what we must to survive, even if it means feeding each other to the wolves. "Where is she? Who would shelter her?"

I think of Lyra as I last saw her—desperate, green eyes bright with tears, promising to make me better before I faded into another bout of unconsciousness. That was over a week ago now. Or has it been two? I can’t tell the difference between dawn and dusk anymore, much less the days.

"I told you, I don't know anyone named Lyra."

Something shifts in the room's atmosphere. The guards reposition themselves.

"Unfortunate," Mortaine says, standing and removing his gloves. "I hoped we could handle this with dignity. Professional courtesy—one person from the outer ring to another."

He sets his gloves down. "But this has become personal. Prince Gareth has made it clear that my position—my existence—depends on finding this girl. She's an embarrassment to the crown."

"Then you have my sympathy," I say, meaning it. "But I can't help you."

"Can't? Or won't?" He gestures to his men. "Search everything."

They tear through our meager possessions methodically. Clothes scattered. The loose floorboard with our emergency coins pried up. The small box with Lyra's childhood treasures—a hair ribbon, a wooden horse she carved, her first picked lock—dumped out.

"Nothing, Lord Commander," one reports. "No letters, no indication where she went."

"Of course not," Mortaine says. "She's too clever. Learned from the best." There's almost respect in his voice. "You trained her well."

"I don't know what you mean."

He pulls the chair closer, his mask slipping to reveal desperation. "I'm going to ask questions, and you'll answer. Prince Gareth has given me unlimited authority. I will get answers before I leave."

I think of Lyra, hopefully far away now. Her courage, the whole life she has ahead of her. The woman she's become—clever, strong, fierce. I feel only pride.

"Ask your questions. My answers won't change."

The first blow is almost gentle—a warning. But I've survived worse. Winters without food, summers without water, years in the outer ring where life is cheap.

"Where is she?" Mortaine asks, strain in his voice.

"I don't know anyone named Lyra."

The second blow is harder. I taste blood. But I think of her smile, her laugh when she picked a difficult lock, the determination in her eyes.

"Who are her friends? Where would she seek shelter?"

"I told you—"

The third blow cuts me off, but not my resolve. They can break my body—it's already broken, dying. But they cannot break my love for her.

Time becomes elastic. Questions blend together. Pain becomes a constant companion. Through it all, I hold one truth: I will not betray her.

Eventually, Mortaine steps back, breathing hard. "You're stronger than you look."

I smile through split lips. "You have no idea."

"This is pointless," a guard says. "She won't tell us anything."

Mortaine studies me. I see something flicker—perhaps a memory of his own time in the outer ring, when loyalty meant everything. Yes, I’ve heard the stories about him. How he came up from nothing to become a feared commander for the royal family.

"No, she won't,” Mortaine says.

"Does it matter?" the guard asks.

"To Prince Gareth? No. To me? Perhaps." He looks at me. "You remind me of someone who understood there are things worth dying for."

"We all have our principles," I whisper.

"Yes. And some of us keep them." He pulls on his gloves carefully. "We're done here."

I know what those words mean. But I feel no fear, only satisfaction. They came for answers and leave with nothing. Lyra remains free.

"Lord Commander," I call out weakly. He pauses. "If you find her—tell her something for me."

He turns, and I see not the desperate official but the man from the outer ring he once was. "What?"

"Tell her that her mother is proud. That she's exactly who she was meant to be."

Something passes across his face—understanding, recognition. It’s gone quickly, though, a hard shield falling across his eyes. He nods to his men, and I close my eyes.

I picture Lyra as the child I found years ago—defiant, hungry, unbroken. Teaching her to read, to pick locks, to survive. Her first successful theft, eyes bright with pride. Holding her through nightmares, celebrating small victories.

She's become more than I imagined. I don't know where she is or what she is doing, but I know that if it's keeping her away, it must be important.

Whatever destiny awaits, she'll face it with the courage I taught her. She'll change the world, my little sparrow. She'll soar higher than we ever dreamed.

The room grows cold. My breath rattles once more, then stills. My last thought is not of pain but love—pure, fierce, eternal—for the daughter of my heart who will live to fight another day.

I kept her secrets. I kept her safe.

A mother can do no more.

CHAPTER ONE: LYRA

The Codex of Binding pulses warm against my ribs as we descend the mountain path, its presence both a comfort and a constant reminder of what I've learned. Six days since I touched the tablet and saw the truth—my ancestors, the Draethyn, orchestrating the slaughter of the dragons who had loved them like children. Six days, and the shame still burns in my chest like swallowed poison.

"You're doing it again," Riven says from beside me, his voice gentle but knowing.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you go somewhere dark in your head and forget I'm here." He shifts his pack, offering me a small smile. "I can practically hear you thinking from here."

Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch upward. Riven has this gift—finding light moments even when the world feels heavy as stone. "Sorry. It's just..."

"The visions. I know." He navigates around a fallen log, then offers me his hand to help me over. "But dwelling on what people did centuries ago won't change what we need to do now."

His fingers are warm and callused against mine, and I hold on perhaps a moment longer than necessary. These past days traveling together have made me acutely aware of him—the way he moves with unconscious grace, how his dark eyes soften when he looks at me, the careful way he's been trying to lift my spirits without pushing too hard.

"You're right," I say, releasing his hand. "Rhea needs this magic. That's what matters."

Rhea. My heart clenches thinking of her, alone and sick in our tiny room. But not for much longer. The Codex of Binding holds healing magic beyond anything the current world knows—magic that can cure any illness, mend any wound. Soon, I'll place my hands on her fevered brow and watch the color return to her cheeks. Soon, she'll be well again.

If we can reach her in time.

We’re so close—we’ll be at Lexicos by tomorrow morning at the latest.

And I can’t wait to hold Rhea again, to laugh with her. To heal her.

We walk in companionable silence for a while. The landscape is beautiful in its wild emptiness—golden grass swaying in the breeze, scattered copses of oak and elm, a hawk circling lazy patterns overhead. It's hard to believe that war rages somewhere beyond these peaceful hills.

My thoughts drift, as they often do lately, to unexpected places. To Drakmor, wherever he is now, collecting the Draconic Codices with single-minded purpose. Does he know what I know? Does he think of the betrayal, the way his kind was hunted to near extinction? If he does, his quest for the Codices takes on a different meaning, not just reclaiming power but perhaps seeking vengeance. The thought sends ice through my veins.

And then there's Cassian.

I try to push the memory away, but it resurfaces like oil on water. His face at the library, those startling blue eyes wide with something between wonder and desperation. The way he'd said my name, like it meant something profound. He'd wanted to tell me something—I could see it in every line of his body, the way he'd reached out before Riven and I ran.

Prince Cassian Valdris. It's absurd that I can't stop thinking about him. He's a prince, I'm a thief from the outer ring. He lives in a palace; I live in a room barely big enough for two bedrolls. His brother sentenced me to death. And yet...

And yet I keep remembering the way he'd tried to stop my execution, how he argued for my life. The genuine concern in his voice when he'd spoken to me in the dungeons. The way he'd looked at me—not like a criminal or a curiosity, but like a person who mattered.

“What do you think Drakmor eats?” Riven asks.

“Um, deer?”

“Not humans?”

I frown. “I should hope not.”

I wouldn’t blame him for thinking we’re no good for anything but food, though. After what my people did to dragonkind…

Nausea rises in my belly. I wish I could go back and rewrite history, stop that brutal assault from ever happening. My ancestors, who were supposed to work with and protect the dragons, turned against them and stole their magic.

Knowing that, it feels wrong to read runes and use their magic. But I have to for Rhea.

“I would hate humans if I were him,” I whisper. “All humans.”

He opens his mouth to respond, then stops abruptly, holding up a hand for silence.

Smoke.

I smell it a moment after he does—the acrid scent of burning wood and something else, something worse. We exchange glances and move forward more cautiously, keeping to the shadows of the trees that line the path.

The village comes into view as we crest a small rise, and my heart sinks. What should be a peaceful farming settlement is a scene of devastation. Several buildings still smolder, sending black smoke into the afternoon sky. The mill wheel, which should be turning with the river's current, sits still and partially burned. Gardens that should be green with late summer growth are trampled into mud.

"Look," Riven whispers, pointing to the far edge of the village.

Figures are moving away from the destruction—perhaps two dozen of them, dressed in heavy furs despite the warm day. They carry weapons I don't recognize, curved blades and spiked clubs, and several pull carts loaded with what must be plunder from the village. Even from this distance, I can see the casual way they move, unhurried and unafraid, like predators who know no other predators exist in their territory.

"Barbarians," Riven breathes. "Has to be. Look at those furs—no one from Librum dresses like that."

The invaders from the north. The ones whose invasion sent King Aldric marching from the capital with his army. Riven and I have heard whispers about the war while traveling back to Lexicos—or, rather, he heard news when he went into the villages for supplies, and I stayed hidden in the woods—and now we're seeing it right in front of our eyes. They're here, this far into the kingdom already. My blood runs cold at the implication.

We crouch behind a cluster of boulders, barely breathing until the barbarians disappear over the next hill. Only then do we emerge, running toward the village with our hearts in our throats.

The silence is the worst part. No crying children, no shouting adults, no sounds of life at all. Just the crackle of dying fires and the creak of a door hanging off its hinges.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice cracking. "Is anyone here? We're here to help!"

Nothing.

We move through the village, checking each building. The bakery is empty, flour scattered across the floor like snow, the ovens cold. The blacksmith's forge has been ransacked, tools and half-finished pieces stolen. The inn's common room shows signs of struggle—overturned tables, broken chairs, dark stains on the floor that I don't look at too closely.

In the market square, we find them.

Not everyone—many must have fled when they saw the barbarians coming. But enough remained, either too slow or too stubborn to run. The elderly, the infirm, those who tried to defend their homes. They lie still now, and I'm grateful that the fading light softens the details of what was done to them.

My eyes fill with tears that I don't try to hold back. These were people like Rhea and me, just trying to survive, trying to make lives for themselves. They weren't soldiers or nobles or anyone important to the kingdom's power games. They were just people, and now they're gone.

"Lyra," Riven says softly, his hand on my shoulder,      "     we need to go. They might come back."

"We can't just leave them like this."

"We don't have time for proper burials. And if the barbarians return..."

He's right, but it feels wrong to walk away. These people deserve better than to be left for the crows.

"Wait." I pull the Codex of Binding from beneath my cloak, its surface catching the last rays of sunlight. "What if... what if there's something in here that could help?"

"Help? Lyra, they're..." Riven trails off, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You mean help against the barbarians. Use the magic as a weapon."

"Or as protection. Or healing for those they hurt." I run my fingers over the ancient runes, feeling their power hum beneath my touch. "There are eleven more fragments out there. If each one contains power like this, if they could be brought together..."

"You're talking about the complete Amber Tablet. The thing that was likely broken apart specifically because it was too dangerous to exist whole."

"Dangerous to who?" I ask, thinking of the village square, of bodies that were once people with hopes and dreams. "To tyrants who want to control magic? Or dangerous to invaders who slaughter innocents?"

A sound in the distance—voices, getting closer—makes us both freeze. Without another word, we run, leaving the burning village behind. But as we flee into the woods, my mind races with new purpose.

I still need to save Rhea. That hasn't changed. But seeing what the barbarians did to that village, knowing they're doing the same across the kingdom... maybe saving one person isn't enough. Maybe the fragments of the Amber Tablet could do more than just heal my mother. Maybe they could save everyone.

The Codex of Binding seems to pulse in agreement, or perhaps that's just my imagination. Either way, as we run through the countryside, I make a silent promise to those still forms in the village square. Their deaths won't be meaningless. The power I'm gathering will stand against the darkness spreading across the land.

I think of Cassian again, wondering if he knows how far the barbarians have advanced. Wondering if he'd understand why this power needs to exist, why it can't remain locked away while people suffer. Wondering if I'll ever get the chance to ask him what he wanted to tell me.

But those are questions for another day. Right now, we run.

CHAPTER TWO: LYRA

The outer walls of Lexicos rise before us in the late afternoon sun, their weathered stone as familiar as my own heartbeat. Finally—finally—I'm home. The Codex of Binding pulses in my belt, a constant reminder of the power I carry and the hope it represents.

Last night was terrible. We opted out of building a fire, since we were getting closer to the larger towns where we risked drawing more notice from people who might recognize me from wanted posters. Sleep didn't come easy. Not with every moment full of dreams about what we saw in the village.

"We should circle around to the eastern gate," Riven suggests. "Less traffic there, fewer guards."

"No." I study the flow of people entering through the main southern gate—merchants with their carts, farmers bringing goods to market, travelers seeking shelter before nightfall. "Better to lose ourselves in a crowd. Two more tired travelers won't draw attention."

We join the queue, keeping our heads down and our pace unhurried. My execution dress is long gone, replaced by the simple traveling clothes Riven grabbed for me that day I woke up to find an assassin trying to catch me by the creek we'd camped next to. Still, my heart pounds with each step closer to the gate guards. They're checking some people, waving others through. No pattern I can discern.

"Papers," one guard says to a merchant ahead of us, sounding bored.

The merchant produces a travel permit. The guard barely glances at it before waving him through.

Our turn. The guard looks us over with disinterested eyes. Young, probably new to the job, more concerned with finishing his shift than scrutinizing every traveler.

"Business in the capital?"

"Visiting family," Riven answers smoothly. "My sister's been ill."

The guard's gaze lingers on me for a moment, and I force myself not to tense. Then he waves us through with the same bored gesture he's probably made a thousand times today.

We're in.

The familiar chaos of the outer ring engulfs us immediately—the press of bodies, the cacophony of merchants hawking their wares, the mingled scents of cooking food, unwashed humanity, and waste. After days in the countryside, it's almost overwhelming, but it's also home. These streets raised me, taught me to survive.

We duck into an alley two blocks from the gate, a narrow space between a tannery and a boarding house where the shadows are thick and the foot traffic minimal. My hands shake slightly as I lean against the rough brick wall.

"That was too easy," I whisper.

"Sometimes easy is just easy," Riven replies, but his eyes scan the alley's entrance, watchful.

"No. They should be checking everyone more carefully. Unless..." I think of Prince Gareth, his cold fury at my escape. "Unless they're letting people in but watching for me to surface. Waiting for me to go somewhere familiar."

"Like your home."

"Like my home." The realization sits heavy in my stomach. They know I'll come for Rhea. It's the most obvious trap in the world, and I'm about to walk right into it.

"We could wait," Riven suggests. "Watch the building, see if there are guards posted."

"Every hour I wait is another hour Rhea suffers." I push off from the wall, decision made. "But you're not coming with me."

His dark eyes flash with something between hurt and anger. "Lyra—"

"Listen to me." I grab his arm, feeling the solid warmth of him through his sleeve. "Out there, in the countryside, we could run if someone recognized me. We could disappear into the forest, hide in the mountains. Here? In the city?" I gesture toward the busy street beyond the alley. "There are guards on every corner, eyes in every window. Prince Gareth has put a price on my head that could feed a family for a year."

"You think I care about that?"

"I think I care about you too much to let you die for me." The words come out before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us like a confession.

Riven's expression softens, and he reaches up to touch my face. "Lyra..."

"Being seen with me here is a death sentence," I continue, pulling back before his touch can weaken my resolve. "You know I'm right. In the countryside, we were just two travelers. Here, where people know my face, where neighbors might recognize me? Anyone with me becomes a target."

He wants to argue—I can see it in the set of his jaw, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. We've grown close these past days, closer than I expected. In another life, one where I wasn't hunted and Rhea wasn't dying, maybe we could have been something more than fellow fugitives.

A sudden commotion erupts from the street—shouting, the clatter of armor, boots striking cobblestones in that particular rhythm of soldiers on the hunt. Riven grabs my arm, pulling me deeper into the alley's shadows just as a patrol rounds the corner.

"Search every building!" a sergeant barks. "She was seen near the southern gate. The prince wants her found before nightfall."

My blood turns to ice. They know I'm in the city. Of course they do—that guard at the gate, his lingering look. He recognized me after all, just waited until we'd passed to report it.

Riven presses me against the wall, his body shielding mine as footsteps approach the alley entrance. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, rapid but controlled. His hand moves to his knife, though we both know fighting would be suicide.

"You two!" A guard's voice, sharp with authority. He's standing at the alley mouth, peering into the shadows where we hide. "Come here. Now."

We have no choice. Running would confirm our guilt. Riven keeps his arm around me as we shuffle forward, and I hunch my shoulders, affecting a limp. Just another pair of outer ring residents, broken by poverty and hard labor.

"What's your business here?" the guard demands, his eyes scanning our faces. He's older than the one at the gate, more experienced. More dangerous.

"Just catching our breath, sir," Riven says, his accent shifting subtly to match the local dialect. "My sister's not well. The crowds..."

I cough weakly, letting my body sag against Riven. The guard's eyes narrow, studying my face. I keep my head down, hair falling forward to obscure my features, but I can feel his suspicion like a physical weight.

"Sister, eh?" He steps closer. "Look at me, girl."

This is it. The moment everything falls apart. I start to raise my head, preparing to run, to fight, to do something—

"Sergeant!" Another soldier appears, breathless. "We found something! A merchant swears he saw someone matching the description heading toward the eastern district—moving fast, trying to blend with the market crowd. She had a man with her—tall, dark hair."

The guard investigating us turns, distracted. "Eastern district? But the report said—"

"The merchant was certain. Says she had that same look about her—fierce, like the wanted posters say. Nothing like these two."

Our guard looks back at us, clearly torn. We don't quite match the description—I'm slumped and sickly-looking, not the fierce thief they're hunting. After a long moment, he waves us away dismissively.

"Get off the streets," he orders. "There's a dangerous criminal about."

Riven mumbles thanks, keeping his arm around me as we shuffle away. We maintain the act for three more streets, my fake limp, his protective hovering. Only when we're certain we're alone do we duck into another alley, both of us breathing hard.

"Someone saw someone who looked like us," I whisper, a mixture of relief and renewed fear in my voice. "But they're heading the wrong way."

"Lucky for us," Riven suggests. "But luck won't hold forever."

"No, it won't." I look at him, seeing the strain in his face, the fear he'd hidden so well moments ago. "But this proves my point. You were nearly caught just standing next to me. I won't risk—"

"I know," he interrupts, his voice rough. "I know. But Lyra, that was too close. You can't go to Rhea alone, not with patrols actively hunting."

It strikes me suddenly that we haven't really talked about what comes after—assuming there is an after. Assuming I can heal Rhea, assuming we survive the next few hours. Riven has his own mission, his own burning need to tear down the Runesworn's monopoly on magic. He's mentioned it in passing during our travels, the injustice of it, how the common people suffer while the elite hoard power. But I've been so focused on Rhea, so consumed with the immediate goal of saving her, that I haven't let myself think beyond that moment.

What happens when she's healed? Do Riven and I continue together, hunting for ways to democratize magic? Do we part ways? The Codex of Binding could help so many people, but using it openly would paint an even bigger target on my back. And Riven—what does he expect from me, from us, when this immediate crisis passes?

The weight of these unasked questions sits between us, but now isn't the time. First, I have to reach Rhea. First, I have to save her. Everything else—Riven's revolution, our complicated feelings, the whatever-it-is I have going on with Cassian, the future of magic in Librum—all of it has to wait.