"Cloak," I say to gather his attention. He glances over his shoulder at me. "This way?" I jerk my chin towards the direction my body wishes me to go in.

He looks from me to the remainder of his corps. Gav and Keaya hold their breath, waiting. "Be careful," he demands. They nod in unison, and he steers his mare to follow me until we're side by side.

I hear the slide of metal against leather. It's only Cloak pulling a dagger from his boot to clutch in his hand. He notices my awareness.

"For emergencies."

I take a deep breath through the nose, exhaling out stale air. "I don't blame you for being cautious, the wastes are nothing to trifle with." My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, shrouded in that dry, ashen taste that tugs me towards what waits beyond the Panjandrum beacon. I pry it away, trying to gather the saliva in my mouth, but come up short.

"If only everyone else behaved with the same caution. Rootbeaks are stronger than all of us, and they don't need weapons to beat their opponent. Brute force is enough." He straightens his spine on the saddle, glancing nervously left to right.

I've never seen him frightened before. He would never admit that is the truth, he's behaving how he wishes others to, but there's no mistaking the look in his eye. The tight, cautious nature of his posture and the white-knuckle grip he keeps on the dagger's handle. Though, if what he's saying is true, a dagger won't stand against a rootbeak.

His eyebrows push close together, examining. Even immortal eyes won't see clearly through the endless curtain.

"You don't have to wear the cloak, you know," I remind him. Instead of a clear response, he stares at me quizzingly. I point at the hood. "The cloak. You don't have to hide yourself when it's only the two of us."

Realization snaps sharply across his features, hardening them to the core. "I wear what I must. If anyone is out here, and I highly doubt there is, they won't mistake who brought down the rootbeak threatening to kill them. They'll know it was me."

Still following that invisible trail, I nod. He has absolutely no idea I tend to lead him towards what anomaly cuts through the solid foundation of the wastes. Something is out of place, yet when my power comes close to reaching the truth of its identity, the discovery snakes away into the fog and demands to play.

The whispers trapped within the fog moving around us sweep away reassuring voices at our backs, a signal of life from the Panjandrum Corps. I cannot see the beacon anymore, and Keaya's orders to the rest of their forces go unnoticed to my ears. A small tether connects to them, tugging me back towards safety, but I fear my body refuses to ignore the stronger presence in the other direction.

"You wear it voluntarily?" I ask. "Is it a shield of sorts?"

"A shield?" Cloak arches a brow. "No, it's a cloak, Marie. This isn't a shield."

My mouth turns down in a frown. "That isn't what I meant. I mean—"

Cloak squints, leaning forward on the saddle. I follow his line of sight to a tall, bare tree. The branches stick out in odd directions, reaching towards the sky in search of sunlight, only to fail and wither before the chance of warmth arrives. Broken twigs litter the cracked ground beneath it, but that's not what Cloak looks at. It's the heap at the bottom, hunched against the large, cracked trunk.

Warmth spreads through the middle of my chest, the rope dissolving. We found what we came here for. The Luminary within jumps out of control, swirling around the mound. I snap a chain on the excited power in close danger of revealing itself and clench tight onto the horn of the saddle, forcing the power to die against newfound force.

"Stay saddled," Cloak warns.

He dismounts, sheathing the dagger to replace it with a sword, and approaches slowly. Dust kicks up underneath his boots and sticks to his clothes like sap, but he doesn't seem to care. All his focus goes towards cautiously approaching the lump at the base of the tree's dry trunk. The cloak withers around the backs of his knees, flowing steadily in the lack of wind.

Cloak bends down, crouching low, and reaches out to touch the skeleton's face. Blood cakes to the bone and strips of skin, bordered on muscle and tendons, slithering around parts of the deceased being. A messy job by a ruthless rootbeak.

"There's no way of telling whether it's him or not," he mutters, more to the tree than to me. He studies the pelvis, identifying that it is, in fact, a man, and shifts his focus lower—to the feet. "But I have a surefire way of figuring it out."

Ignoring his order, I dismount and stand at his side, watching as his fingers trace over freshly cleaned bone. I grimace at the puddle of blood underneath the body; most of it soaked into the sand but what is left behind pools underneath him. Cloak stops at the ankle and examines the body. My attention goes to the skull, mouth open in shock, and I notice a golden tooth towards the back.

The stench becomes worse the closer I get. I hold my breath and open the mouth slightly, peering in to view that single golden molar. "He wouldn't happen to have a golden implant, would he?" I ask.

"And a broken ankle at the happenings of falling off a horse when he was a young boy," Cloak mutters. He leans back on his heels, bracing his elbows onto his forearms. "This is him. The Luminary we were searching for."

I smell something else. Not decaying flesh or still-drying blood, but smoke. When I remove my hand from the tree, I realize why. Ash stains my palm and sticks to my nails. He tried to fight his way out with fire. "A terrible end to meet."

Cloak stands. "Better than the Panjandrum Corps having to end his life instead. The rootbeaks did it for us."

"At least he attempted to fight for his life." I brush my hands on my pants.

Looking up at the tree without regard for the man beneath it, Cloak takes a deep breath and memorizes the confusing maze of the crooked, bare branches. Through layers of fog, blue sky peeks through thinner patches and alerts us that it waits on the other side, whether north or south.

"Everyone fights for their life in their last moments." His voice is low and raspy. Staring down at the body with a false sense of melancholy, Cloak pushes his foot against the bones of the man's ankle. "My mother will be happy to know another Luminary has lost their life to the land, rather than her hand."

I snort and immediately regret it. A steely look fills Cloak's features and I straighten, turning my quick grin into a noticeable and bored frown. Adding another lie to the bundle I've already tied together with blood ribbon, I say, "One less magical being to worry about."

A branch cracks too close for comfort and Cloak stills, whirling with sword in hand towards the noise. We squint into the distance, to a moving figure walking aimlessly across the wastes. My throat becomes dry, my entire body running cold.

The long arms of the rootbeak nearly drag along the ashen floor, twisting branches forming from arm to finger. Its broad shoulders hang forward against the weight of skin pelts draped across. Even through the fog, I spot the blood dripping down its long, bare back. Like an ogre, only made of a curse that brings innocent trees to life.

"Back in the saddle," Cloak whispers, backing the two of us away.

The rootbeak stares at the ground, occupied by the steps it takes with too-large feet on legs that can extend to unimaginable heights. We move steadily, silently, back towards the horses. Cloak never tears his eyes away from the beast heading towards the rest of the Panjandrum Corps without realization for what it's about to discover.

Cloak waits until I'm saddled before easing himself upwards. He directs with his hand to take a wide berth, disappear into the fog, and I do as he asks. We leave the body behind; there's nothing we can do for it now. With no perfect way to end a rootbeak's life without using magic, we have no choice but to flee and warn the others.

We keep our bodies tense until we believe we're out of range of the rootbeak casually moving as if partaking in a mid-morning stroll. Possibly the killer of the Luminary Cloak meant to slaughter. If the fresh blood is any indication of a hunt, I have no reason to believe otherwise.

"I think we're—" Cloak begins, only to be caught off by a curdling scream that cuts through the layers of rotten smells.

"Keaya," I recognize.

Another shrill, strange cry ruptures into our ears. I don't recognize the sound, but Cloak does. "Stay close!" he shouts, kicking his mare in the barrel. She speeds into a gallop, kicking up loose rock and sand underneath her broad hooves.

Pip reacts before I do, and he breaks into a similar speed, following the one person that might keep him alive at this moment. I grip the reins tight, leaning forward on the saddle. The cold wind stings my eyes and rips through my hair, chilling me to the bone, but it's not long before the beacon comes into sight.

The rest of the Panjandrum Corps didn't get very far. Cloak and I left right before things went from bad to worse, for standing around Gav, Keaya, and Aela are three rootbeaks, circling them cautiously.

Cloak doesn't slow down his horse and continues a mad pursuit, swinging his arm wide to chop off the head of a rootbeak that lashes for his side, cutting into the horse's flank. She rears back, taking Cloak with her, and he slides off the saddle to land easily on the ground. Taut branches in the form of a walking, bloodthirsty tree falls to the ground in a heap at his feet and he kicks the severed head to the side. That's the way to do it, then.

I yank on the reins to bring Pip to a stop and he obeys, hooves sliding and digging into the ground. Cloak's eyes widen, stare whipping around until he comes across my form fading into the fog. "Stay back, Marie. We can't mess around with these beasts."

Again, I'm sidelined. And for good reason. Two rootbeaks remain with another on the way, possibly advancing at a quicker speed than what a horse can muster. I know we weren't the only ones to hear that rootbeak's screech of warning into the night, alerting every other beast in the land that they weren't alone.

The only thing I can do is wait for that oncoming rootbeak and alert Cloak's fighters of another's arrival. Steering Pip towards the battle, I squint to the best of my ability and scan the thick fog. Night has fallen, leaving us at a disadvantage, but the sun wasn't of any help so the moon won't be either.

Thundering hoof beats fill the air, clouding my nose with dust and sweat. The rest of the Panjandrum Corps will arrive soon and with their combined forces, the rootbeaks won't stand a chance.

Keaya lunges first, swinging high for the rootbeak's head. Her sword slams into its chest and sticks, lodging between the ribcage constructed of vines and twigs. She yanks, but a firm hand slams against her chest, knocking her back. The rootbeak screeches again, and with little regard for effort, tosses her sword aside.

She rolls, slamming against the trunk of a tree. The flare of anger in Gav's eyes takes over, controlling his being, and he leaps, raising himself onto the beast's shoulders. Soulless eyes bore into his skull and a snapping jaw with no teeth sinks into his arm. The other rootbeak grabs onto the back of his shirt and throws him back, arms spindling to spike Gav's body into the ground. If it wasn't for rolling out of the way, he'd become part of the wastes until the end of time.

A scream ruptures through Keaya's teeth and she lurches, grabbing the twin blades from her back. Using the tree as a vault, she leaps into the air, twists, and chops off the head of the angered rootbeak. Like the one before, it falls to pieces, shattering like glass. Blood cakes down the side of Keaya's face, dripping from her brow and pooling at her jawline.

She huffs and punts the rootbeak's head into the fog. It lands against a rock with a shattering clank.

I notice then that something is out of place. Someone—other than me—isn't participating. Aela Terravale, personal guard of the queen, takes a step back as her brother rushes forward with his sword straight out, meaning to impale non-existent organs in the rootbeak's abdomen. They're created of magic, not with the fickle ways our bodies generated themselves.

Aela stares down her nose at her brother, watching carefully. The only weapon in her grasp is a dagger and a small one at that. Nothing that'll harm a rootbeak far enough for her, or anyone else, to get away without a scratch on their bodies.

The rootbeak's large arm curls wider, swinging around to knock Cloak off his feet. He lands hard onto the ground and spins, breaking distance as the magic-made life lunges for him again. He leaps out of a swiping grip meant to crush him against its chest and swings his sword, cutting into the back.

Tripping forward, the rootbeak nearly loses its balance but barricades large, unmoving feet onto the ground and pivots, knocking Cloak across the cheek. He stumbles, slamming into the side of a tree, and Gav takes that as his chance. But not soon enough. This rootbeak, unlike the other two, has seen the worst of their abilities and isn't afraid to kill them before skinning.

Aela backs away, towards her brother, but it's not to ensure he's all right after being dealt a bruising blow. Cloak recovers before he's ready and moves to attack as I dismount. If Aela isn't bothering to help, then the three of them will need another hand. Especially if she makes any moves to end her brother's life here today.

I carefully take Keaya's discarded sword in my hands and approach the rootbeak from behind, meaning to cut its legs out from underneath it. Gav and Keaya are too distracted with avoiding the beast's swipes that they don't notice me, and Cloak discovers my silent approach at the last second.

The rootbeak is too smart for its own good. Either that or Cloak's widening eyes alerted it of my presence. Cloak's warning comes too late, and he reaches out. Too far. An arm the size of a wide trunk swings around, slamming into my abdomen. At the last second, I wrap myself inconspicuously with a shield, but not enough.

I'm knocked off my feet, left to roll until my body stops itself. Protecting against a broken rib along with a cluster of other wounds, I hardly feel the sting with the shield but wince for the sake of authenticity. A brief burn awakens in my left side and I scan the minor scraps and cuts along my arms, the faint tear in my pants. Bracing my hands against the warm floor of the wastes, I force myself to stand on unsteady knees to not appear weak. "Of course, you don't listen," Cloak grumbles under his breath. He curses and slinks out of the way of another skin-ripping slice.

I lock eyes with Aela from across the battle. She doesn't express fear or determination, not like she should in a matter such as this. Aela is the youngest of the four children, and the farthest away from the throne, Cloak being the closest to her in age. The third and the fourth youngest of the Raven Queen's children, and the farthest in line for the throne.

The title of being king or queen does not come strictly through inheritance, but skill too. As it stands, Gustus will be the next leader of Rivian once his mother appoints the title. In Aela's mind, if Gustus isn't there, the Raven Queen will have no choice but to place the crown on her head rather than anyone else. And to think she only came with us to keep an eye on me.

My eyes dart between her and Cloak. She sets her jaw, realizing that I'm clued into her secrets. Only then does she sheath the dagger back at her hip and reach for the sword slung across her back. Gav leaps onto the rootbeak's shoulders and Keaya slashes for the legs, leaving Cloak and Aela to attack the front.

They work together, moving nearly identical if not for the difference in height and weight. Aela is much quicker on her feet, but Cloak carries the strength to cut through.

They ram their blades into the rootbeak's abdomen and Gav presses his sword into its throat. The rootbeak thrashes, screaming, as Keaya cuts into its right leg. The beast stumbles and Gav grunts, making that final push to slash clean through. He slams to the ground with the deceased body and spikes of tree branch cut into his flesh.

Without regard for his current injuries, he rushes towards Keaya, gripping her arm tight and demanding whether she's all right. Keaya promises she is, but before I receive the chance to fully absorb in their relieved smiles, Cloak's broad shoulders block out the welcoming sight. "Why didn't you listen?" he shouts, jabbing his finger at me. "The Panjandrum Corps doesn't tolerate such behavior." His voice is gritty, like flowing sand.

My fingers twitch nervously, desperate for a small object to fiddle with or a distraction to keep Cloak's hurtling fury at bay. For a moment, I pray the other rootbeak will show so I don't have to meet his stare. My mind cowers, shrinking into the darkness before I can reach it, and I'm left to my own devices. Nothing.

Cloak, huffing like a bull, waits impatiently for my answer. Sweat and blood mingle in his hairline, coating the white strip in a shade of deep pink. From behind, Gav says, "She isn't part of the Panjandrum Corps. Don't give her such a hard time, she was only trying to help."

"That doesn't mean she can't follow orders I set in place. If she is to join us, she must learn that I am in charge."

Stepping away from a confused Keaya, Gav places his hands on his hips, taking two limping steps before realizing it isn't of any use to further prominent pain. "She doesn't have to chain herself at the hip to you, Cloak. You don't control her."

As if in a daze, Cloak takes one step back, distancing himself from me. He stares cowardly at the ground, to the space between our boots, and mutters, "Sorry for losing my temper." Something about Gav's statement dug him out of the hole he was trapped in. He has sunk further into the dark of authority, forgetting that I hold no value here. I come along, and I may help, but I am not them.

"Wait," I plead as he turns to assess Keaya's and Gav's wounds. He flinches when I grab onto his arm, but it's only to heal the slice there. His dull brown skin knits together, leaving only stains of blood behind.

I trace my fingers along his brow, the blue glow reflecting in his locked stare, and heal the rest of his wounds in silence. Not a trace of pain remains, he's as good as new if not for the thick layer of sweat coating his exterior and the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Cloak releases a long breath. "Are you all right?" he asks.

"Other than smelling like death, I think I'm fine," I respond, earning a smile from the beast that claims his life is worth nothing. A genuine, harsh laugh scrapes out from his throat. The first laugh I've heard since we met.

He walks away as the rest of the Panjandrum Corps approaches. Everyone is accounted for, a relief that loosens Cloak's shoulders.

Someone is watching me.

Aela leans against her horse's flank, watching me intently. I glare back just as strong. We share more than a common enemy; now we share a secret meant to unravel the entire foundation of the Raven Queen's livelihood.