The Ankh warms suddenly against my skin, a brief sting, not painful but impossible to ignore, like the first lick of flame. My hand flies to it instinctively. It pulses once, twice, then steadies. Killian notices.
“The wards,” he says. “Recognition spells. Old things like knowing who’s coming.”
“And me?” I ask. “What do I say I am, when those limits ask?”
“You are who you are, June.” His gaze shifts from the looming castle back to me. “And today, that’s stronger than any word.”
The road to the castle doesn’t exist until it does. Pavement dissolves into uneven stones, ancient and jagged, like bones buried just beneath the surface. The trees thicken, carrying the smell of cold earth, moss, and iron. Statues rise from the ground to watch us pass: gargoyles, wolves, hooded figures. I catch
