The skies over Ironholt churned with restless clouds, bruised purple and black, as Elizabeth and her companions made their descent from the ruined stronghold. The weight of the Blood Oath pulsed within her veins like a second heartbeat, a reminder that she now bore the allegiance of an army of the dead.
It was both a gift and a curse.
“We need to move quickly,” Cedric said, scanning the horizon. “That storm isn’t natural. Something’s coming.”
Elizabeth nodded grimly. She felt it too, a rising tide of magic pressing against her skin, heavy and cold. She tightened the straps of her cloak and adjusted the pack holding the Crown of Echoes.
Every instinct screamed that they were running out of time.
Mira fell in beside her, her steps light despite their exhaustion. “Where will we go? Back
