The woman whirled, her hair bouncing, her eyes widening.

“Mom.” Vantra could not believe it. Her mother stood in front of her!

“Oh, sweetie!” She put her fingers against her lips, smiling through sudden tears.

Vantra rose, her essence trembling as emotions crashed through her, tears raced down her face. “You. You and Fyrij. You called to me.”

“I did,” she admitted, her eyes as bright as stars. “Oh, Vantra, I had to.”

Did she move first, or her mother? She wrapped her arms around her, buried her head in her shoulder, and squeezed her tight. She had not expected her parent in the Evenacht so soon, not expecting to feel her arms again until she served her time in the Fields. Kjaelle and Katta had told her that she would not end up in the blighted place, and they had spoken true!

She blubbered. She did not care.

Unmitigated joy crashed through the disbelief, pounding down the heartache of their last moment together. She hugged her mother once again, the embrace as warm and loving as she remembered.

Warm? Soft. Tight. Warm. Heartbeat, in an excited rhythm. Vantra pulled back, snuffling, and her mother settled her hand against her cheek, elation, agony, twisting her face.

“You’re . . . you’re alive?”

Her eyes widened, then she laughed with self-conscious sheepishness. “Um, oh. Well, yes.” She produced her best I-got-out-of-trouble smile.

“But . . .” Vantra looked at Death, confusion warring with happiness. “You let her enter the Evenacht?”

“Do you think I could have stopped her?” Erse asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oh. Well, when her mother had something in mind, directing her down another path was nigh impossible. Stubbornness might as well be her name. Fyrij twittered and landed on her parent’s shoulder, rubbed his head against her chin, then made a sing-song reply that she wished she could still understand.

“Kasoris is quite the convincing one, where you’re concerned,” Katta said. The tent’s darkness receded, the bright red saturation seeping back into view and the golden light touching all.

“I wasn’t going to lose you a second time.” Her mother’s firmness, her resolution, was as strong and unwavering as Vantra remembered. “Not again, sweetie.” She grabbed her back and held her tight.

She clutched her still-living parent, wanting to sink into her arms, to wallow in the comfort she always found in them, but her mind refused to calm. “But, how? How did you know I was in trouble?” She could not monitor her offspring in the Evenacht, could she? If so, why had no one told her about it?

“Um.” She knew that vague but stubborn tone, too. Her mother always used it when she did not want to divulge something.

“Mother?”

“It’s a story, and you’re not ready to hear it,” she said firmly, her arms tightening in tandem with her obstinacy and Vantra thought she might squeeze her essence in half.

“Not ready?” Anger lit in her and she pulled back, shaking. “I’m—”

“Vantra,” she said, in her no-nonsense, do-not-question-me voice, staring directly into her eyes, an easy feat as they were the same height.

“No! How did you know I was in trouble? How did you know to come here?”

She licked her lips as more tears fled down her cherry cheeks. “I don’t live at Sun Spiral anymore. It wasn’t safe.”

Vantra huffed, annoyed. “I know. The Finders told me I had to stay away from all the acolytes you killed. I doubt anyone’s happy about that.”

Her mother’s switch from tearful to fierce startled her. “They received what they gave,” she snarled. “They took you from me, so I took the only things they considered precious from them—their riches, then their lives.” Lightning flashed across her pupils, leaving sparks dancing mid-air before evaporating. She had always had magic, but not lightning-eyes magic. When had she developed that?

Vantra stepped back. “It’s why I became a Finder,” she whispered. “To Redeem you.”

“Oh sweetie.” More tears reddened her eyes as she wiped away the ones coursing down Vantra’s face. “That would be your first thought.” She kissed her forehead. “But you won’t have to worry about that. Promise.”

She looked at Death, needing verification. How could her mother pledge something like that? Verryn held Erse, and her head rested on his shoulder, sad understanding wrinkling her eyebrows and pursing her lips.

“Your mother is safe from my Judgment,” she confirmed. “I realize modern Sensour would expect differently, but authorities refused to act and the temple supported your poisoners rather than serve them justice. She did what those cowards should have done.”

Safe from Judgment? How odd a way to put it. “That still doesn’t explain how you knew I was in trouble and needed help.” Something pricked her memory, but she could not catch it. “You didn’t show up at the Forest Temple uninvited, did you?”

The quick smile and pat on the shoulders confirmed her suspicion. “I need to talk to Veer, sweetie. Maybe we can discuss it after.”

They wouldn’t discuss it after. Even if she brought it up, her mother would demure and avoid and scold and—and—

With a huffy growl, she whirled and zipped from the tent, fleeing through the saturated red pathways, no destination in mind.

Her mother. Always hiding, always sly. Why did she even bother to ask the questions? She knew the answer—silence. Always silence. Who was her father? Silence. Why had she not inherited her mother’s magic? Silence. Why—

It did not matter.

Purple flared, and she slowed her dash. She had fled past the tents, into the burned stumps of trees and ashy earth beyond. The glow, Katta’s magic, must mark the edge of the area he protected. Not wanting to but heeding the warning anyway, she stopped. If Strans’ blessing had faded away, she would lose herself, even in the more open space of leafless, blackened branches and charcoal fallen trunks.

She squatted and stared at the fine grey particles mixed with charred wood, the singed rocks, the baked soil. She had caused this, however unintentional. Adding suffering to an already terrible situation . . .

Trotting footsteps crunched behind her. She twisted around as Kenosera panted to a stop next to her and leaned over his knees.

“You float fast,” he wheezed.

“Why did you come after me? Surely Dedari or Lesanova or Tagra—”

“They aren’t here. They’re with Vesh.”

She frowned. True, Vesh should have stood at Katta’s side with the Light-blessed and Salan, or been in the tent with Kjaelle. “Where are they?”

“Selaserat.” He squatted and wrapped his arms around his lower legs. “You heard the rivcon playing dumb. Katta isn’t happy about it, and Kjaelle reminded him that her ex might know more. He, after all, enjoys sniffing up elite ass.”

She pictured Kjaelle saying even nastier things than that.

“Katta refused to let her go, so Vesh volunteered. My mates decided to accompany him because they are unknown faces and might pry more out of the unwary by playing country fool for effect.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Yes, but no more so than us fleeing our families and living among pirates. We look young, but we have enough years behind us to fake what we need to fake.”

Did they. Vantra dropped her gaze. “And why didn’t you go with them?”

“You needed me more.”

Tears again threatened, and she snuffled. How kind, for him to do so! Especially when he must yearn for more adventure than staying by her side while she recuperated. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did.” He cast her a quick grin. “Besides, I would have distracted my mates. I told you, how they pamper me because I’m dor-carous. They would have doubled the effort in Selaserat.”

“You’re very sweet, Kenosera.” His startlement prodded a laugh from her. “You are.”

“I suppose.” He cocked his head, and a mischievous smile brightened his expression. “In more ways than one.”

What did he mean by that?

He reached out and touched the barrier with his left hand; the back flared with Katta’s power before receding. “Katta gave me an official mark,” he said, showing her the outline of a vulf’s head. “I’m not an acolyte or anything, but this marks me as an adherent and lets me go back and forth through the shield.” He jerked his chin towards the giant floating ship. “That’s why he had Salan escort the rivcon there. It’s under a separate shield, and they needed to get through the Darkness one.”

“Have you been on the ship?” Vantra did not know if she wanted a distraction, but drowning in the clash of frustration, joy and annoyance did not sound any better.

Her heart twittered at the thought. She longed to see her mother again, hug her, cry, savor the reunion. And she had behaved so poorly, so—

“Yes. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Flashing lights everywhere, buttons and levers and a mild hum that fills the air, no matter where you walk. If the wind gets gusty, it shudders, and you can feel the floor vibrate beneath your feet. And it smells like prickle honey.” He chuckled and looked in the direction of the floating craft. “I don’t think the ghosts realize it, though.”

They wouldn’t. “Unless it’s a nasty stink from Qira, most ghosts have no sense of smell.” She touched the tip of her nose; the distraction would not hold. “When did my mother arrive?”

“Right after we brought you to camp.” Grimness paraded across his façade. “You weren’t in the best of shape, from what Katta said. You’d spent too long straining your resources.” He half-laughed. “Fyrij got excited and zipped to your tent. I followed, and there she was, holding your hand. We couldn’t see you until she arrived; that invisibility spell you have is potent. Katta was slowly working around it because he didn’t want to harm you further, and she never said what she did, but it had something to do with Sun’s Touch. And she was singing.”

“In Sonkotrow?”

He nodded. “That’s what Lorgan said, anyway.”

Her mother’s ability to pull emotion out of the depths of one’s soul with a few words sung in the holy language had no parallel. Priests and priestesses of other syimlin, acolytes, even commoners, commented on her performances, awed by the feelings she dug into and pulled out of their souls.

“It was beautiful, Vantra. I thought Qira had the most expressive voice I’d ever heard—but your mother . . .” He shook his head in reverential wonderment. “It doesn’t surprise me she and Fyrij brought you back with the beauty of their song.”

“Lorgan said he wished to talk to her about it. He’s fascinated by the fact she can bring joy to those who listen, just through a few words.”

Kenosera’s chuckle told her everything she needed to know about the battle between her mother’s stubbornness and Lorgan’s curiosity. “We’ve bets on who’ll win.”

She sighed. “My mother.”

The wind picked up and the ash tumbled through the air—outside the shield. The cloudy sky dimmed, preparing for the march into evening. Was it that late? She should return to her tent, but she did not want to face her mother---

She shrieked and bounced back as two corpse-white hands slammed against the shielding. Kenosera gasped as a gnarled face pressed between the palms, blue eyes wide and dull, lips pulled against his teeth in an enraged snarl.

“You won’t escape me,” he hissed, his words garbled. “Darkness won’t hide you forever!” Purple flared, and he scrabbled at the barrier, wispy white hair flying erratically behind him, eyes never leaving Vantra’s. Corrupted roots shot into the air behind him, curved, and hammered against the shield. Magic and matter splattered, turned to ash, and slid down the surface, to pool at the senseless man’s feet.

Kenosera rose, and she slapped a hand on his leg to keep him next to her. She sensed the Light within the ghost, muddied, thick with a taint she recognized—the same one that stalked her unconsciousness.

“YOU.”

Vantra twisted around, shocked, as her mother pointed at the man outside the shield. She stood, legs wide, trembling with violent rage.

“YOU!” she screamed in Sonkotrow. The man flinched and fell back, and the stumps of the corrupted roots blew back, broke apart, and evaporated. “YOU DARE TOUCH MY DAUGHTER?”

She shrieked. Vantra covered her ears, wincing, and Kenosera fell next to her, whimpering in pain. Cracks formed in the center of the ghost and shot outwards. He wailed, more furious than agonized.

“You’re marked, you wretched ashpile!”

The force of the words slammed like a winter gale into Vantra, and she fought against the burden as the target burst apart, essence puddling in a mass of glowing green. A bare wisp zipped away; her mother surged to the shield, but Katta swirled to her side, slid his arm around her shoulder, across her breastbone, and smacked her into his chest, keeping her tethered.

“Kasoris,” he said, his tone measured despite his rage.

Accompanied by two Light-blessed, Kjaelle flowed through the shield and bent to view the essence, then sighed. “That’s an excellent mark,” she said. “I don’t know how the puppet shed it.”

The puppet? That was no puppet! Or was it? Vantra’s uncertainty rolled around like a marble.

“By nearly discorporating,” Katta said drily.

“I could have taken it, Katta.” Her mother’s fury leaked over them. He laughed, and she stiffened.

“Yes, but in another magic battle that this land can’t handle right now.”

She stilled, then sagged, before pulling away and kneeling next to her. She hugged her tight, uncaring that the ash marred her clothing. Vantra hugged back, aware of her minute trembling, hoping to soothe her with a burst of love.

Kjaelle formed a large bauble that scooped up the mark and the essence, then looked at Katta. Darkness ribbons wrapped around it, encasing it in a shield few could penetrate. Only then did the elfine bring it into the safe space.

“Are you sure that was a puppet?” Kenosera asked, eyes plastered to the distant destruction. “He seemed more like, like—”

“Like Kjiven.”

Vantra shuddered at the seething hate that filled Navosh’s tone. She peeked at him; he stood just behind the Light-blessed, his malevolent glare did not bode well for the other, if they ever battled again.

“Kjiven? Like, the founder of Greenglimmer Kjiven?” HE stole Stans’ power?

“Yes. The wildelfine whizan who thought usurping my power would make him a syimlin equal to that of Talis.” Navosh’s nose twitched and he straightened the bottom of his bluish-green tunic with more force than necessary. “Instead, it twisted him into a shadow of himself. The Labyrinth isn’t what he assumed, and he pays for his misunderstanding.”

“And what is the Labyrinth?” Katta asked, his midnight-blue eyes holding a hint of ethereal shine.

“Nature.” Navosh relaxed his fingers. “The essence of it. Powerful, deadly and unfeeling, beautiful and serene, a haven, a home, a grave. It is the wind, the water, the growth, has fangs, has claws, has a roar and a contented purr. It splashes joyfully in pristine pools and rends the unlucky prey apart without remorse. So it was, long before I bathed in its power, and so it will be, long after Kjiven sheds my mantle.”

“Is the Labyrinth alive?” Vantra asked. His description made it sound like a being, rather than a forest.

“Not in the sense you mean, no. It doesn’t think, so much as it’s the embodiment of indifference. I dove deeper and drank from the light and joy and beauty, rather than the dark despair. It doesn’t see much difference between the gentle lapping of waves against a sandy pool shore, and the death of a panicked, unlucky animal in the jaws of a predator. It’s all natural, not good, not bad, just natural.

“Kjiven has tried to give it purpose. There is no purpose in it, and he’s unwilling to admit his failure and mistake.”

“But why did he send a puppet to specifically threaten Vantra?” Her mother pulled back, cupped her face in her hands, and kissed her forehead before eyeing Navosh, then Katta. “Why expose himself like that? It was unnecessary because we already knew his intent.”

“His intent is to rise above Talis,” Navosh said, so firmly Vantra believed him.

“But how would threatening my daughter do that?”

“His corruption,” Vantra whispered. “It had the same feel as the essence that hunted me when I was in the dark.”

Her mother sucked a worried breath through her teeth while Katta nodded. “That entity sees the Daughter of the Sun as a threat. Don’t go outside this barrier, Vantra. I know you’ll want to help the rescue efforts, but the forest and the chaos make it unsafe.” He studied her mother, who blushed at the scrutiny. “And now that you’ve proven an enemy as well, the same goes for you, Kasoris.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I—”

He raised an eyebrow, and, to Vantra’s shock, her mother backed down.

Her mother backed down for no one.

“We know a few things,” Katta continued. “He watches this camp through at least one puppet, he recognizes Vantra and sees her as a threat. He must remain distant enough my detections don’t touch him, yet close enough to spy upon our movements.” He looked at the Light-blessed. “Expand the perimeter for the patrols and make certain an honorguard walks with them. Inform Çeltethys the Gabridarço rescuers need extra caution when evacuating and bringing supplies. They should take Lokjac up on his offer for extra protections on their craft.”

“Are you going to stay in the camp?” Kjaelle asked. He took the bauble from her and held it between his hands.

“Yes.” A ghost of a smile lit his lips. “Qira’s annoyed I’m hovering, so I should make myself useful elsewhere.”

A Light-blessed hmphed. “Because he feels like he must listen to you.”

“No other tells him to rest and he obeys. Zibwa just puts him under when he gets cranky.” He lowered the bauble. “Let’s get back to the tents.”

Vantra rose, the need to check on Laken pounding her. True, Kjiven’s puppet could not bypass Katta’s shields, but she still wanted to make certain her Chosen was safe. Her mother wrapped her arm around her shoulders and squeezed, then kissed her forehead before heading back to the camp. She glanced at Kenosera, who smiled and trailed her. She walked with him, focusing on her self-imposed task, and not her swirling thoughts on the dangers she brought to those she cared for.