“They found another boy,” Brenna said as she and Mae stood around her vendor’s stall in the market. “Torn up and left in the streets, just like the others.”

  Mae, halfway through lifting her spiced tart to her lips, froze. The sweet aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon turned bitter in her senses, and her appetite vanished. The tart remained suspended in her hand, forgotten.

  “Another one?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Shock tinged her words, though deep down, she couldn’t feign true surprise. The monster that haunted the youth of the Vale had struck before.

  Brenna leaned against her market stall, her sharp, brown eyes narrowing as she folded her arms across her chest. “Was only a matter of time,” she said with grim finality. “This time, it was Lord Dennard’s own son. Serves him right, I say. Maybe now he’ll wake up, get his priorities straight.”

  Mae’s breath caught, her gaze snapping to Brenna. “His son?” The words barely escaped her lips, laden with disbelief.

  Brenna nodded curtly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Aye. The beast took him right under old Bear Jasper’s nose. Apparently they were out hunting that monster when it got him.”

  “But Jasper has some of the best hunters and trackers in the Vale,” Mae’s brows furrowed, “Why would he need that boy?

  “No doubt Dennard sent the boy out on that hunt. Fool. Maybe this’ll teach him not to waste his efforts chasing harmless Relics while his own people die.”

  Brenna’s disdain was palpable, her tone biting. At nearly a decade older than Mae, Brenna’s attachment to the Old Ways ran deep, her roots firmly planted in traditions that had nearly completely withered under the dominance of the Risen God. Given another generation, the gods of old and their Relics would be a distant memory.

  Mae shifted uncomfortably, her fingers worrying the edge of her tart’s crust. Lord Dennard’s choices—hunting the Harbinger and burning it to appease the Ascended—had left a bitter taste in the mouths of many who still clung to the Old Ways. In the Vale, resistance to the Risen God’s dominion had held firm the longest, but even here, the tide had turned.

  “It’s hard to blame him entirely,” Mae ventured, her voice tempered with caution. “One can only hope this tragedy puts the Vale first again. The Ascended has been appeased—perhaps now he’ll focus on finding this beast before another youth is taken.”

  Brenna snorted softly, “Appeasing the Ascended? Is that what we’re calling it now? I thought Lord Dennard now walked permanently on all fours.”

  Mae felt the weight of Brenna’s words pressing down on her, yet her perspective was slightly different. Having grown up in a household that operated close to Voltaine’s nobility, Mae understood the delicate balancing act of power, the choices that men like Lord Dennard had to make.

  “It may not be that simple,” she said, shaking her head. “Remember that Lord Dennard’s father stood with Viktor’s father—Lord Collum Helston—against the Risen God. They defied once before, to do so again, well the Ascended could bring ruin to the Vale.

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  Brenna’s eyes softened, though her expression remained resolute. “And yet, every time we appease the Ascended, we lose a little more of who we are. The Old Ways are dying, Mae. When they’re gone, what will be left of us?”

  Mae didn’t have an answer.

  Later that morning, Mae returned to Nightfall to find her mother out in the front gardens.

  Swollen, painful joints may have forced Janna Franecture into early retirement, but that would never change her mother’s devotion to the ancient hold.

  “We must always keep Nightfall in the best form that we can,” Janna had told her early on in her training to become the next Headkeeper.

  Not that anyone bonded to the hold ever needed to be told that. Taking care of Nightfall and its needs came as second nature to those like Mae and her mother.

  The raised flower beds outside the holds entrence never looked anything less than perfect to receive any visitors. But no one ever came to Nightfall. Not when its Lord was absent.

  Well, at least not until last night.

  “He has not returned yet.” Mae asked casually, taking a seat next to her mother on the lip of the raised flower bed. “I made lunch for him.”

  Sometimes Mae wondered if her mother took up this post to watch the comings and goings of the holds small household.

  Mae smiled, ready to entertain her mother, “He came to the Vale for a reason, Mother. But I don’t think it was to have lunch with us.”

  “No, of course not, Mae,” Janna retorted, clearly not having any of her daughter’s teasing, “Though I do wonder why he has returned, but not with the Lord of Nightfall.”

  “Turthfully, mother,” Mae said as she picked some dead branches from the flower bed, “I think he just narrowly missed the reason he was sent here.”

  “Hm, I suppose you’re right,” Janna nodded her head, the sunlight catching off the silver of her grey hair, bound in a braid, “Time to hunt the real monster, then?”

  “Well, if there is anyone who can deal with whatever hunts the Vale, it’s him.”

  Kastiel had still not returned by the time dinner came and went. Mae tried to brush aside the unease that had taken root in her chest. He was, after all, Kastiel—a figure of legend, an ancient warrior who had survived battles and dangers that most couldn’t fathom. Whatever roamed the Vale was unlikely to pose a real threat to him.

  After dinner was cleared away and the rest of the household had retired for the night, Mae made her way to her chambers.

  Mae closed the door behind her, the soft click echoing in the quiet. She took her time changing into her sleeping shift, the fabric cool against her skin as she slipped it over her head.

  Pulling back the quilt on her bed, Mae slipped beneath its comforting weight with a soft sigh. The familiar scent of lavender sachets calmed her nerves as she nestled deeper into the mattress.

  Mae exhaled slowly, forcing her eyes closed. As had been her nightly custom for as long as she could remember, she reached out with her mind, letting her thoughts stretch into the unseen corners of Nightfall.

  For a long moment, there was only silence—a vast, yawning void. The hold had been quiet for so long, its presence muted since the Lord of Nightfall’s death over a year ago.

  And then, something stirred. Something reached back.

  Mae gasped, sitting upright in bed as her heart pounded in her chest. Her hands clutched the quilt, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as she tried to make sense of what she’d just felt.

  For the first time in over a year, Nightfall had answered her.