Wolves stared at them from afar, their glossy red coats blending in with the coppery hue of the rocks rising behind them. Seiren heaved another sigh; it was difficult not to feel short of breath despite her chest working hard. Each inhalation of air dragged through her throat and down her airway like syrup, thick and congestive. She sweated in places she didn't even realise had sweat glands. The sun continued to blast them with its rays and sand whipped at their veils, coursing down their path through the arid world of jutting rocks and crisp dry flora. It was tempting to rip off the long sleeves and headdress to let the sweat vaporise and cool her down, but Seiren knew such exposure was dangerous. Many unprepared thrill-seekers had met their dooms just like that by trekking the sprawling desert of Moakai with little protection, their cleaned-out skeletons found months later.

It didn't stop the conversation from drifting to lazy grunts and sullen blinks as Seiren's temper reached the same temperature. They should probably have been more prepared for extremes of temperatures like this, but she would never admit it aloud.

"Tell me about Cliffe," said Madeleine at their next stop. Seiren sighed with relief at the shelter. She melted, spread-eagled, on the cool stone floor, staring up at the ceiling, which was made up of sandy-coloured bricks with edges chipped and eroded with age. There was the creak of wood as Madeleine perched at the nearby table. "It's such a guarded military secret I don't even know what my own sister's surroundings have been like for five months."

"A constant uphill battle." Seiren groaned, staring up at the ceiling. Sand had worn away at the figures painted on its surface, leaving the colours faded like memories forgotten by time. "The land... there's nothing growing. The soil is toxic. It burns if you touch it. You're covered from day one in protective gear, runed many layers over but even that keeps the poisons at bay only for a few days. It needs to be constantly rejuvenated, but the wear is different depending on what sites each person goes to and what works they did, so you can't even duplicate the same runes over and over. We made contact with the Teirrinese, occasionally — well, the military mage did, not me — just to discuss the extent of the wasteland down their end. I just try to salvage what I could to keep the runes going, but the infestation is like wood rot. And there are some crazy mutated animals there – we lose soldiers on a regular basis because of them."

After a brief silence, Seiren spoke again.

"It gave me time to think about things, though."

"Yeah?"

"When I... removed Kristen's magic, I got a view into her mind." Seiren sat up, peeling her apple green robe forward to air the front of her chest and sighing as cool air licked her sticky skin. "Just briefly. I saw things from her view. There was a lot of sadness, negative things from when she was a more junior mage. A lot of abuse, manipulation, just really horrible people. She wanted to do good, but the higher-ups didn't want to know and there were groups of Karmans who kept putting pressure on her over and over. I think she just lost the will, you know?"

"Nobody put themselves through six years at king's and then decades of hard work just to kill people. Unless you're Butterworth." When Madeleine failed to rouse a chuckle out of Seiren, she sighed. "She's not much different from us, from the other good mages we've come across. She wanted change and times were desperate."

"Aside from the whole genocide thing."

"Aside from the whole genocide thing," Madeleine agreed.

"I'm glad Butterworth is dead."

"When we were separated, the old king's mages had so much interest in me — in that amulet."

Seiren gave her a startled look. Madeleine had never spoken of the brief period when Seiren had been en route to her exile and before Kristen gave Madeleine back to her.

"They thought my existence was immortality. I don't age, don't get sick, don't get hurt — and they wanted to know if the stone could be altered to have a bigger influence on the person wearing it." She shuddered, a haunted look on her pinched face. She toyed with the tip of her long, dark blonde plait, picking at the split ends. "Karis Bonneville used organic magic on me to see what I was made of. It was... horrific."

"I'd kill her if she wasn't dead already," Seiren growled. "The single good outcome from Kristen's plan." She paused, the thoughts churning in her head. "But Bonneville worked with Kristen. Why did she need to see what you were made of? Didn't she already know?"

"I think you added something to Mother's rune that night – I don't know what. But it wasn't exactly as she'd designed it."

Seiren frowned.

"Things are changing, Seiren. New king's mages, new policies, new allies."

"And new enemies." Seiren drained the last of her water and left the cup on the floor. "You still support her, though."

"Not support." Madeleine sounded taken aback. "I just see her at more than just face value, more than just the giant rune she tried to do. When people have been through major trauma or hardship, you can't really blame them for their reactions. She's disillusioned. Like Halen Ashworth. And Azriel Edevane."

"And Rowan. None of them attempted genocide."

"I probably shouldn't have come along to see him," Madeleine said softly. "I forgot."

A quiet silence fell over them, leaving only the tinny, hollow whistling of the wind outside.

"What if he doesn't recover?"

"You can only support him. When you... after that night when Jarsdel killed Dad and me, those were my worries, too. What if you don't see the point of living? What if you lost the will? What if you fell into the darkness because you have no guide, nobody to support you — and I was only a voice in your head you could barely hear at the time?"

"What did you do?" Those first few months after her family died were fuzzy. Seiren remembered only numbness, hushed whispers, furtive glances, and an emotional woodenness that still remained within her to this day.

"I was there for you," Madeleine said simply.

"Kristen's not changed how she sees things. If we don't stop her..."

"We have to stop her. I agree. I just..." Madeleine picked up Seiren's cup with hers and washed them with the remains of the water pulled from the well. The splashing of water took over the silence before she spoke again. "I don't want to see you hurt and go through the crazy again."

Madeleine's words stayed in Seiren's mind for the remaining part of their journey. Watchful eyes of the native creatures didn't leave the twins as the sun neared the horizon. The sky was a violent clash of violet, scarlet, and orange, like the most convoluted but beautiful rune coming to life in all its destructive glory. The twins began to descend, the sand sliding from beneath their thick boots. Both breathed a sigh of relief when smooth stone structures came into view with the blazing scarlet and navy flag of Hanna flying at the top. Heavy stone bricks lined their path up the incline. It was with shaking, exhausted legs, heaving chests, and sweat-drenched faces they arrived at the town of Leitholm.

Sand-coloured blocks made up the outer walls of the town, arching overhead and bearing intricate carvings painted red and gold. Spindly trees swayed overhead, as parched and brittle as Seiren's throat. Towering walls welcomed them into a marketplace reminiscent of Seiren's childhood in Danaway, messy and bustling, the air thick with excitement and anticipation. Merchants laid their wares out on wooden stalls on either side of the brick path leading into the town, their jovial advertising mingling with the coarse, clipped accented voices of townsfolk, who wore bright robes and intricate headwear as they meandered past the exhausted twins. Fire torches blazed on the walls, throwing dancing shadows as the last of the sunlight disappeared, and the kaleidoscope of colours yielded to the blanket of night.

There was a thump behind her. Madeleine had sat down, a surprised look in her eyes. She struggled to push herself up, but her legs slid away like melted butter and she landed on her bottom again with an 'oof!'

"Are you all right?" came a woman's voice with a heavy, nasally accent that sent shivers down Seiren's spine and made her stomach churn. This was Hanna, she reminded herself, swallowing the bitter taste of unwelcome memories. Everybody would speak like that. And besides, not everyone in Hanna was like Zor Jarsdel. Kommora's contacts were vital in this mission. The speaker had the typical clear, pale eyes and mahogany skin of a Hannan, although her cheeks were ruddy, and she had curly black hair tied in two tight plaits woven with velvet ribbons. She wore a knee-length light purple robe cinched with an orange sash at the waist.

"Just tired," said Seiren. The woman started at her lilted, light accent, rubbing her bulbous nose.

"You're from the south?"

"Ettrick." It was Kommora's idea. Seiren and Madeleine would become twins from Ettrick, a tiny, remote village repeatedly decimated by the conflict at Acrise a few miles away. Barely anybody lived there and her accent wouldn't be questioned, being in such proximity to the Karman border.

"Ah, you must have a lot of Karman blood in you. I barely recognised any Hannan features! You poor things, you must have walked far!" The woman's surprise was replaced with motherly sympathy. She even clucked at Madeleine, kneeling down to her level and brushing stray blonde hairs out of her face. "Such light hair! Almost like jewels. Where are you heading?"

"Here, actually. We're looking for a—" Seiren dropped her voice. "Martel Solidor. I'm told he lives here."

"Ah." The woman nodded. "Yes, well, Leitholm is such a little community. I know him. Can you walk?" she addressed Madeleine. Madeleine nodded, struggling to her feet like a baby deer, with the woman hooking her arm under her armpit and Seiren taking the other.

The woman took them down the street, which was made of grey stone blocks covered in uneven layers of sand, and then off to a side street. The stalls thinned and the raucous shouts died away. At the back, muscular townsfolk lifted cumbersome wooden boxes and stacks of building material to and fro. Guiding the twins around the side, the woman paused outside one of the stone houses and knocked on the door. It had a pastel blue roof and windows tinted with a material that gave nothing away about its interiors except for the light peeping out of the slits at the edges.

A dark shape ambled to the door and opened it. An elderly man, at least in his seventies, peered at them with pale grey eyes. His raven hair was long gone, replaced by a wild mane of snow-white hair with bits that escaped the long plait running down his back. A flickering lamp sat on a table behind him, throwing his prominent features into sharp relief.

"Why, isn't this a surprise?" he said to the woman behind the twins. "Who are these guests?"

"They asked for you."

"Me?" The man's white brows knitted together briefly.

Seiren dug her hands into her bag and tugged out Kommora's letter. The man swivelled away to squint at it under the light behind him before turning around and eyeing her and Madeleine.

"I see." His voice held wonderment and finality. "Yes, I'll see you two. Won't you come in?"

Seiren stepped in first, eyes darting around the place.

"I had a suspicion Kommora Haigh would find me soon, but I didn't expect her to send such young messengers." Martel Solidor swept his hand behind him. Madeleine and Seiren flocked into the small circular home. The decor seemed to be painted with the same dazzling and colourful palette as the rest of the Hannan culture: the small wooden chairs and table were the same vibrant orange as her favourite fruit, covered on the surface in blue and green swirls as if the decorator had a battle with his paints; woven cloth hung on the walls, dynamic shades of fuchsia and aquamarine crashing into delicate weaves of periwinkle and silver; books stacked on shelves against the far wall, dog-eared and well-thumbed. Seiren and Madeleine sat at the fiery orange table, upon which sat a vase of lilies, the icy silver petals glistening like tiny remnants of winter.

There was the clinking of cups from the nearby kitchen and the hiss of boiling water.

"I'm sure you two have interesting tales," said the old man, his back to them.

Seiren didn't speak, concentrating on her fingertips, which were tingling with the peculiar lightning sensation again. She touched fingertip with fingertip, almost expecting flash magic to zap out at her, but only the tiny trail of smoke came out again and then disappeared. Martel didn't pursue the subject.

Madeleine leapt to her feet and hobbled over to help him, returning with mugs of steaming beverages and a platter of biscuits.

"Thank you, my child," he said, easing himself into a chair with a tall wooden back, groaning and sweeping his plait to his front. He folded his knobbly fingers on his lap over his silk gown, which was a demure lilac compared with the vivid colours of his house and split at the waist and the hem brushed his boots. He observed the girls with perceptive eyes. "My joints are not as good as they used to be, and doing all this getting up and kneeling down is doing quite a number on me."

"Allow me," said Madeleine, hovering her hands over the beverages with their various accompanying containers and powders. "Um... what are they?"

He chuckled, and then sat forward, adjusting his long tunic and belt, which had a small pouch at the side. "Ah, you must be careful with that attitude in Hanna, my dear. This is carmel tea, a fairly standard beverage in Hanna. You would be calling attention to your heritage if you didn't know what it was or how to drink it."

"Don't you just... drink it?" Seiren asked, moving closer.

"Most would add a dash of goat's milk and sugar into it. Helps strengthen the flavour, if you will. I understand in Karma you drink tea in its natural state, as an infusion."

"Well, tea is tea," said Seiren, giving herself a generous portion of goat's milk and sugar. "Then I stir and drink, right?"

She took a gulp, burning her tongue. It was bitter, although the sugar took the edge off. The milk made the tea creamier, reminding her of long summers in fields of wheat, although she preferred the tart of Karman teas with tangy tealeaves that evoked the crisp sea air.

"What can I help you with, then...?"

"Seiren." Seiren swallowed her mouthful. "This is my sister, Madeleine. We're after the Daemonium."

Martel chuckled. "You and every person they purged in Hanna are after the Daemonium. You don't stand a chance against them."

"No, I'm not here to fight them. And even if I am, I'm told I don't stand a chance."

He shook his head in agreement.

"But they have... they have a prisoner from Karma. She was meant to be executed two days ago but a group of people came in and spirited her away."

"And you're sure it's the Daemonium? Seldom do they interfere with affairs of our lifelong enemy." He raised an eyebrow.

"We interrogated one of her comrades. He mentioned the Daemonium. Kommora said you'll have more information."

Martel took a delicate sip of his tea and watched her all the while, grey eyes unblinking.

"Yes, Kommora Haigh would say that. I've been her eyes and ears about Hannan affairs for quite some time."

"So you know what they're up to?"

"Yes... and no. I was a scholar of the great library of Hanna. It was the proud legacy of House Solidor to guard the ancient knowledge that built our holy country to this day. For generations, the Daemonium have been devoutly loyal to the king of Hanna, but recently, things have... changed."

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