They camped beneath the ribs of the gate.
Briar couldn't sleep. The visions haunted her—the Ash King's eyes, the whispers from the bones, the pull of the void beyond. She rose and wandered to the edge of the camp.
There, in the dark, someone waited.
Not Kael. Not Corva.
A woman cloaked in vines and thorns.
"You wear the mark," the woman said. Her voice was soft as moss, but heavy as stone.
"I don't know who you are."
"I am the Keeper of the Pact. The one you broke."
Briar's breath caught. "What pact?"
The woman extended a hand. "Swear to the thorns again, and they will fight for you. But if you fail a second time, they will kill you."
Briar hesitated.
"Why would I agree to that?"
"Because the Ash King cannot be killed by fire, or blade. Only betrayal."
Briar reached forward and clasped the thorned hand.
Blood welled instantly—but she didn't pull away.
The pact was made.
The woman vanished into the roots.
Thorns crawled up Briar's arm and formed a second crown, invisible but felt.
Kael found her minutes later.
"What did you do?"
"What I had to," she said.
And the thorns whispered her name.