“Wait.” The Sword stops her before she can descend the steps.

Elegy stares at the hand on her shoulder. The Sword removes it.

“This place has been neutral ground for hundreds of years,” the Sword says. “I need your assurance that you will tread lightly.”

“‘Tread lightly’?” Elegy repeats. “I’m unarmed. What do you think I’m going to do, throw a boot at them?”

They’re about to meet their enemies, the Talusar, under a temporary ceasefire. But even if the ceasefire didn’t compel Elegy to restrain herself, she’s seen enough battlegrounds to know how foolish it is to engage with Talusar soldiers on foot. Especially when outnumbered—and the Talusar always outnumber them.

The Sword presses her already thin mouth into an even thinner line. “Six years in the army have made you rough around the edges, at best. But this is a delicate situation. So I want your word.”

The door at the bottom of the steps opens, and warmth rushes into the Sparrow. Elegy tastes dust and salt on the air. Wind kisses her cheeks, soft and prickling with particles of earth.

“You have it,” she says to the Sword.

The Sword nods, and walks on.

Elegy stretches her hand behind her, and her husband’s calloused fingers catch it. For a moment he stands at her back, and she can feel the heat of him.

“Wow, you can really feel the love between you and your mom,” Shir says into her ear. “I don’t understand why you waited so long to introduce us.”

Elegy’s laugh surprises her.

Shir’s eyes crinkle at the corners. When she first met him, she noted—with disdain—that he looked like he’d walked straight out of an old-fashioned romance designed to appeal to as many people as possible. Thick, wavy hair. Easy smile. Long eyelashes.

But she fell for him anyway. Annoying.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his thumb tracing a circle on the back of her hand.

She isn’t—how can a person be “ready” to hear a prophecy?—but she nods, and together they descend to the salt flat, where the Sword waits for them.