The wind off the mountains had teeth.
It bit at Imar's cheeks, worked its way under the seams of his cloak, and rattled his bones as though it were testing his resolve. He'd been walking since dawn—no, longer and days blurred here. The jagged silhouette of the northern peaks had been his constant horizon, growing sharper, darker, more foreboding with every step.
But it wasn't the mountains he was after.
It was her.
He knew Yara was no longer with the dragon. All that mattered was she was out here somewhere, cut loose from her protection, and the smugglers would be hunting her as eagerly as he was. The difference was that they wanted her bound, sold, and broken. He wanted her free. Hidden. Vanished from their reach before they realised they'd lost her.
