Her sister had been born in mud and blood, at the price of that thing gnawing at her entrails, but Garance had been reborn in ash. There was no fire, no ember—only the black soot they left in their wake, with Garance at its heart. She was neither a phoenix nor the flame destined to light the path of lost souls.

She had coughed, her mouth filled with ash swallowed unwillingly, before shaking herself free, opening her eyes, and taking in the world around her. Everything appeared lush—opulently so. She had never witnessed anything like it. The world she had been torn from bore no resemblance to this cascade of color. If Louison had fled, surely this was not where she had come to rest. She was far too somber to find wonder in such blazing splendor. So was Garance.

Filthy from head to toe, unmoored, a grimace distorted her face. What creatures could possibly tread these lands?