As Jordan tossed in fitful sleep that night, she dreamed – a dark vision of the kind she had never experienced before. As cold sweats plagued her, her fitful mutterings roused Norae. The Callkin rose to light a candle and sit beside her, cooling her knotted brow with a damp cloth. She had heard tales of Dreamkin who must not be woken in the throes of their Sight, and though Jordan did not quite fit the mantle, she had silver magic in her blood. Norae assumed the same might still apply, and so she sat vigil, murmuring soothing words late into the night. Jordan, thrashing in slumber, might have thanked her for waking her from her nightmares, but Norae couldn’t possibly know that…

Dark of the Sun! Dark of the Sun! Dark of the Sun!

Shrill and ear-piercing, the phrase echoed over and over, clawing at Jordan’s mind. She pressed her hands over her ears against the insidious, screaming whispers. Her own screams rose against the grating refrain in her skull, but she could not drown it out, for it was within her. She spun, or the world spun around her, and the ground opened up beneath her feet. Terrified, she scrabbled for purchase, scraping her hands to raw against rock and soil, but blood rained from her torn fingers, and she could gain no grip. She slipped back, falling.

The world roared. A great pit rose to consume her, a demonic maw with teeth of stone and breath of sulphur, and she tumbled into its hungry reach. Down, and down, into oblivion. With a rush, she burst through the darkness, landed in a great ocean, caught by the wave rearing high to raze a city. And the water was red, and green, and blue, and silver; a multicoloured mess of the blood of the peoples of Andoherra, flooding across the land, consuming mountains, drowning all in its path. She was flung high into the air by the force of the wave, tossed amongst the stars, and then she looked down upon the death of a planet. Continents collapsed, drenched by the spray of the bloodied seas; mountains crumbled, civilizations fell. Screams of terror rose to form a single, terrible refrain, the keening of a world, destroying itself. Creatures great and small fled, struck down by violent lightning, falling mountains, rising oceans. The very winds tore them apart, scattering their blood to the corners of existence, painting the future black. Even the stars were stained.

Above it all, a nefarious shadow tore apart the sun with an appetite like thunder.

Dark of the Sun… Dark of the Sun… Dark of the Sun…

A face swam, blurred and distant; abruptly close, clear as crystal. Glowing, ethereal, Asbeth’s gaze was heartbroken, terrified, awash with devastated fury. Her tears fell, silver rain, but were lost to the surging seas. Beyond her, blurred by the fog of the unknown, shadows of other Queens wept, raged, crumpled to their knees in desolation. Asbeth turned to Jordan, started with surprise. Her tears stilled, and time stilled with them. She floated close, held out an uncomprehending hand, cupped Jordan’s cheek with featherlight fingers.

Into the sudden silence, her awed words fluted.

“Jordenna… My own dear princess… Oh, thank Malevelyn…! Only you, my love, only you can redeem Andoherra… Only you can save our world…”

Jordan pulled free of the vision with a great cry, surging upright in her damp bed. She shied away as a dark shadow loomed beside her, but then it was just Norae, dim in the light of the single candle, holding out a cup of water. Her thirst drove all else from her mind and she snatched it, draining it in great gulps. She leaned back, panting, and Norae pressed a cool cloth to her clammy brow. Grateful, she leaned into its refreshing comfort.

After a time, her hammering heart slowed to erratic leaps, and Norae offered a small piece of some kind of sustenance. Fudge, she realised, as she popped it into her dry mouth. The sweetness revived her, settled her nerves, and the roar in her ears subsided. Outside, the first break of dawn crested the horizon.

“Bad dream?” Norae asked when she judged Jordan had calmed enough.

“Understatement of the century,” Jordan murmured. She groaned, swung herself off the bed.

She padded to the shuttered window, swung it open, and drew in great gulps of the cool grey air. Norae came to stand beside her, looking out over the sleepy city.

“Want to talk about it?”

Jordan shook her head half-heartedly. “I couldn’t begin to describe the horror…”

But she did, in excruciating detail. Norae listened, fear and revulsion contorting her handsome features, knuckles turning pale as she dug her fingers into the soft wood of the windowsill. When Jordan finished recounting her visions of destruction, Norae drew a deep, shaky breath.

“Dark of the Sun,” she whispered, her voice taut in her throat, “End of the world…”

“You’ve heard of it?” Jordan asked, perplexed. Her frown deepened.

Norae nodded, swallowing down the fear in her heart. “Old prophecy, spread carelessly amongst housewives. Used to threaten naughty children, no gravity given it. The Dreamkin who foretold it, aeons ago, scoffed at. End of the world? Ridiculous notion...” She raised her dark eyes to the lightening sky. “Cannot be true, Jordan… can it?”

“I don’t know,” Jordan replied bleakly, “I have never had this dream before… All the others have been echoes of things that already happened, years ago, on Andoherra… Maybe this is that, too?”

“Has never happened,” Norae whispered.

Jordan lowered her head, chewed at her lip.

“There’s something else…”

Norae turned to look at her with a shadowed expression. “What?”

Jordan drew a breath, steadied herself. “I saw Asbeth again. But this time, she saw me, too. She recognised me, Norae. She said – she said I had returned… that I was her ‘own dear princess’… But she didn’t use my name, she called me Jordenna. And… she said that only I could prevent Andoherra’s fate.”

Norae faltered, staring at her. “Oh, this is bad…! Very bad!”

Jordan snorted. “It’s hardly true, Norae – how could I possibly be Andoherra’s princess? She was murdered as a baby, at the same time Asbeth was killed. I saw that in my visions. You know that’s a fact – Fayne wouldn’t be on the Throne, otherwise.”

But Norae would not be dissuaded. “Your blood is silver… only Worldkin blood is silver…” She paced the room in her agitation. “Arrived on Andoherra at same time Lat’Nemele miraculously reappeared – after twenty years. Precisely the right age… By Mav’s Grace, even look like Asbeth – minus the purple hair and silver eyes.”

“Asbeth’s child was murdered,” Jordan repeated, reaching out a hand to stay Norae’s pacing.

Norae spun to face her. “Was she, though? Found a slain babe with Queen, yes, but no one ever thought to check and make sure it was princess. Assumed. Maybe was not – perhaps was a trick…!” Her hands flew, forceful in time with her words. “And… where has Lat’Nemele been for last twenty years? Precise length of time since day Queen and baby were discovered?”

Jordan folded her arms. “Well, she certainly wasn’t with me, so bang goes that theory. Listen to yourself, Norae, you’re clutching at straws. It’s entirely possible that I was just having a nightmare this time.”

“Oh!” Norae’s face tightened with fear. She stared over Jordan’s shoulder, pointing with a trembling finger. “Oh, gods, do not think so… Dear Malevelyn, Jordan, look!”

Jordan turned, baulked. Outside the window, a wounded sun was hauling itself above the horizon. Its rays shone brightly, but for the side blighted by a slim sliver of shadow. There, they seemed to dim to nothingness, devoured by the first taint of the Dark of the Sun.

As Jordan stared in disbelieving horror, Norae swept around the room like a startled wasp, flinging their belongings into their packs. She settled her weapons at a blistering pace, tossed Jordan’s pack at her, and hauled her away from the window.

“Have to go! Have to find Lat’Nemele!”

Jordan wasted no more time arguing the point, donned her pack and shoes, and swept out of the room hot on Norae’s heels. They hit the street with pounding feet, racing over the silent cobblestones, running in the opposite direction from which they had arrived.

“Where are we going?” Jordan gasped, her breath sobbing with exertion.

“Get Thallo!” Norae shouted back, not slackening her pace for an instant. “Need her to get to Eoscan – the gryphon stables are in grounds of castle, just ahead!”

A sound like the whistle of a firework fizzed through the air. Jordan ducked reflexively as it ended with a loud bang, like she’d had half-expected.

“What the hell was that?”

“Do not know, but castle is not far – hurry!”

Abruptly, it was raining.

Raining fire.

Immense swathes of blue flame poured from the sky, blazing blue-black rivers snaked across the ground, incinerating everything in their path. Jordan yelped in pain as Norae, panicked, grabbed her by one wounded shoulder and pulled her under an imposing stone archway.

“There, Jordan, up there!”

Norae gestured wildly at a narrow niche in the sandstone, about halfway up the inner stone wall of the massive arch. The slim ledge, gouged out by the wind over the centuries, might just be wide enough for the both of them.

Norae hoisted Jordan up onto the slender sill, and, with a running start, managed to scramble up behind her. Jordan caught hold of her pack, hauling her up.

They pressed their backs against the rough stone behind, catching their breath. Despite the roaring flames, the temperature was dropping fast. Jordan turned frightened eyes on Norae and saw her exhaling gouts of mist, too. She ducked as another monstrous bang, like the sound of a grenade, rocked their precarious haven. She dug her desperate fingers into cracks in the stone behind her as the ground shook violently. The roaring persisted, like the long, unstoppable sliding of an avalanche. Jordan breathed fast and shallow, terrified on a primaeval level. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t scream; she couldn’t even hear herself think above the crescendo of obliteration.

Beyond, the whole world was engulfed by flame. Jordan watched the very cobbles catch fire, burning, freezing, shattering. Ear-splitting screams rent the air, echoing over and over – and on and on through Jordan’s mind. She sobbed at the horror of the sounds, wishing she could drown it out.

Rivers of blood spilled across the broken cobbles, flowing down the street below. They caught alight, flickering in long ribbons of blue flames that licked at the city, devouring it alive. And all around, the screaming.

Oh, the screaming!

A howling soldier, burning flesh melting from his bones, careened past beneath their hiding place. The two women recoiled, horrified.

They cowered, trapped and helpless, and the world dissolved around them.