Something wet hitting his nose startled Henry, and he shot up, promptly hitting his head on the low ceiling of the tight cave where he had slept.

Groaning, Henry untangled himself from his coat and scrambled out of the cave, muttering curses. It was a most uncomfortable spot, but too tight for anything dangerous to fit inside. And, well, the closest river ran directly above; it always began dripping at a certain time of day, likely in tandem with the tides. At least, like this, he didn't oversleep.

Outside, he sat in the entrance and turned left to count his tally marks. Then he fished for his piece of chalk and made the fourth one. Henry didn't really know why he found it so comforting to keep a tally; he had never done it before exile.

Then again, back then, he hadn't ever been at risk of losing track of the passage of time. And now . . . he stared at the tally. It was meager compared to his twenty-nine lines back during his first month in the Dead Land, but it told him how many days he had managed to survive. Maybe that was it. But . . . If he added up the three days he'd spent on the island and the other three he'd been out hunting for Goldfang to the four he'd spent out here now—plus the few in between that he had spent traveling—nearly two weeks had passed since Thanatos had been kidnapped.

He sighed and grabbed his backpack that he used as a pillow, then his boots, struggling to put them on with his still-injured leg. The long cut Goldfang's claws had left in his thigh was healing well; he'd be able to take the bandages off soon. But it still hurt when he strained it too much.

When he had returned victoriously to the crawlers, they had celebrated him a hero and swamped him with everything he could have ever asked for—fuel, food, grain, and badly needed medicine: disinfectant, painkillers, anti-inflammatory, cold medicine, bandages . . . He had gotten himself an entire medical kit's worth, and his injuries, especially the one on his thigh, would never have healed so well without it. The bread he had made out of the grain was dull and tasteless, but it made a nice addition to the fish; he'd gotten quite proficient at using Mys to catch it.

He had made sandwiches that day for the first time, and it had been bittersweet in a lot of ways. The food item was part of a past that seemed frighteningly far away all of a sudden.

But when he allowed himself to indulge in the memories that he had shut out for so long, the bittersweet sting unexpectedly mixed with a surge of pride. What would the people from his old life say if they learned that he was still alive? If they knew what he had survived and accomplished? They, who had called him a good-for-nothing troublemaker, a disgrace to his status—or . . . his own younger self. What would they say if they were to learn about the gnawer arena? The liberation of the citadel? The victory against Goldfang?

Henry relished the fantasy until he remembered that, should the Regalians actually find out he was alive, they'd execute him for treason, and it ceased giving him joy.

Still, even though Henry knew his friends and family would never know, he didn't allow that to dim his pride. More than four months ago, he had told himself that he would survive, and then he had told himself that he would be successful. And looking back on that list made him realize that he was well on his way to fulfilling that promise. All he needed now was to find the one to whom he had made this promise . . . and that was what he was set on doing.

No matter how slim or not the chances of finding Thanatos alive after such a long time were, Henry had decided that he at least had to find out what had happened. Whether Thanatos' "unfinished business" had caught up to him or all of this was unrelated, Henry would find out, even if all he would get out of his investigation was confirmation that his flier was dead. And until he had that, he wouldn't gain anything from assuming otherwise.

Was this what Thanatos had meant when he had spoken of "not wanting yet another death on his conscience"? If so, Henry thought he, for the first time, understood. And he liked to think that if the roles were reversed, the flier would make the same effort for his sake too.

Henry slipped into his coat, shouldered his backpack, and rose to his feet, then began making his way up toward the river. There, he briefly washed and ate, contemplating where he should go today.

Four days ago, he had left some of his new supplies back at the crawler island, deeming it a suitable spot for a supply stash. Then he had returned to the Dead Land for the sake of investigating the spinners but soon found himself lost. He had no leads or even any idea as to where the spinner's land lay, so he could hardly do more than venture in a random direction and hope for the best.

Only when he had found his way back to the lake where he and Thanatos had been kidnapped, had he recognized where he was. He had followed the stream until he had discovered this cave and settled down, then began to explore in a different direction every day. He was no longer scared of going anywhere by himself, and this notion raised Henry's spirits even more than the fact that he could orient himself in this part of the Dead Land well now—not least because he had begun mapping it out in his notebook.

Yesterday, he had sought out some of the crawlers who he remembered living nearby to ask if they had information. They had pointed him toward the territory of the flutterers, claiming that if he needed intelligence, he should consider asking them; apparently, the moths were excellent scouts.

And today . . . Henry mindlessly kicked a pebble into the river. Yes, today, he would pay them a visit. No matter how slim the hope of finding Thanatos alive was, at this point, he would try. He knew little regarding his flier's fate, but who was Henry to allow something such as the odds being against him to stop him?

***

Henry traversed the tunnel the crawlers had pointed him to confidently, despite not really knowing what to expect. He had never interacted with the flutterers—never even seen more than a few from the distance. All he knew was that they were fairly peaceful and close allies to the crawlers. Well, he would see soon enough.

So far, he was in known territory, which made the trek faster. It took him over half an hour to leave his known territory, and when he found himself in a vast but unfamiliar cave shaped like a triangle, he took a tight opening some six feet above the ground, just like the crawlers had said. At first, he had to duck to traverse the narrow passage. Luckily, it widened quickly so that Henry could stand and even hold his torch properly.

He walked silently for another half an hour. There were no crossroads, so he tread confidently, despite the unfamiliarity of the path. Occasionally, distant rustling could be heard, and then he thought he made out scurrying shadows in the dark, but nothing attacked or even made itself known to him.

Having promised himself that he would no longer be afraid of phantom shadows, Henry proceeded onward without delay, although he kept his hand at the hilt of his sword at all times. For all he knew, the shadows were just as afraid as he. And if they wanted to attack, they should; he would make them regret it.

When the tunnel finally mounded into another cave shaped like a diamond with a narrow shaft leading upward directly ahead, Henry halted. Before he could properly ask himself how he was supposed to get up there with his torch, he found himself surrounded.

Four times four wings, spanning nearly five feet, enclosed him. At first glance, they seemed dull brown and gray, but when Henry looked closer, he noticed they were covered in intricate patterns. The elongated bodies of the moths were maybe three feet long, but their delicate antennas made them look considerably taller. Their eyes, huge and black, were fixed on him.

Henry staggered back and almost ran one of them over. "Greetings," he said hurriedly. "Are you the . . . flutterers?" Immediately, he cursed himself for asking something so obvious.

The tallest one—a moth with pretty orange circles on its wings—drew a little closer. "We have watched you, human, since you entered the passage to our land. I am Kuthe. My mother is the queen of our people. For what purpose do you seek us out?"

Henry took a deep breath and straightened out his back in an attempt to seem confident. "My name is . . ." He suddenly hesitated. Was it smart to go around telling species that were friendly with the humans who he was? "Well," he said after a brief moment. "I wish I could tell you my name, but a name is not something you need when you live alone." Henry thought Thanatos wouldn't mind lending him this introduction. "And I seek you out because I am looking for a friend. The crawlers said you may aid in this matter."

The princess intook Henry's words silently. Then, two other flutterers approached her, and they began whispering. A minute may have passed when she raised her voice again: "You are a friend of the crawlers?"

"Oh, I am!" As little as Henry had previously cared about being the savior of the crawlers, he suddenly wondered if that status might aid him in his current situation . . . or any other in the future. Maybe he should just embrace it. "I am not merely their friend," he continued. "I am their savior. Two colonies have me to thank for their lives. You may have heard—they have named me "Wielder of Light". And if that suffices for a name, then I suppose it is mine."

More murmurs followed; this time they sounded excited. "So, you are who our allies praise as the Wielder of Light in all their settlements?" Kuthe said. "And now you come to us, seeking our help?" The princess sounded much friendlier now; she rubbed her forearms together in what Henry thought was glee.

"Indeed," replied Henry. "And I'm not asking for a free favor. I require your aid, but I am open to striking a deal. There has to be something I can do for you too."

Kuthe exchanged glances with the others. "My mother will decide," she replied shortly. "Please follow."

One of the flutterers carried his torch up the narrow shaft, and when Henry emerged on the other side and took it back, he realized he was already in their main hub. The cave was enormous; hundreds and hundreds of moths covered the walls and the ceiling, and everything buzzed with life.

He almost ran over individuals numerous times, but when he raised his torch higher, every single flutterer in close proximity stopped in their tracks and stared at him, so Henry quickly lowered it again. The moth who had carried it up previously mumbled that he was advised to cover the light, as their people were not accustomed to brightness.

Henry suspected it was more about the infamous, barely controllable fondness that they had for light. He had to suppress laughter when he noticed a number of flutterers stare at his light with glazed eyes, practically salivating.

Eventually, Henry threw a flame-resistant cloth over the torch, even though he still found the matter hilarious. But then they reached what he presumed to be the middle of the cave, and Kuthe and her entourage stopped. In front of them rose a natural stone formation, and on top sat a single moth, surrounded by guards armed with short lances made of bone.

The moth in the middle was majestic. She had a wingspan of more than five feet, and the patterns on the grayish surface were an unusual shade of blue and green. Around her neck, she wore something like a necklace made from colorful crystals.

"This is my mother, Queen Lakethe," Kuthe introduced her, and the moth queen gave him a courteous nod. Henry knew it was customary to bow, and yet it felt utterly wrong to do it, even now. He had never bowed to anyone, and as necessary as it was now, he didn't want it to become a habit.

In brief words, Henry explained his situation to the queen, and she listened with great interest. When he mentioned that it had been the spinners who had captured Thanatos, Kuthe raised her head. "Mother, do you think it may have been the Sicix who took his flier?"

Lakethe nodded.

Noticing Henry's confused face, Kuthe explained: "The Sicix are an elite team of mercenaries. They hold great honor among their kind and kill and abduct for payment."

"Is that so?" For a moment, Henry found it hard to believe that there were spinners who did anything other than weave. He had never heard of such a thing, not even from Vikus. Then again, he supposed it made sense that not every single one of them did the same thing for a living. "Colleagues, then," was all Henry said, and both queen and princess perked up.

"You are a mercenary?" Kuthe rubbed her cheek in disbelief.

"Indeed." Henry put his hands on his hips. "And I am competent. My last job was to kill the gnawer Goldfang for the crawlers. She was a former general of King Gorger's and threatened to occupy their home. And as you can see by the fact that I stand before you, living—I have been successful."

The flutterers exchanged glances, and for a moment Henry thought they had seen through his exaggerated confidence, but no. "Then we might indeed strike a deal," said Lakethe. "Our intelligence will be traded against your aid. If you are willing."

"I am," said Henry, and in the same breath, he wondered how long it would take until he regretted his promise this time.

***

Henry went over the things he intended to take for something like the hundredth time. Slingshot, water bag, the remaining bread, Mys, sword, fire stones—had he his slingshot?

One of the queen's lackeys had shown him a remote corner of the cave where he could prepare for the trip he would have to undertake and leave whatever he wished not to bring.

Henry fumbled with his slingshot, feeling as though he had counted it at least ten times, and finally stashed it at the bottom of his backpack. Then he glanced up at the niche where he had stored the rest of his things—the pot, the notebooks, the rest of his supplies, and his coat too. He thought it might get in the way during this kind of mission.

When he had stashed everything, Henry prepared to stand up when his gaze met his leg. He had only now taken the bandage off, but it was no longer bleeding, and he wanted to let the injury breathe. Where his flesh had been torn, there remained a vicious red gash. Soon, it would turn white like all the others. Henry smiled as he mindlessly played with the stitch where he had sown up his pants; he was collecting scars like he was collecting titles, apparently.

Forcing his gaze up, Henry determinedly rose to his feet. He was as terrified of this job as he had been of the last one, even if for an entirely different reason. And he was equally determined to not let anyone see his fear.

Lakethe had explained that her people preferred peace yet had been forced into war with a species that resided beyond human maps. The war had been going on for several months, and everyone eagerly awaited its end . . . an end that Henry could bring, Lakethe had claimed, if he succeeded in this mission.

When Henry had asked for the identity of this species, the queen had revealed she was referring to a race of Underland wasps, also called buzzers.

Before Henry could have broken into laughter about such a—so he found—quite ridiculous name, Kuthe had silenced him, saying they all knew it was ridiculous, even the buzzers themselves. They apparently hated it vigorously, claiming it had been created with the intent to berate them. And although that wasn't true, they rejected any contrary claim. Short-tempered and quick to judge, as they apparently were, and equally quick to sting—with a venom that was one of the deadliest known in the Underland.

And those buzzers were whom Henry was up against. Under a new lead, they sought conquest and, a few months ago, attempted to expand their territories at the expense of the flutterers who had been compelled to defend their borders, and so the war had begun.

The buzzers' queen resided in a nest about a day's trip from here, but she was not whom Henry was supposed to kill. The queen only appears to be a queen; in truth, her sole purpose is to deliver offspring to increase her kind's numbers, Kuthe had explained. The ones truly reigning over the buzzers are their two Supreme Generals. They give commands and organize their society, and they are those who have decided to occupy our lands. They are who must be eliminated.

Lakethe had confirmed that if the generals were to be taken out, the buzzers would likely become disorganized and vulnerable and lose interest in conquest, at least for a while And so, the flutterers' own borders would be secure again.

Henry had taken all of this in and pondered whether he'd ever even heard of the buzzers. Vikus may have mentioned them at some point, he thought, though he could have that confused. If he ever had, it had been a long time ago, and Henry hadn't been properly listening.

When the flutterers had demanded a confirmation as to whether he was taking the job, Henry had instantly known that he would do it no matter what, just like with Goldfang. No matter how dangerous it was to go up against a species he had never engaged, it could hardly be worse than anything he had already done . . . could it?

And so Henry shouldered his sword and his backpack, thinking that he should refill his water bag during the journey, and stepped out into the center of the cave again. Technically, it could be worse, he thought. And technically, he was even more anxious about this job than the other . . . because he barely knew what he was dealing with.

Although he knew them to be lethal and cunning, the gnawers were a familiar enemy. When it came to the buzzers, he knew essentially nothing. So, Henry had replied to their question as to whether he was doing it, saying that he would but that he needed more information. Lakethe had obliged and ordered to brief Henry on anything regarding the buzzers that may be important or helpful.

In that manner, Henry had learned that the buzzers hated warmbloods in a similar manner to the cutters. They avoided crossing paths with the humans, the fliers, and even the gnawers and cared little for cold-blooded species who were friendly with the humans either. Their only known allies were the cutters . . . who Henry thought likely hated him even more than other humans after what he had done at the citadel. So, he concluded that his "Wielder of Light" title would mean nothing to the buzzers either.

Yet the most important piece of information the flutterers had disclosed was that the buzzers hated water. They became helpless when their wings were wet, so they didn't go anywhere near it. That, and they were much easier to strike down than rats. One proper slingshot throw to the head should do the job.

Henry stopped and forced himself to not give in to the urge to check whether he had packed his slingshot—again. He remembered packing it about a hundred times; there was no need to further delay his departure. The faster he could get this over with, the faster he would get news on Thanatos.

In exchange for killing the two buzzer generals, Lakethe had promised to send her best scouts to discover what had happened to Thanatos and whether he was even still alive.

That, and . . . As further payment, you may keep the buzzers' wings, Kuthe had announced after the briefing. If the spinners truly hold your friend, you will need something to buy him free. They do not do favors. And there is little that the spinners value more than the wings of buzzers.

Henry found the concept that spinners were supposed to be into wasp wings incredibly amusing; apparently, they could use the material to increase the value of one of their rarest and most precious silk types. So, he decided to keep it in mind. The last thing he needed was to face the spinners and see Thanatos within reach, only to realize he had nothing to offer in exchange for his life.

Henry mindlessly strolled through the flutterer's cave, on the lookout for Kuthe, who had promised to assign him a guide who would show him to the land of the buzzers. When he finally spotted her orange wings in the distance and made his way past numerous rows of flutterers, he stopped all of a sudden, compelled to question his own sanity. What did he even think he was doing—capering off into the complete unknown and going up against an entirely foreign enemy with not even a proper plan?

Because it was what he had to do in order to get what he wanted, Henry answered his own question. Did that make the undertaking any less insane? No. But it at least gave him a justification for it. Yes, he was going up against a completely unknown species. But for the right kind of reward, crazier things had been done, hadn't they?