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Stavros makes a sound of consternation. “He’s flying the banner of a royal messenger—and that looks like an official messenger’s uniform. What are the scourge sorcerers up to now?”
Ivy doesn’t even hesitate. She nudges Toast back into motion. “We’d better find out. He’s alone. We can defend ourselves if we need to.”
I tap my heels to my steed’s sides to follow her. We’re too far off still for the messenger to have noticed us, as focused as he seems to be on his mission.
He appears to be riding toward the nearest town, where a few faint lights glimmer in the distance. Along the way there, several farmhouses stand at a distance from the road.
The nearest of the farmhouses has a candle burning near one of the windows, indicating someone in there is awake. As we close the distance, the messenger slows by the wooden fence along the road. He dismounts to open the gate and leads his horse past it, heading toward the house.
Ivy slows her horse to a walk, watching. She pitches her voice in a whisper. “We need to know what message the scourge sorcerers are spreading across the country. I’ll go listen in—I can make sure the messenger doesn’t notice me if I’m on foot.”
She’s barely finished speaking when she hops down from Toast. Stavros sucks in a breath as if to argue, but I slide from my horse first.
“I’ll make sure she’s all right,” I tell him and hurry after her form darting through the night.
The others don’t follow, presumably realizing that more people would be more difficult to hide. Ivy spares one glance at me with a hint of frustration, but I’m not hanging back and letting her go alone.
I need to be in arm’s reach in case the worst happens again.
She sprints across the remaining fields, keeping her stance low. I copy her pose.
We reach the fence just as the messenger is knocking on the farmhouse door. Ivy nimbly clambers over the boards and lands with barely a sound on the other side. I do my best to mimic her stealth.
We creep through the thicker shadows along the fence until we near a wagon standing in the yard. Ivy darts over to it so she can get closer to the house, with me at her heels. She presses her finger to her lips, as if I don’t already understand that we need to keep quiet.
The door is just squeaking open. A weary looking man peers out at the messenger, jerking straighter as he takes in the royal uniform. “What is it?”
The messenger bobs his head. He must have delivered this announcement dozens of times already, because he speaks at a clipped tone, fast and without any hesitation to the practiced words.
“We’re crossing the country to inform the people of Silana that a new age is upon us. The Melchioreks who forced their rule on us and defied the will of the gods have been vanquished. King Konram is dead. A new ruler will rise who will see that the gods favor us again and the All-Giver knows it’s time to return. May the Great God shine on all of us who are worthy!”
The farmer stares at the messenger, his mouth dropping open. “I—the king is dead?”
“The false king,” the messenger says with an edge of menace even I pick up on. “We must celebrate the chance to see our country returned to its former glory.”
Ivy sucks in a strained breath. We both know what he’s saying isn’t true.
But the farmer doesn’t appear to believe he can argue. He stiffens but bobs his head. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
The messenger makes a brisk gesture of farewell and hustles back to his horse. As the farmer closes the door with a bewildered air, Ivy tenses next to me.
“We can’t let him keep making those claims,” she whispers, her hands clenched. “They’re making it sound as if King Konram was killed justly through the will of the gods instead of murdered in cold blood by a traitor. And they’re spreading their story everywhere they can as quickly as possible before anyone can find out the truth.”
Her tone is so fierce that panic jolts through my veins. I can so easily picture her launching herself at the man—tackling him physically and leaving herself open to another injury—or hurling her magic at him and addling her mind, simply to protect the rest of Silana?—
Every particle of whatever kind of a soul I have recoils in horror. The man strides up to the gate, gripping his horse’s reins, and Ivy leans forward.
Without another thought, I snatch a stick from the ground and whip it forward with a heave of my own power.
My daimon energy crackles across the projectile. It doesn’t fly as fast or far as an arrow I launched from a bow, but I don’t need it to.
The stick smacks into the messenger’s back with a crackle like lightning. He jerks and topples over, his shirt and flesh charred.
I spring forward, hurling another bolt of energy at him the moment I’m closer. His body disintegrates into ash.
A gust of breeze disperses most of the evidence of his death across the yard.
Ivy jogs up behind me and grasps my arm. “What are you doing?”
