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“Do not harm the Iaculus,” Idonea said to the imp.

The imp’s head was cocked to one side, clearly interested in Lance. Its ears twitched at every hiss.

“The task for you, imp,” Idonea said.

The imp flashed her a wicked grin. “Balmo. But first, the reward?”

She licked her lips. “You’ll be free once we are. I will not banish you. You can also have a single Iaculus scale.” She was only glad Lance hadn’t noticed her taking one earlier.

Balmo’s grin sharpened. “Fair.” His tusks gleamed. “What is task?”

“There is a daemon, and a relic, deep below,” she said. “I’d have a guide. To save my magic.”

Balmo nodded once. Then, without warning, he leapt and swatted at Lance.

The Iaculus shrieked, wings snapping wide, and the two creatures spiralled into a vicious tangle.

Idonea staggered back, shock locking her throat. Claws flashed, wings beat, their snarls and hisses tearing through the still night. They crashed into trees, rolled across the snow, each too quick, too feral to separate.

“Stop!” Neither obeyed.

She pricked her finger, gathered Current towards her, pulling it into her palms. They both twitched in response to the Current movement, but didn't cease. With a crack, she slammed her hands together. Thunder tore the air, rippling outward in a wave.

Both creatures froze mid-lunge, rendered still by the backlash of power. Lance circled upward, hissing his fury, retreating into the night sky. Balmo dropped lightly back to her side, unbothered, eyes glinting.

Idonea’s breath heaved, her palms aching. She glared at them both, though her pulse raced still from the surge. “Enough. Both of you.”

Balmo cocked its head again, grin returning. Lance’s cry echoed high above, distant but watchful.

“Wait within the chapel,” Idonea said to the imp.

Balmo gave a short nod and loped off towards the town, its silhouette horrifying against the snow.

Alone again, Idonea pressed trembling fingers against her lips. Her blood still marked the snow.

Chapter 35

Idonea sat on the edge of Lysander's bed in Alcaeus's house. Her cloak hung off one shoulder. The cut on her wrist had dried into a brown crust she would have to soak off later.

Her hands kept shaking. She put one on her knee and pressed down. The other was no better.

Balmo would lead her under the chapel in the morning. The summoning sat behind her eyes as a slow pressure that came and went with her pulse. She would carry it for days. She would carry it whether she walked out of the chapel or didn't.

She rose. The floor creaked. She crossed to the door.

Lysander was against the outside wall, shoulder braced, breath ghosting white. He turned his head when she opened the door. The lamplight caught his eyes, and something in his face moved that she'd never seen before. It moved and was gone.

"You should be resting."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do the concerned thing. I can't — not right now, Lysander, I can't have you being kind to me right now."

He looked at her for a long moment. "All right."

"I didn't mean—"