Page 37

She smiled faintly. “I’ll wake you if I decide on murder.”

He gave the barest twitch of a smirk and laid back. His hand remained close to his sword. For a while, Idonea listened to his breathing and the soft crackle of fire. Idonea turned her gaze skyward. The stars above were stark. Her hand found its way to her collarbone, tracing the stars upon them.

The fire burned low, its heart a dull, red pulse in the dark. Cold crept in at the edges of the grove now that the wind had fallen still.

Idonea shifted closer to the fire, extending her hands towards the fading warmth.

Her spine straightened. Breathing — too low for a beast. Too controlled for anything natural. A rhythm measured and deliberate. Lance still slept above in the boughs, wings tucked tight. Her heart stuttered.

She turned her head. “Lysander.”

His eyes snapped open before she finished the word. No startle, just awareness, immediately poised for anything.

Idonea’s fingers brushed the hilt of her dagger. “Something watches.”

Lysander rose silently, crouching low as he stepped over the dying fire, scanning the dark. “How many?”

“I think one,” she whispered. “But it's masking itself.” There was no daemon scent in the air, which was little comfort.

Idonea rummaged through her satchel, hand closing over her salt. She stood, sprinkling salt around them in a circle.

Cold spread through the grove unnaturally fast. Idonea's breath caught white in the air. A shape emerged. Tall and sinuous, a silhouette of smoke. Shadows bent towards them.

Idonea’s voice caught. “Wraith.”

Lysander’s jaw clenched. “Unkillable.”

“They want us to know they’re watching.” She swallowed, eyes locked on the edge of the grove where darkness pulsed. More wraiths likely waited in the gloom. Waiting for a wrong move.

“Well?” Lysander stood beside her.

“We travel away from shadows, the dark,” she said.

The horse whickered, sensing the cold presence of the wraith.

Idonea went over to the gelding, to give it the safety of salt, too. Icy cold slithered through her. A bloodied handprint marked its saddle. She hurriedly sprinkled the salt.

The wraith remained at the perimeter.

They both settled back around the fire, Lysander feeding it more kindling. Flames leaped higher, the light driving the shadows back a pace.

“This is more than we bargained for,” he said.

Her eyes snapped to his. “I’m not giving up.”

“I didn’t say you should,” he said. “But if we go straight to Krylovan, we can get reinforcements.”

Her shoulders went rigid. “I don’t need more of the Order knowing about the relic.”

He looked up. “Even if it costs you your life?”

She couldn’t save Nellith, find the relic, and take on an archduke daemon if there were all these other entities pitted against her. There might have been a chance she could, but Lysander was right, at what sacrifice?

The wraiths hadn’t moved, hovering at the edges of sight.

Idonea kept her gaze on them, jaw tight. “They won’t stop. Not until they have the relic.”

“Or you,” Lysander said. His tone wasn’t cruel. “Either way, we can’t face them alone.”