Page 48
Idonea scanned the nearby buildings. There had to be salt, the town couldn’t run without it. Salt preserved meat, cleared paths, warded homes. Salt was sacred, and she only had a little left in her belt.
A few Templars stood guard stiffly, eerily silent, their lamplight halos throwing long shadows across the square. None looked inclined to help her.
“Can I help, dear?”
Idonea startled, turning to her left. A middle-aged woman stood at her side. The tight bun emphasised her hard jawline and high cheekbones.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes brightening. “You must be Brother Alcaeus’ daughter.” She smiled. “I’m Lidiya. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A brown birthmark streaked under her left eye.
“It’s okay,” Idonea said. “I’m after some salt.”
“Really?” Lidiya asked. Idonea nodded. “Of course. Just stay right there. I’ll fetch some for you right now.” She gave a nod and then scurried off.
Although tempted to follow, Idonea paced in a circle under the Templars’ gaze while she waited. Lance landed silently on a nearby eave, his reptilian body tense.
It didn’t take long for Lidiya to return, a pouch held in her left hand.
She held it out to Idonea. “Will this be sufficient?”
Idonea weighed it in her palm. It wasn’t enough to ward the whole town, but it would have to do. “Thank you.”
Lidiya beamed. “Glad to help.” She then left once more.
Idonea worked fast. Snow crackled beneath her steps as she salted a ring around her cottage. The grains glittered like stars against the snow. Above, Lance perched on the roof, a still shadow watching her every movement.
She glanced at the two-storey house beside hers. Alcaeus’ residence. Her jaw tightened. Then, without looking at his windows, she poured salt along its perimeter. Not for him, never for him.
For Lysander. For necessity.
They were both right. She’d need help to stop Vinea — and who better than a Daemonbreaker.
As dusk deepened, she carried the last of the salt to the stables. Horses shifted restlessly in their stalls, breath steaming in the chill. She couldn’t bear the thought of them being slaughtered. Her hands trembled as she scattered the final lines. Moonlight pooled in the snow at her feet, painting her a slender shadow.
A scream cut through the night, high and feminine, raw enough to scrape against her bones. The hush shattered around it like glass.
The horses reared in their stalls, hooves striking wood. Frost rattled loose from the rafters.
Lance shot up into the air with a shriek.
The crunch of boots against snow cut through the stillness. Lysander emerged from the dark, a wavering lamplight held high. He moved fast, and skidded to a halt a few paces from her, breath fogging in short bursts.
“Why are you here?” His voice was low as he advanced a step, the light shifting across his face, grim lines sharpened by exhaustion.
“Not running,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her hands betrayed her, still trembling from the echo of the scream.
The salt circle at her feet gleamed faintly, but it wasn't enough.
Lysander’s gaze dropped to it. His jaw flexed. “Come then,” he said, turning away. “Your father demands your presence.”
She tucked the empty salt pouch into her belt. “What was that scream?”
He didn’t slow, didn’t meet her gaze. “You’ll see, witchling.”
The words hung between them, heavy.
A group gathered in the space near the chapel. Alcaeus stood with Elzhbeta. Another man, with pale eyes and silver-threaded black hair, stood by her side, who Idonea assumed must’ve been the Magistrate.
When Alcaeus noticed Idonea’s approach, he walked over and gripped her upper arm, pulling her to where the others stood.
