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“It’s an old scar,” I said, afraid she would think me contagious.

Yet she only appeared more curious. “I hear the illness is running rampant through Henthorn. Is that where you’re from?”

“I’m from Vereen,” I said as Zeke declared, “We’re Creakish.”

There was an audible snap of our jaws slamming shut. But rather than question our conflicting answers, Valeria looked down at my manacle-chafed wrists.

My breathing grew shallower, my specter rolling hotly across my palms. There was something odd in the way she was looking at me. Something discerning.

Then she met my eyes again, her smile a little strained. “There are refreshments behind that screen. I won’t be a moment.”

She turned, revealing her back tattoo once more before the tent fabric drifted closed.

Zeke burst into action. He withdrew his dullroot and crouched down beside a cabinet, arranging medical jars to form an enclosure around the paper bag. “You should hurry,” he said over the rustle. “The medics could arrive any minute.”

My specter still pulsated as it returned beneath my skin. I reached shakily into my saddlebag and grasped the compass.

Zeke’s plan had worked. We were past the checkpoint with our belongings, fortunate enough to have been left in an empty tent. I only had to stash the compass for a while, and the Ansorans would never discover it in my possession.

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to take it out. I’d risked my life for this compass. Was I really about to leave it here, between a bottle of rubbing alcohol and an ointment for gout?

Zeke’s blasting exhale recaptured my attention. “I think it’s safe. But we’ll need a reason to come back after the checkpoint.” He laughed breathily as he stood. “You can kick me in the kneecaps if you like. We’ll say I tripped.” His humor ran dry when he saw my hand, frozen inside my saddlebag. “What are you waiting for?”

I wavered, my time racing away. “You’d go to these lengths,” I asked, “just to keep supplying dullroot?”

He scoffed. “I only dealt on the ship because I needed gold. The rest is mine until I find a supplier.”

“Why? This isn’t Daradon. Stop poisoning yourself, and you’ll be free to Wield.”

Zeke’s eyes hardened. “Before she died, my mother would scare me with stories about Abner, the god who stripped the specters from naughty Wielder children. So do you know what I did? I became the worst child imaginable, hoping that Abner would take my specter away.” He chuckled bitterly, something dark and troubled churning beneath his mask of swagger. “What you call freedom I call a parasitic infection. Your idea of poison is my cure.”

Parasitic infection. That’s what he thought of his specter. How many others agreed? How many had not only been taught to feel ashamed of their specters but also to fear them?

The Wielders of Daradon are like rats with blades strapped to their backs, Erik had once told me. Inept. Lethargic. Overwhelmed by having to drag around their own power.

With a pang of sadness, I understood Valeria’s pity toward Zeke. I understood, too, why she’d let him accompany me to the medical tent, believing he’d wanted to keep me safe.

Why should I trust you, Wielder? he’d snapped at her. Because Zeke was afraid of these Wielders.

Just as he was afraid of himself.

He was turning away, scowling, when low voices drifted outside the tent. I peeked through the opening and saw two guards, stationed five paces away.

There had been no guards there before.

My breathing quickened. Had Valeria just been concerned about my bruises? Or had she truly sensed something amiss in our story and had stationed guards here so we couldn’t escape?

I caught sight of her high bun in the crowd. She appeared to be murmuring to a powerfully muscled man dressed in dark armor. I could only make out the hard edge of his profile and a root-like tattoo crawling up the side of his throat—a larger, denser version of Valeria’s. He shifted, and a weapon gleamed at his belt.

My stomach tightened. She’d said she was fetching the physicians.

This man was clearly not a physician.

He was turning his head toward our tent when I scrambled back inside, breathing fast.

“Something’s wrong.” I scanned the trolley, frantic yet resolved. “I think Valeria’s bringing someone to question us. She stationed guards outside.”

“It’s probably protocol. Let’s wait for the medic, and . . . Whoa, what are you doing?” Zeke backed away as I grabbed a metal scalpel from the trolley.