CHAPTER ONE
The steady drizzle of Waulden rain pattered on Evylin’s hands as she drew back on the reins, the horse’s gait slowing in response.
Surrounded by mountains, the capital city sat in a valley edged by a wide, rapid river.
The soft gray clouds overhead blocked the late morning sun, casting a dreary tint over the scene.
Lush trees dotted the plain, growing sparser as they approached the moss-mottled city walls.
The sprawling settlement reached out like a hand over the terrae, with farming communities and watchtowers extending its grasp.
“That’s it?” Rafferty asked, his horse sidling up alongside Evylin’s. “Doesn’t look like the home of a maniacal tyrant.”
“What did you expect?” said Isla Freye. The Wind Mage’s honeyed foreign accent tinged her every word with warmth. “A city made of war machines, slave drivers, and iron bars on every window?”
“Well . . .” Rafferty shrugged. “Something like that.”
Evylin grinned at his confusion. She’d rather expected a more desolate and villainous lair herself.
However, to her surprise, the palatial city of Mouroc looked much like Ephria’s own capital.
Granted, it was larger and landlocked. The massive city butted up against a mountain with five interior walls separating its various sectors.
At the foot of the mountain, on a hill overlooking the city, the columned palace rose, its deep purple banners snapping in the breeze.
Their large party had come to a stop just shy of two miles away from the gates, ten riders staggered on a tree-covered road, hoods up against the ever-misting rain.
As the spring air warmed the atmosphere, they hardly needed their wool cloaks anymore.
But the protection from the weather was only an additional benefit to keeping their appearances hidden.
At the head of the group, Isla led the way with her brother-in-law, Auden, at her side.
Nearer the back, their sister, Ilain, rode with their Alliance companions, Emmaas the Warrior and Jarrad the Terrae Mage, while the rest of the Ephrians clustered together in the center.
Rafferty and Ethenn flanked Evylin while Thom rode at Deckard’s side near the front.
Looking over his shoulder, Deckard met Evylin’s gaze.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile that she couldn’t help returning.
The whole morning had been that way. Surrounded by others and pressed by the urgency of reaching safety, they’d been forced to keep their distance from one another, only permitting themselves to exchange short glances and longing looks.
Despite being married for over three months, Evylin finally understood what people meant by “the honeymoon stage.” She was desperate to get her husband alone while at the same time feeling more nervous in his presence than ever.
“We’ll need your help to get in,” Auden said to Deckard, turning slightly in his saddle.
Attention drawn away, Deckard faced the Day Mage. “What can I do?” he asked.
“Mouroc is heavily guarded,” Isla explained. “As Auden, Ilain, and Evylin’s images are on Blount’s Writ of Attachment, they can’t just ride in. You’ll have to put a shroud over them.”
Deckard’s jaw tightened for a second, and Evylin wondered if he was fighting his desire to abandon his magic. He ran a hand along his lightly stubbled jaw. “Won’t the guards be suspicious of three saddled horses with no riders?” he asked.
“It’s perfectly believable that we’re traveling with fresh mounts,” Jarrad said. “You merely need to shroud three people. And you do have the Night Relic. It isn’t like you’ll run out of power.”
Still, Deckard hesitated.
Evylin nudged her horse forward to join him. “What is it?” she whispered.
He turned to her slowly, his green-blue eyes lingering on the towering stone walls rising in the distance. “The city is so large,” he said. “It’ll be loud. I’m worried I won’t be able to keep my focus.”
Scanning the landscape before them, Evylin realized that he was right. Even from their distance, it seemed that a hum drifted to them on the wind. And despite their time in the Keeps, Deckard was still new to drawing on his magic.
Once inside those thick walls, they would be directly in the thick of the noise and action.
Evylin remembered their arrival in Ephria City two months ago.
At every turn, there was something new to see.
The architecture, the people, the movement, the sound, the colors, the life: It all pulsated and demanded attention.
With the constant opportunities for distraction, it would be a struggle for her to maintain a grip on magic, let alone have to shroud an entire group.
“In that case . . .” Evylin shifted in her saddle. “Hold my reins.”
“What?” Deckard’s brow pinched even as he followed her instruction.
Without taking the time to explain, Evylin skillfully positioned herself to step from her horse onto the back of Deckard’s. She settled in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “There,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek when he tried to look at her. “Now, you can have my focus too.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I’m indebted to you.”
“I’m sure I’ll find some way you can repay me.”
“Quit flirting,” Thom said, despite flashing an amused grin. She was relieved to see the lightness that had settled into his eyes as he watched them, his former jealousies gone. “We’ve got a hideout to get to.”
Plans settled, Evylin tied her horse to Deckard’s while they determined that Auden and Ilain should ride with Emmaas and Ethenn flanking them.
The two Warrior men would stagger their positioning at the rear to ensure additional space so the Calders’ horses didn’t bump into any wandering guards or travelers, potentially alerting them to the riders.
A shroud hid objects from view; it didn’t block them from any of the other senses.
The Calders and Evylin would have to be as silent and contained as a unit as possible.
Evylin felt Deckard’s ribs expand as he took a deep breath. A tingle spread through her arms, wrapped tight against his abdomen, the sensation heralding the accessing of his magic. Then she watched as Auden, Ilain, and herself grew hazy, their forms increasingly faint as the shroud covered them.
Isla surveyed the seemingly empty space where they had once been visible. “Impressive,” she remarked, then turned to Jarrad. “Lead the way, Hoult.”
“With pleasure, Freye.”
Jarrad spurred his horse, circumventing the rest of the party to take the front.
Isla remained at his side, the rest of them falling in line.
They continued down the road to the line of people waiting to enter the dark stone walls of Mouroc.
Dozens of carts, wagons, horses, and individuals made slow progress as the city guards thoroughly questioned and searched them.
Blount’s writ had been effective and widespread, forcing their troop to stay clear of settlements for the last few weeks.
They’d only managed to make it through the border crossings due to possession of the Night Relic and Deckard’s unexpected magic.
Now, Evylin could feel the faintest thrum of power as they inched closer and closer to the gates. Guards in dark gray uniforms with the deepest amethyst accents milled all around the muddy entry point. Made of wood and metal, the hulking gates were set into a stonework frame.
When their turn came at the gate, Evylin felt Deckard’s frame tense.
She looked over her shoulder, watching as Ilain and Auden cautiously worked to keep out of the path of the guards.
Knowing how hard he was working, Evylin leaned deeper into him, trying to transfer her focus into him by sheer physical contact.
He drew in a sharp breath through his nose but otherwise showed no sign of recognizing her attempt to assist.
At the front, Jarrad and Isla came to a stop as the guards approached. “Highlord Hoult,” said the lead guard. “Didn’t realize you’d left the city.”
“Had some business for the lady,” Jarrad said casually. Then he withdrew a hand from under his cloak, tossing something to the guard. “Birde sends her regards.”
The guard weighed a small pouch in his hand, grinning. “Always a pleasure to do business with the lady.” He stepped back and waved them through. “Welcome back, milord.”
“It’s good to be back, Vauster,” Jarrad said, nudging his horse through the gates.
Moving past the guards, Thom leaned nearer Deckard to mutter, “If they were just going to bribe them, why have you go to the trouble of . . . ?” He wiggled his fingers in a mock of magic.
“Because I don’t imagine they had one hundred fifty gold pieces to cover the bounty on our collective heads on them,” Deckard replied, an edge to his tone. “A bribe can stop a search only so long as the recipient doesn’t see a more valuable alternative.”
“Right,” Thom muttered. “And even the hint of an Ephrian woman or two redheaded siblings would draw attention.”
“Exactly.” Deckard’s jaw tensed as he murmured, “Though I’m not comfortable with their incessant use of bribery and violence.”
Thom furrowed his brow. “It isn’t as though they have much choice,” he whispered. “Would you rather they had left us to Blount?”
“Of course not,” Deckard said in a firm tone, annoyance creeping under the surface of his reply.