Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Ivy
Rheave lowers me carefully to the ground, stealing a few more kisses along the way.
When he draws back, his pale cheeks are flushed, his eyes sparkling with glee. “That was fantastic. I don’t know why humans aren’t doing it all the time.”
A laugh tumbles out of me. “I guess we wouldn’t be able to get a whole lot else done.”
“Hmm. Another area where there must be balance.”
Even though my legs are still wobbly from the force of my orgasm, the ground feels more solid beneath my boots. As I wriggle my trousers back up to my waist and re-strap my thigh sheaths, a renewed sense of conviction fills my chest.
“Speaking of which, as amazing as this diversion was, we do still have an army of scourge sorcerers to find.”
Rheave glances toward the top of the gully with a frown. “Which way do you think we should go from here?”
That is the question, isn’t it?
I inhale slowly, considering our options, and my gaze settles on one of the butterflies gliding through the eerie subterranean glade.
Kosmel has guided me before. All of the godlen offer signs to those who pray to them when they feel the need.
What has Rheave ever asked of the divinities before despite everything he’s given of himself to protect the realm? I think they owe him a favor or two.
I motion toward the butterflies. “Ask Inganne for help. Ask the butterflies if any of them have noticed a place around here where there’s a lot of magic. You said they feel like friends… Friends help each other.”
Rheave blinks, and a grin flashes across his face. He secures his own trousers and turns toward the butterflies.
When he speaks, I don’t know how much it’s to them and how much to the godlen who might be watching over this place.
“Thank you for giving us a joyful spot where we could make more joy. There’s something very important we need to do, and we could use your help.
Have you noticed anywhere near the forest where a lot of magic is being cast?
We need to stop those people before they cause a lot of pain, but we have to find them first. I would be grateful for your guidance. ”
He dips his head as if in supplication.
At first, I don’t think the appeal did anything. Then the golden butterfly I noticed earlier flaps up toward the top of the gully as if to leave.
Rheave glances at me wide-eyed. We both clamber up the earthen wall after it.
The butterfly glides this way and that, the farthest thing from a straight line. But as we pad through the underbrush after it, moving between the trees as silently as we can, I can see that it’s leading us steadily if slowly onward.
The sunlight glints off its wings as it soars over a log. It skirts a thicket and swings back and forth around a grove of saplings.
I’m starting to think it’s simply enjoying a romp through the woods after all when a tiny tingle grazes my face.
I freeze, concentrating on the sensation. With my breath held, I scan the woods around us for any sign of the Order of the Wild.
We’re still so deep in the forest that I can’t tell how close the edge might be. The march has always camped on open ground before, so they can easily monitor the area beyond the borders of their camp without leaving the boundaries of their concealing magic.
If I can’t see beyond the trees, they shouldn’t be able to see this far within the woods.
Rheave has gone still at my side. I hold up a hand in a signal for caution and walk onward with even more care and all my senses on the alert.
The hint of magic intensifies in the direction the butterfly has flown. When I’m sure of what direction it’s in, I draw back to where it’s only a faint tingle and weave back and forth to chart the edges of it.
The scourge sorcerers are to the west of this patch of forest. The faintest hum of their magic stretches far enough that I can sense it along a course of a hundred and twenty-three paces through the brush.
I want to get a closer look. But I can’t risk using my own magic to conceal myself.
I stare toward the camp I know must be there, and something flips over in my head. I could smack myself for my obliviousness.
How many years have I been sneaking around without any magical help at all? I’ve gotten so used to relying on it over the past few weeks that what used to be automatic didn’t even occur to me.
I touch Rheave’s arm and lean close to whisper to him. “I’m going to creep a little closer. It’ll be easier on my own. Wait here and keep watch.”
He nods and ducks his head to press a swift kiss to my cheek.
Crouching low, I ease forward within the cover of the underbrush. Most of the shrubs have lost their leaves, but their spindly branches will still hide me from anyone peering into the forest’s shadows.
I slink from bush to tree trunk to clump of wilted ferns, straining my sight. The magic in the air thickens with every step.
Julita’s presence expands at the back of my skull as she returns to share my full awareness. I see we’ve made some progress. I take it the march is camped that way?
I dip my head in a subtle nod.
I knew we’d find them. She pauses while I ease forward with a few more furtive movements, and a giggle escapes her. You know, I think this is more fun than simply whipping some magic around you. Where’s the challenge in that?
I restrain a snort and scuttle onward.
When I’ve left Rheave some twenty paces behind me, I finally make out a less dense area beyond the nearest trees. I can’t get a clear view of the camp when it’s cloaked in magic, but it’s got to be right over there.
Great. Now what? I can’t spy on people I can’t see.
To breach their concealing spell, I’d have to walk right into the field. Even the Hand of Kosmel can’t hide behind blades of grass.
I squint at the more open area beyond the dense forest for any sign of movement.
There might be some kind of clue about their plans that I could pick up if I got closer—but I don’t know where their sentries are.
The farther I emerge into the fringes of the forest, the more chance there is I’ll be seen.
After several minutes, I draw back about half of the distance I covered before, to where I’m confident I won’t be visible from the camp. I still stay low and silent as I move from tree to tree, listening and watching for anything at all that might help.
A bird calls in the distance. Twigs rattle against each other in a gust of wind.
I pull my cloak tighter around me and rub my hand over my face, hating the idea of leaving without knowing more, aware that I might be more useful back with the others.
Julita harumphs. They’ve got to slip up one way or another. Then we’ll have them.
But are they going to slip up while I’m here to witness it?
Then a crunch of dried leaves reaches my ears from the direction of the camp.
Every muscle in my body tenses. I peer between the branches of the bush I’m crouched behind.
A woman is striding away from the camp into the forest a short distance to my left. She holds herself stiffly erect, determined but a little nervous, her hand resting on the knife sheathed on her belt.
Ah ha, Julita crows.
This must be a scout. If we could take her prisoner, question her—
But how exactly are Rheave and I going to do that? I can’t force answers out of her without using my magic. I doubt even Rheave could drag her away without her raising enough of a ruckus that someone at the camp would notice.
And do I really want to bring this woman back to the others in the hopes that, what, Stavros can torture information out of her?
My stomach lists queasily.
No, that’s not who I am. I’m not a monster.
You can’t let her simply walk away, Julita says. You took on Ster. Torstem’s whole club of scourge sorcerers—you’ve got to be able to handle one.
Her words light a spark of inspiration in my head.
I’m not a monster—I’m a thief.
I’m the woman who convinced the entire royal college that I was a minor noblewoman rather than a street rat.
A grin curves my lips with a flicker of exhilaration.
I don’t need to bully this woman. I simply need to steal her trust.
Gathering myself, I pull away from the bush and straighten up behind a tree. Then I walk forward quickly so I can pass near the scout as if I’m just returning to the place she left.
At the soft crinkle of my footsteps, her gaze snaps to me.
I pretend that I’ve only just noticed her as well and raise my hand in greeting. “Hey, there. Heading out to do the rounds? All’s quiet where I’ve been so far.”
The vast majority of the Order of the Wild members have never gotten a clear look at me. With hundreds of them in camp and newcomers joining here and there, I’m gambling that this woman won’t find it totally strange that she might not recognize me as a colleague at a glance.
She slows, uncertainty flickering across her face through her hesitant smile. “That’s good to hear. When did you go out?”
“Oh, the sun wasn’t even up yet,” I say easily, as if it’d never occur to me that she might not believe me. “Most were still sleeping. But we need the rest if we’re going to see our purpose through, especially after that mess last night. Any changes to the new plan?”
The Order member still looks puzzled, but my chatty tone has lulled her enough that she answers automatically.
“Not that I’ve heard. There can’t be a better strategy than hitting the castle right before dawn, while they’re mostly sleeping.
” She pauses, staring at me more closely.
“How long have you been marching with us?”
My pulse hiccups, but I keep my easygoing smile plastered on my face. “I guess it’s been a few days now? We were a late bunch, had to catch up but glad we did.”
I give her another wave, this one intended to send her off. “May you discover no trouble.”
I move as if to amble on by, knowing I can’t walk too fast or I’ll be seen from the camp. The woman takes a step but stops, twisting back around. “Wait.”
I turn with a hitch of my heart and lift my eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”
She stares at me for a few seconds.
There must be something about my demeanor or my clothes that only an Order member would realize is off. I can see the shift in her from uncertainty to hostility in an instant.
She draws her knife. “You’re not—”
Her mouth opens to gulp the air and holler a warning back to the camp. I snatch at one of the knives at my hips—
And Rheave is there first, leaping from the underbrush with his hands outstretched.
He tackles her, power bursting from his hands. The lightning bolt of energy sears through the woman’s body with a soft sizzle, so quickly that she’s disintegrating into cinders before her body can thump against the ground.
Her charred remains patter across the forest floor. All that’s left is a sickening smell like burnt meat that washes away with the next gust of breeze.
Rheave stares down at the scattered chunks of ash and blackened bone. He looks a bit queasy himself.
As I hurry to join him, he lifts his head to meet my eyes.
“I didn’t like doing it,” he says quietly. “But either she died, or she’d have called the rest of them to kill you and me and our friends too.”
I know that twisted feeling, sure that you did the right thing but wishing you hadn’t needed to. Like when I had to stab Esmae before she could do the same to me.
The daimon-man didn’t save me only from the attackers the scout would have called our way but also from having one more heap of guilt on my conscience, if I’d been the one to kill her.
I grasp his hand. “There wasn’t really any choice. She’d already made hers. But I know it’s an awful feeling anyway. Here, I’d better spread around the ashes so it’s less obvious what happened.”
Grimacing, I shove at the ashen remains with my boots, mixing them with leaves and dirt. Rheave follows suit until the spot where the woman fell could just be a darker streak of soil amid the rest.
As we hustle away from both her and the camp, the daimon-man smiles. “You tricked her at first. You got her to tell you things.”
The joy of that small victory returns. I find myself smiling back at my new lover.
“I did. Without using a single scrap of magic. Now we’d better get back to the others so we can figure out how to stop their new plan once and for all.”