Chapter 13
One week later, I was sitting in the corner of one of the Order’s many safe houses, very seriously considering the possibility of killing my baby sister.
The Order had many safe houses scattered throughout both Edyn and the Old Country, maintained and stocked by a rotation of Roses.
I had never been to this one. It sat about seven miles west of Brightfell, a volatile mountainous region with nearly a thousand glacial lakes and waterfalls.
In Edyn, winter was only just arriving; here, though, it reigned supreme.
The vast forest surrounding the safe house was dense, quiet, and blanketed with snow.
The Olden aurora was at its brightest this time of year, turning the sky into a shifting canvas of vivid color—aquamarine, violet, rose pink, sunrise gold.
Tomorrow our squadron would begin the search for Gothyn, the great fae city ruled by Lady Ifanna and the Cirrinoc clan. There were twelve of us: five Roses, including Danesh; Posey; my sisters and me; Ryder; Talan; and Gareth, to whom I hadn’t said a word.
And at the end of this long day of hard, cold travel, when we all should have been bedding down for the night, Gemma marched into the center of the safe house’s main room and thrust a bottle of wine into the air.
“Look what I found in the pantry!” she crowed. “The perfect way to relax before bed.”
Danesh dropped the fur-trimmed bedroll she’d been untying and clapped her hands together. “Excellent. I was hoping someone had left us a bottle or two.”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “May I remind you that tomorrow we’re trying to find Gothyn? Home of the most powerful fae clan in the Old Country?”
“Actually,” said Posey, already heading up the stairs to the house’s small attic with her own bedroll, “if you come before Lady Ifanna drunk or hungover, it might endear you to her. She loves nothing more than humans making fools of themselves.”
“I’m going to ignore that little dig, Pointy Ears,” Danesh called out, “but only because I really, very much want a drink.”
I resisted the urge to rub the bridge of my nose and instead fixed Danesh with a glare, summoning enough sentinel strength to sharpen my voice and stature—a neat little trick I seldom used, lest it lose its power.
“Danesh, go to bed,” I ordered. “Everyone, go to bed.”
Danesh fell silent and backed away from me. I glanced at the other four Roses, all of them older than me but junior in rank, all of them Anointed. A beguiler, an elemental, a beholder, and an alchemist—magic I hoped would come in handy if we ran into trouble in Gothyn.
“Edra, Bette, Tressa, Glynis,” I said, nodding toward the door, “that’s an order.”
Danesh managed a scowl but didn’t protest. She retrieved her discarded bedroll, and the five of them retreated to the sleeping quarters at the back of the house.
When they were gone, I closed the door behind them, sealing the rest of us into at least moderate privacy, and turned my glare on Gemma.
As the others arranged their bedrolls and furs, she was serenely setting out six tin cups on the wooden table.
After a moment, she looked up at me with a grin.
“Whatever are you frowning for?” she said sweetly. “We’re not your soldiers. I thought orders didn’t apply to us.”
“On this mission,” I said, “you essentially are my soldiers.”
“With privileges?”
I rolled my eyes and started making up my sleeping pallet. A few seconds later, Gemma came up behind me, pulled me into a fierce hug, and kissed my cheeks over and over. “Dearest Mara, just a sip or two? Please? It’ll warm us up. It’s freezing in here.”
I tried glaring down at her again, but Gemma was all innocence—her golden curls loose and her blue eyes bright and cheerful—and, unlike Danesh, seemed completely impervious to my irritation.
Talan rescued me, coming to retrieve her with a small smile in my direction.
“Gemma, my wildcat,” he said quietly, reaching for her, “we really should get some sleep.” Then he leaned down to whisper something into her hair that made her blush and bite her lip, and she took his hand and followed him to their little corner, where Talan had already made up their bed.
“It is cold,” Ryder pointed out. He was lying on his own pallet, one hand behind his head and the other rubbing tiny circles on Farrin’s lower back.
My elder sister, undoing her braid beside him, looked apologetic. “Honestly, Mara, I could use something to settle my nerves a bit.”
Ryder glanced at me, one eyebrow cocked. “Surely during your time at Rosewarren you’ve occasionally imbibed the night before a mission.”
I was suddenly very aware of how outnumbered I was, and of the two couples in the room and how obviously in love they were, and of Gareth’s quiet presence as he laid out his bedroll near the far wall.
I felt irrationally furious that we’d decided not to bring any of his colleagues, who would have been useful distractions.
But our party was big enough already, and the other librarians would have been liabilities.
None of them, Gareth had said, know how to handle a weapon as well as I do.
To distract myself from that particular memory, I ruthlessly gathered my hair into a low, severe knot.
“Very seldom do we allow ourselves a drink when on duty,” I told Ryder. “Personally, I’m not in the habit of clouding my senses before waltzing into certain danger.”
“Oh no, you prefer waltzing into certain danger with both eyes wide open,” Gareth said lightly.
I turned to glare at him, but Gareth merely pulled a red apple from his bag and took a crisp bite while looking right at me, a sharp glint in his eyes.
Gemma pounced on my silence. “And after all, we’ve come such a long way. And we’re all together so rarely.”
I sighed, finally giving in to the urge to rub my forehead, as if that would stop the raging headache blooming behind my eyes.
She was right: we were hardly ever together, and gods knew what tomorrow would bring.
Even if we succeeded in finding the city of Gothyn, something could happen to Gemma after that while she traveled with Talan in search of the gods, or to Farrin if some hostile Olden force managed to breach Fairhaven’s defenses.
That we were all alive—that tonight we would sleep only feet from each other—was both extraordinary and terrifying. Their nearness was too precious and too easily lost.
“Fine,” I muttered. “A drink, quickly and quietly, and then sleep.”
Gemma jumped up from her pallet, pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, and began filling the cups before passing them around our little circle.
Gareth offered me mine with a tight little smile. “To your health, Mara.”
I snatched the cup from him, ignoring the warmth of his fingers as they brushed against mine, and downed the wine in one violent swig.
Gareth raised his eyebrows and lifted his own cup to me with a grin.
The look on his face—wry and triumphant, as if he’d won whatever battle we were fighting—pushed me toward the wine bottle on the table.
I emptied the rest of it into my cup and returned to my bed without offering Gareth even a passing glance.
“Now that we’ve a chance to talk,” Gemma said cheerfully, curled up against Talan’s side, “tell us about your team’s progress, Gareth. How has life at the priory been treating you?” She took a sip of wine and looked at me over the rim of her cup. “Has my sister been a gracious host?”
Talan nudged her with his elbow, but it was no use. Gemma was insatiably curious. She kept looking back and forth between Gareth and me as if trying to solve a most delightful puzzle.
Before I could think of how best to shut her up, Gareth spoke.
“We’ve set up several tracking stations with our new equipment,” he said, a brightness to his voice that sounded false to my ears and ever so slightly angry. I took a deeply satisfied sip of wine.
“The magical mechanisms behind it all are very similar to ward magic, actually,” he went on.
“The clockwork is infused with seeking and warning spells, much like wardstones are when you set them to guard against intruders, and they constantly probe their territories for any trace of the ytheliad—abnormal vibrations, disturbed environments, and the like.”
Ryder grunted and set down his empty cup. “Like hounds tracking a scent.”
“Exactly,” Gareth replied. “Our beguilers are truly brilliant. They’ve developed a method for infusing spells not just with instructions, but also information—in this case, every bit of knowledge we have about the ytheliad and its anchors.
So our hounds are not just sniffing for a scent.
They are going beyond basic magical instinct.
They understand the context of what they’re doing and why they’re doing it. ”
The longer he spoke, the more eager he became, his eyes lighting up as they always did when he discussed his work.
When he dragged a hand through his hair, sending a few wavy blond locks falling over his brow, the simple gesture made me flinch as if I’d stumbled off a step.
I glared down at my cup and took another huge gulp.
I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. Looking at him left my stomach in knots I feared I’d never be able to untangle.
“These spells, then, can actually find connections between seemingly disparate pieces of evidence,” Gareth was saying, “and reach their own conclusions based on the information we’ve given them.”
Ryder raised an eyebrow, impressed. “So, extremely intelligent hounds with the ability to reason.”
“Not as well as we can, of course, but certainly better than your general workaday spell.”
“Fascinating,” said Talan quietly, his dark eyes thoughtful. “How much of this equipment do you plan to install?”
“Our goal is twenty-five stations,” Gareth replied, “but we have enough resources with us to create at least five more.”