CHAPTER 19
On the following day, it happened again.
“They reported another horde approaching the Blackened Peaks an hour ago,” Gwinifer said while she leaned over a map on top of the dining table.
“How many?” Cerridwen asked, concern lacing her tone.
A pause made my stomach drop. I stared at Barracus’s tense gaze.
“The post estimated about ninety, maybe more,” he said.
Silence fell. My brows shot up.
Only yesterday, Gwinifer had reported seven of the creatures. Tonight, the number of Wraiths was so much higher. Barracus stood even more rigid than usual. Gwinifer seemed solemn as they both briefed Cerridwen, Finnegan, and me.
“And he went alone?” Cerridwen asked, her eyes widening. “Why?”
“Because he is colossally arrogant,” Finnegan answered dryly, pressing his fingers to his temples.
“He plans to summon the outpost around the area they attack,” Barracus explained. “It could still be a distraction, meant to pull most of our defences to the eastern border and leave a gap somewhere else for them to exploit.”
“Barracus, ninety. Ninety,” Cerridwen said in wide-eyed shock, shaking her head. “Damn your reasons. You should have called every patroller to that place. You and he were reckless to think that this was an acceptable choice. What if he doesn’t come back?”
“Then I’ll find and murder him myself,” Gwinifer said, pushing away from the table.
“He won’t go up against them himself,” Barracus added. “He is trying to see where they go and how they behave. There is a purpose to the way they are moving, and we need to figure out what it is.”
The dining room was tense.
Reagan had left hours ago, apparently right after receiving the report. He had spoken only with Barracus before he left. I wondered if it was because his commander was the only one who would go along with this plan.
Gwinifer was more annoyed than I had ever seen her, though in her case, annoyance could easily mean worry.
Deeper lines were etched across Barracus’s forehead today.
My heartbeat pounded in an uneven rhythm, their concern likely bleeding into me.
They had a reason for it. This was a far larger horde. Reagan’s life might be seriously endangered.
I had never seen a Wraith before, only read about the revenants in that book. It seemed impossible for one person to keep track of ninety of them.
“Has he ever faced that many before?” I asked.
“No. No one has,” Finnegan said, his brows drawing together as he turned to Gwinifer and Barracus. “I didn’t think there could be so many like that. Can we send a squad with him to track them?”
“He doesn’t want that, Atkus,” Barracus replied. “It would draw attention, and then they would attack. He didn’t warn you because you and Wicklow should stay here and protect the city. We have it under control.”
“The already patrolled and warded city?” Finnegan scoffed. “There are so many battle mages here. Gwin and I could help him more effectively there.”
“If I could find him, I would already be gone,” Gwin muttered. “He made it impossible to track him. Fool.”
A sharp headache pulsed at my temples.
Gwinifer drew a deep breath. I could see Cerridwen’s murderous glare aimed at Barracus.
“So, what do we do?” Finnegan asked, staring inquisitively at the staff. I followed his gaze.
Cerridwen pressed her lips together as she returned the look. “We wait.”
◆◆◆
Three days had passed since Reagan had left.
With each passing meal, the staff grew quieter. When we gathered, only the barest, most practical pieces of information were exchanged.
A habit I had abandoned long ago resurfaced, one I’d had as a young girl, back when I struggled more with sleep.
I picked at my nails, tugging at the edges until thin ribbons of skin peeled away.
It was the excess of worry in the room that had done it.
It had happened before, yet I hadn’t expected their concern to pull me back into that old compulsion.
A handful of outposts had reported brief sightings of him. Reagan had passed through them, working with the patrollers to ward off the nearby cities. It seemed the horde had split, with some of the Wraiths travelling back the same way they had come.
Barracus Crow had doubled the defences at each post until they could end the creatures, seizing the opportunity to face them in smaller groups.
That way, they could set free the bodies and souls of the people they had once been.
There was nothing to indicate why so many had ventured toward Mountheim at the same time.
Cerridwen had hosted the last Citizens’ Audience, but it was a small gathering, as the whole estate had been warned to stay inside until the threat was dealt with.
Finnegan was fully dedicated to patrols, supporting Gwinifer alongside her squad.
I couldn’t think of any way to help, so I read about the Laws of the Mage Folk.
Reagan’s twenty-fifth birthday was only two months away, yet I didn’t sense anyone counting the days to it. It made me wonder whether the threats would truly disappear once the sentence was complete.
As I read, I learned that the mage folk followed their own distinct set of laws and protocols.
Sentencing, for them, was a means of redeeming themselves from misdeeds. Severe transgressions involved what they called the illegal crafts, acts that directly endangered the lives of others. Those were treated differently, with references to the prison Reagan had mentioned once. Pavilion.
For most transgressions, the mage folk were surprisingly inclined to grant a path toward repentance and virtue’s ascent.
It sounded almost fated, as though the judgement didn’t come only from the magisters like Malory, but from another authority, one capable of imposing the most severe form of reckoning. A curse.
Curses were not ordinary sentences. They always involved some form of ordeal, a trial meant to prove a person’s worthiness of absolution.
Once a curse was deemed necessary, the judge would call upon a power known as the Chantress, described as Fate itself.
After that, the text grew even more confusing, but it was enough to leave me wondering whether Reagan’s sentence was, in fact, a curse. I wondered if the estate would become more vulnerable to attacks with each passing day. I wondered what it meant for their animal features. What it meant for him.
Perhaps Reagan had an ordeal ahead of him, and maybe he already knew what it would be.
Maybe even his staff.
◆◆◆
Finnegan was nowhere to be found, but Gwinifer was in the study. She was perched on the desk, reading from three open books spread out in front of her. Her usual black scarf was draped around her neck, paired with a sweater, tight dark pants, and dark boots with buckles.
I could only see her as a guard now.
“Hey,” I greeted her from the door, glancing at the piles of books stacked on the couch and another set on the desk.
“Hey,” she replied without looking up, her eyes fixed on the page.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Looking for a spell to track Reagan,” she said. “I want to join him.”
“How did you track him before?” I asked, stepping toward the chair across from her.
“He wears a relic that lets Barracus track his location, but, like the idiot he is, he went without it,” she explained in a stoic tone. “The spells I know aren’t working because, once again, my dumb brother shielded himself against them. So I’m looking for something else.”
I answered with a curt hum, leaning closer to try to read the books she was skimming upside down.
“Why do you think he shielded himself from you and Finn?”
She finally glanced up at me, and I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. I hadn’t seen them earlier. We hadn’t been training together these past few days.
“The reason Barracus said. He wanted us to stay and protect this city,” she said. “This is the largest one in the estate and the most populated. If there were an attack here, it would be the easiest place to cause the most damage. So he forced our hand because he knew we would come for him.”
I went quiet, reaching for one of the books to understand which ones she was looking into. After a few minutes, Gwinifer let out a frustrated sigh, throwing her arm over her head.
“Ugh. It’s useless,” she snapped at the books. “If I only had his blood, I might be able to cast something.”
A thought crossed my mind. “Would he risk himself if he really thought he couldn’t handle it? Maybe he’s being safe.”
She made an amused expression that couldn’t quite mask her underlying concern. “He risks himself all the time, as if he has something to prove.”
My brows arched. “Does he? Does Reagan have something to prove in his sentence, like a trial?”
She squinted, her body stilling. The reaction didn’t escape my notice.
“The whole thing is about him proving he’s worthy, as you know.”
“Yes, but does he have to face ordeals for that? Something that actually helps him break . . . the sentence? Could it be that what he’s doing right now?”
Gwinifer’s expression remained unchanged, though there was a flicker of something I couldn’t read.
“I only know that he has to complete the actual sentence to end it.”
Neither a confirmation nor a denial. Maybe she truly didn’t know, or perhaps she just wasn’t willing to tell me. Another secret. Either way, I sighed. None of it would matter if Reagan died fighting the Wraiths he was hunting.
I wanted to think about what his death might mean for me, but the thought of him dying—it numbed my body. Death by having a creature drain all his life, likely transforming him into one of them. Like his parents. My chest tightened at the thought, and I tried to breathe through it.
He’d taken down a group of Strzygas, though a much smaller one, and I had helped, if only by distracting one of them for a moment. The more I considered the danger, the faster my heart raced.
He was brave to go alone. Or maybe just reckless. Arrogant, even when he could have taken a group of battle mages with him.