Page 136 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

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.

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