Page 66 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

“I think I’ve got this.” Ivy slides her hands down to my shoulders. “Deep breaths. Feel your feet on the floor. Feel my hands squeezing you. You’re here. They can’t take you away.”

I inhale and exhale, abruptly conscious of the act my body performs so automatically most of the time. It’s easy to hone my attention in on the feel of her fingers against my shoulders, pressing through the fabric of my shirt.

She didn’t want me to get too close to her that night she brought me in from the cold, but every particle of my being resonates with the need to get as close as I can. It’s a demand loud enough to drown out most of the sorcerers’ call.

I step closer and wrap my arms right around her. Ivy’s breath hitches with surprise, but then she hugs me back.

“It’s okay. You can stay right here with me, as long as you want to.”

I’ll always want to. I know that right down to the core of my being. With every word she says, every gesture she makes, every second I spend observing her, I know that wherever she ends up is the only place I want to be.

I don’t know how to say that to her in a way she’ll understand or accept. I turn my head and brush my lips against her cheek like she let me the other night.

A softer sound escapes Ivy, one that sends a very different jolt to the mostly useless appendage between my legs. A strange heat creeps over my skin, but she’s already easing back.

She gives my arm one last pat and smiles at me—her usual cautious smile, not the one I want. “It’s good to have you back with us. You just keep shutting the scourge sorcerers out. Practice those techniques even when they’re not badgering you, and you’ll be better prepared when they do. At least, that’s helped with my magic.”

“Thank you,” I say, the heat from before prickling into a flush of shame. I’m supposed to be protecting her, and now she’s had to do it for me again.

But the worst knowledge niggles at me as we walk back into the other room.

She grounded me. She drowned out my former masters’ call.

What will happen if they yank at me that hard again—or harder—when Ivy isn’t around?

Twenty

Ivy

Tucked into the shadows of the narrow alley, I point at a boxy wooden building a few storefronts down the street. “They’re hoarding all kinds of weaponry and armor inside that inn. It doesn’t seem to be operating as a proper business anymore.”

The two men beside me study the structure in pensive silence.

Rheave knits his brow. “Why do they want to keep all of it together? Don’t the Order of the Wild people need to use the equipment?”

I shrug, doing my best to ignore the sense of dread that’s crept up inside me since I started monitoring the scourge sorcerers’ activities here. “They haven’t had any battles nearby so far. I’d imagine they’re either gathering equipment in case the army pushes this far into the province, or they’re planning on sending cartloads of it on to the front lines as it’s needed.”

Julita’s presence gives the impression of a wince. I don’t like either of those options.

Neither do I.

I’m about to suggest that we should set our own plan in motion when a horse-drawn carriage pulls up right outside the inn.

For a second, I think I’ve been mistaken, that the place is still receiving guests. But no one gets out of the carriage. While the driver waits with a bored expression, a couple of men emerge from the inn carrying crates that they stuff into the vehicle.

Casimir keeps his voice low. “It looks like they might already be moving some of their stash around.”

I match his tone. “Maybe things didn’t go as well as the Order would like us to believe in their clashes with the royal army over the past couple of days.”

Several news callers have taken to the streets announcing victories against army squadrons the king has sent to try to stomp out the uprising. The conspirators passed around free ale and had minstrels playing in a celebration last night that was noisy enough to interrupt my sleep until well past midnight.

I’d certainly like to believe they’re actually being squashed like they deserve. Taking them down all by ourselves is an awfully big undertaking.

I lean as close as I dare to the mouth of the alley and prick my ears. The men bring out a few final boxes, and one of them stops to pat the horse’s flank.

“A bunch of us will be following in just a few days,” he says. “Make sure everything’s organized for the march to start.”

The driver nods and prods the horse into motion. I draw farther back into the shadows as the carriage rattles by.

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