Page 12 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

Alek’s stance relaxes slightly at my words. “I suppose I need to see it as a different kind of mask.”

“Exactly.” Casimir brushes his hands together with a satisfied grin. “We’re all going into hiding in plain sight.”

Stavros lets out a grunt from where he’s just finished darkening his hair with a black powder that’s completely obscured the blood-red hue. Disguising him has been our biggest concern, seeing as the exalted former general is rather well-known among everyone with military inclinations.

“Some things can’t be changed,” he says, tapping his left wrist against his side—the left wrist that’s currently just a stump.

He’s removed his distinctive combat prosthetic, the loop of metal that’s bent around into a hook-like shape, but his more realistic wooden hand is back in his quarters at the college. Even Garom couldn’t come up with a believable replacement for that in the short time we have.

Casimir hums. “Keeping the stump hidden in your pocket should do the trick just fine. Plenty of soldiers ride around with just one hand on the reins.”

The courtesan pauses to study the work he did on the former general’s face. We couldn’t adjust anything about Stavros’s massive frame, which is stretching the largest of our borrowed uniforms, so we’ve tried to change as much as we can otherwise. Along with the darkened hair, Casimir has painted Stavros’s light brown skin a creamy peach tone similar to his own, mottled by a broad scar across one temple and cheek as if from a vicious sword slash.

I’m not sure I’d recognize him at a glance if I hadn’t watched Casimir do his work. We have to hope it’ll be enough.

Rheave gives my face another once-over. “I’d still know you, even with the different hair color.”

“You’ve seen me several times,” I say. “You know what to expect. The king won’t have been able to get out much more of a description than my hair and height.”

Thankfully the latter detail is less obvious when I’m mounted on a horse.

I motion toward the doorway to the room where we’ve left our steeds. “I don’t think it’s going to get any better than this. Let’s pack up and get out of here.”

As we squeeze the last few items into the saddle bags, Alek turns to Rheave. “Are you sure you want to come with us? The king probably hasn’t realized you helped us. You could go back to playing guard at the college.”

He speaks evenly enough, but I can tell from the hesitation in his stance that he’s not convinced bringing the daimon-man along is a great idea.

I brace myself to defend the decision I made, but Rheave speaks up first. “The people who made this body—the scourge sorcerers, as you call them—they’d find me there. They’d break me.” He pauses and smiles at me. “And if I can protect myself while protecting Ivy as well, that’s even better.”

When he looks at me like that, talks like that, a flutter passes through my pulse even knowing what he really is.

Stavros props himself against the doorframe, his eyes narrowing. “You were very set on coming to Ivy for help in the first place. Why her?”

The daimon-man pats the neck of his mare with a vaguely bemused expression that turns more solemn when he returns his gaze to me. “The scourge sorcerers assigned me to watch her. Because they wanted to make sure it was safe for her to join their group.”

A finger of ice runs down my spine. The possibility that he was spying for them had occurred to me, but it’s different hearing him confirm it. “So that’s why you seemed to be around so often. What did you tell them?”

“There wasn’t very much to tell. They wanted to know if you seemed friendly with any of the other guards, and I said no. They wanted to know if I saw you doing anything unusual, but they didn’t seem worried about the stargazing.”

He stops for a moment in thought. “And the man who gave most of the orders at the college—Torstem, the one you got rid of—he brought me when they put you on trial. He asked me to sense if a divine force blessed you.”

Gods above, the scourge sorcerers were testing me even more than I realized. As I tighten the girth on Toast’s saddle, I swallow thickly. “What did you say about that?”

The daimon-man offers me a softer smile that only makes me feel more jumbled up inside. “I felt the connection when you shot the arrows. Someone was watching over you. That’s how—that’s how I knew I could trust you. None of the rest of them ever called down any kind of influence from the ones you call godlen.”

Stavros guffaws. “Did you mention that part to them?”

“They didn’t ask. About that or what other supernatural forces might be working through Ivy.”

Alek’s head jerks around. “You knew she was riven?”

Rheave lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug. “I thought so. I only felt it a little, that one time.”

It’s a good thing I kept my magic so tightly under wraps, then. If there were more clay-captured daimon around during any of the other rituals, they might have tipped off the scourge sorcerers.

I have no idea whether the murderous psychopaths would have been excited to exploit my power or seen me as just as much of a threat as the king does.

I heft myself into the saddle, which puts my back to the daimon-man. “Is that why you came to me? Because you figured I was powerful enough to stand up to them?”

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