Page 132 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

Nowhere near here. We pass a spot Rheave identifies as the point where he and Stavros turned back and continue on.

With each step beyond, my spirits start to sink.

The march may have moved beyond my ability to track them—at least, to find them in any kind of reasonable time.

Maybe this is pointless. If we were back with the others, at least we could be strategizing.

The one thing we do know is where the scourge sorcerers’ army will attack, even if we aren’t sure when.

Rheave halts where the ground falls away into a narrow gully. I peer down at a stream even thinner than the one where we filled our canteens and washed up this morning.

It’s not quite narrow enough to jump across, but the gully only descends about twice my height. Not too bad a scramble.

What are the chances we’ll find anything if we keep going, though? Maybe we should take this as our sign to head back.

I open my mouth to say that, but Rheave speaks first. “A butterfly!”

Gripping the saplings sprouting from the side of the gully, he scrambles down to the stream bed. A pale blue butterfly is indeed fluttering around near the shrubs down there.

The insect darts toward him and then away. I spot another one, with wings a deep yellow that’s almost gold, farther down the stream.

Julita makes a sound of appreciation. Would you look at that. They’re beautiful.

Rheave cocks his head and follows the butterflies, and I can’t see anything to do but go after him. I skid down to the bottom of the gully and pick my way across the stones along the stream.

At least we won’t be visible to anyone up in the forest while we’re walking down here.

“I haven’t seen any butterflies since we went north,” Rheave says in a hush. “Alek said they don’t like the cold very much.”

“I guess these are particularly resilient ones.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you looking to make friends?”

He seemed bewildered by the injured insect that landed on him weeks ago back at the college. But he cared enough to carry it to safety anyway.

Rheave appears to consider my question intently. “They feel… like they’re already friends. I don’t know why.”

I study his avid expression as we hurry on along the stream bed. It was a little odd that the injured butterfly was drawn to him. Unless…

“Daimon are supposed to be creatures of all the godlen,” I comment, “but in your natural state, it seems like Inganne would be the most approving of how you act, exploring everything and playing pranks. Butterflies are one of her animals. Maybe you and they can sense you’re kindred spirits.”

The daimon-man cocks his head, a little smile curving his lips. “Even when my creators still had a grip on me, I knew I should help that one.”

Up ahead, the butterflies look as if they fly right into the wall of the gully. Strange. I pick up my pace—and come to a stop at the mouth of a sort of alcove veering off into the gully’s side.

The small recess can’t be more than five paces deep and the same across, but there’s something grand about it all the same. The sapling at its far end is already budding. Delicate white flowers sprout between the pebbles strewn across the earth, heedless of the season.

And several more butterflies swoop between those flowers in a spiraling dance.

A startled laugh tumbles out of me alongside Julita’s gasp. “I think Inganne must have blessed this place.”

I venture forward and graze my fingertips over a few of the flowers. Their petals slide against my skin soft as silk.

The godlen do work in mysterious ways, my ghostly passenger remarks.

A butterfly flaps over to me and lands on my hand, its feet tickling my knuckles. Then it takes off again, as if it was simply coming by to say hello.

An unexpectedly carefree air comes over me, as if nothing could be all that wrong when places like this exist. As if the godlen of creativity and play herself has reached down and blown the worries from my head like seeds in the wind.

I turn, expecting to see Rheave gaping at our surroundings in awe… but he’s looking at me.

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