Page 24 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

The courtesan gives me the bemused look that’s become more common in the past two days. His voice is still hoarse from his cold. “I’m not worn out yet.”

“We shouldn’t wait until you’re totally exhausted.” I prod him over to the log, touch his forehead to check his temperature, and turn to the horses. “Where are those berries we gathered this morning? Those seemed to help soothe his throat a little.”

Stavros has already moved to his stallion’s saddle packs. “Right here. It’s not a bad thing to pace ourselves.”

He hands me a bundle of the plump purple berries, and I hustle back to Casimir. After he accepts the snack, there isn’t much else I can do for him other than sit on the log and massage his back with slow circles of my hand that I hope soothe his muscles too.

Casimir swallows a couple of the berries and tips his head toward me. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve had colds before—it’s hardly serious.”

I let out a humph. “You’ve pampered me plenty of times when I was perfectly well. Let me return the favor as well as I can.”

The flush that creeps into his cheeks at those words looks more pleased than feverish. He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “You’re doing a wonderful job.”

Alek leans against a nearby tree, looking equally glad for the brief rest. “Did Kosmel give any indication at all of why we should come up here? If we had a broader sense of what we’re trying to find…”

“That would make it easier, I know. I don’t think he was going for easy.” I sigh. “He mentioned it after I asked him about whether he’d still help direct my magic. He claimed coming here would ‘mend some of what was marred,’ but I have no idea what that means.”

For the first time in ages, Rheave speaks up from where he’s standing at the edge of our group. “If a godlen said it, it’ll be true. They don’t tend to explain things thoroughly, but they don’t lie.”

I look back at his smooth face. His eerie eyes gleam with unshakeable confidence.

How much do daimon know about our deities? They’re considered divine creatures, closer to godly than mortal, but they’re a far cry from being even lesser gods themselves. More like the stray cats and dogs of the unearthly realm.

Although I guess that means they probably still know more than any of us mortals do.

He peers around at the rest of us with an air of avid curiosity I’m seeing more and more of over time. “Have any of the rest of you talked to the gods? I didn’t think they touched humans that directly often.”

Casimir laughs. “They don’t. Only Ivy has had that honor. Kosmel obviously sees something particularly impressive in her.”

The daimon-man’s gaze returns to me, even more avid. “She is special. But you two have gifts.” He nods to Casimir and Stavros.

“One I can’t use anymore,” Stavros says brusquely. The injury that lost him his knack for catching glimpses of the near future is still a bit of a sore subject for him. I don’t imagine he wants an inhuman near-stranger prodding about it.

As if to intervene, Casimir pops the last of the berries into his mouth and stands. He gives his gelding an affectionate pat. “I’m good to continue. Let’s push on.”

I adjust my grip on Toast’s reins as I study the terrain around us. “Maybe we should split up to cast a wider net. We have our lockets—whoever finds the trees first can signal the rest of us.”

Rheave frowns as if he doesn’t like the idea of breaking up the group.

Julita chuckles in the back of my head. The daimon would probably insist on coming with you. I swear he’s even more stubborn than the others. You didn’t even give him any offerings, and he’s stuck on you like a hound to its master.

The stray dog comparison might be even more apt than I realized. I did give Rheave something, without realizing it: honest answers and a little compassion.

A meal he needed more than the standard daimon offering of scraps of food on a plate, it appears.

There’s no denying his commitment to his newly formed loyalty. The way he charged at that bird in the bush yesterday when he thought I was threatened… He was more attack dog than hunting hound then.

An attack dog capable of roasting a starling in an instant.

Really, I should simply be glad he’s aimed his loyalties at me rather than the scourge sorcerers who made his human body.

Stavros guides his stallion toward a path through the underbrush. “I think we should keep together for now. We can reconsider later if we still haven’t found the spot.”

Toast grunts in protest, but he clomps onward up the slope at my gentle tug. Pebbles rattle away under my feet.

The sun dips lower, our shadows lengthening. The wind picks up and tugs at the hood of my cloak.

I’m just starting to worry that the climb will get so steep we’ll have to leave the horses behind when I lift my head and spot a strangely angled trunk through the forest above.

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