Page 90 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

The daimon-man and I slink through the woods carefully. I keep my senses alert for the first tingles of magic.

So far, the scourge sorcerers’ strategy has worked in our favor. Their sentries remain inside the haze of magic they cast around them to avoid being seen by anyone outside—which means as long as we can’t be seen from their camp, no one will stumble on ours. I don’t have to expend magic concealing us once we’re at rest.

As the trees thin, I do need to draw on my power. I’ve taken inspiration from the scourge sorcerers’ strategy and combined it with my previous tactics.

Rather than picturing our individual bodies vanishing like I did with Rheave back in Pima, I imagine a current wrapping around the two of us together, whisking away all visible trace of our forms to anyone outside. I balance it out by having those forms appear back in the forest where we’re actually not.

That way we can still see each other. And it only takes a whiff of my magic, one I can easily keep under control.

“We’ll walk through the camp,” I murmur to Rheave. “Keep quiet, avoid touching anything, and stay close to me. You can focus on identifying the daimon-people.”

He nods, peering ahead toward the camp we can’t yet see.

“Thank you,” he says abruptly before we’ve quite left the forest.

I pause and glance at him. “For what?”

Rheave offers me a softer smile than usual. “You could have left and been out of danger. But you stayed, and that meant I could stay with you. As much as I want you to be safe… I’m not sure what I would have done on my own. I’m glad we’re still together. The men too.”

He adds the last bit like a fleeting afterthought, which makes my lips twitch with amusement. But the honest gratitude in his voice brings back the bittersweet ache I felt earlier.

I touch his arm. “I’m not sure you should thank me. I made the decision for a lot of reasons, and I’m probably going to get you into a lot of danger with what we’re trying to pull off here. But it wouldn’t have seemed fair to abandon you either way. I’m glad you’ve been with us on this journey, as awful as parts of it have been.”

Rheave’s tone brightens. “I’m glad too. And I’m not worried about the danger. I’d like to keep this body, but if I don’t, I will still be me. The scourge sorcerers can’t hurt me that much.”

For his sake, I hope that’s true. Gods help me, I wish I had the same confidence that I’ll stay who I am even while I’m still breathing.

I nudge his elbow. “Come on then. Let’s see how we can hurt them.”

We walk cautiously across the open fields beyond the stretch of forest. The march veered farther from the road during the afternoon—I’m no longer sure I’d be able to see travelers journeying along it from this stopping point.

As expansive as their concealing effect is, now that I’m familiar with it I picked up a hint of the tingling sensation before we even left the forest. When the tingle wriggles right into my skin, I know we’re passing through the outer barrier.

I tap Rheave’s arm again to alert him. With a few more strides, the sprawling camp materializes in front of us.

As we expected, they’re deep in the midst of preparing for the night. Several campfires burn at intervals, a few figures at each cooking tonight’s dinner in pots over the flames.

The greasy meaty odor makes me think they’ve added some kind of waterfowl to their stew. My stomach gurgles in anticipation of our own dinner.

Other men and women are setting up the tents and cleaning equipment. Many sit in clusters, chattering with each other as they work.

I take the lead, weaving between the Order members and their supplies in silence, careful not to walk too close and risk someone accidentally bumping into me. My ears stay pricked to the conversations around me, my gaze roving over the objects caught by the flickering firelight.

Someone’s left a shallow camp pot on a stone near one of the fires. I glance around to confirm no one’s close enough to see the small item disappear and pluck it up to slip it under my arm. That’ll make for easier meal prep.

Around the back of one of the supply wagons that no one is currently bothering with, I pilfer an apple for each of us to go with our dinner. With a twinge of longing, I consider a spare tent lying on the ground still folded, but I suspect that theft might be too noticeable.

Most of the would-be soldiers I pass are talking about immediate practical matters like their aching feet or who they’ll share their tent with. But I pass one cluster made up of people who don’t look much older than I am enthusing about getting to see more of the country for the first time, and another group that’s all teens, chatting about their trek like it’s a grand adventure.

“Just imagine it,” one of the boys says with a swish of a dagger he clearly doesn’t have much practice with. “We’re going to be part of the battle to see a real king on the throne—we’ll prove we deserve the gods’ favor and show the All-Giver it’s time to return! People will write songs about us.”

The girl next to him grins. “Fuck yes, they will. And all those stuffy snobs in the capital will realize the outer provinces can get things done that they can’t.”

Julita’s presence squirms in my head. Gods smite me, I hope I was never quite that much of an idiot at that age. They really have no idea who they’ve actually thrown their lot in with, do they?

I grimace in answer. It definitely seems not.

How could they? The scourge sorcerers must have been spreading the seeds of dissension out here for months if not years before they launched their full uprising. They’ve made it sound as if their quest is heroic.

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