Page 92 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

I complete my circuit of the camp, taking note of the other supply wagons. Then I drift over to the edge of the magical border.

Rheave stops beside me and speaks in a cautiously low voice. “A lot of them are daimon. From what I sensed, about half.”

After what we saw of the scourge sorcerers’ forces in Pima, that doesn’t surprise me.

I glance up at the clouds still smothering the night sky and lean toward Rheave to whisper right by his ear. “What do you say we see how well I can propel your magic right now?”

A sly glint comes into the daimon-man’s eyes. “I’d like that. What should we hit?”

I hum to myself. “Let’s start with a few lightning bolts charring their cargo. I don’t think we should try for smaller targets until we’re sure of our combined aim.”

The daimon-man lets out an eager noise of agreement. “That makes sense. How do you think it will work?”

I bite my lip, pondering the possibilities. “I think if you throw a surge of your power upward, I should be able to catch it with my magic and throw it in whatever direction I want. It shouldn’t be too different from moving a physical object. I just have to focus on something else that can move in the opposite direction without the scourge sorcerers noticing and realizing what’s really going on.”

And do all that while maintaining my focus on the magic keeping us invisible too. But I managed it when I cut Toast’s reins. This won’t be so much harder.

I picture a couple of gnarled trees I noticed in the woods about an hour before we came to our halt. Far enough away that no one at either camp should be disturbed if their branches start whipping around in unexpected ways.

A faint sheen of perspiration forms on my forehead, cooling immediately with the winter air, but the chill only sharpens my concentration.

I fix my eyes on a wagon full of bread, cheese, and dried meat that I want to scorch first. “I’m ready.”

Rheave inhales slowly and then thrusts out his arms with enough force that the air ripples against me. Magic crackles toward the sky.

I toss my own magic after it. With a shove of my will, I hurl the sizzling bolt farther up toward the clouds and then down straight at the wagon.

The supposed lightning smashes into the canvas covering with a warble and a boom like thunder. Yelps ring out throughout the camp as those closest leap away and everyone else stops to stare.

I suck back a laugh at their frightened expressions. Do they really believe the gods approve of their goals? Maybe this will get them thinking things through a little harder.

“Again,” I murmur to Rheave, picking out a second wagon that was carrying crates with unknown but presumably needed contents.

He obliges with another swing of his arms. I fling the second bolt upward and down at the next wagon, with the distant sense of one of the trees I picked out wrenching right out of the soil by its roots.

“What the fuck kind of storm is this?” someone shouts, staring up at the sky.

Another voice rings out, steadier but still nervous-sounding. “Keep low to the ground. It’s striking taller targets.”

I brace myself. “Again.”

And at the same moment, a swell of uneasiness washes through me. Is it really enough to just lash out at the things? These people—they want to kill me and everyone I care about. How can I stand here and let them?—

In the middle of my frantic clash of thoughts, Rheave hurls his power into the air. I catch it automatically and launch it upward, but I haven’t picked a target.

My gaze darts through the now-chaotic camp and snags on a teenage boy scowling in the midst of the turmoil, his sword raised. Like he wants to run it right through me.

I pull at the power without thinking, just as the boy’s expression falters with a flash of fear.

Gods, he really is just a kid. What the fuck am I doing?

With a hiss at the effort, I swing the bolt to the side at the last second. It crashes into the side of a tent just a few paces from where the boy is standing.

Rheave whips his arm around me and yanks me backward. The next thing I know, we’re stumbling through the grass out of the area of concealment.

My pulse hitches, and I focus on the one thing I’m sure of—the images of us I’m projecting far off into the forest so that our bodies here can stay invisible.

Rheave tugs me farther away from the Order of the Wild camp, his arm still clamped around me even as he lets me turn in his grip.

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