Page 168 of Cast in Conflict

“Grab the idiot.”

“I can’t even see the idiot!”

“That’s harsh,” a familiar voice said. Mandoran. Free of Bellusdeo’s back—or the large parts of her body that weren’t transparent—Kaylin could finally see Mandoran.

Terrano had wrapped both arms around her midriff; he was holding her tightly enough it was almost difficult to breathe. On the other hand, down was a long way away. Her arms were free; she could see Mandoran, but only barely, even with Hope’s wing plastered to her face. He was almost the storybook definition of a ghost, and she could only see his upper body. The rest was enmeshed in the overlapping strands of Aerian-carried Shadow.

“Why is it always me?” Mandoran asked, the words almost, but not quite, a whine.

“It’s not always you,” Kaylin snapped.

“It was in the Aerie.”

“True.” She reached out for his arm. Her hand passed through it. She cursed.

“Impressive,” Mandoran said, grimacing. This close, she could see that he was in pain. “Sedarias is starting to tilt.”

“Tilt?”

“Over the edge—I don’t want to rush you, but can we get me out of here before she falls off it?”

Shadow spears flew toward where Kaylin and Terrano now hovered. Toward, Kaylin realized, Bellusdeo, who remained in position just as Terrano had asked. She spared one quick glance, saw the body of the outcaste grow larger as he approached, and turned all of her attention back to Mandoran.

And then she closed her eyes.

She could see her marks clearly, as she’d always done with closed eyes. They were glowing with a gray, steady light; none had risen. None would rise.

Her skin was the same luminous gray as the marks, as if they were all of a thing. She could see her skin. Mandoran had said that this was her way of phasing; this was her paradigm. She accepted that, although she had a few questions about seeing her own skin when her eyes were closed.

She let that go, because one of her hands was not gray—or not entirely gray. It was covered in what looked like a badly made lace glove. This was Shadow, as Karriamis had divined, but it was like...dead Shadow? Shadow separated from whatever force controlled Shadows from Ravellon.

And it was what she needed. She reached out for Mandoran with the gloved hand. His hand, beneath the glove, was solid. When she reached out with her right hand, it wasn’t.

“We’re running out of time,” Terrano said. His voice was audible; the rest of him was invisible. She didn’t open her eyes. If Terrano wasn’t precisely where Mandoran—and Kaylin herself—were, so much the better.

“I’m trying.”

“What exactly are you trying?”

“Can you see him?”

“Yes.”

“Can you touch him?”

“No, duh. Look—we need to pull him out of there before—”

She almost lost Mandoran. She’d gripped his hand, his fingers interlocked with hers. If Terrano hadn’t been holding on to her so tightly, she would have fallen; Mandoran suddenly gained weight. She met his eyes; they were entirely black, and the flecks of livid color they contained were both familiar and almost terrifying.

She tightened her grip as she lost feeling in the one hand that Mandoran could actually grasp; she was surprised she hadn’t dislocated her arm. She opened her eyes.

Kaylin was grateful that Mandoran was holding on so tightly. What she held with her left hand, she could now see. None of it looked like Mandoran. Not even through Hope’s wing.

“Tell the rest of the cohort what’s happening here—they mustn’t close in combat!”

“We didn’t—”

“Let the others handle it!”

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