Page 78 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“Wendeline told me about that.”

“This is the place most long to return to while they spend their lives serving Ybaris.” There’s bitterness in Solange’s tone.

Three lethal figures dressed in black emerge from a stone hut.

My affinities hum inside, begging to be unleashed. Something inside me has changed since the night of Hudem’s moon, as wave after wave of seemingly endless power unfurls. This thrumming energy is intoxicating.

Solange warns, “Do not forget, you are an old scribe with no power. The moment you reveal your silver eyes, this charade is over.”

I resist the tendrils reaching for me like a small child’s fingers, begging to be clasped.

“The Shadows are mine to lead, and they will listen to my command above all others. But one can never know who or what is listening, and word travels fast, so I will do the talking. Remain quiet, all of you,” she hisses as the front of the boat slides into its slip.

Several young boys of maybe twelve scramble to grab the ropes.

A Shadow meets us at the end of the dock, dipping their head in a curt bow. “As one we stand,” she recites, her voice feminine and youthful.

“As one we fall,” Solange responds. Clearly a code of sorts.

“Master Shadow!” Her body stiffens. “We were not aware that you would be home today.”

Solange leaps out of the boat in a smooth step. “Plans changed, and I had urgent need to return on the Prime’s directive.” She lies so smoothly.

“Yes, we have been told to escort your party to the gates.” The Shadow’s large russet-brown eyes touch me briefly before ducking.

Abarrane and Jarek hop onto the dock, keeping their backs to the young girl to avoid raising curiosities about which Shadows have returned with Solange.

I collect the skirts of the beige gown I conjured for myself—Agatha’s garb when I met her—and step up onto the dock after them.

Solange dives in, grabbing my forearm. “Allow me to help you, Master Scribe”—she emphasizes her words with a squeeze—“given how difficult it is for a caster of your age to climb out of this boat.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” I curse myself as I hunch my shoulders, mimicking what I remember of Agatha’s stance. “I wouldn’t want to fall overboard before the Prime has a chance to chop off my head.”

Solange’s eyes flare in warning.

Right. Wrong method. “How are the pyres coming along?” It’s a weak attempt to distract from my many gaffes.

“Lead the way, Fatima.” Solange gestures ahead and then waits one, two, three beats before following. “Are you trying to raise alarms?” she whispers.

“I should have warned you. Following instructions is not her strong suit,” Jarek answers from behind us.

I make a point of pursing my lips—a silent promise that I’ll stay quiet from now on.

With a heavy sigh, Solange guides us toward where the three Shadows wait. “One escort will be more than plenty. Fatima, you will accompany us. You two, remain here.” She drops her voice. “And mention nothing of my return to anyone.”

“Yes, Master Shadow,” they chirp in unison.

We fall into step, Solange ahead with the young Shadow, Zander and Jarek flanking either side of me, Abarrane at the rear.

This Fatima steals frequent glances at Solange but says nothing as we climb the steep cobblestone street. The houses are small and quaint, like little cottages, each with thatched roofs and little fences surrounding them and gardens of herbs and tomatoes. The insides are brightly lit for evening, the windows showing families at dining tables or in chairs with books in hand, seemingly oblivious to the world’s turmoil.

“What is it you wish to say, Fatima?” Solange asks suddenly. Clearly, she knows her well enough to drop the caster title.

“How do we fare in battle?” she stammers.

“It is far grimmer than expected.”

“I see.” A pause and then, “Thank you for answering, Master Shadow.”

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