Nothing came up, though he certainly wanted to be able to offer her that gift.
He wanted it for himself, too: the answer to the question he’d had since Magus first brought up the termVeilborne.
Where hadhismagic come from...if it wasn’t from his own parents?
He’d not stopped searching for those answers, either, but deep down, something Magus said had always bothered him.
He’d had to go south...where ancient magic still lived and thrived. The southern continent, a place Kinlear wouldnevergo.
Not until they slayed the Acolyte. But then, once the war was over...
Perhaps he and Ezer could get their answers together. Perhaps, he dared to dream as the snow danced between them...perhaps they could see places far beyond the Sundered Sea.
Somethingcrackedin the woods, drawing Kinlear back to attention.
“We need to go,” he said, even as Ezer still stared down at Wrenwyn’s grave, and he sensed...it meant something to her. The story. The truth that no one would ever discover, for Wrenwyn’s story was long, long buried in its own grave.
He coughed suddenly and reached for the vial around his neck. It had only a drop left, the liquid only offering a tiny wetness to his lips.
“We’ll go,” Ezer said, noticing.
The wind howled, and Six lifted her beak, letting it roll over her. In the woods, a raven cawed. Ezer smiled, as if she’d heard the cry of the omen, and Kinlear knew how much she loved them, how much?—
The raven’s sound cut off with a strange, choking sort of screech.
“What was that?” Kinlear whispered.
A strange feeling slithered up and down his spine. It felt like a warning...a wrongness in his bones.
It only intensified when a low growl came from Six.
“Ezer,” Kinlear breathed, because the wind had picked up again. Because he sensed, upon it...the smell of something terrible. Something rotting. “Let’s go.”
Ezer climbed back onto Six, her warmth against him once more.
Kinlear had just wrapped his arms around her when two figures emerged from the treeline. Not in front of them...butbehindthem. Blocking the way to the Gates.
Shadow wolves.
Death.
“Ezer,” Kinlear breathed.
His hand dropped to his Veilblade. It had slayed a monster in his mind. It had given him the ability to walk beyond the Veil, to see into the future...
But it wouldn’t be enough against the shadow wolves.
He could sense the terror in Ezer the second she laid eyes on them, fortheywere the ones that had marred her, that had nearly stolen her life as a child. He never should have let them leave the safety of the wards, never should have put her indangerlike this.
“Fly,” Ezer whispered. “Six. You have to fly.”
The wolves stepped closer. Dark ichor dripped from their snouts, and a low growl came from each of their throats. Kinlear could feel Ezer tense in his grip, and suddenly he felt like a child again.
Cast right back to a dying wood, a hooded monster playing a deadly game of chase.
A growl from the wolves, and Six skittered backwards, as if she wereafraid.How could the Acolyte’s mighty beast, queen of the skies, beafraidof a shadow wolf? They were supposed to be on the same damned side, both born from the darkness.
But the raphon was so scared, it was a true effort to stay on her back.
