But Eira managed.
He was past her, and the rest, and out of the tunnel. By the time she firmly had control over her thoughts, he had returned.
“Everything seems clear,” he whispered. “There’s some behind us—watching the wall, just as the soldiers of Qwint told us—but none ahead that I can see. They must feel pretty confident their ‘insignificant’ neighbor wouldn’t dare be sending anyone into their territory.”
“Onward, then.” Eira nodded to Alyss, who led them out. “Ducot, ride up on a shoulder.” Without a word he pulsed into his mole form and scurried up Yonlin’s leg, causing the other man to squirm. “Olivin, help me with an illusion.”
“Trying to make this many invisible will use a good deal of magic,” he cautioned.
“It’s all right if it’s not perfect, just enough that we won’t be obvious.”
He nodded and followed after Alyss, the rest of them behind.
The moment she stepped into the sunlight, Eira balled her hand into a fist with a sigh of frost.No tells,the Adela that lived in her mind scolded. Eira relaxed her fingers, but not her magic. She focused on keeping it wound tight to them—no sudden surges that could alert the knights behind them.
Their enemies were perched on top of the hill that they had just emerged from, none the wiser that the very people they were watching for were right behind them. Carsovia had entrenched themselves. A few small, earth-bermed shelters were constructed right into the hillside. An endless rotation of sleeping and keeping guard.
A thin copse of trees surrounded them. It was minimal coverage for prying eyes so Eira was grateful for their illusions, however slight they were.
She navigated to Alyss, resting a hand gently on her friend’s shoulder and leaning in to whisper, “Keep a trail, we’ll have to come back this way.”
“Already ahead of you,” Alyss murmured in reply.
“This is why I keep you around.” Eira squeezed her shoulder.
“I can think of a few other reasons I make myself useful.” It was nice to hear the confidence in her friend’s tone. Eira knew Alyss’s reservations. Her fears were reasonable. But there wasn’t time to look back or question. Their only path was ahead.
They progressed through the thin woods. Much like the first time Eira had ventured into Carsovia, she was overwhelmed by the eerie sense of just howemptyit all was. They walked for nearly three hours before seeing their first structure—a small farmhouse settled among the slowly flattening land that they had been descending through. The building itself wasn’t anything special. But what it did have was people and a road that cut through the fields, tall with crops, leading toward no doubt more civilization.
Taking a moment to catch their breath, they studied the maps that Lavette and Varren had gone over with them, ultimately determining that this was the outer fringe of a town called Calsveil. There was some debate over the best next steps. Cullen suggested they swing wide. Eira disagreed, prompting them to continue. Alyss offered to cover their tracks through the fields, but that would be slow, and exhausting for her. The best path was the fastest, and least conspicuous…but also the most dangerous:
The road.
There wasn’t any more discussion as they donned the cloaks and other clothing that had been given to them back in Qwint. The unique combination of colors had been chosen with care—mostly drab.Don’t stand out, don’t seem too lowly. Just exist, was hopefully what the clothing said.
Eira led them out of the woods and onto the dirt path that circled the farm. She almost paused at where it joined with the actual road. Would it look too obvious that they were emerging from the woods? What if this was another knight stronghold, only made to look like an unassuming farmhouse to lure anyone from Qwint into a false sense of security?
No… She kept her feet moving.People were trying to get from Carsovia to Qwint, not the other way around. The knights were watching Qwint’s gates for signs of an attack, or other intelligence—signs of pathways like the one they took. They might seem a bit strange wandering from that direction, but Eira trusted that anyone who saw them would come up with some explanation that wasn’t an infiltration group from Qwint.
Her theories, and hopes, were put to the test when they crossed paths with the owner of the small house, situated out front, sharpening a tool of his trade. He gave them a small but friendly greeting. Eira worked to return it, but she was sure their awkwardness was evident by how stiff their movements were. Yet whatever he thought of them wasn’t enough to stop them or raise any other alarm. So they kept moving.
The hours passed them by like the fields around them. Monotony was their newest companion, keeping pace with nervousness and dread. Each house was much the same as the last. Every field grew one of the same three crops. And none of them seemed very keen on talking.
All the while, Cullen regarded everything with a far-off stare. Even though the crops were nothing like the rolling fields of wheat she’d heard described in the East, she had to imagine this was something like his homeland, a place he hadn’t returned to since he’d Awoken and destroyed an entire town. She couldn’t stop herself from slowing her pace and angling her steps, coming up to his side.
The backs of her knuckles brushed against his and Cullen’s head snapped in her direction, wide-eyed. Eira didn’t know if he thought there was some kind of threat she was alerting him to. Or, if he realized he’d been caught—that she’d seen that distant and haunted gaze.
Eira offered him a small smile. His expression relaxed some. With a twist of her fingers, her knuckles slid between his.
Cullen squeezed her hand in reply and released. Eira saw the appreciation, and understood the dismissal. He wanted to be left to his thoughts, and that was all right. For now, at least.
The motion brought back the sensation of Yonlin from earlier. Eira stared at her empty hand. A rough patch on her wrist, forever scarred from the shackles of the pit. There were the ghosts of burns from the fires of the coliseum when she hadn’t had her magic to protect her. Tiny scars lined her fingertips from prying the flash shale out of the mines. Each one so minuscule that they’d be missed at a glance. But Eira could read them like a book.
They all carried the stories of their lives so far inked in scars both seen and unseen. Wounds that would never quite heal. Breaks that couldn’t be mended by magic—only time.
Yet, these scarred hands could still be held on to. They could still pull someone back from the brink of succumbing to ghosts. But…they hadn’t been enough to pull her friend from the arms of Death.
Balling her hand into a fist, Eira squeezed away the thoughts. When she relaxed, there was nothing left of them…save for a whisper on the wind that sounded like Noelle’s voice asking,Why?
