Once we made camp, he vanished. His absence was grating for two reasons: I wanted it and loathed it.
Our journey had just begun, and I was already becoming annoyingly familiar with his presence. We’d spent so long pressed together that I’d grown accustomed to his warmth. Without him, I felt colder.
I despised that fact and tried my best to ignore it.
To no one’s surprise, we feasted on stew for dinner. It was squirrel stew again, but this time with fewer vegetables in the stock. I preferred it to rat, so I wasn’t entirely complaining. However, one would assume that a team of skilled Veilers could hunt animals other than just rodents.
Perhaps they were just better at killing people.
The Veilers said their prayers before eating, making me think about whether the gods listened to such mundane whispers.
I also wondered why the gods would allow such cruelty to be carried out in their name. They were supposed to protect the balance of life, but the scales felt rather tilted. How closely did they watch us? When would they intervene? I knew gods liked to meddle, but they also liked to sit back and watch.
The silence of the gods felt heartless. As if all we endured was torture. Judgment was supposed to come after death—life was the test.
But what kind of test was this cruel?
Maybe the gods didn’t have souls like mortals did. Perhaps that was why they stood above humanity—by existing beneath it.
I sounded like a heretic. Grandmother Alma would be so disappointed.
The night air thickened, full of whispers and unease. Fires crackled low, and though I stared into the flames until my eyes stung, sleep would not come easily.
Not because I was afraid—though maybe I should have been—but because something was wrong.
I felt it in my bones.
When I finally lay back, I didn’t fall asleep. Not really.
It felt more like being pulled downward into a waiting void.
Chapter 10
“Pray to the gods—they are your protectors.
But do not expect them to save you from your own doing.”
- The Old Book
“Elias, stop! My mother will be angry if you ruin another one of my gowns!”
“It’s just mud, Mavis. It washes off. Don’t be such a baby.” Elias poked me with the stick, grinning like the pest he was.
Elias was Kaven’s friend for reasons I never understood. He was a year older, red-haired, smug, and about as pleasant as ticks in summer.
“She said stop,” Kaven cut in, shoving him back.
I looked down at the mud streaking my dress. It was one of my favorites that my father had gotten me during his travels. It was made from pure Athelnean silk, spun from caterpillars only found on the island of Reliss.
“You destroyed it!”
“Now it matches your face,” Elias snorted.
I lunged, shoving him into the muck, and snatched the stick from his hand. I began smacking him with it as he cowered beneath me.
“Mavis, stop!” Kaven grabbed my hand and held me back from further hitting Elias. “You can’t beat him with a stick—even if he deserves it.”
Elias frowned at Kaven and opened his mouth to speak.
