I tear my gaze away, forcing my attention back to the ley-roads beyond the window. This is a mission. He’s an asset. Whatever physical awareness keeps flickering through my mind is a distraction I can’t afford.
The ice presses closer. I feel it through the fading wards—sense the Arbiter’s magic testing the ancient protections. Searching for weakness.
Time to go.
“Tyr.”
He’s awake before I finish saying his name. No transition between sleep and consciousness—one moment his eyes are closed, the next they’re open and tracking toward me with sharp focus. His hand moves toward a weapon that isn’t there before he registers my presence and stills.
“Trouble?”
“Not yet.” I push away from the window. “But the wards are failing. We need to move before the ice breaks through.”
He rises in a single fluid motion, no stiffness despite the wounds, no hesitation despite the abbreviated rest. His coat’s still open from where I treated his ribs, and I catch a glimpse of bandaged flesh before he pulls the leather closed.
I look away too slowly. He notices.
We don’t acknowledge it.
“How long was I out?” He checks his weapons—knives I hadn’t seen him draw, blades that appear from hidden sheaths with practiced ease.
“Under two hours.” I gather my own supplies, such as they are. A pack salvaged from the waystation’s abandoned stores. Rations that might be edible if we’re desperate enough. “The magic’s been building in the ley-road walls. Discharge cycles are getting shorter.”
“The Arbiter’s influence?”
“Probably.” I move toward the door, my Auric Veil already extending to read the paths ahead. “The corruption’s spreading. Whatever the gods did to these roads, it’s accelerating.”
Tyr falls into step beside me. Not behind—beside. Near enough in the narrow doorway that I catch his scent: leather and blood and an undertone that’s purely him.
I don’t step away. Tell myself it’s because the doorway’s too narrow for distance.
The excuse is wearing thin.
We emerge onto the ley-roads, and the cold hits immediately. Not temperature—the air’s no colder than it was inside the waystation. But the divine pressure pressing down from every direction makes my bones ache, my muscles tense. The corruption’s a weight I perceive but can’t shed.
The paths stretch ahead, crystalline walls rising on either side. Blue light pulses through them in slow waves, casting our shadows in strange directions. The floor’s slick with ice that reforms even as we disturb it with our footsteps.
“Which way?” Tyr’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. Sound carries strangely here—sometimes swallowed instantly, sometimes echoing for miles.
I extend my sight into the magic ahead, reading the patterns. Left path: stable for now, but narrowing. Right path: wider, butthe energy’s building toward discharge. Straight ahead: blocked by a collapse.
“Left. The right branch is about to blow.”
He doesn’t question my assessment. Adjusts his trajectory and keeps moving, positioning himself on my left side—the direction potential threats would come from.
He does that without thinking. I’ve noticed. Every time we move, he adjusts his stance to block me from potential threats. Not obviously, not dramatically. Small shifts that cage me in his shadow.
I don’t step out of his shadow either.
The left path narrows quickly, forcing us into a single file. I lead—my sight’s more useful for navigation than his instincts—but I feel him close behind me. The pressure at my back has nothing to do with the divine weight bearing down from above—that’s all him.
“You know more about the Arbiter than most.” His voice carries from over my shoulder. “The reports I’ve read are vague. Rumors wrapped in fear.”
“The reports are deliberately vague.” I keep my attention on the path ahead, reading the patterns, watching for danger. “The gods don’t want mortals understanding their enforcers too clearly. Knowledge is resistance.”
“But you know.”
It’s not a question. He’s figured out that my expertise goes beyond standard witch training. Most witches learn the basics—enough to recognize divine magic when they see it, enough to know when to run. I learned everything my bloodline could teach me, and then I learned more.
