I pretend I don’t notice. He pretends he didn’t do it.
We move back onto the ley-roads, and this time, when he positions himself at my side, I don’t bother with excuses.
I let him stay there.
The paths stretch ahead, blue and cold and dangerous. The Arbiter’s influence presses down from above, searching for us in the corrupted magic.
I felt less hunted than I had in years.
SEVEN
TYR
Iduck through the half-collapsed entrance, scanning the interior with senses honed by centuries of survival. Stone walls half-buried in crystallized ice. A roof that might hold, might not—gaps show the corrupted sky through jagged holes. The space is cramped. Fifteen feet across at the widest, narrowing where the divine ice presses inward.
A dead hearth sits against the far wall, frost-covered and useless. Two exits: the one we entered through and a second passage partially blocked by debris and frozen rubble. Remnants of previous travelers scatter the floor—abandoned packs, frozen supplies, a single glove stiff with ice.
People fled this place in a hurry. They didn’t come back.
“The wards here are older.” Zephyra moves past me, her attention fixed on patterns invisible to my eyes. “Weaker. They’ve been bleeding power for decades.”
“Will they hold?”
“Against divine ice? Maybe.” Her fingers trace symbols in the air, reading magic I can only sense as pressure. “Against anything actively hunting us? No.”
Reassuring.
I move to the blocked exit, testing the debris. Frozen solid. It would take time to clear—time we might not have. The main entrance remains our only viable escape route.
My dragon doesn’t like that. One exit means one direction to defend. It also means one direction to be cornered from.
“How long until we can move again?”
Zephyra lowers her hands. The slight tremor in her fingers, hidden quickly in her coat, tells me what she won’t say.
“An hour.” She meets my gaze steadily. “Maybe two. The ley-roads ahead are unstable. I need to read the patterns before we commit to a path.”
An hour. Two. Plenty of time for whatever’s tracking us to close the distance.
Fear flickers through me—not for myself. Fear for her.
I turn away from her, focusing on the entrance. The corrupted ley-road stretches beyond, blue light pulsing in slow waves. No movement. No shapes forming from the ice. No hunters emerging from the crystalline walls.
Yet.
When she speaks again, her voice carries an edge I can’t interpret.
“You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
“About what?”
“The way you watch me. The way you position yourself. The way your voice changes when you think I’m in danger.” A pause. “I’m not a mission parameter, Tyr. You can admit that things have shifted.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. She sees too much. She reads patterns everywhere—including in behavior.
“Things haven’t shifted.”
“Liar.”
