“The northern path looks clearer.” Zephyra takes position at my side, her gaze already dissecting the terrain ahead. “Less Arbiter’s scarring. The magic flows more naturally.”
“Also the path they’ll expect us to take.”
“You want to go south? Toward the frozen territories?”
“I want to go neither direction until I’ve scouted both.” I turn to face her fully. “Which means you stay here while I?—”
“No.”
The refusal is instant. Absolute.
“I’m not leaving you alone at a ley-road junction while divine hunters are closing in.” She meets my gaze. “We move as a unit, or we don’t move at all.”
“That’s not?—”
“Negotiable.” She throws my word back at me with a sharp smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We agreed. Partnership, not permission.”
“You agreed not to use the Veil without consultation.”
“I agreed to preserve my strength when you can carry the load. Scouting hostile territory alone isn’t you carrying the load—it’s you being reckless while pretending it’s strategy.”
She’s not wrong. The acknowledgment grates against my instinct to keep her caged—removed from danger entirely. But the logic is sound. Splitting up makes us both more vulnerable. Side by side, we compensate for each other’s blind spots. And I can reach her faster if another creature gets close.
“Fine.” The word comes out harsh. “If I tell you to run?—”
“I run.” She nods once. “But only to reposition. Not to flee while you fight alone.”
Not the agreement I wanted. But probably the best I’m going to get.
We move onto the northern ley-road, the corrupted magic pulsing beneath our feet. The path is narrow—wide enough for two to walk abreast if they don’t mind pressing close. I keep her on my left side, my body angled to cage her from the eastern approach where the terrain offers the best concealment for ambush.
Every few hundred yards, I stop to listen. To taste the air. To let my power extend outward, sensing for the particular vibration of the Arbiter’s creatures.
Twice, I redirect us around suspicious formations. Three times, I hold her still while distant movement resolves into wind-shifted ice rather than hunting hounds.
The fourth time, the movement doesn’t resolve.
“Down.” I drag her off the ley-road and behind a formation of frozen stone. Press her against the cold surface with my body covering hers.
She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t make noise. Goes still beneath me, her breath a soft pulse against my throat. Trapped exactly where I want her.
The Crown Hound passes thirty feet from our position.
It’s alone—unusual for hounds who typically hunt in coordinated packs. This one moves with jerky, searching motions, head swinging back and forth as it scans for traces of our passing.
My power extends outward, testing the boundaries of its divine magic. The magic that holds it together resonates at a frequency I’ve learned to recognize. One hound. No others within immediate range.
But more will be close. Hounds don’t hunt alone unless they’re scouts, sent ahead to locate prey before the pack closes in.
The hound pauses. Turns its head toward our hiding spot.
I go absolutely still. Zephyra’s hand finds mine, her grip tight. Not panicked—focused. Ready.
The hound’s glowing eyes scan the ice formation. Pass over our position.
Move on.
I hold our position until the hound is gone—fifty feet, a hundred, until I can no longer feel its divine resonance against my power.
