Zarrek moved in beside him, golden eyes ablaze, hands clenched into fists. His axe lit with runes—not trust, not triumph—butreadiness.
“That wasn’t casting,” he sneered as he stalked toward her. “Whatareyou?”
“I am myself,” she insisted, her spine straight and her chin high. “Would you rather the men have drowned?”
The moment cracked. Tension flared. Something passed between the two of them. A new kind of familiarity. Resh stepped between them, but Zarrek wasn’t looking at her like a man looks at a person. He looked at her the way a commander examined a battlefield that broke all convention. Uncertainty was his greatest nemesis, and neither he nor Resh had ever encountered anything in their days together as uncertain as this woman and her magic.
“She saved us,” Resh shot back, regardless. “All of us.”
“At what cost? That wasn’t casting—it was something older. Something lost.” Zarrek’s voice dropped, but the tension behind it only sharpened. “You saw it. The stillness. The way the waveobeyed. No runes. No sigils. No conduit. Resh, that’s—”
Resh stepped closer, rain dripping from his brow, his voice low and firm. “Magic thatsaved our lives.”
Zarrek’s mouth pressed into a line—but he didn’t move. The silence between them stretched—thick as the fog creeping in at their feet. Rain tapped like fingers on armor. Somewhere, a horse stamped nervously. Men were shouting, rolling the wagons to a safe ridge.
“Zar, this isn’t the time,” Resh said. “Night is coming. We’re drenched. I may not feel the cold, but the men do. As do you. We need to secure camp, ensure the supplies are safe and dry.”
The grizzled warrior spat something in Old Krystopolitan and turned his back, walking away. Resh exhaled, pulse still thudding in his ears. He didn’t want to fight. Not now. Not when they owed her their lives. The mist had thickened, curling at their ankles like smoke.
Zarrek gathered stragglers, threatened those that continued to stare. Among the last to cross the river were the Riftwardens, mages specialized in tracking tears and predicting their locations. They argued when Zarrek told them to leave their precious dowsing rods behind in the wagons to help set up camp. A few glared at Auryn with blatant hostility.
They were always trouble. Weak in body and just intelligent enough to cause conflict, but if anyone can handle them, it’s Zarrek.
When Resh finally glanced back to where she had stood—
Auryn had vanished.
A chill scraped down his spine. He turned, scanning the riverbank. There—a flash of silver through the fog. Moving. She took a step toward the shore. Staggering now. Then her knees buckled.
A shout from one of the men. Several Reskala converged around her. Resh ran, kneeling beside her. She hadn’t lost consciousness. Was still awake, but her entire body quivered and shook. When a Reskala reached to touch her, Resh grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t,” he snapped. “Everyone, back off. Give her some air.”
That was when she fell the rest of the way into the mud. Panic slammed into him. He reached for her. Hesitated. Images of her strange silver magic flashed through his memories. What if it surged when he touched her? What if it lashed out? He wasn’t afraid for himself, but for the gawking warriors gathering around them.
Another voice cut through the air. “You heard the Commander! Back away now!”
Zarrek pushed several warriors aside, his massive frame towering over them all. “Get to work on the camp and supplies. If I see one of you looking in this direction, you’ll be on latrine duty for a month!”
Auryn’s skin was pale, her breathing shallow, her fingers twitching.
“The Veil…pulls,” she gasped.
Their eyes met, and the moment that he saw a flash of fear there, he broke, pulling her out of the mud into his arms.
“Don’t…let me…drift…” she whispered.
Zarrek barked orders, men scrambled, and an Anchor was driven into the ground to buy them time until the mages and Wardens could secure the wards. The men brought firewood. Blankets. Cots. By the Bloodletter's orders, no one looked directly at her.
Resh sat holding Auryn against his chest, torn in two. He wanted to be out there helping his men, securing their camp, preparing for the night. But just the thought of leaving Auryn somewhere alone or in another’s care was enough to tighten his grip on her. He looked down at her face, shocked to find her looking back. Still shaking. Still barely breathing. Yet, when she spoke, her thoughts were not for herself.
“I’ve asked…too much,” she rasped. “Go…if you need to…”
“No. I’m staying here. With you.”
Her pupils—gray behind a veil of shimmering silver—dilated as her eyes drifted closed. His earlier panic returned. Was this mana depletion? Backlash? If so, she needed warmth and rest. She’d asked him not to let her drift. Needles pricked into the nape of his neck like a warning from the stars themselves.
Resh cradled her head and whispered low in her ear, “Don’t sleep now, starlight. Not yet.”
