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Aldric drops his voice and bends forward to hand me the second waterskin. “When she was washing yesterday, I noticed a tattoo on her back. Though I’m not sure which, it’s definitely the symbol of a trainee in one of the ancient magical orders.”

“She claims she’s a Warden in training.” I shrug as if I don’t believe the declaration, but really, I just don’t understand it. I can’t ask for clarification without giving away that I’m not Meridian.

“Wardens are old magic. Some call it women’s magic.” He waves that second point away with a flick of his wrist. “But those tattoos carry power and messages for those who know how to read them.”

An icy finger slithers down my spine. “What kind of power?”

“That, I couldn’t tell you. The design was incomplete, meaning she’s still in training.” He studies me. “Be careful with that one. She has secrets.”

“I’m aware of that, friend. Why do you think I didn’t want to travel with your group in the first place?”

I repeat the lie I told them as I glance at Esme. She tears a strip of cloth from her shirt to bind Prim’s knee, whispering softly to her the entire time.

Depths. Right.

The Everhand story. Five hundred gold for black market dealings. Old magic tattoos and a noble bearing she can’t quite hide.

Either it’s the most elaborate lie I’ve ever heard, or… I don’t know what to think.

I grind my teeth. Esme is hiding something.

The question of what continues churning through my mind as we finish filling the waterskins and hit the road again.

The weather changes, rain clouds clustering as the afternoon turns to evening. This time, we’re not able to find a convenient tree or clearing. Instead, I craft a lodging house next to the outdoor firepit with separate rooms for privacy, adding bunkbeds for the little ones. Then I conjure tables and benches under a canopy to go with our nightly pottery.

I go a bit overboard and add a privy. Mira uses her weaker elemental abilities to provide us with running water from a nearby stream.

This would be normal and easy back home in Tirene. Other people simply aren’t as magically gifted as my people. For Meridians, this is a major undertaking. While awed by my powers, the refugees don’t seem to question its origins. We all have secrets on the road, and we’re allowed to keep them. Aside from Esme. I’d like to pry her secrets loose like pearls from an oyster.

Dusk falls like a curtain as the threatening clouds release rain, the drops pattering loudly on the roof of our shelter.

We’re sitting around the fire on benches cushioned with our bedrolls, chatting over our evening meal, when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a sudden chill rolls across the campsite.

The fire burns merrily, close enough to provide light but far enough that we stay cool. Rain dribbles on leaves as tree branches sway in the mounting wind. Though Aldric speaks, sharing the story of the time he met a mountain lion in his skivvies, his voice sounds muted, far away, as if he’s talking under water. The very air warps with a sense of wrongness, charged like an impending lightning strike. The temperature plunges, and my breath plumes.

Extending my magic, I check for any approaching intruders and find nothing. The earth feels heavy and strange, almost as if it’s resisting my touch. Beside me, Esme goes rigid.

Then she tilts her head to look at me.

Her eyes are wide, frightened in a way I haven’t seen before despite everything she’s been through. Lips trembling, she peers over my shoulder at the open doorway. “Something’s coming.”

Chapter Thirteen

Agnar

I shoot to my feet, my boots squelching in the soaked grass as I knock the bench backwards, startling Aldric, who was sitting with Esme, Prim, and me. I draw my sword before conscious thought catches up. My bowl hits the ground and shatters, spilling the night’s stew.

On the other side of the table, Mira reacts to my sudden rising by snatching Stark up against her chest, but she freezes before running into the shelter. Leif’s hand creeps toward the belt knife he thinks I don’t know about as he slips off the other end of the bench. Prim scampers over to Aldric, her eyes plastered on Mal, who’s rooted in the middle with his bowl at his lips.

A shape crinkles in the rain at the edge of the canopy.

At first, I can’t comprehend what I’m seeing. My gaze skims off like water on oiled leather, refusing to hold the impossible sight.

Rain falls through the shape, the drops distorting the image like a broken kaleidoscope. Against my will, my attention redirects to the dying grass and eddies of runoff. It takes great effort to drag my eyes up to the indistinct shape again, and once more, my vision skips. It’s like concentrating on water beneath smoke.

Firelight bends around the shape’s edges as it glides closer, but the light doesn’t bring the anomaly into focus, only gives it a vaguely humanoid form, like a creature disguised in an ill-fitting human costume.

I blink hard as I skirt the table, grappling to grasp what’s invaded our camp. Behind me, Elan screams. Apparently she sees it too.