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Margarida rests a proud hand on the boy’s shoulder. “After he noticed it, we had a chance to test it. When we felt the thing coming, we built the fire high that night. We felt it come close. We could hear it. But it didn’t cross into the light. That night, he saved us all.”

I smile at Tobin, who ducks his head. “Thank you. That might save many more lives too.”

“We had a fire going the night we encountered one…” Agnar trails off, and I shiver at his expression. Had the Hollow One been interested enough in me that it ignored its hatred of fire to approach? “We were only able to get a glimpse of it. Horrid thing.”

Brennan shifts his bow to his other hand. “We should move on. Dawn isn’t far off.” He holds his arm out to me. “Be careful, Esme. Whatever is happening in these mountains, it’s big. Don’t let it swallow you whole.”

I clasp his forearm in farewell, worried I may never see them again. “I’ll try.”

With short nods to Agnar, the three nomads pivot to go.

Instead of crossing the river, they head downstream. They’re leaving their lands behind, not willing to risk the new danger that’s chasing away all other life.

Not that I blame them. Without animals, the forests will die, and so will they. The tax-paying citizens of Meridia aren’t the only ones affected by this catastrophe.

So long as the Hollow Ones roam the land, everyone and everything are at risk.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Agnar

The fire roars high and hot. I built it that way on purpose, following the outlaws’ advice because I recalled how the Hollow Ones were only visible with my torch. I keep feeding it, dragging dead branches from the tree line, snapping them across my knee, and tossing them on until the flames climb eight feet tall.

Esme helped without being asked, hauling in armfuls of wood and stacking them in a pile near the fire that will last us through the night and then some. She goes about her self-appointed task without her usual clumsiness and anxiety, indicating she’s had a lot of experience at foraging for wood.

Though I doubt she’s ever made camp thinking about creatures that eat memories.

I can’t help but compare the Hollow Ones to the drachen. The Hollow Ones are nearly invisible creatures that attack the mind. The drachen could at least be killed. Not that we knew that at first. Created from the sentient blood of the mad god Narc, they remained buried for a long time, but never completely died.

The similarities nag at me, prompting me to consider that these new monsters might be connected to the gods as well. The deities always seemed willing to destroy our minds, one way or another.

I would give my left nut for Lark right about now. Her power and control could keep a fire burning without fuel for as long as she was awake. Fuck, for all I know, she can do it in her sleep too.

She could light up the entire mountainside without breaking a sweat or searing a single leaf. As strong as she’s become, she might be able to scorch the continent and drive the Hollow Ones back to wherever they came from while burning out the Withering from the soil.

Except Meridia would likely view that as an act of war. And who could blame them? The kingdom is already terrified of Lark and growing to fear Sterling as well. If those two weren’t on my side, I’d be afraid too. One on one, I could potentially emerge victorious if I allowed myself full freedom, but with their combined power, the two are a force to be reckoned with.

Then I catch myself and nearly laugh out loud.

I’m sitting here wishing my queen was in the field with me as if I’m important enough to warrant that kind of protection. Like I deserve to have the most powerful fire magic user in generations stand guard over my sorry ass while I play spy games in a dying kingdom.

The arrogance is stunning, even by my standards.

Lark has an entire kingdom to protect. She doesn’t have time to babysit a soldier who volunteered for this mission knowing full well it might kill him. Not to mention, after failing to turn up for so many check-ins, she might just light my ass up first.

I toss another branch on the fire. Sparks spiral up into the darkness, extinguishing before they reach the canopy.

Esme settles on the opposite side of the flames, far enough away to maintain propriety but close enough that I can see her clearly.

She plucks a carved wooden comb from a belt pouch and starts untwisting her braid.

Oh fuck.

I should look away. I could sharpen weapons, stack wood, or organize gear. Gods willing, maybe I could even teach myself how to juggle.

But regardless of my mental warnings, I can’t bring myself to move.

Esme’s hair comes loose in thick dark waves that catch the firelight and throw it back in shades of brown, red, and copper.