Treya sat cross-legged in the center of the room she’d claimed for herself, laying her hands on her knees and calming her breathing after finishing her stretching exercises.

Closing her eyes, she slowly blanked out one thought after another. Her concern about being away from home for so long. Her worries about how they were going to deal with Prince Rusol, and whether it was appropriate for her to fight against the son of a Three Orders concubine. The long-standing question in the back of her mind about whether she should remain with Corec and his friends for the long term simply because of the warden bond—an accident that neither she nor Corec had asked for—or whether she should return to the Orders. She could instead continue traveling, like Shana, or find bodyguard work like Enna, or … no. That was a thought for another time. For now, she emptied her mind.

The sounds of the camp were the next to go, and then physical sensations, and then she turned her attention inward. Her heartbeat slowed, and all of her perception lived between the beats.

Treya rolled forward out of her cross-legged position into a handstand, then held herself there until she achieved a stable balance. She was wearing loose clothing, but she’d learned to belt her tunic around her waist so it didn’t fall down over her head while she was upside down.

She spread her weight out across her fingertips, then carefully lifted her right hand off the ground one finger at a time. She was right-handed, but she chose to balance on her left hand this time because it required more effort and concentration. She adjusted her legs to the sides without thinking about it, using them to help keep her balance, but then slowly brought them back together, trying to keep her body as straight as possible, centered over her left arm.

Clearing her mind of the effort that had been needed to take her new position, she reentered her meditative trance, then stretched her free arm out to see how much movement she could make without toppling over. Satisfied she could keep her balance, she formed a fist, then opened her eyes to identify a target. There was a pebble lying on the ground on the other side of the room, farther than she could reach. It would do. There was something she wanted to try.

During the battle with the snake cultists, Treya had managed to hit one of the enemy archers from twenty feet away. She hadn’t even realized that was possible until she’d done it—Shana had never mentioned it. It had felt much the same as releasing all of the kinetic energy of a strike into the briefest brush of a finger, but without actually making contact.

She hadn’t been able to reproduce the effect since then, but she hoped the meditation and the one-handed pose would help replicate the same feeling as being in battle, with her focus necessarily narrowed down to only the things that mattered.

She took a deep breath, then released it. She was about to strike when there was movement at her doorway.

“Oh!” Bobo said. “How do you do that?”

Sighing, Treya dropped out of the handstand into a controlled roll, ending up in a standing position. “Carefully,” she said. There was a reason she preferred to do her exercises out of sight, and it wasn’t only because she looked strange doing them.

“Well, uh, sorry to disturb you, but do you have today’s notes?”

“Yes,” she said, taking four sheets of paper from the board she’d been using as a makeshift desk. “The ink should be dry by now.” She handed them over.

Thanks to influence from the Order of Scholars, students of the Three Orders were trained in formal writing, logic and rhetoric, and accountancy. The concubines took full advantage of that expertise, often handling correspondence and negotiations for their patrons. The mystics had less need for those particular skills, but after Treya had described her schooling one night, Ellerie and Bobo had requested her help. With the initial exploration finished, the two of them were now spending their days measuring and documenting different parts of the city, making abbreviated notes with writing sticks while they worked, since it wasn’t practical to use pen and ink while traipsing around the ruins. They then returned to camp in the evening to write their notes out more fully, but as the exploration continued, it had become difficult for them to keep up with the pace.

Treya didn’t mind helping. It gave her something to do besides delivering meals to the prisoners, or healing the occasional bump or scrape. By accompanying the exploration group each day, she understood the notes well enough to expand on them. That allowed her to write up the new pages while Ellerie and Bobo caught up on the old ones. The two of them planned to take those notes and further expand them into a book during their journey back to Tyrsall.

Bobo glanced through the sheets, then nodded. “Thanks. These are the ones Ellerie’s looking for.” He hesitated before leaving. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but I wonder if you might be willing to answer a few more questions about priesthood. If I’m supposed to be a priest now, it seems silly not to avail myself of your knowledge.”

“I probably don’t know much more than you,” Treya said carefully. She wasn’t actually a priest herself, and she hadn’t figured out how to tell her friends about being godborn. She’d never intended to keep it a secret, exactly, but she’d been quiet about it for so long, it felt as if she had.

“But you must know some things, right?”

“I suppose.”

“How common do you think it is to not know which god has blessed you?” Bobo asked. “Shouldn’t you have gotten a vision of some sort by now?”

“Visions are rare,” Treya said. “Most blessed priests are chosen from the ranks of the unblessed priests and trainees. They don’t need a vision because they already belong to the order.”

“Ahh, I didn’t consider that. What about drain shock? Someone once told me priests don’t suffer from it, but I experienced it after the battle, and I’ve seen you go through it before.”

Priest Telkin had never mentioned drain shock to Treya. The healing priests at the first almshouse Treya had visited had both warned her to not overextend herself, but they’d never explicitly referred to drain shock. Did priests actually suffer from it?

More importantly, why was Bobo asking the question? Was he hinting that he, too, was godborn, and had been hiding it all this time? But no, that couldn’t be possible. Corec had mentioned that Bobo hadn’t appeared as a mage to his warden senses until after the battle.

Bobo had to have been blessed during the battle, which meant priests experienced drain shock after all. So why hadn’t Telkin mentioned it?

“I can’t help you with that,” she said. “Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, I’m just curious,” he said, with an innocent look on his face. “I’d better get these notes to Ellerie. I’ll see you later.”

#

Ellerie checked over the loaded wagon, comparing the contents to her notes. It was one of the two the group still owned after disassembling the third to shore up the entrance to the mountain. After Boktar had returned with the small supply caravan, he and Corec had packed the wagon full of weapons and armor from the armory.

The remainder of the armory had also been hauled to the surface and was now stored in the building where they’d made camp, along with the enchanted items and Marco’s finds. They would need two more wagons to haul it all. Josip was bringing the group’s last wagon back along with the larger caravan, but that still left one more to purchase before their trip back to Aencyr. There were three supply wagons nearby, each still partly full of hay, but the drivers had told Marco they weren’t interested in selling.

With Josip gone, Marco was the only person who spoke the local language, and he spent much of his time exploring the ruins. Everyone else had to communicate with the drivers via hand gestures. It was inconvenient, but Josip and Corec had felt it was important to send someone back to the village to apologize to the parents of the other drivers for allowing them near a battle, and to explain how they’d kept the boys safe. Ellerie had agreed, since she would need to stay on good terms with the people of Livadi if she was going to return to Tir Yadar in the future.

It was those boys, in fact, who might cause the most complications for her research. They weren’t likely to keep quiet about anything they’d seen, and she was concerned about just how far their stories would travel. The locals avoided the barrens as much as possible, aware of the dangers of getting lost or having no shelter during the frequent thunderstorms, but eventually someone would make their way to the ruins.

Ellerie wanted to come back soon to complete her work before someone else did it, but she had to balance that desire with her promises to help Leena and Corec with the dangers they were facing. For Corec, that was the red-eyes and Prince Rusol of Larso. For Leena, it was the snake cultists and the priests who led them. Corec had a plan to draw out Rusol’s forces, but it would take time.

Leena’s people planned to track down the remaining cultists one by one, but the priests were still a concern. No one knew what their goal was or why they were hunting the Travelers. They claimed to follow an old god known as Snake, and Ariadne had confirmed there’d once been an old god by that name—though she referred to the old gods as totems. But even if Snake was still around after all this time, everyone knew the old gods didn’t have priests. Ariadne hadn’t seemed to understand Treya’s questions about it, insisting the totems were revered by her people but not worshipped by them.

There was a flicker out of the corner of Ellerie’s eye, and suddenly Leena reappeared in the camp.

Ellerie approached her. “You’re back,” she said with a smile. “I got worried when you didn’t return the other day, but Corec said you were still in Sanvar.”

Leena kept her expression blank. “I had things to take care of,” she said curtly. She didn’t return Ellerie’s smile, or reach out to stroke her hand as she often did when they’d been apart.

Ellerie felt her own smile slip from her face. What was wrong? Leena had never been so cold to her before, even back at the beginning before they’d come to know each other.

“I … umm …” Ellerie swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She adopted a more formal tone. “Did you see Varsin Senshall?”

“No; just the young woman, Renny. I left the messages and packages with her.”

“Did she say anything?” Ellerie asked.

“She was happy to hear you’d been successful. She wanted more information, but I wasn’t sure what to tell her. I promised I’d answer their questions when I returned with the final agreement, so you’ll have to decide what you want me to say.” There was still no expression on the Sanvari woman’s face.

“Leena, is something wrong?”

“It’s a long trip and I’m tired. I’d like to go rest now if that’s all right.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Taking a deep breath, Leena said, “My people have rules—laws—about not allowing outsiders to use our magic. We can’t risk any more traitors like Davir.” That was the name of the Seeker who’d been helping the snake cultists. “The only reason I came on this trip was to find out who was behind the attacks and figure out a way to stop them. Now that that’s done, I can’t keep breaking the rules. I’ve already agreed to help you until we return to Tyrsall, but after that, it’ll be time for me to return home.”

“Home?” Ellerie asked. “Alone? I thought ...” She paused. “I was going to help you with the cult.”

“There’s no need. My people will take care of the matter.” Leena’s tone made it sound like she was talking to a stranger.

What had happened? The two of them had never spoken of their feelings, but they’d both made clear through their actions that they wanted more from their relationship. Ellerie had thought they were just waiting until Leena’s people were safe before taking the next step. She gazed into the Sanvari woman’s dark eyes, but there were no clues there.

“I ... if that’s what you want,” she said, looking down.

“It is.” Leena turned and left without another word.

#

The knight-trainee’s eyes flashed red as the spell took hold, then returned to their normal blue.

“Return to your duties,” Rusol said.

“Y … yes, Your Highness,” the boy stammered, bowing awkwardly. He was obviously anxious in the presence of his prince, not understanding why he’d been summoned.

And be ready when I call for you, Rusol said to the young man’s mind.

The trainee’s eyes went blank and he bowed again, more smoothly this time. “Yes, Your Highness.” The new compulsion spell for the hunters was far more delicate and refined than the old one. Most of the time, the recipients acted like nothing had changed, and even when they were obeying direct orders, they stood out less than the old hunters did.

The knight that had brought the boy into the room escorted him back out, leaving Rusol alone with Magnus and Sir Barat.

“Is that the last of them?” he asked.

There was no answer. Rusol looked to his side to find Barat staring off into the distance. The young knight was still under the effects of multiple compulsion spells, and wasn’t always aware of what was happening around him. He must have thought the question was intended for Magnus.

“Sir Barat!” Rusol snapped. “Is that all of them?”

Barat jerked back in surprise. Blinking, he looked down through his notes. “Yes, Highness,” he said in his thick accent. “Last of trainees, last of knights. Some soldiers still out on patrol, but rest are finished.”

“I believe the last patrol is due to return tomorrow morning,” Magnus added. “You’ll be able to deal with them before we return to Telfort.”

Rusol nodded. It had taken him two weeks to lay the new compulsions on the soldiers and knights stationed at Fort Northtower. He hadn’t yet reached his limit on the number of people he could control at once, but he could feel it approaching.

The work had gone mostly unnoticed. The results of the new spell were subtle enough that he’d simply asked to speak to the men one by one, and when he was finished with them, he’d released them. His new subjects were completely loyal, while still retaining as much of their own minds and thoughts as possible. Even the red glow of their eyes could be hidden, ensuring their identities would remain secret. Like his earlier attempts, he could control them from a distance, but he hadn’t managed to come up with a way to see what they were doing, and the hunters had no way to communicate back to him. He’d still be dependent on Yassi’s Seeing magic if he wanted to give more than the simplest of commands.

The hunter compulsion offered more complete control over its subjects than the subdued influence Rusol’s father had been weaving among the priesthood for decades. Marten had more finesse with compulsion magic than Rusol, and his overriding concern had always been to avoid detection, but if full control was possible, it seemed stupid not to use it.

Only a blessed priest might realize something was wrong, but the three stationed at Northtower weren’t strong enough to overcome Rusol’s compulsion magic. He hadn’t risked adding them to the ranks of his hunters, but he’d overwhelmed their minds with enough other spells that they wouldn’t be asking any questions.

He would, however, have to keep his new men away from other more powerful priests. To make that easier, he’d turned the twelve unblessed priests at the fortress into hunters. Most priests of Pallisur were trained as warriors, but even those who weren’t, like Calwell, could be useful in other ways, such as continuing Marten’s work in assigning the blessed priests to remote territories.

“Sir Barat,” Rusol said, “do you understand what I’ve been doing?”

In the aftermath of the battle against Leonis, Rusol had laid compulsion magic so heavily on the young knight that it hadn’t been necessary to turn him into a hunter right away.

“You wish … obedience, Sire?” Barat asked. His eyes had glazed over again.

“Yes, and I must have it from you as well.”

“Am … am sworn to Order of Pallisur,” the knight said.

“And your oaths include obedience to the crown, do they not?”

“Y … yes, Highness.”

“Then this is no different than before. I’m simply ensuring you’ll follow your own oaths.”

“Isn’t … isn’t right.” That was the first time the young man had spoken out against the compulsion.

“In a moment, you won’t care,” Rusol said.

Out of caution, Rusol had used his warden senses to check each knight and soldier before turning them into hunters. It wouldn’t be unheard of for Pallisur to provide his blessings to a knight rather than a priest trainee.

There hadn’t been any hidden surprises among the others, but when Rusol opened his senses to Barat, he felt a tingling sensation.

“You’re a priest!” he barked, preparing a spell to strike the man down.

Magnus stepped back, drawing the long knife he kept on his belt. The blade began to glow with a white light.

Barat shook his head wildly. “No, Highness.”

“You’re a mage!” Rusol said.

“I …” Barat struggled against the compulsion, sweat beading on his brow. “No!”

Rusol reinforced the truthfulness layer of the compulsion spell. “You’re a mage! Tell me who you really are!”

Barat’s eyes went blank once more and his shoulders fell slack as he gave in to the spell. “Am Barat of the freeholders. Mother was of clan. Father didn’t like magic. He sent me to Pallisur when Mother died.”

Rusol allowed himself to relax. He’d known Barat was of the elderfolk clan that had settled north of the border after the war, but hadn’t realized the man was a witch.

“The witches allowed you to leave?” Rusol asked. Unlike wizardry, elder magic presented itself whether the bearer was trained or not. The witches would have known he was one of them, unless his father had shuffled him away when he was very young.

“They say gift too weak to bother training.”

Rusol considered that. Kolvi was a good teacher, and the weakness of Barat’s magic wouldn’t be an issue for a warden’s bondmate. Rusol had planned to recruit three wizards from Matagor, but his battle against Leonis had proven the worth of elder magic. Another witch might be useful.

“Show me,” he said.

Barat held his palm out with his fingers curled up. Tiny flames danced from one fingertip to another until each finger looked like a candle.

“For such a weak spell, you have good control,” Rusol said.

“Must hide magic from knights. For years.”

“What if you didn’t have to hide anymore?”

#

Leena filled her plate, then looked for somewhere to sit. She ignored the spot Ellerie had left for her—and the look the other woman gave her—and instead dragged an empty crate over near Razai, who was leaning against one of the stone buildings, using it to block the blowing wind.

Reaching for the crate caused Leena’s sleeve to pull up her arm, partially exposing the jade bracelet. She quickly hid it again. She’d asked her uncle about the bracelet, but he hadn’t had any ideas about what it was.

“How was Renny?” Razai asked.

“She was happy to hear from you,” Leena said. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay long enough to wait for a reply.”

Razai shrugged. “We’ll talk when we talk. She’s a good kid. Can’t keep her mouth shut for more than a minute at a time, but a good kid.”

Corec approached, giving Razai a quick nod before turning to face Leena. “Leena,” he said, “Ellerie told me what you told her. If you’re not comfortable Traveling for us, we can get by without it. I know your uncle wasn’t happy that you stayed here.”

Leena muttered under her breath. She’d been mad at Ellerie for not being truthful with her, and had spoken without thinking, but now she’d have to smooth things over with Corec.

“I only meant the Senshall expedition,” she said. “It’s against our customs to use Zidari magic for the benefit of a northern trading house. I’ve already agreed to work for them until we return to Tyrsall, but after that, I need to be more careful. That’s all I meant. I still owe you for the binding spell.” She ignored Razai’s snort. “I have to return home when we get back, but if you need me for something, I’ll try to help.”

“Actually, I think you should come with us, at least for a while,” Corec said.

Leena blinked in surprise. Was he calling in the favor so soon? “Why?” she asked. “I’ve been away for a long time, and I might be able to help my people track down the cultists.”

He shook his head. “Tracking them down will take a while, and how will you protect yourself in the meantime? They’re specifically looking for you now, not the other Travelers, and we still don’t know why. It won’t be safe for you to go back until they’ve all been dealt with.”

Leena hadn’t considered that. Would she be luring more attackers to her family’s camp?

While she was thinking, Corec spoke again. “You and I have the same problem,” he said. “We don’t know exactly what we’re facing, so we can’t attack them directly. We need to draw them to us without getting innocent people killed. We’ll be far away from Sanvar, so we can let the cultists waste their time traveling all the way up to the free lands, and while your people are hunting down the ones they can find, we can figure out how to fight the rest. Ellerie said it best—we’re stronger when we work together.”

“She’s going with you?” Leena wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“She and Boktar haven’t decided yet. She wants to come back here as soon as she can, or they might go on to Matagor.”

“You should do it,” Razai said to Leena. They both looked at her in surprise. It was unusual for the demonborn woman to voluntarily agree with Corec—sometimes she seemed to disagree with him just on general principle. “What?” she asked. “It’s a good idea, and I’d be happier if you were with someone who knew how to fight.” She smirked. “Besides, imagine how annoyed the cultists will be while they try to hunt you down. Even if they have another Seeker, they’ll find you thousands of miles away from Sanvar, and then they’ll have to try to get to you while you can jump around anywhere you want. And if they don’t have a Seeker, they won’t even know where to begin. It’ll give your people plenty of time to pick them off one by one.”

Corec nodded.

“But what if they know what camp I’m from?” Leena asked. “What if they go after my family anyway?”

Corec and Razai shared a glance. “Could you really help them if you were there?” he asked.

Leena stiffened. She couldn’t, not yet, but if her family was attacked, she wanted to be there for them anyway. Then again, even if she agreed to the plan, she could still visit home and warn Rohav about Corec’s concerns. Her uncle would know how to protect the camp, and perhaps Udit could join her in the free lands until things were safe again. Corec and his friends had proven themselves capable of fighting the cult. Udit would be safer with them than back home.

She made her decision. “I’ll come with you.”