Hadvarian Heist: Age of Azuria, #2

By Beth Ball

The lives of your friends are bound to your own — can you do what it takes to free them and ensure the survival of your world?

 

A dark shadow looms over Caldara as Iellieth Amastacia and her companions travel north. Hidden within the elegant marble halls of the Hadvarian Court, an ancient artifact waits to be discovered, but haunting spectres of the past guard the prize. 

 

Deep in the Shadowlands, Lucien plots to capture Iellieth and extinguish any resistance to Alessandra before the flame spreads. Across Azuria, foul forces await his bidding, ready to deliver the druid into his hands. Unfortunately for Lucien's pack of werewolves, Briseras Ravisthinia delights in making them her prey. With the help of an over-eager folklorist and a driven, if mysterious, witch, Briseras intends to destroy not only the werewolves, but also the more sinister creature who lurks just beyond her grasp. 

 

On the opposite side of the world, Genevieve Vendanges stalks after the man who bears her conclave's sacred dagger. Aboard the Amber Queen, she has a chance to uncover what he knows about the destruction of her conclave and all she held dear. But the passenger holds secrets for other crew members as well, namely the ship's captain, Teodric Adhemar. What guarded information from Teodric's past might emerge to interrupt his return to the powerful Admiral Syleste?  

 

Even further west, foreboding visions drive Persephonie Arelle to the ancient walls of Andel-ce Hevra. To protect her mother, she must confront hostile guards hunting practitioners of natural magic and subvert the dangerous machinations of Aylin, her mother's partner. But Persephonie does not fight alone. A mischievous fox and handsome captain of the guard stand ready to help her combat the clashing urban forces. Will it be enough? 

 

In book two of the Age of Azuria high fantasy series, Iellieth, Briseras, Teodric, Genevieve, and Persephonie must summon the strength to withstand the pull of the darkness surrounding them, a tide whose time, whose destruction, has finally come.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grove Guardian Press
• Release date: Dec 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952609060

Book preview

Prologue

Yvayne pulled aside the mists that separated the planes of life from one another. Disturbed spirits swirled through the ether. More than a century had passed since her last visit to the Shadowlands. But as the ancient conflict rekindled and the war began anew, they would need allies.

Besides, Apollo owed her a favor.

The guardian turned slowly at her approach through the dark corridors of his dwelling. His black wings hissed as they trailed across the stone floor. The one who travels through mist has come to see me at last.

Yvayne stared into Apollo’s golden eyes. Certainly you know why I am here.

Darkness eddied around the borders of the circular stone courtyard. The pathway she’d traversed to stand before the guardian had disappeared the moment she stepped into the chamber. Flashes of light danced through the murky shadows around them. Apollo’s servant spirits, the vulpine, whispered. They were surprised by her return.

I had expected you to come sooner. Apollo’s voice rumbled out across the courtyard, unimpeded by the black leather mask that concealed the entirety of his face save for the glowing eyes.

I have many pressing matters to attend to in Azuria. You are well aware of this. Yvayne stretched her fingers, willing herself to be patient. He would agree to help her, eventually. It was only a matter of how long it might take. And of what he decided he wanted from her in return.

Apollo’s boots clicked on granite stones as he approached her. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled from behind the mask. I hear your thoughts while you are in my realm, Yvayne. You fear what I will ask of you.

Your requests have been unreasonable in the past.

The spirits hissed all around her but stopped as the guardian raised his fist for silence. Mistress Yvayne comes to us for aid, he said to the darkness, cupping the bottom of her chin in his hand, and we are here to help, are we not? Yvayne’s eyes flashed, and the guardian chuckled. He released her and stepped back. How is your new pet? The garnet-haired druid? Is she indeed one who has returned?

She scowled in reply. We shall see. There was no need for the guardian to be informed of the entirety of the situation. He needed only to know enough to be prepared to intervene should the tide turn early. Lucien’s spirit has been sent back to this realm. At the very least, I need to know when he leaves.

And at the very most, dear Yvayne?

Her teeth ground together in irritation. It had been foolish to expect a more reasoned response from the self-assured guardian, insulated in his dim domain.

She could turn that to her favor, though. Yvayne raised an eyebrow, her eyes flickering over the powerful being before her. Apollo rolled his shoulders back beneath her gaze, sending ripples down the thick onyx feathers of his wings. You could actually exert yourself and try to stop him.

Laughter echoed up from behind her, cascading around the room as it grew in volume. A trick of the chamber’s acoustics. Apollo shook his head, his unseen smile brightening his eyes. What an intriguing idea, but I think not. I won’t be swayed so easily this time around.

Do you find this a change from your actions before? Yvayne crossed her arms, scolding herself for traveling here first. She still had allies among the Brightlands fae. Even reasoning with the angels would have been less tedious than this.

No need to bring them into it. Apollo’s eyes narrowed.

So he truly was observing her thoughts. Name your price, and I’ll be on my way.

I’m surprised you think so little of me, Yvayne. The guardian tucked long arms behind his back, pacing in a circle around her along the borders of the room. You see, I have already begun to play.

Play? A rush of cold flooded Yvayne’s senses. What had he done?

Apollo chuckled again, the heels of his boots grating across the floor. Yvayne pressed her shoulders down, steeling herself against the hair that rose down the length of her neck. One of your flock is of great interest to me. A certain saudad with hazel eyes.

A torrent of violet flame erupted from Yvayne and streaked across the room at the guardian. Apollo waved his hand and brushed it aside, sending the fire to sizzle harmlessly in the surrounding shadows.

Green and copper eyes reflected the light of the flames back to her. Apollo’s fox-servants tilted their heads in interest.

He knew interfering with the saudad was forbidden.

She is only half saudad, Apollo whispered, reading her thoughts.

A growl flickered in the back of Yvayne’s throat. Persephonie is no concern of yours. She turned to go, but a strong hand reached out and seized her shoulder. Her body went rigid at his touch, and he leaned down, the sides of his jaw grazing her pointed ear as he spoke.

You forget with whom you are dealing, Apollo whispered. I wish her no harm. Why are you so quick to assume we must all follow Lucien’s cursed path? The guardian slid in front of her, his wings outstretched to stop her.

Lucien had destroyed more than the two of them could ever express. But he was right. Not all guardians were doomed to the lich’s corrupted fate.

Apollo, intrigued by her thoughts, raised his eyebrows, his black-gloved fingers drumming against one another. I have my own promises to maintain, Mistress Yvayne. He sighed and lowered his head. Yvayne struggled against his spell’s hold. The guardian waited for her mind and limbs to calm before lifting his eyes to hers. Allow me to offer the girl a measure of protection.

His spell loosened to allow Yvayne to speak. Protection? She frowned. So that you can do what?

He swept a gloved hand to the side as though his proposal were as simple as an acorn stretching limbs out through air and earth to become an oak. I might please Cassandra, to begin with. A second flash of golden eyes. And I think you’ll agree it would be nice to have the fates on our side.

Yvayne pursed her lips. There was more he neglected to say.

Apollo raised a gloved finger. But if that’s not enough for you, I have an active interest in the fate of the city. He leaned his masked face against his glove. The outlaws specifically.

Yvayne stepped back, breaking the last vestige of his holding spell. Why would he have allied himself with the few remaining natural casters in Andel-ce Hevra? You cannot be serious.

His golden eyes glittered.

Yvayne frowned. Why? How was she going to tell Persephonie’s father of the guardian’s plans? This news would devastate Cassian. But the saudad would not easily allow his daughter to part from his side. He knew as well as any the severity of the stakes taking shape around them.

I made a promise to help the band of outlaws in the city for my own reasons that are—the guardian squinted up at the shadow ceiling—mostly benevolent. What do they call themselves? The Untamed?

Yvayne stepped closer to the guardian. Help them how?

Apollo shrugged and retracted his wings to resume his pacing. I promised survival, what else?

Yvayne drew herself up to her full height, her eyes even with Apollo’s covered lips. Survival is not enough. A circle of purple flame erupted around the two of them, locking them together and keeping the vulpine beyond the guardian’s grasp. Are you going to actively help them against the entrenched powers of the city? The Council of Andel-ce Hevra is influential enough to send a werewolf pack to destroy an entire druid conclave. Do they have any idea of Lucien’s involvement, of his twisted forces strengthening the Council’s foul roots? What they’re truly up against?

The guardian chuckled as he glanced down at Yvayne. "No, they do not. But I do." He reached toward one of her dark blue braids, and she fought back the urge to smack his hand away. Apollo was too used to his charm allowing him free rein with the denizens of Azuria. She had a longer memory than they.

But she’d also seen his grief when they failed to prevent Alessandra and her minions before. How was she to remind him of that and convince him this time would be different?

That’s not good enough, and you know it, Yvayne said. She’d start with an appeal to his pride. Your followers in the city think of you as a guiding spirit. Someone to help them. She narrowed her gaze. And here you are, playing tricks.

Apollo flinched. She had hit a nerve. Good.

Yvayne crossed her arms over her chest. Why are you intervening, then? And tell me, exactly, what your intentions are for Persephonie and how you’re going to help her in the city.

Or what?

The flames stretched higher, turning from violet to black. They wrapped around the stone columns that stretched into the shadow space around his sanctum.

The smirk fell from the guardian’s expression. I’ve no desire to allow Lucien free rein in Andel-ce Hevra. He deserves a challenge at the very least. Which, I surmise by your presence here, you are not prepared to pose, or, shall we say, not yet.

She lowered the tongues of flame slightly. And what of Persephonie?

Apollo lifted his chin. I’ll send a vulpine to protect her.

Yvayne nodded. And . . .

The guardian ground his teeth together. And I’ll make sure that she and her mother do more than survive.

Hmm. Yvayne scowled, considering. How long ago had their last conversation of this sort been? Apollo had been more pliable in the earlier rounds of the cyclical war, less inured to the separateness of life as a guardian.

He had come to stand by her side as the last war’s final cadences reverberated through her chest, when she reached forward to close Rowan’s bright green eyes. Yvayne’s tears had fallen as beads of ice as she draped the elf’s hands over her heart space and removed the shepherd’s amulet from her chest—the amulet Iellieth now bore. Now you know what it is to live as we do, he had said. Though your path is different, Yvayne, it too is one you must walk alone. His half-smile had tugged against his dark lips. But those who walk as we do, from one age into another, cannot help but hope for what we can never have.

For the present, she would set the terms of his interference. Perhaps he might be drawn into the larger conflict from there. You’re not to speak to Persephonie.

He inclined his head.

Or to appear to her in dreams.

One eye shrunk as he grinned. As you wish.

And tell whichever vulpine you’re sending that she’ll have her hands full.

Apollo laughed, his eyes brightening. Of that, I have no doubt. He caught her hand in his, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. It always amazed her how quickly the guardians’ emotions could change. Thank you, he said softly.

There’s one other thing.

Apollo peered down at her, curiosity flickering behind his gaze.

If there comes a time when she needs to leave the city or be returned to her people, you’ll take her if I cannot.

Apollo folded and unfolded his wings, maintaining his stare. A cool breeze ricocheted across the circular chamber.

Lucien has returned to his full strength. Yvayne’s voice was clipped and cold. The girl could be a target if he grows desperate enough. If you won’t stand up to him, or at the very least watch his movements, I’ll have little choice in the matter. And that leaves her and the others vulnerable.

The guardian’s arms crossed. I can sense him, but—

No. Yvayne shook her head. This is not a game, Apollo. We do not know that this opportunity will present itself again.

Apollo shook off Yvayne’s reprimand and his own hatred of their old enemy to affect overconfidence once more. I’ll keep a sharp eye.

See that you do. He nearly destroyed us before. Who’s to say he won’t succeed if he tries again? There was no need to voice the warning aloud. I will be watching you as you watch her. It was Yvayne’s turn to smile. Perhaps she’ll pull you in deeper as I cannot.

Apollo’s jaw stretched the bottom of his mask but clamped back closed.

And in the meantime, I have more allies in mind. Yvayne brushed aside the black and violet flames, striding toward the swirling smoke where she knew a door would appear.

Apollo’s voice caught her shoulder, asking her to wait before crossing the threshold. Which ones?

She glanced back, her own eyes flashing. Who do you think?

The guardian threw his arms into the air. The Brightlands fae? You cannot be serious! They’re not going to intervene.

Yvayne grinned. You did. Her foot stepped through shadow onto the stone pathway beyond. Spirit guardians and the Brightlands fae had a long-standing rivalry. Apollo would do what was required if it prevented one of them from interfering in what he considered his own territory. She could stop and warn Cassian on the way.

The guardian had been right in what he told her before. Near-immortals couldn’t help but fall for the vibrancy of those they watched, however unwise it was to do so, however much pain they would live with from that moment forward.

It seemed that he had forgotten, but it was something she knew better than most.

Chapter 1

Linolynn’s pale silhouette faded against the shimmer of the Infinite Ocean and an azure sky as Iellieth, Marcon, and Quindythias made their way to Red’s Cross. Quindythias alternated between grumbling at the pace of their travels by foot and regaling them with stories of his daring past deeds. Marcon qualified these tales of bravery and added a few, more modest accounts of his own, painting a picture for her of the long-lost time of the heroes.

And that’s why they call me the Blade of Bastion, Quindythias said with a shrug. The elf skipped off, outpacing Marcon’s easy stride beside her to examine the leaves of the willow oak.

Marcon grinned. Of course, what he’s leaving out is that the moniker began as a defamation campaign by Alessandra’s puppet government in the city and was not actually intended as a compliment.

Quindythias spun around, hand clutched to his chest. Marcon! How can you say such a thing?

The champion shook his head. I’m only telling her the truth.

Are not. Quindythias stomped. Iellieth, don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous that after I saved Bastion and had to sneak out, I became the most popular champion in Respite instead of him.

Is that so? She raised an eyebrow as she glanced at Marcon. If he didn’t let up the teasing soon, Quindythias would pout for the rest of the evening.

No one slips past armies of guards like you do, Marcon conceded.

Quindythias harrumphed his victory with a nod and darted off into the trees to demonstrate his abilities. He spent the twilight hour sneaking up from behind her and pouncing.

As dusk fell, Marcon gestured to a small copse of trees off of the road that stretched from Linolynn to Red’s Cross. I think we should rest here for the night, lady.

Unless we want to travel by starlight, Quindythias added.

Hmm—Iellieth smiled—as tempting as that would be . . . A yawn interrupted her clarification.

Quindythias draped his arm around her shoulders, and they followed Marcon to a cluster of trees. You’ll get used to the travel after a while. Not everyone can adapt quite so well as Marcon has to keeping up with me, but I have hope for you.

Iellieth turned her head to hide her amusement from Quindythias. He took laughter that he hadn’t intended to create quite personally. Your faith is much appreciated.

Marcon called back to them through the trees, Quindythias, leave her alone and help me set up camp.

The elf stopped, halting Iellieth’s progress forward as well, and mock-saluted his friend. With a quick turn and a wink, he scampered across the remaining patch of field to Marcon’s side.

The minor moon, in a waxing crescent, cast a soft orange glow across the inky sky, her sister a silvery white, waning just above her.

Once more, she pictured Katarina handing Mamaun the black rose she had grown, an apology, she hoped, that ran deeper than words. What would Mamaun have said in return? Was she angry that Iellieth had left in the middle of the night? Would Mamaun forgive her for what she had said—that she had failed to protect her daughter, had failed to care? However true it was, she need not have said it. But what would it take for her mother to understand?

Iellieth sighed and glanced down at the dark blue-green grasses around her feet. Strands of tiny white flowers had grown in a circle around her, winding their way across the tall, thin blades and weighing them down. She shook her right foot, freeing it from the flowers’ embrace, and extricated herself from the self-made sanctuary.

That will happen if you let it, Mara would have said. Emotions and energy build, but they need to move. If not, given time, their waters will overwhelm the dam and break through, bringing cleansing life to the dry beds downstream.

A cold hand gripped her heart, and Iellieth shut her eyes against the vision of her druidic mentor, surrounded by a wreath of green flames. A soft whisper from the earth beside her caught her attention. Careening to the side, its large, petaled head staring up at her, a single black flower blossomed by her foot. Iellieth wrapped her arms around her waist and hurried ahead into the clearing.

Lady, is everything alright? Marcon’s eyebrows creased as he watched her arrival.

Yes—she managed a half-smile—I was just . . . She shook her head. Just thinking about something. Do you need any help with camp?

We’re nearly finished. He kept one eye on her while continuing to stack wood beside the fire.

Iellieth kept her expression blank. Please just believe me, at least for now.

Ready, big guy, Quindythias announced suddenly, catching them both off guard. The elf leaned back on his heels, grinning up from behind a perfect pyramid of sticks that he’d arranged for their fire.

Marcon squatted down next to his friend, his broad silhouette contrasting with Quindythias’s narrow frame. At the third sharp click of flint on steel, a shower of sparks fell onto the kindling and caught. The fledgling fire sizzled. Marcon bent lower, his olive-toned hands pressing into the dark earth of the space they’d cleared beneath the leaves. The runes along his hands danced from dark to light in anticipation of the fire, just as Quindythias’s arcane markings celebrated the kiss of the wind. Marcon breathed life into the flames, and the fire roared to life.

The fire’s chatter soothed her as they ate their bread and dried meat. Marcon’s baritone rolled beneath the dry crackling and warm rumble, and Quindythias’s sharp-voiced stories and exclamations accented the lulling rhythm.

Iellieth pulled Mara’s shawl around her shoulders as she fell asleep beneath the gaze of the stars and Quindythias’s watch. He would wake Marcon partway through the night, and Marcon would wake her just before dawn.

A muffled cry yanked Iellieth from sleep in the middle of the night. The fire had burned down to glowing embers. Quindythias lay splayed beside her, his chest rising and falling with an elbow draped over his eyes.

Iellieth sat up, searching the trees for Marcon. His sword and shield rested beside Quindythias, but he wasn’t within the copse’s close embrace.

A branch cracked in the woods, and she sprang up, sparks of energy dancing at her fingertips. Iellieth ran toward the sound, ignoring the sharp prods of twigs beneath her stockinged feet.

Her eyes adjusted to the obscured light of the copse, her elven vision clarifying the darkness. There. A dark shape writhed in the darkness before her. She darted closer.

A narrow-shouldered figure in a black cloak struggled, shadows sweeping toward their body around the trees’ peaceful silhouettes. Elbows stuck out from beneath the billows of the dark cloak, the figure’s hands pulled back tight in front of their chest.

As she drew closer, a choking gurgle reached her. The figure jerked to the side, revealing a feminine curve beneath the cape and Marcon half-kneeling in front of her, a garrote tight around his neck. His shoulder muscles bulged as he tried to pull away from the attacker.

Marcon! Iellieth shouted. The sparks in her right hand erupted into a ball of flame, streaking toward the cloaked form. She willed her strike to set the woman’s body ablaze.

Marcon’s eyes widened, bright in the darkness around them, and he strained harder against his attacker. What power did she possess to have Marcon in such a position?

Iellieth froze as the woman locked burning red eyes on her. Ashen skin glowed, cracked with blazing embers, beneath her hood. She hissed, rows of yellowed teeth gnashing.

Iellieth shrieked as the sensation of frigid, slithering worms engulfed her skin. Chills ran up and down her spine as she shook the feeling off. She sprinted forward, shouting to the trees for aid. The Druidic chant poured from her lips as sparks flew around her. Branches burn, leaves entangle, above roots’ walk, maim and mangle.

Limbs shot toward the woman, striking at her arms and face. She pulled back harder against Marcon’s neck, breaking his skin. The champion gagged, trying desperately to wrench himself free.

Iellieth growled her chant again, the druidic energy flowing freely through her body. The incantation burned the back of her throat. Peridot fire smoldered behind her eyes. Roots slithered in the earth below, whipping out at the woman’s feet, entangling them. A sharp crack echoed through the copse as one of the roots snapped her knee to the side. The woman’s screams pierced the darkness. Her hood fell to her shoulders as she threw her red gaze up to the sky. Hair with the crumbling texture of ash slumped over her shoulders. Thick black burns had scarred their furious tendrils across her throat and chest. Moonlight simmered against her flaky gray skin. She clutched her scalp, wriggling beneath the incandescent glow.

Another branch caught around her throat, and she released Marcon, forced to focus on her struggle against the trees. The champion fell forward onto his knees, coughing and clutching his neck.

Maim and mangle. Iellieth’s voice clawed at the back of her throat. The forest quivered with energy that leapt from tree to tree, their spirits resolved to root out the intruder.

Branches wrapped around the woman’s wrists and pulled, further snaps echoing through the woods. The red eyes fixed on Iellieth and exploded. A rushing force caught her in the chest and threw her backward. Her spine crashed into a tree, and she fell to the ground.

A roar erupted all around her, drowning out all other sound. Had Marcon recovered? Or had the woman broken free? Iellieth dug her fingers into the earth, gasping for breath, unable to make her muscles comply. She had to finish off this creature of ash and shadow.

Crisp air streamed through her lungs. She gulped it down and sprang up from the wet forest floor.

Marcon drew his hand back. The woman’s nose was a crushed mass of burning coals across her face. Her jagged smile stretched wider, and blazing eyes looked from Marcon to Iellieth and back. What an interesting twist, she wheezed. Her head tilted sideways as her blazing eyes fixed on Iellieth. Goodbye for now. Her sizzling cackle filled the trees.

Iellieth clasped her hands over her ears at the piercing laughter. Black smoke coalesced around the woman. The wind in the woods lifted a shield around Iellieth, swirling through leaves as the dark being battered branches. With a final whoosh and faint cries of delight, the woman’s body melted to shadow, a dark silhouette flapping away against the twilight.

She vanished in the vast expanse of the sky, and Iellieth ran over to Marcon. He winced and swayed back, staring at the empty hand that had clutched the creature’s cloak. The other hand reached for the bloody gash across his neck. Lady, I . . . Marcon’s eyes rolled back, and one of his legs gave way. She leapt forward, catching his side as they both toppled to the ground.

Oof. Her thigh struck a root. She clutched his shoulders and gently laid him back. The laceration on his neck was eerily similar to the creature’s glowing-coal lips. Iellieth closed her eyes against the thought. Elenai. Her fingertips grazed the cut. Lavender sparks flickered over the wound, knitting his skin back together.

Marcon shivered and his eyes fluttered open, finding her face in the umbral dark of the woods. He opened his mouth to speak, but his body tensed at a crashing sound tearing through the trees. The champion shoved himself up, thrusting his torso between her and the approaching danger.

Quindythias’s lanky form burst through the trees, moonlight glinting off the curved daggers in each of his hands. He stopped short, breathing quickly, when he saw the two of them. His shoulders sagged for a moment. There I was, sleeping when I heard you scream—wait. He sheathed the daggers and ran forward, peering at Marcon’s neck. What happened?

Marcon’s jaw twitched in response. He turned away from both of them. Quindythias peered at Iellieth, waiting for an answer.

A woman . . . made of ash, fire, and shadow attacked Marcon in the woods. The stone line of his jaw jutted out beside her. I-I don’t know what she was . . .

A revenant, Marcon growled. A vengeful spirit.

One returned from the grave, Iellieth whispered. Rumors of such creatures had trickled across Caldara, ancient legends that originated in the Frostmaw Mountains. But how—

Marcon shook his head. Not how. Who.

Chapter 2

S o this vengeful spirit attacks in the middle of the night, but you don’t know who she was? Iellieth walked close by Marcon’s side the next morning as they continued toward Red’s Cross. He’d said very little when they returned to the campsite, and she was certain he had only pretended to sleep once he finally agreed to lie down for her watch.

That is correct, lady. He stared straight ahead.

Quindythias shrugged and made a small pushing gesture behind Marcon’s back. She should keep trying.

Did you recognize anything about her? Iellieth shuddered at the memory of the ashen visage with glowing red eyes. Or is that not possible given her transformation? Surely he would have remembered someone from his past whose looks were so distinctive and frightening—something terrible had happened to her in the interim.

Marcon sighed and rubbed his hand along his jaw. I did not recognize her, though if her identity becomes apparent to me, you will be the first to know.

Iellieth crossed her arms against Marcon’s chilly tone. There was no cause for him to be angry with her. He might have died if she hadn’t heard him and intervened. She traced a thumb across the golden tines of her father’s amulet. While it made sense to assume that Marcon would return to the amulet if something that drastic occurred, they had no way of knowing that for certain. Perhaps somewhere in Azuria, there was a record of guidelines for former champions bound to amulets, but until they came across it, she saw no reason to take rules around death and regeneration for granted.

Scattered pebbles in the pressed-dirt road crunched beneath their feet as the silent party of three traveled through the early morning mists. Their first day out from Linolynn, the landscape had changed from flat to rolling hills. The knolls grew on their second day of travel, and this morning, the path increased in elevation still further as they reached the foothills of the Frostmaws.

They stopped in the early afternoon to rest beside a clear stream. Quindythias searched the shore for rocks to skip across the surface of the water.

Marcon scooted closer to her and cleared his throat. Lady, I apologize for the way I spoke to you this morning. His elbows rested on raised knees, and he locked his gaze on the stationary drape of his hands in front of him.

Iellieth bit the inside of her lip before she spoke. I am relieved that you’re alright. Truly, that was a terrifying way to wake up. He still wouldn’t look at her. But I don’t understand why you are still upset now. The spirit left, didn’t she?

What is to stop her from returning? Marcon scowled. Finally, he turned to her. What’s to stop her from trying to harm you, lady, if and when she does return? Shimmering gray crystals burned behind his eyes.

Iellieth’s fingers trailed the outline of her amulet. The woman had vowed to return, but why was she attacking them? Had Lucien, the dark mage who destroyed her conclave in search of Iellieth, sent this revenant? Or was it someone else?

Marcon interrupted the wave of questions that rose with the tide in her mind. "The one