Breach (Catalyst Moon #2)

By Lauren L Garcia

When duty and destiny collide, can love conquer all?

After Kalinda parted ways with Stonewall in Whitewater City, she didn't know if she would ever see him again. But when their paths cross once more and their mutual attraction blooms, they struggle with their respective roles.
Meanwhile, fear consumes the land of Aredia as the body-snatching thralls multiply, destroying everyone in their path. Desperate for aid, Aredia calls upon the sentinels to fight this growing threat. But the mages take advantage of the sentinels' distraction to escape from their hematite prison; an act that will shatter the balance of the world.
Kali and Stonewall must join forces to confront these impending disasters, but can a mage and sentinel ever be true allies?

Fans of T. Kingfisher, Sharon Shinn, Anne McCaffrey, Tamora Pierce, Lois McMaster Bujold, and Robin McKinley will love this engrossing series. If you long for your next binge-read, but are weary of the grimdark trend, Catalyst Moon will transport you to a world of hope, love, and forgiveness, a world where magic, adventure, shape-shifters, and compelling characters await.

Caution: lovers of snarky heroines, stoic heroes, grumpy/sunshine romances, and enemies-to-lovers report loss of sleep after starting this romantic fantasy journey.

Thousands of readers have fallen in love with Catalyst Moon. It's your turn!

THE CATALYST MOON SERIES:

Incursion (Book 1)
Breach (Book 2)
Storm (Book 3)
Surrender (Book 4)
Sacrifice (Book 5)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lauren L Garcia
• Release date: Aug 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005311742

Lauren L Garcia

Lauren finds Real Life overrated, and has always preferred to inhabit alternate realities, both self-created and created by others. However, after being burned by certain fandoms one too many times, Lauren decided to focus her reality escape attempts on her own creations. She's much happier now, although she still enjoys fandoms - in small doses.A believer in love, hope, compassion, and similar squishy ideals, Lauren endeavors to create stories that both gut-punch and elevate her readers. Emotional rollercoasters are what make fiction fun, after all.When she's not avoiding Real Life responsibilities, Lauren enjoys dancing at music festivals, spending time in nature, and tending to her cat's every whim. She lives in North Florida with her partner and assorted furred critters, but can be found online at laloga.com

Book preview

Lauren L. Garcia

Catalyst Moon: Breach

Book Two

Copyright © 2017 by Lauren L. Garcia

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by Fiona Jayde Media.

Contact the author: [e-mail]

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The Catalyst Moon saga:

Incursion (Catalyst Moon - Book 1)

Breach (Catalyst Moon - Book 2) <—you are here

Storm (Catalyst Moon - Book 3)

Surrender (Catalyst Moon - Book 4)

Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon - Book 5)

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

For Imke, who has always believed in these characters, this story, and me.

Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

About the Author

- Above all other things, this is a story about love. -

ONE

Kali took a deep breath to bolster her courage as the pain in her knee sharpened to a sear. Tears pricked her eyes; she twisted her hands in the bedclothes and bit her tongue to keep from whimpering. Beads of sweat trickled to the small of her back and although she knew better, she could have sworn that the other mage had pressed a burning coal against her skin.

At last the pain ebbed and Kali opened her eyes. Her vision swam with black specks, but she could make out the other mage, a Zhee woman named Sadira, kneeling before her in the detritus of worn tunics and mismatched socks, regarding Kali’s bare knee with knitted, moonstone-pale brows.

A shaking inhale brought Kali some composure, but it would be hours before the pain receded fully – or as fully as it ever did. Kali managed to clear her throat and laughed weakly. So much for being ready.

In one fluid motion, Sadira rose from her kneeling position and sat beside Kali on the sleeping pallet, smoothing out her colorfully embroidered dress as she settled. Kali had only met one or two other folks from Zheem in her lifetime, but they all had a certain grace to them and a refined edge that made her feel that much more awkward.

Afternoon light poured into the window of Kali’s room in Whitewater Bastion, glinting on the hematite torc Sadira wore around her neck. The spiraled ends each rested several inches apart, just above the Zhee mage’s collarbone. Sadira’s skin, the color of terra cotta, contrasted with her pale hair and light blue eyes, and her accent added a lilt to each word. The wound is very deep.

Kali frowned at her left knee, where there was no trace of a scar. We’ve been over this. I was born this way. It’s no wound.

Perhaps you do not remember getting it.

I think I’d remember getting stabbed in my knee.

Sadira’s reply was calm. As I told you when you first came to me, your condition is such that it will take a long time for me to ease your pain.

A familiar, unpleasant feeling squirmed in Kali’s belly, and she began to toy with the end of her dark brown braid. "And you’re still sure that’s all you can do?"

The Zhee mage looked at Kali’s knee again, her gaze growing distant. Kali took the opportunity to lean back on her hands and study her room – her own room. The concept was still difficult to wrap her mind around. But in the fortnight she had lived here, she had made the space her own. Perhaps too much her own, as clothes, books and scrolls now littered the small area. Only her viol was safe from being lost in the clutter, leaning upright in one corner.

There is a… Sadira frowned in thought. Minor flow of blood to this area. She pointed to Kali’s knee.

What in the stars does she mean? Minor…?

Not as much, Sadira said, her brows knitting further. Lower? No… Mess. When Kali still looked at her blankly, she sighed. What is the Aredian word?

Kali considered. The Zhee woman was still learning the finer points of the language. At this stage, Sadira’s Aredian was either impeccable or inscrutable; there was rarely a middle ground. Do you mean ‘less’? Kali asked at last. "There’s less blood flow to my knee than there ought to be?"

Less, Sadira repeated, seemingly satisfied, though she still spoke with deliberation. Yes, that’s it. As such, the… padding for the bones has not been able to properly heal. I believe the most I can do is… move some of the blood, which will eventually help ease some of your pain. But it won’t truly heal the injury. She sighed deeply. I am regret.

Sorry, Kali corrected idly as her heart sank.

Sadira nodded. I am sorry.

The entire journey from Starwatch Bastion was for nothing. No, Kali reminded herself firmly. Not nothing. But in this moment, even the few pleasant memories from her trip faded in the wake of such news. Foolish though it was, she’d hoped that maybe one day she could live without pain. How many nights had she lulled herself to sleep with visions of dancing to her heart’s content?

Kali tried to keep her disappointment from bleeding into her voice. Don’t be sorry. You’ve done a lot for me, more than anyone else has been able to. I just… She sighed. I hoped that I could be healed all the way. She ventured a glance at the other mage. Perhaps, if you removed the torc…?

No, Sadira replied.

The fact that you can do magic while wearing it at all is extraordinary, Kali pressed. You must be very powerful. Surely, if you took it off, you could–

Magic cannot fix everything, Sadira interrupted.

I know that, Kali said. "A little too well, perhaps. Anyway, thank you."

She tried to say the final two words in Zhee, though her accent was terrible and she may have called Sadira something unflattering. A smile curved upon Sadira’s mouth, but it was faint and faded quickly as she offered a gentle correction.

Kali’s knee still throbbed, but she tried to ignore the pain as she pointed to the nearest stack of books. "You know how this goes: it’s time to even the score. Shall we continue your torture with poetry or prose?"

Sadira wrinkled her nose. Please, no more Aredian epic poems this afternoon.

Prose it is.

The Zhee mage grabbed the book she and Kali had been working through and stood up from the sleeping pallet. Kali, meanwhile, struggled upright, fighting back a grimace at her knee’s protests of the simple movement. When she was standing, her head swam and her vision pooled; only after a few deep breaths did she set herself to rights. Sadira stood by patiently without offering assistance and Kali shot her a grateful look. The other mage inclined her head and they slipped out of Kali’s quarters and into the stone corridor that would lead them to the common room.

The mages’ living quarters consisted of a rounded, two-story stone building. The center held a spacious common area with multiple hearths, each with small vents into the mages’ rooms to allow heat inside. Mages filled the common area: bustling in and out of the double doors that led to the kitchen; playing cards or sipping tea at the several long tables that served as a dining hall; or, like Kali and Sadira would soon be, seated before one of the massive hearths, reading books or scrolls. Quiet conversation lingered alongside the pleasant warmth of the fire and the scent of baking bread that emanated from the kitchen.

Kali and Sadira crossed the room. What few mages were in their path turned away at once, giving the two women a wide berth. Kali tried to catch someone’s eye, if only to smile or offer a mundane greeting, but as was becoming the norm, no one met her gaze. She and Sadira settled on a padded bench beside one of the crackling hearths, opposite two male mages, Cai and Marcen. The two men spoke in low tones; Cai, tall and wiry, was gesticulating to Marcen, who laced his slender fingers together in thought. When Marcen noted the two newcomers, he offered Kali a faint smile, which she returned, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Cai, though, looked at Kali and Sadira, scowled, and turned his back to them, urging Marcen to do the same as they continued their conversation.

"They don’t trust you, either," Sadira murmured.

Kali hefted the leather-bound book into her lap and glanced at her fellow mage in surprise. What do you mean?

But Sadira only shook her head and nodded to the book. The volume was as thick as Kali’s spread palm, with an embossed oak tree on the cover, and when Kali plunked it between herself and Sadira, it gave an audible thunk against the bench. Cai shot her another annoyed look, which she pointedly ignored.

Instead, she looked back at Sadira, and her voice sounded too small and too soft for her liking. It was like this at Starwatch, too.

Why?

Because my father was one of their jailers, she thought. Because I don’t hate the sentinels like I should. To say nothing of Stonewall, whose face she saw in her mind’s eye each night as she lay down to sleep and whose voice she heard in her dreams. Could the other mages sense such feelings, as they could sense the void left by hematite’s presence?

Of course she could reveal none of this to Sadira, so she only shrugged. Not sure. Perhaps it was because I was much younger than most of the others, except when Eris was there. She opened the book to the ribbon she’d left as a marker from their last session. You’ve been at this bastion for a few years. How long did it take the others to accept you?

I cannot say. It hasn’t happened yet.

As if on cue, Cai glanced their way again, muttered something to Marcen, and the two men rose and slipped off, leaving the two women alone before the fire. Sadira did not watch them go, only tapped the book again, drawing Kali’s attention. What is this word?

Kali glanced at the page and gave a humorless laugh when she read the title of the next myth they’d come to. If the One god existed, the deity had a twisted sense of humor. Tor. He’s an Aredian god, she explained at Sadira’s confused look. The patron god of many sentinels.

Sadira nodded and continued to read. Kali tried to pay attention, but her gaze wandered to where she could barely make out the bastion wall beyond the common room windows. Stonewall was out there, somewhere. Regardless of where he’d gone after they had arrived at Whitewater City, he was still a sentinel. He would go where he was sent; he would do his duty.

Though Kali held no room in her heart for the gods, Stonewall did. In this moment, that was enough. Tor, protect him.

* * *

Stonewall burned. Fatigue dragged his limbs and threatened to pull him down, but hematite still ran hot and fierce through each vein. He slammed his weight behind his sword and into the demon’s chest. Eyes that glittered like stars met his own, blinding him in the dim light before the unholy thing screamed one last time and collapsed at his feet. The sound reverberated through the surrounding forest before cold silence settled.

Breath fogging the air, Stonewall blinked into the darkness, searching for the rest of the squad. His squad. Two weeks into being an officer, he still wasn’t used to the notion. Damage? he asked.

Flint and Milo, the young burnie twins, stood over two Canderi men whose bodies lay like fallen trees across the forest floor. Dirt and gore covered both newly-made sentinels, but they shook their heads at his question. I’m fine, ser, Milo added, stepping away from the dead men. Well, in one piece, anyway.

Flint?

The same. Ser. She turned away from Stonewall, heading for their horses, which they’d left out of harm’s way while they ambushed the thralls. The risk of a broken leg in the growing darkness and dense overgrowth posed a greater threat than the advantage of being mounted against the unholy creatures. Besides, the thralls could outrun any beast.

Nodding, Stonewall looked at his mender, who knelt beside a Canderi with an arrow lodged in his throat. Beacon?

Present. Beacon grimaced. Sorry, ser. Just trying to lighten the mood.

Good luck, Stonewall replied as he came to the other man. He’s not alive, is he?

No. Beacon removed his helmet, revealing a head of short copper hair and a neatly trimmed beard, and surveyed the fallen Canderi. Though I wondered, for a moment, despite Rook’s good aim. Thralls don’t go down easy.

Stonewall knew that – too well, perhaps. A gust of wind tore through his thick leather armor and he shivered, but it was not entirely with cold. Sometime during the fight, afternoon had descended into dusk, and the darkness was growing. The demon’s screams still echoed in his ears, but otherwise, the clearing was too silent.

Alarmed, he looked around again. Where’s Rook?

A petite woman dropped out of a nearby tree, light as a cat, and stowed her bow as she approached. I’m here, Sergeant.

Sergeant. He tried not to wince at the title, though it rested upon him more heavily than his gear. Instead, he gestured to the three fallen demons. I lost track of the fourth, the one in Aredian armor. Did you see where he went?

Bolted like a hare, I think, Rook replied, frowning.

I saw him take off into the woods, Milo added. Should we search for him, ser?

Though his words were chipper, the poor kid sagged in his gear. He looked about as rough as Stonewall felt, but duty was duty. The creature might very well be circling back around. Stonewall opened his mouth to reply, when–

Ea’s balls!

Flint’s curse was nearly lost in the thrall’s shriek. Stonewall whirled around in time to see a man in Aredian armor, eyes burning like twin stars, leap at her from the shadows, scattering the horses and knocking the young woman to the ground. The thrall raised its sword in preparation of a killing blow. Unthinking, Stonewall slung one of his daggers at the creature. The blade landed within the thrall’s shoulder, but that was enough to dissuade the unholy demon, for it backed away from Flint and darted into the darkness.

Stonewall swore and sprinted for his own mount, Frost. All thoughts of his squad dropped out of his mind as he clambered into the saddle and urged Frost after the demon. The dapple-gray mare was Greenhill bred and sturdy, but was not as fast as whatever unholy thing had taken hold of that poor soldier. Even wearing a set of plate armor, the thrall was swift as a winter wind.

It was treacherous going through thick forest like this, more so as darkness descended, so Stonewall kept Frost to a game trail and prayed to Tor she would not stumble. The ground sloped upward and when they crested the hill he caught a gleam of armor not too far ahead.

Come on, girl, he murmured to his mount. His voice sounded thin against the drumming of hooves and his own heart.

Frost plummeted down the hill’s other side, scattering small stones. They passed beneath a fallen tree trunk that had been caught against another; it hung low across the trail and Stonewall ducked to avoid being knocked to the ground. When he righted himself, his quarry was gone.

He leaned his weight back in the saddle, signaling Frost to a halt. No sign of the demon-possessed man. In Tor’s name… the thrall couldn’t have vanished. Frost shifted beneath him as he drew his sword.

Easy, he told the mare, though his heart still raced. Dusk had just fallen, but no crickets were singing.

The familiar shriek pierced his skull and spurred him to action. Stonewall turned and raised his sword in time to meet another blade, a military-issued sword, heavier than his own. They struggled; being mounted, Stonewall had better leverage, but the thrall was stronger. With a single shove, the demon knocked Stonewall to the cold, hard ground. Frost galloped off, leaving Stonewall scrambling to his feet before his foe fell upon him.

Stonewall met the thrall’s blade again, barely in time to prevent a slice at his side. The last traces of the day showed him that the thrall did indeed wear the skin of an Aredian soldier – a royal one, judging from the fine plate armor engraved with the royal sigil of an intricate star. Stonewall’s dagger was gone and no blood poured from the wound it must have left. Though far stronger than he, the creature was clumsy; it wielded the fine sword like it was chopping wood. Stonewall parried the blow, and then faced the armored figure whose helmet had been lost. Twin stars burned back at him, the only light in the falling darkness.

They faced each other for a breath before the thrall lunged. Stonewall avoided the blow, but barely. He met the next with his sword, though his arm trembled at the unnatural strength behind the creature’s swing. There was nothing human in the enemy he faced. The demon pressed forward again, driving Stonewall back several steps. He twisted out from under the demon’s sword, but he was not fast enough this time. A deep, sharp pain burst from his left side but he could not spare breath for a curse as the demon reared back and prepared to strike again.

Stonewall staggered backward, pressing a hand to his wound. Even through his glove, he could feel a warm wetness spreading. Something thudded nearby; his own heart, or footsteps? But no, he was alone. Stupid.

He was going to die without ever having seen Kali’s face again.

The demon raised its blade one last time.

But the sword did not descend. Instead, the thrall leaned toward Stonewall, nostrils flaring in the manner of a wolf scenting prey. By the One, was the creature… investigating him? He seized his remaining dagger, tightened his grip on his sword and charged. If he had a chance to take this creature with him to Nox’s void, he’d sodding well do it. He had to.

When he was within reach, a single arrow skimmed through the shadows and bit into the demon’s armpit, which the armor left exposed. The demon screamed wordlessly and turned, but another arrow followed the first and a third. Three figures sprang from the shadows and fell upon the thrall, and the creature soon collapsed beneath them, silent.

Beacon straightened and turned to Stonewall. Are you…? He caught sight of Stonewall’s side. Ah. Never mind. Sit down, ser. I’ll patch you up. Can someone give me a little light?

On it. Rook materialized from the trees; when she got close, she struck her tinderbox, illuminating the area with a warm, golden glow. I suppose you need a real fire, though?

I think the sergeant will appreciate it if I can see what I’m doing, the mender replied as he helped Stonewall remove his gear. Milo began to collect wood and brush, while Beacon dug through the leather bag that held his mend-kit. With all due respect, ser, after the last two weeks we’ve had, you’re not the only one who’s gotten good at killing these things.

I had to act quickly, Stonewall managed by way of explanation as Beacon began to dress his wound. The words fell flat.

Well, consider yourself lucky, Beacon said amiably. That thrall certainly did a number on you, but this could have been much worse.

In response, Flint muttered something Stonewall did not catch. He glanced at her, too quickly, and his side burned in response. What was that, burnie?

"I said I’ll get the horses, Sergeant," she replied sharply, and slipped off.

Rook hesitated, then jabbed her thumb toward the younger woman. I’ll go with her, ser. Maybe try to find some dinner, if we’ll be here through the night.

She, too, trotted off before Stonewall could give permission. Perhaps he should have reprimanded them, but by now, Beacon had begun to clean his wound, and burning pain overrode thoughts of duty. It’s not as bad as it looks, Beacon said. When was your last burn?

Nearly three weeks ago, Stonewall replied. But only a half-dose. I had a full dose about three days before that. He watched as Beacon withdrew an herbal poultice and a jar of thalo gel from his kit. Why?

Thalo gel and the hematite in your blood will help speed the healing along. The mender nodded to the poultice. But I’m afraid this is still going to hurt.

Well, he’d earned the pain by acting the fool. Stonewall braced himself and tried to relax all at once. Aye. Well, let’s get this over with.

* * *

Cold gnawed through Milo’s gear, numbing his nose and cheeks as he stood with his squad-mates. Of the moons, Atal was only a thin crescent tonight, while Seren’s waxing face hid in the tree line. Through the branches above his head, stars glittered quietly in the inky sky.

Eyes that burn like stars. It was not the cold that made Milo shiver. He took a deep breath to quell his nerves and did his best to hold the torch steady. Several paces away, their campfire pushed back against the darkness. Perhaps it was foolish to have a fire in the same woods where they had battled thralls, but even so, he welcomed the bubble of light and warmth against the night.

Now that Beacon had stitched up Sergeant Stonewall, the three sentinels gathered around the fallen Aredian soldier, whose body was stiff and cool. Beacon gently removed the dead man’s helmet; unlike the sentinels’, the soldier’s covered his entire face, with a hinged section over the jaw. He was an older fellow, with short gray hair and deep furrows across his brow. Upon closer inspection, Milo noticed laugh lines bracketing the soldier’s mouth, which made him think the man had smiled often. The soldier’s plate armor was finely crafted, heavy, shining bright despite the flecks of mud and blood that clung to the spiral and star etchings. There was no burning starlight in his eyes now, only the glazed look of the dead.

Poor sod must have been caught unawares, Beacon said, indicating the wound upon the soldier’s temple, which had bled down his neck. Looks like he suffered a blow, but was still able to put his helmet back on before the thrall… took him.

The three men were silent until Milo murmured, Nox, bring your spirit safely over the river.

Tor, guide your steps into the next life, Stonewall added, equally as quiet.

The One keeps you in all your days, Beacon finished the familiar prayer, closing the fallen soldier’s eyes as he spoke.

Something snapped in the forest and Milo whirled, one hand on his dagger, heart racing. But there was nothing. Flint, he thought, trying to relax. Come back safely.

He was a captain, Stonewall said, pointing to the copper insignia affixed the man’s cuirass: a circle with three lines slashed through the center.

One of the missing queen’s soldiers? Beacon asked. Commander Talon told us to keep an eye out for them while we searched for thralls.

Stonewall considered. The army is patrolling the Canderi border. We’re not that far from there, as the crow flies.

Milo’s throat tightened. Someone will be missing this poor fellow.

Aye, and there might be others under his command who were… Stonewall exhaled sharply. Affected in this way. We should bring him back to Torin with us.

Look at this. Beacon pointed to the man’s face; amid an aquiline nose and genteel features were angry red marks around his jaw that had a familiar pattern. The mender held up the helmet, indicating the edges. The marks match his helmet, as if it… burned him.

That’s impossible, Milo said. How can a helmet burn a man? It didn’t get hot somehow, did it?

A mage could heat the metal and cause such an injury, Beacon replied, frowning down at the soldier. Remember what Gideon did to that city guard? It was right before you got here, ser, he added, turning to look at the sergeant, whose gaze was distant. The night Eris and Gideon Echina tried to escape. Apparently, one of the city guards tried to… detain them. The poor fellow will wear those scars on his face for the rest of his days, but he’s lucky the mage didn’t burn his eyes out.

Milo shuddered at the implications. "Does that mean this captain was… possessed by a mage? Or are the mages involved in all this, somehow?"

I think we’d know if they were, Beacon replied.

How? Milo asked.

Favoring his left side, Stonewall knelt by the soldier’s midsection, lifted one of the dead man’s hands, and removed the armored gauntlet. More burn marks, Stonewall said, indicating the backs of the man’s fingers and hand. Strange.

It’s as if the gauntlet burned his skin, Beacon said, his copper-colored brows furrowed in thought. See here? Their armor is much heavier than ours, because there’s more metal. These marks are where it would have touched him.

Stonewall was silent, then glanced between Milo and Beacon. We should check for more.

Surely it was sacrilege to strip a dead man of his armor. But what else could they do? Milo offered silent prayers to Mara and Tor as they searched the fallen soldier. Once the investigation was complete, they redressed the soldier as best they could, set the body far to one side, covered it with a spare cloak, and gathered around the fire.

"There’s a burn mark everywhere his plate armor touched his skin. Beacon withdrew his gloves and held his hands above the fire to warm them. What in Ea’s realm is going on?"

Maybe the demons can’t abide the touch of holy metal? Milo offered. I heard that a Circle priest blesses each soldier’s armor.

That’s just a rumor, Beacon said. Besides, it’s just metal, burnie. Not magic.

Maybe it’s its own kind of magic, a different sort than we’re used to, Milo replied. Holy magic, I mean. Though, he frowned, would it still be called ‘magic’ if it came from the gods?

Good question, Beacon said. "You should definitely ask the next Circle priest we come across. They love discussing all things magical."

Stonewall threw another log on the fire and searched the tree line. It reminds me of the Fata, he said quietly.

The Fata? Beacon said, lifting a brow. Ser, forgive me, but I don’t think glimmers have come to ravage the countryside.

They can’t touch metal, the officer replied. It burns them. Haven’t you heard those stories?

Milo glanced up at him. Those are just children’s tales, aren’t they, ser?

Stonewall did not respond immediately. His light brown skin seemed darker when he stood with his back to the fire, as he did now. After a moment he sighed and turned back to Milo and Beacon, settling down—wincing—across from them. You’re right, Milo. They’re just silly children’s stories.

Then what caused the burn marks? Beacon asked.

No one had an answer.

The sound of footsteps came from behind; the three men whirled with blades drawn, but it was only Flint and Rook, leading the sentinels’ mounts. Milo sheathed his daggers to lift his hand in greeting, but paused at the stricken look on his twin sister’s face as she and Rook tethered the horses. Flint had removed her helmet, so he could see how her blue eyes were narrowed and her black braid was mussed. Her pale cheeks were flushed with cold and anger and she gripped her sword hilt as if her life depended upon it.

Sensing danger, Milo stepped toward her. "What is it, relah?"

No sign of game, Rook answered as Flint paused a few paces away, sheathed her weapon, and crossed her arms before her chest. But we… took care of the Canderi.

While Flint was an average height and build for a woman, Rook was petite, barely coming up to Milo’s shoulder. Her dark blonde hair was neatly plaited and freckles covered her forehead, nose, and cheeks.

Aye, Flint said. "Because those barbarians needed a sodding funeral after committing murder." She kicked at a nearby branch, sending it clattering into the woods.

They were people, once, Rook replied. She looked at the sergeant. It wasn’t safe to burn them, but we gave them their rites.

They only believe in their own ancestors, Flint shot back. You think they give a shit about our gods?

Rook gave the younger woman a warning look. It was wrong to leave them. She glanced at Sergeant Stonewall. Right?

The officer was silent. Thank you both, he said at last. You did the right thing. The Canderi are human, like us.

"Tell that to the folks at Torin, ser," Flint ground out through clenched teeth. The honorific was more a hiss of air than an actual word.

"Enough, Sergeant Stonewall barked. They’re dead, Flint. Show some sodding respect."

Milo’s twin glowered, but thank Mara, Milo caught her eye and shook his head, silently pleading with her not to make things worse. Her scowl deepened, but she was mercifully silent, although there was no telling how long that would last.

Rook glanced around, her gaze landing on the fallen man. We didn’t have much chance to search the Canderi. Did you learn anything from him?

After Stonewall described the burn marks, Milo asked, Do you think the same thing’s happened to others who have turned into thralls?

Why wouldn’t it? Flint said. The monsters have no trouble taking hold of the barbarians, or anyone.

Rook winced. We didn’t find anything else… amiss, she added, looking at the officer again. I think we’re safe. For now.

Flint approached the fire and nudged one of the crackling logs. "We’re not safe anywhere. Especially not at the ass-end of nothing. We have to get back to civilization."

It’s the dead of night, Beacon said, stroking his short beard. Not the ideal time to be stumbling through the woods. And it’s as cold as Nox’s tits; I can barely feel my face.

As if to prove a point, a fierce wind tore through the trees. Their shadows, already dancing in the fire’s glow, shifted and swayed, seeming to reach for the sentinels who’d gathered in the circle of light. Milo was not certain which idea appealed to him less: staying here, or venturing out into the darkness.

We don’t have much food left, he said at last, hoping to coax the others into a decision.

Beacon snorted. Trust a burnie to think with his stomach.

I’m not a burnie anymore, Milo replied, his ears growing hot. Commander Talon practically said so herself.

Have you needed any more hematite since your initial Burn? Beacon asked.

Milo was silent. Unlike his twin. Flint advanced on Beacon, glaring up at the lanky, copper-haired man. At least he’s not whining about the cold like a Redfern third-tier frip who’s never spent a night in the open.

The mender, normally calm, returned Flint’s glare. "Sod off, burnie."

"Fucking make me. Or are you too busy grooming yourself?"

Milo nearly intervened, then thought better of it. Only Lieutenant Dev, their former leader, had ever been able to keep Flint and Beacon’s bickering to a minimum. If Milo said anything, he’d be drawn into their argument.

Come on, ser, Milo thought. Just tell them both to shut up. Dev did it all the time. But Stonewall only looked between Flint and Beacon, frowning. Milo bit back a sigh of disappointment.

Rook caught his gaze and glanced at their officer. I’m sure the horses could use a rest, ser.

Aye, Beacon added. "We could all use a good night’s sleep after the past fortnight we’ve had."

But Flint was already shaking her head. "We should go back now. Take that poor sod, she gestured to the soldier, back to Torin and make for Whitewater City right after. The commander must know what we found. We can sleep when we’re dead."

They all looked at Stonewall, whose mouth opened – and closed again. His shoulders sank and the firelight cast black shadows around his eyes. At last he turned away from them and moved toward his dapple-gray mare, his words barely reaching the others as he walked away. We’ll rest tonight, and ride out at dawn.

TWO

The cell door opened silently. Eris’ heart raced as a dagger of light struck out from the door, reaching for her. Two sentinels entered and flanked the opening. A third filled the space between them and stepped across the threshold.

How do you fare, little bird?

Rage swarmed Eris’ vision and her blood beat harder, as if trying to break free of both the hematite-embedded collar around her neck and the hematite cuffs around her wrists. If she spoke, her voice would break. Keep quiet, she told herself. Don’t give her the pleasure.

Talon stood between Eris and freedom, one hand resting on the key that hung from her belt. Her helmet was tucked beneath her arm and her eyes looked black in the flickering torchlight from the corridor. You’ve spent a fortnight alone. Have you had enough of stone walls?

Eris held her head high and focused on each inhale and exhale, though the press of the collar seemed tighter than ever.

She’s gone mad, ser, one of the other sentinels muttered. Look at her eyes.

Talon raked her gaze up and down the mage before shaking her head. No, Hornfel. Mage Echina is simply cross with me. Confinement does not agree with her. The commander took a step forward so that she was an arm’s length from Eris, and knelt against the stone floor, where more hematite was embedded. Isn’t that right?

Eris clenched her jaw.

Stubborn. Talon clucked her tongue as if scolding one of her burnies. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given the way your husband carried on.

Gid? Where is he? Eris’ anger fell away, leaving her cold with fear; suddenly her silence was a small concern in light of Gideon’s fate.

Talon smiled so that the lines around her eyes crinkled as if in true amusement. There was steel behind her words. Waiting for you.

Seren’s light, this woman was maddening. Eris’ heart began to race again and her breath shortened. Where. Is. He?

Safe and sound in the bastion.

Eris nearly sagged in relief and thanked the gods, but stopped herself from doing either. Have you come to kill me?

Talon rose and nodded to someone beyond the door. Captain Cobalt stepped inside, seeming to take up every inch of space in the garrison cell. The scar on his left cheek twisted as he frowned at Eris, though he said nothing, only grabbed the cuffs that bound her wrists and lifted them—and her—until she stood. Eris’ mouth went dry and her breath caught.

I am releasing you back to the bastion, Talon said as Eris found her footing. But you will not be allowed to leave on any missions. You will be confined in the bastion until I say otherwise.