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“What did you do?” Ryon says again, pulling her to her feet carefully.

“I…” Dawsyn starts. But she doesn’t know how to go on. She suddenly remembers the Ledge, and the way her outburst had killed Des Polson. “Did I hurt–?”

“No. No one is hurt,” Ryon tells her, huddling her closer to him as he strides her away. “You only scared the Holy Mother out of us all.”

Dawsyn’s sense finally returns at his words, her chest tightening. As Ryon tries to hurry her off the road, she looks back over her shoulder.

On the ground before Gerrot is a web of white, frozen earth, spreading like veins from the spot where she must have knelt. The trees on either side of the road look as though they were bent by ungodly winds, their branches stripped of foliage and near breaking.

Did she do that?

“Gerrot…” she begins, but doesn’t know how to finish. Ryon sweeps her back through the woods, the others running alongside them, all wearing looks of shock and confusion.

“Ryon… the magic–”

“No,” Ryon says sharply. “No more of this.” And though it is low, Dawsyn thinks she hears him mutter Baltisse’s name, along with a string of threats.

Her body feels empty, and she wants to rest. But the magic has not debilitated her. The mage blood did not rise, provoked by the upsurgence of the iskra. Her muscles are sore, but they can keep going. She feels tired, but not spent. She is muddled, but not buckled and bent by the after-effects of using opposing magics that should not be able to coexist.

It makes no sense.

“Has anyone seen the captain?” Ryon calls over his shoulder, his feet pounding over the soil.

“No!” Tasheem calls. “She wasn’t at camp. We expected to find her with you.”

Ryon’s head turns. “Salem?” he asks.

“She weren’t with us,” he replies, hurrying to keep pace.

Dawsyn’s head spins. Nothing makes sense.

She’d awoken in the cabin with cold hands and knew that Ryon must be gone. The absence of his warmth is what stirred her. Then there were the sounds of commotion – something dropped, Ryon’s name, the sound of boots hurrying away, more following.

She’d rolled off the mattress, found her ax on Baltisse’s wooden table, and thrown herself out into the morning air.

And then the guard…

And then Gerrot…

“There they are!” Hector calls as they thrash their way back into camp. There’s a circle in the dirt where he and Esra have paced.

“Is Ruby here?” Ryon asks at once. Rivdan doesn’t await an answer. He strides around camp, looking to the ground for tracks. The ground here is too dry; it will not reveal Ruby’s whereabouts to them.

“She might’ve wandered off to the creek,” Salem mutters. “Why the sudden concern?”

An excellent question. Dawsyn turns to Ryon. “You think–”

“I don’t know what I think yet,” Ryon cuts in. There is a warning in his eyes.

“Fuck me, Salem darling,” Esra interjects. “You’re looking a touch worse for the wear. Though it seems to be your vintage.”

“He was just attacked by Terrsaw guards, Esra. You’ll forgive him this once,” Ryon states.

A beat of silence, and then. “MOTHER OF ALL FUCKING–”

“Wait, Esra,” Hector says, gripping him by the shoulder. He seems to have noticed what Esra has failed to. “Where is Gerrot?”

The silence that follows this most awful of inquiries is hollow. Deadening. Rivdan’s head drops to his chest. Tasheem shuffles uncomfortably.