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“To fetch something.” The mage sneers.

“No,” Ryon says abruptly. “Not a fucking chance.”

The mage’s eyes become bottled storms. Unspoken words pass between them. Whatever is said, it causes a tick to jump along Ryon’s stubbled jaw.

Baltisse grits her teeth. “Soon, Glacian.”

“No,” Ryon says again, this time with finality. “Now.” He strides across the camp to her with all the intent of a wild predator.

“Ryon? What do yeh think yer doin?” Salem asks. But Ryon ignores him, taking Baltisse by the wrist and pulling her back.

“Are you crazy?” Esra gasps. “Unhand her, Ryon! Baltisse! Blow up this man’s arse!”

“Leave it, Es,” Baltisse mutters in a bored voice, but she does wrench her hand free. “All right, Ryon.All right. Calm yourself.”

Dawsyn frowns at them, Ryon leading Baltisse to her cabin, ushering her inside.

Dawsyn shrugs. She turns on her heel, making to leave.

“You too, Dawsyn,” Ryon says, all but pushing the mage into her own home. “Come.”

Dawsyn narrows her eyes.

“Please,” he says emphatically, his fist clenching with barely suppressed rage. He makes a particularly derisive sweeping gesture, as though she were a queen being welcomed.

Within the cabin, Baltisse divests herself of her travelling cloak, letting the material pool on the table. She sits with a deep, expectant exhale, and lifts her chin to Ryon. “Well,” she says to him. “You may as well say what’s on your mind and get it out of the way, Ryon. If you wish to whine at me, it will be much more relieving to do it aloud. Then perhaps we can move on to all the important things.”

Dawsyn feels like an outsider, a mere audience to their dispute. She crosses her arms and waits.

“Where have you been, Baltisse?” Ryon’s tone is quiet, but something wild stirs beneath the façade of calm. Dawsyn is not surprised to hear it. Blood still mats the hair on his arms. His face is speckled with it.

“Do you really have such a poor opinion of me, Ryon, after everything?” is the mage’s only reply.

“Two more attacks since you left, Baltisse.Two.”

Me.Dawsyn thinks.They’re speaking of me.

“She’s getting worse. I – We watched her drop like a stone, screaming, shaking…” His voice tapers off a little. He regains his composure. “You are the only one who could help her, and youdisappeared. Took a trip to the Mecca? Where the fuck were you?”

“Well, Ryon, despite your assumptions, I did in fact leave with Dawsyn’s predicament in mind.”

“Predicament?”

“Hush,” Baltisse says sharply. Dawsyn watches as she leisurely crosses her legs at the knee, much more at ease than the last time the three of them stood in this cabin, speaking of Dawsyn’s imminent death. “I went forhelp, Ryon. There’s a… woman of magic. She might be able to help us understand Dawsyn. Help her overcome the resistance she experiences.”

“And this took you days to accomplish?” Ryon sneers. “Finding this woman?”

“Finding her wasn’t so difficult, though shewaswell hidden. Convincing her to follow me here, however, was another matter entirely. It took more time than I’d hoped.”

Ryon walks in a circle, the air thick with his irritation. He mutters to himself, hits the door with his fists, and then abruptly turns to face them, his finger pointed at the mage. “You will tell her now,” he says. “I’ve given you enough chances to do so.”

Dread slides down Dawsyn’s spine, all the way to her heels.

A secret, of course.

A secret she is not party to. One that Ryon has kept from her. Again.

“Tell me what?” Dawsyn asks darkly.