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Dawsyn nods to Yennes. “It appears I am not the only one.”

Yennes smiles thinly, but lines of worry etch her forehead.

“I must say, I am surprised to see you still standing, Dawsyn,” Baltisse interrupts. The mage’s eyes swirl slowly. She looks tired, though the grin she wears shows there is something she has been waiting to say.

Dawsyn thinks of the rush of iskra and mage magic that came together and burst from her earlier. She remembers the guard she set that magic upon with a mere thought. Such a display should have reduced to her to water.

“Yes.” Baltisse nods, intruding on Dawsyn’s thoughts again. “Quite the display, indeed.”

Ryon groans. “Have the conversationout loud,if you are to have it.”

Baltisse’s grin widens. “Well, Ryon, as it happens, you are thefocal pointof this conversation.”

He narrows his eyes at the mage. “How so?”

“It’s the funniest thing,” she begins. “You see, we’ve been trying to find a way to persuade both the iskra and the mage magic to merge. Not a thing ever done before, I assure you. But Yennes and I wondered if there was some…compromisethat could be reached. We thought maybe the two powers would work together if shown that their main objective was the same.”

Ryon waits, but the mage only smirks toward Dawsyn, who merely stands there, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Ryon growls impatiently. “What was the main objective?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” Baltisse sneers. “Dawsyn’s survival, of course. We thought about pushing her into the river–”

“Youwha–”

“But coincidentally,” the mage continues smugly, “somethingelsecame along and provided the perfect threat. And it worked. Dawsyn’s magic combined, and because of it, you’re alive to hear the tale, Ryon.” Baltisse smiles darkly, but doesn’t allow either Dawsyn or Ryon to interrupt. “I know what you’re thinking, Ryon, and not just because I’ve divined it. You’re thinking that it must have been that foolishguardthat scared the wits out of Dawsyn, that she feared for her own life, and it conjured the coupling of her powers. But I’m afraid you would be wrong.” Baltisse’s eyes spear Dawsyn now, daring her to interrupt. “You see, it was not herownlife she feared losing, butyours.”

Dawsyn curses inwardly, her heart throbbing painfully against her ribs.

“Happily, Dawsyn-the-unfeeling was able to recognise how deeply she cared for you,” Baltisse continues. Unbearably. Intolerably. “She seems to find your demise as a precursor to her own. That is to say, she cannotsurvivewithout you. Romantic, isn’t it? Only took a sword in regretful proximity to your throat for her to admit it to herself… but there it is.”

In the far corner, Yennes smiles at the floor with studious concentration.

Ryon and Dawsyn, however, stand at opposite ends of the small room, amongst the sleeping bodies piled on the floor, Baltisse between them, looking exactly like the demonic hag she proclaims not to be.

Dawsyn’s teeth are clamped so tightly shut that she is in danger of reducing them to dust. “Are you finished?” Dawsyn says, the words thick and poisonous.

Baltisse sighs cheerfully and finds a spot on the floor. “I am.” She sighs. “Ugh. It feels good to get that off my chest.”

“Thank the fucking Chasm,” Dawsyn grits out, and in her mind, she lists a hundred threats and hopes she hears them.

Ryon waits, his patience returned. He raises his eyebrows at Dawsyn. She can’t be certain, but she thinks she sees his lips twitch, as though fighting a smile. Somehow, he manages to maintain a look of passiveness.

If only the ocean would rise and swallow her now, pull her to the bottom with Garjum. Her hands tremble. She has a strange urge to draw her ax. She wants to break eye contact with Ryon, but she can’t. She fears it might signal defeat. Instead, she crosses her ankles, preparing to lower herself to the ground. Perhaps he’ll just let her go to sleep. They can allow this moment to slide by.

But as she begins her descent, Ryon’s gaze becomes a frown. It renders her incapable of ignoring him. He shakes his head once.Not a chance, he seems to say.

You will rue this day, mage.Dawsyn thinks.

As one, both Ryon and Dawsyn turn for the door, making their footsteps light as they step over torsos and limbs.

Mother help me,Dawsyn thinks, opening the door to the warm sea air.Garjum save me.

CHAPTERFIFTY-FOUR

Dawsyn walks ahead of Ryon back to the water. It is most important that she leadhim.She isn’t certain why, only that she needs the upper hand somehow. Along the way her mind is a distortion of thought, running wildly between outlandish accusations to bald-faced denial. Her hands flit from her stomach to her hair to her throat to her hip and she wonders where the iskra is now. Where is the mage magic? Why does it sleep quietly when what she wants, more than anything, is some kind of protection?

From what?she asks herself.Ryon?