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I let out a shaky breath. I’m not just hoping to make Kyldare pay for everything he has done to me.

Regret tastes bitter on my tongue as I brush a finger over Calysian’s cheek. He’s already asleep, but he angles his head, chasing my touch.

His soul aches.

And I’m going to be the one responsible for ensuring it continues to.

Because the glimpse I saw of Calpharos was enough for me to know one thing:

I will never allow the dark god to fully wake.

Calysian

The need to move is a prickle down my spine. It’s a tension in my muscles, a tightness in my chest, an unrelenting urge that claws at me night and day.

I now have a new awareness of the other grimoire on this continent. I know exactly which direction we need to travel. But I can also sense others making their way toward it. Others who would take it from me.

Still, I wait for Madinia to heal. And unsurprisingly, she insists she is ready to leave before the healer agrees.

It takes all of my willpower to deny her. Knowing others are searching for what ismine…it makes my blood burn. And yet each time I look at Madinia, I see her face, robbed of color, her lips, tinged blue. I see the knowledge in her eyes that she is about to die.

And so I ignore her hissed curses. I grin at the dark looks she shoots me each time I agree with Heava.

Truthfully, I’m small enough to enjoy her irritation.

Finally, three days later, even the healer is forced to agree Madinia can travel. I’ve secured everything we need for our journey, including new clothes for Madinia, who looks vaguely bewildered when I drop them on her bed.

No one has taken care of this woman before. And that knowledge sets my teeth on edge.

I give Heava more coins than she likely would have earned in a year, and she frowns at me. “This is too much.”

“She was dying. You saved her.”

The healer shakes her head but pockets the sack of coins. “Her stamina will be low.”

“I know. I won’t push her.”

“I canhearyou,’ Madinia snarls, and Heava smirks.

“Then take my advice and don’t do anything stupid.”

Madinia mounts her horse, giving Heava a nod. “Thank you. For everything.”

The healer nods back. “You’re welcome. Good luck on your journey.”

Within minutes, we’re riding toward the dock. It’s the opposite direction we need to travel, and yet I promised Madinia this.

She hisses at me to stay several paces behind her, insisting I’ll be a distraction, but I keep a careful eye on her as she moves from group to group.

The travel delay is worth it as I watch her transform.

For the swaggering, drunken sailors, she becomes a flirtatious, empty-headed strumpet, all wide eyes and teasing smiles, searching for the handsome rogue who promised her a ring and vanished with the next tide.

For the gruff dock masters, she becomes a hard-nosed, steely-eyed madam, demanding answers about the pirates who slipped away with unpaid debts. Her face is cold, and she’s all sharp tones and icy glances as she lies through her teeth.

For the young deckhands, she becomes a frightened sister, wringing her hands as she asks about her brother, her words faltering, her lower lip trembling, until even the most hardened deckhand vows to find her answers.

She wears her personas like borrowed cloaks, slipping in and out of them as effortlessly as breathing. A scowl here, a smile there. A feigned blush. A calculated threat.