Page 141

The rest give a cheer, renewed with purpose. All but Ryon, whose eyes grow darker with shadows each passing second.

Ryon flies with Dawsyn in his arms. He does not wait for Rivdan or Tasheem. He simply lifts her without warning from behind and leaps from the slope into the sky.

They stay low beneath the treetops, dodging the pine and using the mist to stay hidden. Ryon does not speak to her, but his hands grip her tightly, his blood pounds beneath the skin, and she feels his unease. His suspicion.

But he doesn’t voice it.

And neither does she.

She supposes he will settle for keeping her within his sights when they reach Glacia. And she will settle for that moment when the sword falls… when the chance avails itself.

It takes very little time for Glacia to appear before them, rising into the cloud-clogged atmosphere, bleakly grey and threatening. The palace spires pierce the sky, while the Colony stretches beneath it. From a distance, the slum appears nothing more than a mass of craggy, colourless rock.

Ryon, Tasheem and Rivdan land in the forest down the slope, not daring to come closer. It is difficult to know if sentries will be watching the skies, as the Glacians once did under Vasteel’s command.

“I doubt Adrik would bother with such things,” Rivdan says as they trudge the rest of the way up the slope. “He seemed quite averse to imposing any order among the Izgoi once the palace was theirs.”

“No. Just drinking and fucking and ensuring there were still those doing his labour. Arrogant bastard,” Tash intones. “Always thought himself superior.”

“Weencouraged him,” Ryon says. “Fed his ego.”

“He manipulated us all, Ryon. We thought he’d lead us to freedom,” Tash sniffs. “We were young, and he fed us visions of glory.”

“But we are not so young anymore. And still, we didn’t see it.”

“Perhaps it was never his intention to take Glacia for himself, to drink from the pool,” Dawsyn says suddenly, the words falling from her lips in a tangle of thought. She barely pauses to dissect them before allowing them passage. “The pool speaks. It lures those near enough to heed its commands. Perhaps Adrik is merely a victim to its call.”

“Avictim?” Tash says now, her voice rising. Rivdan lays a heavy hand on her shoulder, placating her.

“It is possible, is it not?” Dawsyn shrugs. “So long as the pool resides in Glacia, it is a threat. Its magic will keep reaching out to touch those who come too close. The temptation will be too great.”

Silence follows, save the press of their boots in the snow. Ryon is grinding his teeth. Rivdan’s head tilts to the side, considering her words.

But Tasheem scoffs, her ire plain. “Temptation only threatens those who already lack a heart.”

In that, Dawsyn agrees. She cannot imagine any amount of temptation that would lead her to consume another’s soul.

The first glimpses of the Colony appear ahead. Oblong shapes that become struts and flags and lean-tos as they slink closer.

“Stay behind me,” Ryon murmurs to them. “And be quiet.”

The border of the Colony is not guarded by sentries. In fact, they continue to escape notice as Ryon guides them slowly behind the first of the crooked shelters. They had planned to enter slowly, finding those who Ryon, Tasheem and Rivdan considered friends to hide them. Perhaps find those who have already pitted themselves against Adrik and his self-appointed reign and lean on their assistance as they move to storm the palace.

But the wind that whistles through the Colony is devoid of accompanying sound. There is no conversation, no clatter or clamour of an entire race living shoulder to shoulder. They stalk slowly down the narrow lanes between shelters and find no one in their path. Curtains of fabric flap wildly in the frigid breeze, revealing empty interiors. Snow builds at the edges of the lean-tos, spilling within. The lanes, once slick with slurry and ice from incessant traffic, are now blanketed in virgin snow.

Ryon looks over his shoulder at Dawsyn and she sees her thoughts matched in his expression.

There is no one here.

The Colony is empty.

“Where are they all?” Salem asks, his gruff voice cutting through the silence much the same way a horn would. Esra hits him in the stomach.

“Ugh. Esra! Yeh–”

“Shut up,” Ryon says lowly, dangerously, dissolving whatever slander Salem had been ready to bestow. “Or I’ll have Dawsyn shut you up.”

Esra frowns. “She doesn’t have that spell.”