Page 10 of Acolyte (Tempris #2)

-From the personal notes of Kato Emrys

My brother is lying to me. I’m sure of it. He says that he sent the human girl away—that the enchantment matrix I discovered was a known quantity, created to cover the scent of a few healing spells. And yet the more I dig, the more people I question, the more the variables don’t add up.

No one saw her leave, and she didn’t requisition any supplies. There was no escort assigned to see her to the edge of the city. Even disregarding my other suspicions, I find it unlikely that my brother would’ve sent this girl on such a mission so unprepared .

I will admit, there’s a part of me that wants to believe Skylen’s story.

I liked her, this Talya Caro, and Shards know it’s been a long time since I could say that about anyone.

But I can’t shake the feeling that my brother is hiding something.

Not with the way I saw him looking at her.

Our kind do not love easily. We are too long-lived, too territorial, and even though it’s been centuries since I sent Sarah away, I still remember that feeling.

I remember how much it burned—how easy it would’ve been to sacrifice everyone and everything, including honor.

I won’t let Skylen go down that road. Not when there are so many lives at stake.

So, I will continue to investigate. Play the villain, if need be.

Even though the human is already gone, beyond our ability to retrieve, if my brother has allowed sentimentality to come before duty, then he is unfit to lead.

The sun continued to rise, and the refugees filed out of the compound, wending between the line of wagons in the early morning mist. If the final count was accurate, 2000 men and women had decided to make the journey.

For most, the choice had been easy. The Gate Watchers’ compound had been breached; its walls were crumbling.

The few that had decided to stay would be defenseless, with no weapons, no supplies, and only a handful of trained fighters.

Skye had tried to convince them to come—had kept trying until the compound gates closed behind them, locks sliding into place.

To no avail .

As they slowly moved through the broken city, checking alleyways and empty buildings for shades or anything else that might be lurking, Skye sent up a silent prayer to whatever might be listening. With fewer people, fewer resources, hopefully, the compound would no longer be a target.

Hopefully, he hadn’t just doomed them to die.

They made it out of the city and onto the main highway without incident; the few groups of shades they encountered were easily dispatched. Away from the coast and up through the southern grasslands, the carts groaned and rattled.

Skye had ordered the Gate Watchers to strip the city of everything that might be useful.

The main aether core was packed away safely, as well the compound’s flash cannons.

Food, supplies, spell books, enchanting tools—they’d brought anything they might need should they make it to Ryme only to find that there was nothing left.

Midday came and went. They were making good time, and by some stroke of luck, the protective wards lining the highway were still intact. Skye might’ve felt optimistic if he wasn’t currently ankle-deep in mud.

“Shit,” he grunted when his boots slipped. He sunk even further into the mud as he readjusted his grip on the edge of the wagon. The jagged metal bit into his skin. “Shit, shit, shit.”

A similar string of cursing drifted from the other side of the wagon, followed by a “Ready?” Eula’s voice was thin and punctuated by heavy gasps.

“Yeah,” Skye panted. He pulled at the meager supply of aether in the air, using it to bolster his strength. His lungs burned, his muscles ached, he couldn’t remember ever being this Shards-damned tired. The fatigue had become a physical weight, dragging at his every step.

But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let himself break. These people had trusted him with their lives—he wouldn’t let them down.

The wind was biting cold, but the sun felt hot. Skye wiped at the sweat collecting on his brow, not caring about the streaks of mud left behind.

“ Lift. ”

At Eula’s command, Skye dropped into a crouch and heaved, lifting the wagon out of the mire. The fatigue coupled with the truly massive weight of the wagon and its cargo had his knees shaking, threatening to give way.

“Almost there,” someone called from the front. The horses bucked, pulling against the reins as a young water mage led them forward. Even though the rain had let up, parts of the road were still flooded. This wasn’t the first time they’d had to stop to free one of the wagons from a ditch.

Eula cried out, and the wagon jerked as she lost her grip. With a rumbling groan, Skye shoved his shoulder into the side of the cart and pushed. Sweat soaked the shirt beneath his armor. His hands were bleeding, and something in his bicep tore.

But he continued to push, to pull, to lift.

More aether . The air was so thin; it was getting hard to breathe.

The wagon lurched before falling back.

Another jerk—Eula had resumed her position.

More mages fell in beside him, and they all began to push, groaning and grunting, slipping in the mud .

Just keep moving. The words Skye had repeated to himself so many times he’d lost count. There was always more to do, someone that needed something. The knocks on his door, the taps on his shoulder, the never-ending litany of questions and concerns and complaints.

But he kept moving forward, never stopping, never resting.

Little by little, inch by inch, the wagon began to move until—

Skye grunted when the cart abruptly pitched forward, and he stumbled. Several of the mages gave similar cries, slogging through the mud as they continued to push.

Rubbing at the rapidly healing cuts on his palms, Skye stepped to the side, content to watch now that they had managed to free the wagon from the watery ditch.

Crescent Canyon was only a few miles up the road, and the terrain was already becoming more densely wooded as they moved out of the grassland and back into the forest. People milled about, catching their breath.

Like him, they were coated in a combination of sweat, mist, and mud.

The sick and injured rode on top of the wagons, some taking refuge underneath tattered tarps that billowed in the wind. Everyone else walked.

“We can’t keep going like this,” Eula grumbled, coming to stand beside him. Mud stained the leather of her boots and armor, and her hair had become disheveled and flecked with dirt. She clucked her tongue as she took in his hunched shoulders and labored breathing. “How’s your aether?”

Nudging at that well of power inside him, Skye teased out a tendril of magic, snaking it around one of the shadow crystals slotted into his armor.

He pulled at the aether stored within, pushing it into his blood.

The burning in his lungs immediately began to soothe; the aching pain in his arms and legs abated.

Standing up a little straighter, he gave her a strained smile. “Just fine.”

Eula’s lips curled into a familiar frown, but the reprimand never came. “If we keep up this pace,” she said instead, “we can make it to Della by nightfall.”

“Good,” Skye replied just as someone shouted from the front of the line.

The wagons began to edge forward, the wheels slinging dirt and muddy water onto those walking too close.

The horses groaned, struggling beneath the massive load, and a few shadow mages took up positions behind the carts and began to push.

For not the first time that morning, Skye wondered if they should’ve left the flash cannons behind.

While they would be useful in a fight—an absolute Shardsend if Ryme’s defenses had been compromised—they were heavy.

Skye and Eula walked alongside the horses, not caring about the sprays of water that soaked their already-damp clothing and armor.

The week had been full of hard work, and spring on Tempris was always wet and miserable.

Anyone that lived on the island for any length of time eventually got used to the rain.

“Shards, this is awful,” a new voice griped. Skye turned, his scowl deepening when he saw another familiar face jogging to catch up.

“Report, Kato,” Eula snapped at the brassy-haired fey. The stern noblewoman was known for her patience, but even she was starting to crack beneath the strain.

“The potholes are filled,” Kato said as he fell into line beside them.

His leather armor was almost identical to Skye’s, with the emblem for House Ghislain—a dragon surrounded by swirls of shadow magic—set into the breastplate.

A plain blue canvas coat protected him from the rain, and a simple but well-made sword with a row of fire crystals running the length of the blade hung from his belt.

Skye glanced back at the gaping, watery pothole in the middle of the road. Thankfully, the other carts were managing to steer the horses around the ditch. “You missed one.”

Kato blew at an unruly lock of hair that clung to his forehead.

“No, we didn’t.” He banged on the side of one of the carts.

“These things are just so damned heavy that the sand isn’t doing shit.

And since you’re still insisting that the earth mages need to save their aether to fortify the camp tonight rather than helping us fix the roads, this is what you get. ”

Skye and Eula shared a look, both choosing to remain silent as they continued to march.

Most of the earth mages were already exhausted.

The week’s hardships had brought with it a steady stream of sick and injured, and it would’ve been foolish to waste their aether on something so easily fixed with simpler, non-magical methods.

Even Kato knew this, was capable of understanding, though he would never stoop so low as to be agreeable.