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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It’s only midmorning when fate—or the gods—decides to fuck with us again, and big, wet flakes of snow begin to fall from the gloomy skies.

“Are you joking?” I ask nobody in particular. “Not even twelve hours after the last catastrophe?” I huddle into my heavy traveling cloak. I’ve never had to test how waterproof it is, though when Tia gave it to me two years ago, she assured me it could hold up to all kinds of weather. I laughed and told her I didn’t go out in weather that needed to be held up against.

In retrospect, that might have been asking for trouble.

“This is hardly a catastrophe,” Jaimin says dryly beside me. “It’s only snow.”

I frown darkly. “I bet you’re one of those people who likes to play in the snow.”

His laugh is warm and reassuring, despite the vagaries of the weather and the fact that the temples are now officially out to get us. “Who doesn’t like to play in the snow?”

“I love snow,” Coryn chimes in enthusiastically from behind us. He insisted on bringing up the rear, saying he’d be able to see what was coming ahead of us, but he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head, so it was better that he be at the back. I didn’t argue —I don’t know whether that’s sensible or not, but it’s not like I know any better. “Maybe if it snows enough, we can build snow people when we stop for the night!”

My eyes widen. “We are not camping in the snow,” I declare vehemently. “No way.”

“Probably not tonight,” Jaimin agrees, “but at some stage, we might have to. Are you ready to ask me to heal your foot yet?”

I look away, a little guilty. After what he told me about injuries being discordant for him, I probably should have asked already. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But I also didn’t want to bring it up. For one thing, it’s not that bad, and he’s not my personal healer. And also, I didn’t want to have to explain how I injured it. He wouldn’t understand that Sweetie made her displeasure clear over leaving a warm stable before dawn… by stepping on my foot. She’s only vicious when he’s not around.

“Ah… if it’s not too much trouble?”

With a rueful huff, he leans over in the saddle and slides his fingers under the cuff of my coat, finding bare flesh. It’s an innocent touch, and yet I have to quell the urge to shiver at the intimacy of it. A moment later, the throbbing pain eases, and he straightens, smiling at me.

“Better?”

“Much.” I return the smile with a sheepish one of my own. “Thank you.”

“Did you drop something on your foot?”

Sweetie snorts and tosses her head, proving—to me—that she understands every word we say, and I mumble, “Something like that.” The last thing I need right now is for my horse to be out for blood.

“Any directions from the stone?”

Other than telling us to go south, the cursed rock has been bizarrely silent since its introduction to Coryn last night, to the point that an hour ago I was concerned enough to demand it reply to me or else . To which I got a mental raspberry. It’s so heartening to know that such a mature sentience was responsible for the creation of all life.

“Nothing but stay on the road south-west,” I gripe. “At least the farther south we go, the less likely we are to get this stupid snow. Hopefully our next stop is Camblin. The southernmost part.” Winter down there is positively mild.

The smugness suddenly radiating from the stone is a sign I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Jaimin must sense it too, because he winces.

Fuck my life.

A week passes, and the snow turns to slush—which makes the road positively delightful to travel on. On the eighth day of unrelenting travel south-west, I’m beginning to wonder if the stone’s doing this just to torment me. Why couldn’t we have boarded a ship at Lenledia? We crossed the border into Camblin yesterday, and we’re nearly to Josanin now, and that’s only a half-day journey by boat, even allowing for the time needed to get downriver to the coast. If the stone doesn’t stop us in one of the minor villages between here and Josanin, I’m going to be very unhappy.

Well…, unhappier than I already am.

We stop for lunch along the side of the road. It’s too wet and muddy to go far, but we get off the road anyway, in case some idiot mistreating their horse is traveling faster than wise in this muck. Leicht lands in the adjacent field, which is empty at this time of year. Hopefully we’ll be on our way without the farmer realizing we’re here.

“Where’s the next village, again?” I ask, trying to stop my teeth from chattering as I take my share of the currant buns we bought before leaving the inn this morning. So far, I haven’t had to camp in the snow. I’m hoping that will continue. Camping’s bad enough as it is.

“Too close to stop for the day,” Tia advises. “Maybe the one after that… or the one after.”

“I hate you.”

“He doesn’t really,” Coryn assures her solemnly. “He loves you. He’s just grumpy because he’s cold and wet. That’s why he’s been snappy today.”

A sliver of guilt worms through me. I did snap at Coryn earlier, and even though I apologized, I still feel bad about it.

“I’ll try to snap less,” I promise, and Tia and Jaimin laugh.

“Notice how he said ‘try,’” my beloved sister mocks. “He knows—” She freezes. “Leicht says there’s a group coming fast, behind us.”

Before she’s even finished speaking, Coryn’s tossed me the remainder of his bread (I bobble it, but it doesn’t hit the ground) and is tightening his horse’s girth. He’s in the saddle and riding back to the road while I wonder what I’m supposed to do now.

“Mount up,” Tia says, drawing her sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. “You’re less vulnerable on horseback.”

“What about you? Get on Leicht.” I cram the last of my current bun into my mouth, shove Coryn’s bread in a pocket, and reach for Sweetie’s girth. For once, she doesn’t try to resist.

“They’re too close for him to be effective,” she says, even as I hear the muffled squelch of hooves. “I’m more useful on the ground this time.”

Jaimin passes her the reins to his horse. “I’ll double with Talon. I’m not much use in a fight.”

She swings into his saddle immediately, turning the tall horse to follow Coryn just as the riders come into view. Any hope I had of them being travelers in a hurry flees when I see the flash of light on weapons. “Stay back and shield if you can,” Tia calls over her shoulder.

“I can do better than that.” It’s not loud enough for her to hear, but she’ll find out soon enough. I’ve been preparing for this—planning how I can help with my magic, rather than just reacting. “Are any of them zombies?” I ask Jaimin.

He nods. “A lot of them, if I had to guess. The wrongness is outweighing the sensation of regular people.”

I mount Sweetie and reach down a hand for him, ignoring the odd (but I’m not stupid; I know what it is, but this is not the time ) tingle when his palm meets mine. He seats himself behind me just as Leicht screams in challenge and the front ranks of attackers reach Coryn and Tia.

And die.

I blink. I was told Coryn was pretty much an unparalleled fighter, but it’s different to see it with my own eyes. As he hacks his way through his share—and some of Tia’s—of the fifteen or so riders, leaving dismembered bodies and riderless horses behind him, I pull myself together and carefully aim magefire at every body part I can clearly see.

“Can you tell from here which of the living ones are zombies?” I’d really like a living, human prisoner so I can ask a few questions, but I can’t deny it would be safer for us all if I could burn them before they engage with Coryn and my sister.

Jaimin shakes his head. “Not for certain. Leave a few of them unburned, if you can. I want to examine them more closely now that I have all my wits about me.”

Leicht screams again, and if we were closer to him, I’d tell him to shut up. We’re all trying to concentrate, dammit; we’re busy .

“Okay, but if they get up and attack again…”

“Then you can burn them,” he agrees.

I reach out to Tia. “Try to leave a few alive if you can. Jaimin wants to examine them.”

She doesn’t reply, but the angle of her sword changes mid-strike, delivering a disabling rather than killing blow. Jaimin sucks in a breath.

“Surely you don’t expect me to believe that was a coincidence.”

“What was?” I ask, playing innocent as hard as I can. I’m starting to feel guilty about keeping this secret from him, which is ridiculous.

“You can trust me, you know,” he murmurs.

What does it mean that I find that scarier than the zombies attacking us?

When the fight is done, Tia’s prisoner is out cold. Possibly due to blood loss, but I’m no healer. Jaimin looked a bit grim when he paused beside the stranger, and he did do some kind of healing, though not enough to heal the wound completely. I try not to think about why that is—even though I understand we can’t take prisoners or leave living enemies behind us, I’m still squeamish about killing them.

Coryn, on the other hand, is not. For such a happy-go-lucky cuddle monster, he has a very wide bloody streak. Literally, at the moment. Apparently dismembering people is a good way to get yourself covered in blood. He stands over our prisoner, face grim in a way that makes him look completely different, sword in hand dripping blood on our captive’s arm.

“Maybe you should move your arm an inch or so away,” I suggest. “You know, so the blood falls on the ground and not on a human being.”

He shakes his head. “If he wakes up and sees me standing here with the blood getting on him, it’s scarier. We want him to talk, right? That’s why you won’t let me kill him even though I’m supposed to dismember them all?”

I give up. “That’s why. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Carry on. I’m going to”—go somewhere else—“see how Jaimin’s doing.” I take two steps back, but Coryn seems to be focused on glaring at the unconscious attacker at his feet and doesn’t even notice as I leave.

“Anything interesting?” I ask as I approach the others. Jaimin had me leave assorted body parts of three zombies (we think—it’s hard to tell when they’re in pieces), but I burned everyone else. He’s inspecting the sometimes-moving parts under Tia’s watchful eye. Every once in a while, she makes him stand back so she can hack at the reanimated limbs.

Safe to say that this time in my life will give me nightmares for many years to come.

“Horrifying, but not very interesting,” Jaimin replies, straightening from his crouch. “I was hoping to find some kind of weakness, but…” He shakes his head. “There is something strange, but I’m not sure if it’s noteworthy or just the fact that they’re zombies. They all have the same… resonance.”

“The fact that they’re zombies is fairly noteworthy on its own,” Tia comments, stabbing an arm that tries to reach for us. I prudently take a step back.

Jaimin smiles faintly, unfazed by the fingers straining in his direction. “True, but we already knew about that.” He shakes his head. “I’m on this journey for a reason, and I’m determined to discover what it is.”

“You’re here to keep me from murdering Talon.” My beloved sister winks at him. “And to make the vote go my way when the sensible solution is camping, but he wants to keep riding to find a village.”

I knew they were conspiring against me! I open my mouth to indignantly reply, but Coryn calls, his voice dripping with menace, “He’s awake.”

“Burn the remains,” Jaimin orders as he and Tia walk away, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and wondering when “expedition leader” turned into “lackey.”

A foot starts to inch in my direction, and I hasten to shoot magefire at it, deciding titles and positions aren’t really all that important, and who cares if Jaimin makes a suggestion or two along the way?

Once all the limbs and other things are ash, I go to join the others. The prisoner is sitting up, looking pasty and shaky, his wound still bleeding sluggishly. His eyes are guarded, and I don’t blame him. Coryn looks positively murderous, and Tia’s not far behind. Even Jaimin’s face is bleak.

But nobody’s spoken yet.

Time for me to take back the reins. Metaphorically. I already know Sweetie’s the one in charge of the actual reins.

“Who are you?” My voice seems ridiculously loud.

His eyes flick to me, but he doesn’t speak.

“You were asked a question.” Coryn looms over the man, sword somehow still dripping. How much blood was even on it? Did he add more for effect?

The prisoner still doesn’t speak, and Coryn looks at me. “Would you like me to break some of his fingers?”

I really hope he’s posturing and that’s not something the soldiers of Lenle actually do. Also, I like him better when he’s begging for cuddles. Warrior Coryn is terrifying.

“One moment,” I say. I want to check something first. If the mage who raised the zombies has put some kind of compulsion on this man, he won’t be able to tell us anything. And I draw the line at torturing someone who literally cannot comply with our demands.

I reach out and carefully sift through the top layer of the man’s brain, the part that’s always open. This is where I “knock” for other telepaths. It’s like a doorstep or front porch—part of the mind, but not inside where all the valuable stuff is.

There’s a shield there, just as I feared. Fuck.

Probing at it carefully, I try to glean any information I can without setting off any booby traps—if there are any. I’m fairly sure whoever built this isn’t as strong a telepath as I am, but it would still take me time to dismantle it. Time we don’t have right now, on the road so close to the border with Camblin.

“We definitely can’t bring him with us?” I check, even though I know the answer.

“No,” Tia replies, not bothering to add an explanation. She doesn’t need to—I’ve heard it already.

I let my magic slide along the shield, aware of the eyes on me, Tia and Jaimin waiting, Coryn and the prisoner a little confused. The shield has a different mental signature than the man’s mind, so he definitely didn’t build it himself—or if he did, he’s a master telepath beyond the ability of anyone alive. He would have had to make it look like he was completely unTalented, that a different mind created the shield and like that person was only a mid-level telepath. The latter, I could do—though not all that well yet—but the other… I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that.

“He can’t tell us anything,” I say at last, disappointment almost choking me.

Tia’s jaw sets. “Can you get information from him another way?”

It takes me a moment to realize what she’s suggesting. “No.” The only fast way to do that would be to smash through the shield, and that would more than likely leave the man a vegetable, nothing left in his mind for me to see. If we had time for me to dismantle the shield, then yes, theoretically I would be able to take the information from his brain… but just the idea makes me want to squirm. “It would take too long. He’s been shielded.”

She mutters a curse. “It was worth a try. Go back to your horse—Jaimin, you too.”

I take a step back, knowing what’s coming, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to go. If we have to kill this man in cold blood, why should I be spared the discomfort of that? Being expedition leader means taking responsibility for the decisions that are made.

As I hesitate, Tia tugs at my mind, and I reach out. “I’m staying.”

“You don’t want to see this. I mean it—go. Nobody will think anything of it. You’re not trained for this.”

“I’m staying. He might be our enemy, but he’s a person still, and he deserves this courtesy.”

Her exasperation rings through my mind like a bell. “He’s helping to destroy us all, Talon.”

True, but… “Maybe. He might also have been hired without knowing all the details. He literally can’t tell us—his shield won’t let him talk about it. Since I can’t be sure, let me do this. It will haunt me otherwise.”

“It’s going to haunt you regardless.” Her mental voice is grim, but in the next second, she floods me with comfort, a telepathic hug.

And nods to Coryn.

His sword flashes, the prisoner cries out, and it’s over.

But it will haunt me for the rest of my life.