Page 14 of Returned to the Vissigroth (The Vissigroths of Leander #6)

I t had been late afternoon when we arrived at Ackaron.

Now the sky hung heavy with low clouds, thick with the kind of light that promised rain or silence, but never both.

The harbor gates hissed closed behind us, and for a moment, I considered turning around and finding a place to rest. Just for tonight.

The rooms were adequate here, the city was more or less safe, and Daphne…

had just… what? Woken from the dead? It would’ve made sense.

But I couldn’t do it.

That same current that had dragged me to Ackaron and then Hoerst a few days ago was stirring again. Low and steady in my gut. It wasn't quite panic; it was more instinct or some kind of pressure. Like something was waiting for us in Bantahar, and every moment I delayed tightened the coil.

I looked at her. She was watching a merchant roll up a tapestry, eyes wide with a curiosity she didn’t even realize she had. Her scarf had slipped back slightly, letting the late sun brush her temple. She caught me staring and raised a brow.

“You’re doing it again,” she said. “That silent, brooding thing.”

“I’m always brooding,” I replied.

“You weren’t when you bought me this scarf.”

She smirked. I wanted to kiss her. But instead, I turned toward the waiting nictas and dragoons. “Me voll.”

“Now?” she asked.

I nodded. “We’ll go as far as we can before dark.”

Truth was, we wouldn’t reach the normal camp by then. Not without pushing the nictas hard. Not without pushing her, and she’d been through enough. Her body wasn’t conditioned yet, even if her spirit fought to pretend it was.

I didn’t like the idea of making camp in the middle of nowhere.

The lands between Ackaron and the Pyme foothills weren’t known for their hospitability.

We had no outposts between here and the main pass.

No support. No structure. It was wide open land, ready for an ambush from Renegades or Eulachs, which was one of the reasons Myccael was working so hard to build the magrail.

And now I was setting out to stop him, without even knowing why.

But I had neglected to listen to Daphne once before; I wouldn't do it again.

I turned my attention back to the nicta and gave the command, "Me voll."

“You alright?” I asked after we left the last vestiges of Ackaron behind.

She nodded. “For now, but I'll probably be sore tomorrow.”

I smiled. “You used to say that every time we traveled.”

“We used to do this a lot?”

“More times than I can count.”

She looked forward again, as if the horizon pulled at her the same way it was pulling at me. The nictas picked up speed, and the wind shifted after a while.

The Pyme River curved to our right, wide and silver in the dying light. Its current moved fast, swollen from recent storms in the mountains. We rode close to it, where the dirt was firmer and the brush thinner. The nictas liked the scent of water, and it gave us one less flank to guard.

Ahead, the mountains were rising, no longer distant silhouettes but dark, jagged teeth biting into the lavender sky. Shadows stretched long over the plains, swallowing the road behind us inch by inch.

Daphne shifted in the saddle again. I could tell by the set of her shoulders, the way she braced one hand against the saddle horn, that she was beginning to ache. She hadn’t complained once, but I knew that body. I knew what it could endure. And what it couldn’t.

The sun dipped low, bleeding out behind a wall of clouds. We wouldn’t make it to the camp near the ridge, but I had already known that when we set off.

“Here,” I said, pulling my nicta to a halt near a cluster of broad-rooted karnel trees. “We’ll stop here.”

I was sure Daphne didn't realize it, but her body relaxed back into mine as she sighed.

Her scarf had slipped again, her cheeks flushed from the wind and the steady rhythm of the ride.

I slid down the nicta first, then reached up to help her down.

I was ready for her when she swayed into my arms. She laughed nervously. "My legs feel like rubber."

"Here," I helped her to a large rock that someone had flattened a long time ago.

Many people traveled this road, and we were far from the first to use this spot as a camp during the night.

Not as regularly as the ridge, but enough that someone had taken the time to make this rock into a makeshift chair.

"Thank you." She stretched her legs in front of her while looking at the rapidly rushing water. "I should be taking a walk," She argued.

"You will, when you're ready," I predicted.

The dragoons and servants knew what to do; two peeled off toward the riverbank to scout, while others began unpacking gear. Within minutes, a perimeter had been marked and a small fire pit cleared beneath the trees.

I turned to find Daphne standing by the water’s edge, watching the moonlight shimmer on the surface. The breeze toyed with her hair, loose now from the ride, framing her in gold and shadows.

She looked like she belonged in this world again. Not as a ghost, but as something reborn.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Just thinking.”

I didn't have to wait long for her to elaborate, “Everything feels familiar and foreign at the same time,” she said. “Like I’m dreaming it. Like I’ve stood on this riverbank before… but in a different life.”

“You have,” I said quietly. “More than once.”

Her eyes met mine in the fading light. For a moment, something passed between us. The flicker of a spark. I stepped closer. Not to touch her. Just to stand near enough that she could feel I was there, steady and unmoving, if she needed me.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” I told her. “It’s not ideal. But it’s safe enough.”

“Safe enough,” she echoed, glancing toward the mountains. “Is that a Leander or a warrior thing?”

“A little bit of both.”

Her smile faded, but her gaze stayed steady. “You’re worried?”

“I always am. When it comes to you.”

She didn’t answer that. Behind us, the fire cracked to life. The night settled around us in layers, cool and thick, whispering things I didn’t quite understand. The air was filled with the aroma of roasting meat and fresh vegetables. I always loved the simple fare we had camping out.

The scent of smoke and spice drifted toward us, comforting in its familiarity.

One of the younger dragoons—a quiet male named Sareth—handed Daphne and me our bowls.

I nodded my thanks and gestured toward the large flat rock she'd sat on earlier. But she didn’t return to it.

Instead, she turned and walked toward the circle of dragoons already seated near the fire, bowls in hand, laughing quietly among themselves.

I watched as she paused at the edge. Said something light. They shifted instantly, making room without question. She settled between them like she’d done it a hundred times. Like she belonged.

She always had that gift.

Even before.

Talking to strangers like they were long-lost kin. Finding the rhythm of any room without effort. It had always fascinated me how easily she softened others, how they leaned toward her without realizing it. Now it just made me ache.

I sat alone on the stone with my food, but barely tasted it. My eyes stayed fixed on her.

They were talking about nictas now, someone cracked a joke about saddle rash, and she laughed; the sound was warm and familiar in a way that gutted me.

One of the males handed her a flask of warmed stormroot wine, and she bestowed a smile on him that would have melted metal.

I stiffened with jealousy. I wanted to be the recipient of that smile, but I stayed where I was, not wanting to interrupt this moment for her.

After a while, she rose and walked back toward me, cheeks flushed, eyes soft.

“That was nice,” she said. “They’re funny.”

“They’re terrified of you.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because some of them have been with me long enough to remember the way you used to put them in their place with a single look.”

She laughed again. “I like that.”

I stood and nodded toward the tent. “You should rest. Your clothes from the ship are inside. I'll be in shortly.”

She hesitated. Then nodded once and slipped inside. I watched the tent flap fall behind her before turning back to the fire. Korran was waiting with his usual grim expression. He didn’t speak until we’d stepped out of earshot of the others.

“We found tracks,” he said. “Fresh ones, right there on the north side of the ridge.”

My spine stiffened. “Renegades?”

He nodded. “Could be. Could be from other travelers too, but there is no trace of nictas."

We both knew what that meant. Renegades didn't have many nictas, not like travelers did. I took a long look around. This stretch was too exposed. Too empty. My instincts had been clawing at me since we left Ackaron.

“Double the guards,” I ordered. “No one sleeps on shift. Rotate in pairs. Wake me if anything moves.”

“Zyn, Vissigroth.” Korran hesitated. “You think they followed us from Ackaron?”

I shook my head. “Ney. They were already here. Waiting.”

He muttered a curse under his breath. “You think they knew you'd take this route?”

“I think someone always knows more than they should.”

It might be just a group of opportunistic Renegades, but with the attack on Bantahar, I would rather be too cautious than surprised.

I watched Korran leave to carry out my orders and stood for a long moment under the stars.

The wind had cooled. The Pyme River murmured against stone, like a voice trying to warn us.

Behind me, Daphne was in the tent. Alive, but oh so vulnerable. If anything came for her tonight, gods help them, because I wouldn’t stop until the earth ran red with their blood.