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Fenian took another step forward, towering over Rodney. His expression darkened, and he puffed out his chest and flexed his muscles for good measure. “You’re so sure he’s alive? That I’m not lying?”

“Yes.” No.

After several long moments locked in their standoff, Fenian sighed and backed down. “I would not harm a living thing,” he repeated. Whether it was a reminder for Rodney or for himself, Rodney wasn’t sure.

“Show me the way, and the rope he used to snare you is yours. I’d imagine it would serve you well in your hunts.

” It was true that Rodney had nothing of his own to bargain with, but the utility of the iron-threaded rope had already been made painfully apparent to the centaur—he had the wounds to prove it. Surely he would see value in the offer.

“The weapon is not yours to promise,” Fenian said. There was far less conviction in his tone now. He was interested.

“Raif keeps an entire armory of weapons at his disposal, and I’d wager he has several more ropes just like that one hanging on a rack somewhere. Reunite me with him, and it’s yours.”

Fenian kept a steady pace ahead of Rodney, refusing to talk and responding only in grunts when Rodney asked a question.

For his part, Rodney kept well out of reach of the centaur’s hind legs, which he occasionally kicked back.

The first time, when his hoof nearly connected with Rodney’s knee, he’d insisted it was a reflex.

Rodney was unconvinced the other close calls that followed were accidental.

Almost as soon as they’d started down the road, the hard-packed dirt gave way to moss and ferns and stones. The air felt somehow lighter, and only grew more so as they continued down some invisible path Fenian seemed to know by heart.

“Just how many lost souls have you begrudgingly escorted to safety, Fenian?” Rodney prodded. Another noncommittal grunt confirmed his suspicion. Heartless hunter, indeed.

“None which I was so glad to be rid of as I will be you,” Fenian shot back.

“I believe myself to be excellent company.” For the first time since arriving in Elowas, Rodney felt his sense of humor returning. Though it was likely unwise to tease the centaur, he could hardly help himself.

“You would.” Fenian picked up his pace slightly. The centaur’s long stride covered twice the ground Rodney’s could, and he had to jog to keep up.

He nearly ran headlong into Fenian’s hindquarters when he stopped mid-motion.

Once he’d righted himself, Rodney peered around the blockade of the centaur’s broad shoulders to see what had halted him so suddenly.

A figure was approaching from up ahead. His hand fell back to the hilt of his sword.

Fenian had agreed to escort him, but never to protect him.

Charitable or not, he knew there was little chance the hunter would defend him from his own kin, or worse.

The figure’s gait was confident and brisk as they closed the distance, still only a silhouette in the darkness. They carried in one hand a longsword, its blade far larger and more threatening than the thin toy Rodney was prepared to draw.

“I believe my part of the bargain is about to be fulfilled, púca,” Fenian said.

“Raif!” Rodney called out, the tension falling from his shoulders. His relief was unreserved. He never thought he’d be so happy to see the guard captain’s scowling face—he’d have run to him if he had any less restraint.

As Raif neared, his eyes flicked over Rodney’s form, catching on his fur. His nose. His tail. He raised his brows. “You’re—”

Rodney’s cheeks heated. “Unglamoured. Yeah, I noticed.”

The soldier schooled his face back to neutral and nodded to Rodney, then again to Fenian.

“Did Sudryl not grant you entry?” The centaur asked, frowning. Rodney glanced between the two; they’d clearly developed some degree more camaraderie than he’d managed.

“She did, and to my companions, once I’ve collected them.”

“Then, púca, it is time you pay me what I am owed,” Fenian said to Rodney, who nodded and approached Raif.

The soldier eyed him dubiously. Before he had time to react, Rodney had dipped his hand into the satchel hanging loose from Raif’s shoulder.

He sucked in a sharp breath when his bare skin connected with the rope, iron threads searing his flesh as he withdrew it from the bag and tossed it at Fenian’s hooves.

The heavy ball secured to its tip bounced once then rolled to a stop.

“You cannot bargain with another male’s possessions,” Raif growled once he realized what Rodney had done, turning on him.

“I had little choice,” Rodney snapped. “He was hardly interested in the so-called sword you gave me.”

“That so-called sword is all you can safely handle.” The anger that had flashed across Raif’s face dissipated, but the way he countered the shot so matter-of-factly irked Rodney further. It was true, he knew it was, but he didn’t care to hear it either way.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking I’m interested in helping you find the rest of your party,” Fenian warned, interrupting their argument before Rodney could fire off another comeback.

Raif made to speak, then paused and glanced around. “Where is Aisling?”

Rodney looked away to hide the tears of shame that sprang to the corners of his eyes. His stomach churned. If she’d been with Raif instead, he’d never have let her go alone. He’d have stayed. He’d have protected her.

“Rodney,” Raif said sharply, pulling him from his unkind thoughts.

Still with his head down, Rodney mumbled, “She went after Kael. We found where the Low One lives. He told her to come, to leave me, and she did. I—”

“I’ve heard mention of the Low One now from both of you,” Fenian cut in. “To whom are you referring?”

“The dark god you hunt for. That which Antiata is hidden from.” Raif’s tone betrayed the same confusion Rodney felt at the centaur’s question.

Fenian was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I do not know him by that name.”

Raif’s eyes narrowed. “Aethar?”

“I’m unsure of his true name, but it is neither of those.” Fenian shook his head again. “I knew it once, I believe. When I was alive. But that was a very long time ago now.”

Rodney wasn’t sure why Fenian’s words brought a tremor to his limbs and tightness to his lungs, but a sick sort of dread settled over him that he couldn’t shake. By the look in Raif’s eyes, Rodney could tell the soldier felt it too—he just did a better job masking it.

“You’ve seen the god, though? When you deliver the aneiydh?” Raif stepped around Rodney to stand in front of Fenian.

“I’ve only heard his voice; I’ve never looked upon him. I leave his bounty amongst the shrouded in the sylvan cathedral.”

Rodney’s breath caught. “That’s where Aisling went.”

“Have you seen anyone else there?” Raif asked intently. “Another Fae?”

“The silver-haired male,” Fenian acknowledged, nodding. “He is unwell.”

“What do you mean, unwell?” Rodney demanded. His panic was growing now, imagining Aisling discovering all of this on her own. That it might have been some other entity with crueler motives calling out to her; that Kael was sick or hurt or dying. Or already dead.

“He is brutally scarred, though he may have arrived that way. More than that, though—he’s not…” Fenian paused, searching for the right word. “There. He doesn’t see, doesn’t react. Shadows pour from him like blood.”

“Shadowbound.” Raif’s voice was tight. “Can you enter at any time, or does the god send for you?”

“Any time I have aneiydh to deliver.”

Raif nodded once, face drawn and jaw set. Solemn. “Then I must ask for your help once more.”