of the blade to waver against my skin, digging into my wound. I cry out despite myself, a stinging sensation spreading along my neck and arms.
Dez comes within inches of the soldier. His magics prickle along my skin, like invisible beetles crawling all over me.
“Let. Her. Go,” Dez says again. When he uses his power, his words are accompanied by a hypnotic chime, like a spirit calling out from another realm. Effortless, as Dez’s magics always are.
He must be amplifying the soldier’s obedience and using that to twist his body. Except now he’s taking orders from a Moria, and the soldier screams against the movements he can’t control. The soldier trembles, fighting with all his might. But he isn’t stronger than Dez, and finally he does as he’s told.
Free of the blade’s edge, I stumble away from Dez and the soldier, crawling back toward Celeste’s corpse. I still have to get the alman stone. Blood runs down my skin, but the pain of the cut is nothing compared to the heat that scorched new scars on my hands.
“Drop your sword,” Dez says.
The soldier’s face turns red. I’ve seen others bend easily, but this one strains against the force of it, his body locked in place like a statue coming to life.
This is why they fear us. This power that alchemy and clerics can’t explain. A power that is a gift and a curse.
“You don’t need another soldier’s sword,” I mutter to Dez as I crouch next to Celeste’s body.
“Perhaps not, but I want it.” Dez holds his hand out, and the air undulates around the guard like heat on the desert.
The soldier twitches, his hand shaking until he relinquishes his hold. The metal clangs on the stone floor. Dez is swift to pick it up and turns the bloody blade on the soldier.
“Kill me, bestae,” the soldier spits at Dez. “Do it!”
Dez moves gracefully around the soldier and presses the sword’s point onto the Fajardo family’s crest stitched on the front of the guard’s tunic—a winged lion with a spear in its mandible and flames roaring around it.
“Killing you is easy,” Dez says, punctuating his words with a grin. “I want you to return to your men. I want you to tell them that it was a Moria bestae who spared your life. That the Whispers will take back their lands and you’ll never be able to hurt our people again.”
“The king and the justice will destroy you,” the soldier says, his body overcome with tremors. “All of you!”
While he’s distracted by Dez, I take this moment to turn Celeste’s face toward me. I press my fingers along her throat. I don’t feel anything, but I saw her in Francis’s memory. I watched her swallow the alman stone.
As I pry her jaw open, a soft white light emits from the back of her throat. The acrid stench of vomit and charred skin makes my stomach roil. I shut my eyes and reach in, feeling along the swollen slick of her tongue. May the Mother of All forgive me.
Letting go of an anxious breath, I get my fingers around the alman stone, then pocket it.
“Let’s go, Ren. Provincia Carolina is a day’s ride.”
I nod, even though I know we have no outpost in the Carolina region. The soldier doesn’t seem gullible enough to take this misdirect, even under Dez’s persuasion, but he’ll have to report his encounter in excruciating detail to his superiors. It’ll send the king’s men on a fool’s errand and split their forces, perhaps even give us time to reach our base undisturbed.
“Wait outside and don’t move until we’re long gone,” Dez commands. But the minute Dez is out of reach, the spell will break. We have to move quickly. I chance a look at the soldier. His face is red, spit bubbling at the twisted snarl of his lips. I know today will only fuel his hatred of us. For now, we have to save ourselves.
Dez drapes my arm around his shoulder, and together we hobble out the door and vanish into the smoky streets.
Chapter 4
When Dez and I reunite with the rest of our unit—Sayida, Margo, and Esteban—the five of us head north for half a day, following a winding path through the Verdina Forest. Even the king’s guard can’t be everywhere at once, and the dense trees and gnarly roots jutting from the ground make it a hard enough journey by foot. It would be nearly impossible for the Second Sweep’s horses.
We move with purpose,