Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,26

leave at once."

The high queen touches my forearm. She's a tactile person, to my surprise. Vlari never seems to need touch like this.

Or perhaps she does. Perhaps she loves contact, and quite simply never bothered to get it from me.

"Wait a moment," Nero says. "Not questioning your rangers in the least, but for a journey such as this, it may be wise to bring a few knights with you. Some seasoned warriors."

I wince. "With all due respect, knights come with cumbersome, noisy armor that would either slow us down, get us spotted, or both. Our aim isn't to fight anyone if we can help it."

Generally, the rangers only get noticed after we've stolen something the humans guard. As this mission doesn't require us to retrieve any artifact, we might go unnoticed.

After thinking for a moment, the queen suggests, "Perhaps not knights, then, but someone with defensive magic? In case the need arises. I will feel better if you're well-guarded, Rystan."

She speaks as though we're friends, and she cares for my welfare.

“I can take care of myself, Your Grace.”

“Be that as it may, your power is a weapon, not a shield. If you’re attacked by hundreds, or thousands, you’ll be glad to have some help—if only for the sake of your rangers.”

She has me there.

I can take care of myself. But what of Samael, Iola, Hayles, Erdun, and whoever else will accompany me? They have little magic to speak of.

Perhaps she does have more power than I gave her credit for, after all, because while I don't like the idea of bringing anyone but my men with me, I incline my head. "As you wish. I am to leave within four hours; your mage will be expected at our base when possible."

She doesn't ask why I need this long.

I leave my excitable sister to chat with the artful queen, and return to Vlari's chamber.

When I arrive, I'm not alone.

Out of Breath

Drusk

It's late enough in the day that the rest of Whitecroft Hall starts to wake. I hear servants and lords stir around me, reviving fires, preparing or eating their breakfast.

I’ve had little sleep, but I need to see Vlari more than I need another one or two hours in bed.

I’m annoyed I’m not the first to arrive. I’m not in a mood to socialize—I’d prefer to have her all to myself this evening.

There's a fae next to her—someone I’ve never met. It's not saying much; I don't know everyone in Whitecroft, but most of them are familiar to me, by sight at least, or by their smell.

This stranger stands out in several ways. He wears heavy padded leather that doesn't quite look like the kind of craftmanship I normally see. Even his way of standing is different. He looks like a gentry, yet he almost slouches, his eyes drifting from one side of the room to the next.

Shifty. He's shifty.

"Who are you?"

He looks between me and Vlari, in a way I can only deem calculating.

Vlari’s dark fox, that hardly ever stirred before—other than baring his teeth and hissing at me—is sitting on her stomach, his bright eyes fixed on the stranger. His tail flicks the air in annoyance.

I step inside, lifting one hand and gathering Myst in my palm. "I said, who are you?"

By this point, it’s of no importance. If he meant no harm, he would have answered the first time around.

I step toward him, each move calculating. He’s a lot closer to Vlari than I am. I need to reach them now.

The stranger moves faster than I anticipated, plucking a ball filled with black liquid from inside his cloak.

He throws it on the floor and breaks the glass under his heel. His enchantment spreads, rendering the room pitch black. This is no natural darkness, and I can't dissipate it with my power. Now blind, I have to rely on my other senses, but the intruder doesn't make a sound.

There's only one thing I feel, one thing I am certain of: Vlari's location. I can pinpoint it exactly in the dark room, though nothing else is clear.

I stumble as fast as I can, making my way to her. Something solid blocks my path.

There you are.

I sense an attack just in time to stop his approaching arm. A blade bites into my face, cutting my cheek. He has a knife or a dagger in hand.

My heart stops, not because I've halted a deadly blow. Because I understand the point of his weapon. This wasn't meant for me. His blade was intended