wind, a woman’s voice, chanting.
Ivina.
The guardian of the mountain had taken note of them, sleeping in Euthymius’s shadow. And she was about to send down an enchantment to confront them.
Evadne scrambled upward, fear making her limbs melt. She froze on her hands and knees when she heard the first howl. Something was approaching Straton’s camp; the light gleamed upon its fur. And it was not just one, but many. Evadne counted six wolves, prowling closer and closer, waiting for the torches to extinguish.
No, she thought, straining her eyes in the darkness. They were not wolves. They were the same beast, multiplied. A dog she recognized.
Her blood went cold. It was the shepherd’s dog from years ago, the one that had almost mauled her, that had left scars and pain in her ankle.
Halcyon had once come between them, had killed that dog to save her life.
This cannot be real. Evadne panted, fingers curling into the loam. But it was real. The dog had been resurrected by Ivina, over and over, according to Evadne’s greatest fear. She told herself they were only apparitions; they could not bite. But then a torch went dark, and one of the dogs snarled, leaping into the camp through the river of shadows.
A scream pierced the wind.
Evadne flinched. She watched the servants rush with lit torches, frantically shouting as they beat the phantom dog back with fire. Toula dashed for the darkened torch, lighting it just before another phantom could slip into the camp. And then there was Straton, moving through the tents and wagons with calm precision, a spear in his hand.
He lit it on fire and hurled the weapon across the night. The spear caught one of the phantoms in its side. The dog howled and jerked before it evanesced into a swarm of sparks and smoke. The commander did it again, again, as effortless as breathing, and Evadne’s fear eased.
The phantom dogs were splintering, dissipating, unable to withstand the fire.
Evadne pushed herself to her feet, shaky. She took a step forward but stopped when the nape of her neck prickled.
Slowly, she turned.
One more phantom dog stalked in the darkness, its luminous eyes fixated on her.
“Evadne!” Straton’s voice cracked her indecision. It was a command to run—to run to him—and Evadne sprinted to the camp in her uneven gait.
The phantom dog gave chase. She could hear it snarl, snap its teeth in her wake. But she saw the commander striding to her, a fiery spear in his hand. She kept her eyes on him, even when she felt a tug on her chiton, when she heard the linen shred.
For one heady moment, Evadne thought about taking flight. She was one breath from it, but her heart was frantic. She could scarcely think, let alone command the wind to uplift her.
“Down, Evadne!” Straton ordered as he hurled the spear, and Evadne only had a ragged breath to decide if she wanted to heed him.
She hit the ground, and the fiery lance sank into the phantom directly above her. Smoke rose and sparks rained down on her arms, her tangled hair. She listened to them hiss in the wind, her face pressed into the earth. And then it went quiet, and Evadne found she was trembling so violently she could not make herself move.
“Can you stand?”
Gradually, she lifted her chin to see Straton standing at her side.
Evadne pushed herself up, wavering. The commander made no action to assist her, but he followed her as she limped back into camp. A few of the servants watched; they said nothing and offered nothing as Evadne leaned against one of the wagons, laboring for breath.
Damon appeared, as if he had risen from a shadow. His dark hair was tousled, his chiton smeared with ash as he approached her.
His gaze shifted to her legs, where the wind played with her torn garments. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Evadne said. She was trembling, and she could not quell it, no matter how much she tried. Nor could she resist the draw of Damon’s eyes. Their gazes locked, reluctant yet hungry, and Evadne did not know what he saw in her. Longing, terror, pain. Resentment. She felt a hundred things, and then nothing at all. He was suddenly reaching for her arm, but the commander’s voice stopped him from touching her.
“Toula? Bring Evadne something to drink, please. As well as some fresh clothes.”
The servants drifted away, but the commander and his son remained with Evadne. No one spoke for a moment, and then Damon’s sister