world, leaving it vulnerable to the Shadeling’s army.
Even if the day came when outright murdering Archeron was their only choice, the thought of using the Godkiller made her stomach twist.
“Something this powerful shouldn’t exist.” Haven turned her back on the weapon, its demonic gaze cutting into her shoulder blades. “Let’s test the last wards and be done.”
Nasira frowned as she and Haven sent their magick out to probe the intricate meshwork of runed wards engraved into the cavern walls. Haven was nearly done with her probe when she felt something was wrong.
Like a dark presence near. Not the Godkiller. Someone else. Someone who shouldn’t be here. A presence flickering in and out of the planes of her consciousness—
It hit her as darkness snapped through her mind just how confused she was. No one had broken inside the cavern.
She was somewhere else.
She blinked as hands came into view. Not her hands. A man’s by the dusting of coarse dark hair and thick knuckles. A black and gold signet ring with a falcon holding a sword in its mouth flashed from the otherwise bare hand. The finger next to it was missing at the second knuckle.
She went to call out to Nasira but—Shadeling’s Shadow, she couldn’t speak.
His mind. She was inside the ring wearer’s mind. Seeing through his eyes. Everything was blurry, out of focus. What was he doing? He was looking at something. Smoothing out tan parchments. Using a magnifying glass of some sort to read whatever was on that scroll—
Like the elastic of a waistband suddenly snapped, she was flung from the reader’s mind and back into herself. Cold, clammy flesh and bone wrapped around her. A surge of sour heat flooded her throat, and she barely managed to hold back her puke.
What in the Goddess’s name was that?
The cavern wobbled and listed in circles as her senses trickled back. Her hearing was last. When it returned, Nasira was hissing Haven’s name.
“Haven! Did you hear me? I said some of the runes have been tampered with.”
A pit of unease yawned open inside Haven, eclipsing her panic over jumping into someone’s head. “I heard you. I’ll finish checking mine.” She quickly swept her magick out. “There’s a chunk of wards missing on my side too.”
Her pulse skipped into a frantic beat as she quickly assessed the extent of disarmed runes. More than should have been possible since the last check.
“Who could have done this?” Haven asked, talking through her panic. “The runes haven’t been disturbed from the outside . . .” The air sucked from her chest as understanding hit. “The Godkiller. It’s somehow found a way to disarm the wards from the inside.”
It was working fast. The last check had been twelve hours ago. In twelve hours it had found a way to disarm almost a third of the runes in the lowest vault.
They quickly repaired the wards as Haven ignored the Godkiller’s intense gaze, that unblinking eye watching them work with a smug curiosity.
It would try again, she knew. Becoming more and more efficient as it unraveled the wards from the inside out.
If it ever reached the final threshold . . .
No, she would never allow that to happen.
31
Haven had almost forgotten how nice it was to spoil herself with a long, steaming bath. Now that the night raids were on hold, Demelza actually had time to lug water up to Haven’s hammered brass tub—and Haven actually had time to soak in it, hair and everything.
That wasn’t all. For the first time since stepping foot on Shadoria, they managed to arrange a sit-down dinner together. Haven was acutely aware of how her shiny rose-gold hair fell in silken waves around her shoulders and back, and just as aware of how the others stared.
Xandrian actually had the nerve to whistle when she arrived, last of course. Her skin still wrinkled from her bath.
It also happened to be the most magnificent evening. The clouds veiling the sky were more threadbare than usual, letting through glorious rays of warm sunlight. A soft breeze dragged the thermal heat of the city up to the balcony they dined on, warming her enough that she removed the scratchy wool shawl Demelza insisted she bring.
The balcony overlooked the hills where white tendrils of mist slithered over the land like spectral serpents. Every so often they would shift to reveal the glossy black sea below, unusually still for this time of day.
“From tonight onward,” Stolas said, idly handing Ravius a chunk of bread from his plate, “we’re