Leneah pressed on, the terrible scream ringing through her mind. The Valiant–Brennan, he’d called himself–followed on her tail. His presence behind her was a warmth that spurred her on and gave her courage. He was heavier than she was, and armored and armed, but quiet for someone running in garrison-issue boots.
It was a mystery how he had caught up with her. She’d used at least two stealth spells and dropped from that balcony. He must have run like the fiery world’s end was at his heels. Even in the shadows, she could see alertness in those keen eyes, and he had not been breathing hard. Running through the crowded Midsummer Festival streets had been a simple jog around the training yard.
No, this man was more than a protector–he was a predator. A hunter through and through. Nobody kept her trail for as long as he had.
A pale gray dome rose above the trees ahead of her. Now things would get complicated. Leneah turned and put her hand out, praying to the Source nobody saw her. She motioned to her soldier to stay put. To her relief, he cooperated, stepping behind the trunk of a rough-barked oak. Satisfied, Leneah drew herself taller, hood thrown back to reveal her telltale red hair. As she approached the mausoleum complex, she made a point of stepping harder, cracking twigs and grinding her boots in the gravel closer to the building. They couldn’t think she was up to something. The cost would be too terrible.
Anyone who had dealings with the Harbingers knew they did not forgive betrayal. If they suspected Leneah was trying to double-cross them, it would not end well for her. And if they found out she was an Ivory Order spy…
I’d be the one screaming in agony, she thought darkly. I’d be praying to the Source for an end.
Leneah’s steps took her into the night-blooming garden surrounding the mausoleum. It was a melancholy place, moonflowers nodding in a light breeze, the air sweet with their subtle perfume. For a moment, the somber beauty soothed her racing heart and tangled mind.
“You’re late.” The man’s leaden words snuffed out any lingering peace, replacing it with a slow slog of ice in her veins. Brother Night.
Forcing haughtiness into her voice to hide how it trembled, she said, “The local constabulary proved quite annoying.” For all Brother Night knew, she was the spoiled daughter of a wealthy noble looking to act out by dabbling in dark magic. “You wanted me to steal the dagger hours before the ritual and on the busiest day of the season. Pretty sure that’s your problem.”
The figure before her seemed to grow, his blank, white-masked face tilting sideways like a red-winged carrion swoop.
“Silence.” Brother Night’s voice sliced through the air. “You are alone?”
“Always,” Leneah replied without hesitation. A twinge suffused her spine at the truth of it. She’d spent most of her life alone, at least before the Order. But tonight, she wasn’t truly alone. That Valiant who had hunted her now stood watch over her somewhere nearby. Though he wasn’t as near as she’d like, knowing he was close was a comforting warmth that wrapped around her heart. He had trusted her, and now he was helping her.
He’s not far. He can help you when this is over. And you know the Order would not have assigned you a hopeless mission…
In a blink, Brother Night was suddenly upon her. He grasped her left arm in a vise grip.
“The dagger.” His breath reeked of decay, and she had to suppress the urge to gag. “Now.”
Leneah fumbled in her satchel with her free hand, retrieving the bundle of black silk and metal. A low, guttural sound rumbled from Brother Night’s chest. Was that a flash of green leymagic in the eyeholes of his mask?
She couldn’t hide the shiver that passed over her, but Brother Night did not seem to notice her horror. Or he didn’t care. He dropped her arm, unwrapping the weapon with a slow reverence that somehow unnerved her even more than his speed and aggression. He ran a gloved finger over the dagger’s hilt, avoiding the blade.
“You will wield it,” he said, almost purring, his face again cocked like a vulture watching a beast taking its last breath.
Chills danced along Leneah’s spine, over the tops of her arms, and right down to her toes. This time, she suppressed her shiver. What did he mean, wield it? Her sources had assured her Brother Night would be the one to use the dagger, and it was supposed to be symbolic–no wielding it against actual flesh. The prisoner they’d taken wasn’t to be harmed. Just terrified into giving away her secrets.
Get it together, Len, she scolded herself. She could not let him sense her hesitation.
“As you wish,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “I went through the trouble of stealing the damned thing, anyway.”
“You know nothing of trouble, insolent child. Come. We’ve wasted too much time.” Brother Night pushed ahead, black robes billowing behind him like storm clouds. Leneah followed, but just before she stepped beyond the mausoleum’s portico she tossed her head, acting as if she was patting her hair back into place.
In truth, she was looking for him–her hunter and protector. She glanced into the trees, heart hammering in her chest. He was still there—a shadow between a tall obelisk gravestone and a fir tree. Brennan, the Valiant, who had tracked her halfway across the city even when she was using her leymagic to escape. Who had looked into her eyes and seen something that made him trust her.
She sighed with relief. Knowing he was there filled her with a sense of peace she wasn’t used to having. Leneah faced the arched cavern of darkness, then marched ahead into whatever nightmare the Harbingers had planned for her.
Lizzie Sinclaire 