“It will not matter.” He cuts off my awkward attempt.
“Why?”
“Because Ogan, the man I spoke with earlier, is skilled—and he knows I am helping you.” His mouth twists at that. “I will say when we have to leave. Now drink. Dry out. Stay silent and rest while you can.”
He takes his own advice, sipping water from the stream and then moving a small distance away to sit on a fallen log, not quite out of sight but clearly chasing privacy. After that, he spends some time wringing out his cloak before settling into an almost meditative pose, head bowed and eyes closed. I find a seat where I am and start methodically expunging the water from my own clothes, grateful for the pause, however brief it might be.
Not more than a minute later, I hear the distant sound of hooves.
“Cian.” I hiss it; when the man doesn’t stir, I scurry over. We’re hidden well enough here in the darkness of the trees, but we haven’t encountered a soul on the road in either direction since we set out. “Cian, someone comes!”
He doesn’t react. I shake his shoulder. When there’s still no movement from him, I frown, crouching down. His eyes remain shut.
“Cian. Are you well?” I shake him again, then carefully pry one of his eyes open.
Even in the shadows, I can see it’s completely black.
“Vek.” I let the eyelid flop closed. He’s using Will, but I’ve never seen anyone unresponsive like this before. The riders—there’s more than one, from the sound—are close now. Nothing to be done about it.
I crouch low, praying our horse won’t snort or stamp or neigh. The outline of three cantering warriors appears; I’m too far away to make out faces in the dim, but there’s no mistaking the distinctive, spiked horse-mane hair on all of them.
I barely breathe as they approach, but I needn’t have worried. The men pass heedlessly, splashing through the stream and looking neither to the left nor right. Intent on a destination. If they’re after us, they don’t expect to find us around here.
Once they’ve passed, I go back to Cian, squatting down in front of him and reaching my hand cautiously out toward his face again. Just before I touch him, his eyes snap open.
I flinch backward, almost overbalance. “Rotting gods.”
“Is something wrong?” Cian frowns at my cursing in Common, then stares around.
“There were … men.Men,” I repeat, squaring my shoulders to indicate a warrior’s build and pointing toward the road.
“They were not after us.”
“How do you know?”
“Because those coming for us will have dogs leading them. And they will not miss us in the trees.” He stands. “It is time we kept moving.”
“What were you … doing?” When he looks at me questioningly, I scowl. “You would not … speak.” I point to my eyes. “Black.”
“It is of thedraoi.” He says it firmly. “It is sacred. Not for your knowledge.”
Draoi. I dredge the vaguely familiar word from my time in Letens’s Bibliotheca. What the druids of the area called themselves, before they were wiped out. “I know this … strength,” I say impatiently. “I have spent … year … learning. In the … place you took me … away from?”
The druid eyes me consideringly. Surprised, I think, despite his attempt not to show it. “I will speak of it with the others, then,” he allows. “We will not be far from where you could be tested. But for now, you are notdraoi, and my vows have not changed.” He swings up onto the horse. “We do not have time to talk of it further. They are no more than an hour behind.”
The certainty in his voice chills me. “You are sure?”
“Yes. But we are not long from the border.”
“That is where we go?”
He nods. “Rónán’s lands. King Fiachra will not risk war by pursuing us there. And Rónán has no love of Ruarc, either. We will be able to meet in safety.”
The slightest of hesitations to the answer. He’s not telling me everything.
My mind races and thighs scream in protest as he helps me up behind him again. He was using Will to check on our pursuers, somehow. An imbued object on one of them? That would allow him to determine direction and distance with reasonable accuracy. But that’s just a mental process, not the act of imbuing itself. His eyes shouldn’t have turned dark.
“The one … trying to kill me. Ruarc. Who is he? Why do you … fight him?” While I have the energy, I want to understand at least that much.
