He stops walking and gazes down at me with those arresting purple eyes. “That’s a beautiful sentiment, Velis, and delivered from the heart.” And that’s when I see it. The eye pendant around his neck…blinks.
I stare at it for a moment, my eyes widening. “Your amulet. I could swear I saw it blink just now.”
He snorts and walks on. “A trick of the light.”
But I reach out for Phantom and send a tiny tendril ofmagic toward the eye. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as my fiery dragon magic meets another magic, one that tastes like cool water and smells of green grass. This is not the magic of the witches of Dimhollow or the shadow magic inherent among shades. This is something completely unique. Something I’ve never encountered before.
Jaqual slides a glance in my direction, and I retract my power, worried he might have felt my probing. Do Rivertoads have witches living among them? Have I made friends with the Merlin of this Camelot?
I am more intrigued than ever by this caravan and its people, but especially this man and his unusual magic. “Jaqual, you said you were found and raised by the Rivertoads, but have you always lived among them? Ever stayed in any of the regions for school or work?”
His eyes narrow on me, and I get the sense he’s looking right through me. “The caravan is the only life I’ve ever known, and I’m grateful for it.”
I can see the tent up ahead, smell the stewing meat. “Are you afraid New Stygarde could take it all away, as they did my home?”
His shallow smile doesn’t falter on his lips, but it leaves his eyes entirely. “I’m afraid this is where I leave you, Velis.” He hands me the other saddlebag, and I shift it onto my opposite shoulder with an exaggerated oomph and a bend of my knees. “Welcome to the caravan. Perhaps I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
12
Delays and Disappointments
Damien
I’m halfway through my second pint of ale and feeling the effects of the Rivertoad brew when Eloise returns, spine bowed under both saddlebags. I shadoweave over to her and alleviate her burden, tossing them under the table near Warbill’s feet.
“I’m relieved you’ve returned,” I tell her. “I wanted to go looking for you, but Warbill convinced me to give you time. That you might be conversing with someone.”
“Warbill was right,” Eloise whispers.
“As always,” Warbill chimes in in a throaty whisper.
I shoot him a sharp look.
Eloise sits down beside me at the table and slides her bowl of stew closer, picking up the spoon. “I did meet someone, although I now have more questions than answers.” She takes a bite of the dish and hums. “Goddess, this is good.”
I nod in agreement. For as much self-deprecatinghumor as Maggie used about the dish, it’s one of the best I’ve ever had. Warbill thought the same. “What did you learn?” I ask her.
“Well…” She tips her head to the side. “Rivertoads are shades, right?”
“Yes. Although I assume they’re different from us, like the mountain dwellers are different. They’ve adapted to this life of constant travel,” I say. Although in truth, I’m not sure exactly the differences. In battle, they seem more hesitant to shift than other shades. Sometimes, as in the case of Maggie, their dialogue seems less sophisticated. Other times, I hardly notice a difference in speech. The people under this tent seem taller, lankier than the people of Stygarde.
Eloise finishes another bite and rolls her lips. She squints at me as if truly baffled. “But do they have magic like witches?”
That raises my brows. “Not as far as I know. Why?”
She lowers her voice even further. “Because I met someone with magic, Damien. A type I’ve never encountered before, on Earth or Tenebris.”
“A Rivertoad?”
“Yes.”
We stop talking when Maggie arrives, wiping her hands on her apron. When she reaches the table, she sets one long gold key with butterfly wings in front of Eloise and a second silver one, smaller and less ornate, in between Warbill and me. “Seeing as how you’ve your bags under the table, I assume you’ll be stayin’ the night. That’ll be ten quill for the two wagons.”
“We prefer to stay together,” I say.
But Maggie makes a face. “Not done here, lad. Marriedwagons are only for folks who’ve said their vows and had the wheels blessed.”
“But we’re family,” Eloise protests.
