“Are there other hidden compartments?”
Why didn’t I think of that? I glance at Seth’s bed in the next room, but he’s face-down, passed out cold. “Let’s find out.”
I rummage through the drawers with only a small amount of caution. If Seth catches me, I’ll tell him he would have been disappointed if I didn’t at least try to escape. I don’t find anything in the top one with the letters, but in the bottom drawer along with an assortment of scrolls, I feel another latch.
“Got something,” I say. I reach into the compartment and come out with an ornamental knife.
It’s made of volcanic glass, like the one Ronan showed me in the market the first time we went. When he was still disguised as Soren.
I flash it up at Taran. “Now where are we going to keep this?”
“Hand me my pants,” he says.
I toss him his linen trousers, which he pulls on under the covers.
“Where will you keep the elixir?”
I gesture to my chest without shame, knowing he may blush, but he won’t be weird about it. Gods bless men that love men. “I’ll have a shelf once they give me my underwear back.”
The servants enter to dress us and feed us before Seth wakes, giving us an opportunity to stash our stolen items without notice. By the time Seth finally rises and the camp is allowed to pack, it’s past noon, and an angry letter from Adria has arrived via a messenger on horseback.
Seth clutches his head as he throws the letter away without opening it. “We’re coming, we’re coming,” he says, slumping back into his desk chair.
The servants pack up the tent around us as Seth supervises, snapping at them to be careful and yelling at them about being the “clumsiest group of good-for-nothing ingrates Nithyria has ever seen,” but he doesn’t lift a finger to help them.
The good news is that between the upheaval of the camp and his own consequences of last night’s debauchery, Seth doesn’t remember to try to coax my shadows out again, although he’s needlessly cruel and mocking towards Taran whenever he spots him across the room.
The bad news is that every packed crate brings me closer to Adria.
The camp moves slowly, just as Seth predicted. We’re shackled to a cart that’s so full of the belongings from his tent, we have no choice but to walk behind it.
At least the weather has turned cooler. The Selaran sun still bears down on us, but there’s a breeze coming off of the Mara that offers sweet relief from walking slow miles in chains.
We’re never unguarded as we walk through fallow fields past villages that are all but abandoned, their citizens fled since the start of the war. Seth chatters away to various commanders and advisors, giving orders and complaining at length about every godsdamn thing he can think of: the weather, the conditions of the road, the pace of the army. Occasionally, he lobs one of those complaints in our direction, decrying the burden of having to care for his prisoners, something he has fully outsourced to the servants, like most of his responsibilities.
The walk has been taxing on Taran, who is still recovering from his injuries. I help him with his chains as best as I can, and he pulls water from the air to give me in repayment. “Thank you,” he whispers to me at one point when we’re stopped to give Seth a break from the saddle.
“For what?”
“The pain elixir. I couldn’t have managed without it.”
I feel guiltily grateful to have Taran with me. We’re in this together, and as much as I worry for him, I’m glad I’m not alone.
When the sun lowers in the sky, the servants and soldiers re-erect the tent, unloading cart after cart of furniture and books into almost exactly the same configuration as before, with one notable exception: we’re now within a few miles of Adria’s camp.
“Bad news, my little chain gang. Adria’s on her way,” says Seth after we’re chained to the tent post once more. He slumps into his desk chair, exhausted from riding but not too tired to drink wine directly from the bottle. “What am I going to do with you?” The wine sloshes in the bottle as he gestures at us with it. “Do you think if I give her Taran, she’d let me keep you, Sylvie? But if he’s gone, then how am I meant to scare the magic out of you?”
He gestures lazily to Taran’s cot, and it ignites.
“Fucking hell, Seth!” I scream, using my ordinary shadow to extinguish his flame as Taran dumps water on his blanket.
“That’s no good, is it?” Seth shakes his head. “It’s too easy for you to put out with your regular magic.” He stands up and reaches to his side, patting for something. “Ah, here it is.”
He pulls out his dagger.
“Seth…” I start as he walks over to Taran. Taran pushes himself off of his cot with some effort, but he quickly reaches the end of his wrist chains as he approaches my bed.
I stand and put myself between them, staring down the fine steel blade of Seth’s dagger. “You will not hurt him.”
