“Cai,” Roiven calls. He’s already reached the ground. Gritting my teeth, I follow him down Sava’s leg and to the base of the caldera. The skin inside my thighs feels raw as my trouser legs scrape against it on the climb. No matter how healed I thought I was last night, riding for a second day has done me in.
There’s a wide double-door twenty feet to our left, leading into the mountain itself. A man with light brown skin approaches us from beside it, like he was waiting for us to arrive. He’s got a sword, leather armor, and long coarse hair twisted in braids and knots.
“Things are different here,” Roiven says to me quickly. “My word will buy you protection, but you can’t go around calling witchcraft foul or evil. It’s our way of life.”
“It isn’t mine,” I say, twisting my spine one way and then the other.
“Cai,” Roiven warns. “As my people are quite literally dying to protect themselves from the Empire, please, I am just asking you to be careful with your words.” His voice is measured and steady.
His burning eyes meet mine. My eyes slip down to his lips and for a breathless moment I’m reminded of last night, and Roiven’s mouth on my body. My cheeks burn and Roiven, seemingly aware of what’s running through my head, raises both eyebrows.
“I wouldn’t say that, anyways,” I mutter, and turn to face the soldier as he finally draws close.
The man bows to Roiven, the first person I’ve seen who gives him the honor I’d expect for a king. Things must be different in this place than the village. When his burning yellow eyes turn to me, I feel a slight flare of nervousness from Roiven. And then Roiven tugs at the glove covering his bond, not taking it off but pulling it more firmly on.
We’re on the ground now. It isn’t cold here. But he can’t be trying to hide it, since he made me get it to come here in the first place. And anyways, although he offered me a coat and glove again at our last stop, he didn’t force me to take them when I refused.
The warrior who approached us frowns at my metal arm but ignores the bond mark entirely.
“We’re under way?” Roiven asks.
“They’ve prepared as much as they could without you. The Coven of Ancients gathered when we spotted Savasaeirn. They asked me to tell you to come straight in.”
Tellhim to? Nobody would order the God-Emperor or the Exalted around like that.
“Good,” Roiven says briskly. He doesn’t seem bothered by it at all.
I can’t forget the Hellion glow that dominated the far horizon, like a blue sun dawning. A shiver slides down my spine despite myself.
War is coming, or perhaps just a massacre. And I still feel like I’m straddling both sides of it, off-balance.
Roiven strides toward the open doorway, and I follow. When we reach the entrance I glance over my shoulder at Sava. She’s thumped down onto her side. The little dragonlets, each probably weighing five times what I do, bat at her and stomp around, engaged in care-free childhood play. A pulse of emotion hits me through the bond, like ice through my veins. Sava doesn’t feel so much amused as… sad. A grief for what’s to come.
This place is balanced on a knife’s edge.
“Cai,” Roiven calls. I turn away from Sava. He pulls the tie from his black hair as he waits for me to catch up. His hair spillssmooth as silk over his shoulders. With his burning eyes, the enchantment marks framing his face, and the leather armor visible in the open slit of his black overcoat, he looks as beautiful and deadly as ever.
I turn and follow him quickly inside. The warrior who greeted us remains in the caldera. I know it would be unreasonable to ask for a meal or one of those washing-fountains, when his people are preparing for an attack. That doesn’t stop me from wanting both.
The open door swings shut behind me. We’re in a large hall. On the far wall, twenty feet away, there’s a staircase down, and a ramp to the right, fifty feet away. The hallway stretches even further to the left, where it ends in a series of doorways.
If the caldera’s floor was plain, dusty rock, lightly scored by dragon’s talons,thisis a palace. I was expecting a rough-carved channel like in the village, but the floor here is patterned tile and the walls are carved with geometric designs, in pleasing ridges and arches that echo the shapes on the floor. Light streams through holes in the ceiling far above us, pale shafts of sun that glaze the leaves on a long row of potted plants. I squint up and wonder what the hell they do when it rains.
Roiven turns back to face me. He’s uneasy, his heart pounding too fast. I can feel it through the bond.
I fold my arms over my chest and stare at him. I have no idea what’s suddenly got him so twisted, but I’m not going to be the one to speak first.
“I wanted to wait until we got here,” Roiven says. He glances away for a moment, then back at me.
“For what?”
“To explain myself. The bond…”
“Roiven,” a woman calls. I turn and see three witches climbing the ramp, a woman and two men.
The woman who spoke breaks free of the group and strides toward us, walking about as fast as she could without breaking into arun. I feel a surge of warmth from Roiven’s heart. For a moment my stomach sours in jealousy until I remind myself I don’t care.
“Aria,” he says, a smile in his voice. The name is familiar; I’m certain he’s said it before. The woman looks a little like him. Her long black hair falls in waves to her waist, impractically loose despite the fact that she’s dressed in tight leather armor. Her eyes have the same orange glow as Roiven’s.
