The stone is warm against my chest.
The four of us walk out together. The Lithenmere lets us go, the gold thinning behind us as we move through the palace and out into the realm, until we reach the field where we arrived.
"The Veil doesn't follow a ratio," Seraphina says. "Whatever time has passed on the other side will be what it is. Be ready for it."
"We will be," Celeste says.
"Ready," Mira says. The smile gone. The soldier back.
Celeste's hand finds mine. Her hand tightens.
Seraphina faces the trees at the field's edge. The air between the trunks is unchanged, but the shift in the soil is palpable. She raises one hand. The air shimmers, then parts, and a gap forms.
She doesn't gesture us forward. She waits.
Celeste lets go of my hand.
She steps through.
Chapter
Sixteen
Istep through first.
Atlanta heat hits me before my eyes adjust, and when they do, the light is at its peak. Noon. Full sun. Real sun, not what passed for sun in Thessivane. No shade anywhere in this courtyard. The light is hitting every surface, every inch of exposed ground, and Maximus is about to come through behind me.
No.
He’ll burn. There’s no time. No shade. No way to reach him. I spin back toward the Veil and the membrane is already shimmering.
“MAXIMUS, STOP!”
He steps through. Into full sun.
I grab him before I think. Both hands on his face, pulling his head down into my shoulder, my body against his, trying to cover what I can. It won’t be enough. I can’t block the sun from every direction. I know that. I don’t care.
He goes rigid. His arms come up around me. Reflex. Then his body shifts. His chin lifts. The sun is on his back, his neck, every part of him I can’t cover. His arms tighten.
My hands are on his skin and I’m waiting for it to start burning under my palms.
One second.
Two.
Three.
His skin is cool under my hands. Cool and whole and not burning.
His grip on me changes. Not loosening. Locking. Through the bond, something so large I can’t get the edges of it.
I pull back. He’s standing in it. Full Georgia noon, no shade, no cover, direct light on his exposed skin. He’s standing in it and he’s not burning.
He’s not burning.
Seraphina comes through behind him. Her head snaps up. Her hands are already moving, magic building between her palms, a ward half-formed before her feet hit brick.
Then she sees him. Standing. Not burning. Her hands drop. The ward dies.
