Page 67 of Unveiled

Xiathen’s expression dimmed. “The Arbiter of the Council of Veils. The one at the top of the pyramid. The ones heralding Adrian’s return via the Veiled Path. The way back to Utharia and their control.”

A cold hush fell over the group. Connor looked among them, his eyes narrowing. “Tell us more about what you’re thinking.”

Xiathen hesitated, his gaze shifting to the watching townsfolk. “Not here. Not before them.” He turned to Adrian. “You both must hear it, but in private.”

Adrian felt Connor’s gaze on him before meeting it. Something like resolve, mixed with dread, passed between them. “Fine,” Connor said. “Let’s take this inside.”

In the Athenaeum, Xiathen raised a hand. “This is not simply a rescue mission anymore. The Council will come again. Stronger. More prepared. And if they do—”

“They’ll have to deal with both of us,” Connor stated firmly. Then he glanced at Adrian. “Valours aren’t only titles. They chose us for a reason.”

Adrian exhaled. “I don’t know whether I should be flattered or terrified.”

“Both,” Connor admitted as he held Adrian’s gaze.

Adrian tore away first, his pulse racing. “We need a plan.”

Connor nodded. “Aye. And we start by finding where the Nightwrought have taken Irial.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Adrian asked carefully.

Connor glanced down at Adrian’s pocket, the one holding Irial’s charm. “That thing still glowing?”

Adrian pulled it out. The sigil pulsed faintly, less bright now than when he had picked it up. Adrian inhaled sharply. “It’s reacting.”

“Reacting to what?” Fraser asked.

“To its bonded,” Adrian murmured. “It’s pulling toward her.”

Connor’s jaw set. “Then we follow it.”

“It won’t be a straight path,” Xiathen warned. “The Nightwrought walk in folds and angles. What seems near may be far.”

“We’re Kings. We aren’t good with people telling us no,” Connor said.

Adrian turned the charm over in his palm. The sigil pulsed again, warm and insistent. He looked up into Connor’s eyes. “Fine,” Adrian said. “We follow it.” He motioned to Xiathen and Fraser. “I think we need you both.”

Xiathen nodded.

“Aye,” said Fraser. “I’m with ya.”

Adrian stepped out of The Dry Pig, into the cold air of Glengáill, the others behind him. The charm glowed softly in Adrian’s hand. An echo of the rend, a promise of danger, and the first thread in a path they couldn’t walk alone.

Chapter Eighteen

Connor

The forest didn’t welcome them. But it watched.

Branches hung too still. The air held a tension that prickled across Connor’s skin as he led the way down the narrow path into the northern woods. Moss muted their footsteps, but every other sound, every breath, and every shift of weight felt loud enough to carry miles.

Xiathen glided behind him like a shadow given form, his robes brushing the fern-covered ground without a sound.

Adrian held the charm, and he walked at Connor’s right shoulder, Max at the left, with Fraser pacing a little behind

Whatever or whoever had taken Irial had left nothing but a smear of fading rend energy along the boundary of the woods. An energy Xiathen said shouldn’t exist this close to Glengáill. Not now. Not this soon.

Connor stopped beneath the skeletal arm of a pine, sniffing the air. “She’s close,” he murmured. “Her scent’s here. Recent.”