Page 35

Idonea swallowed. “They will follow.”

“Let them.”

She pulled her dagger free, thankful he’d given it back.

Idonea glanced back as the trees moved.

The treeline groaned, branches snapping, and something massive stepped into view.

Idonea's stomach dropped instantly. It was wrong in every possible way.

Twice the height of a man, its form wreathed in coarse black fur, with limbs too long and eyes like burning coals sunk deep into a skull far too human in appearance. A daemon thrall. A lesser entity, but still deadly. It let out a rasping growl.

Idonea cursed. “They must’ve let it out of the veil.”

The thrall crashed after them with terrifying speed, limbs galloping like a hound. Branches exploded outward.

Lysander turned the gelding hard, taking them up a switchback path lined with brittle spruce.

Lysander swore quietly. “We're not outrunning that.”

“I know.” Idonea twisted in the saddle, planting one foot atop his in the stirrup for leverage. “Don’t let me fall.”

Lysander didn’t argue. He threw the reins forward, driving the horse into a tight curve, hauling it to a sudden stop on a high ridge overlooking the hollow.

Idonea stood, ignoring the quaver in her legs. She slashed her palm open, letting the Current ignite the droplets into a crimson light, coiling into the shape of a thin, burning whip. She swung its form towards the thrall, lashing it with liquid flame.

Idonea’s skin turned cold. The thrall staggered a step.

She leaped down from the horse, forming a quick circle with her spilled blood, and traced a quick daemon sigil within its confines. The daemon thrashed, as if their limbs were caught within a thick mud.

Sharp nausea flooded her body.

“Not enough!” Lysander leapt down behind her and drew his sword.

The thrall roared and regained its footing. Lysander met it head-on, steel clanging against claw. He ducked low, slashing across a clawed hand. The creature reeled.

Idonea swallowed. There was no time for a proper ritual. She pressed her blade to her forearm, took a deep breath, and slashed the skin open.

Her eyes locked onto the thrall's, drawing a second circle with the freshly spilt blood. Her blood pulsed along the lines, as if a heartbeat.

Air rippled in crimson around them, and Lysander whipped a silver chain out of his coat. The taste of iron flooded her mouth, the world pressing down upon her.

Idonea screamed. The Current ruptured outward. Pain ripped through her chest. The thrall vanished, forced back through the Nexis.

She collapsed as silence descended. Her pulse fluttered unevenly. For a second, Idonea wondered if she'd torn something inside herself permanently.

Lysander flicked gore from his sword. He stood perfectly still, listening. No breath but theirs. He exhaled once, then turned to her.

Idonea was on her knees, blood slicking her forearm, her chest heaving. She was torn between wanting to pass out and hurling. The circle still pulsed faintly beneath her, veins of red light faded into the earth.

He knelt beside her, careful not to touch the sigil. “You can’t keep bleeding yourself like that,” he said. “It’s reckless.”

Her lips moved, but the only sound was a rasp. The effort had hollowed her out.

Lysander rose, scanning the horizon. He reached into his coat and brought out two flasks — a silver one and a larger leather one. He pocketed the silver and offered her the leather. "Drink."

She hesitated, then took it, grimacing as the liquor burned its way down. When she handed it back, his gaze lingered on her arm, the raw, hasty cut. He tore a strip from his sleeve and wrapped it with quick, practised motions.