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Rowan glances down, and I follow his gaze. His open palm flashes in the thin light.
“Catch,” he whispers.
I frown. He’s not holding anything. Still, after another surreptitious glance over my shoulder, I open my palm. The scent of magic weaves through the air, low and soft.
Magic hits my open hand. I gasp, and my horse shivers. My fingers close around the tight little knot of magic as a ripple of fear moves through my body.
It’s portal magic. I know even before I’ve absorbed it. It’s the kind of magic Phaedron opened in my bedroom, the magic I used in the old god’s prison. But it’s not exactly the same. This magic doesn’t burn like those portals. It doesn’t feel angry or volatile. It feels strangely permanent.
I turn toward Rowan slowly. The air in the narrow canyon feels colder. I pull his strange magic into my body and try to use it to generate warmth. It doesn’t work, or at least it doesn’t work very well. Rowan’s strange portal magic seems resistant to being shaped into anything else.
“You get that?” Rowan whispers. His missing eye makes it look like he’s winking at me.
I nod. Rowan turns away, then back toward me.
“You think you could—”
He hesitates. A snatch of conversation from the men ahead of us drifts back to me, something aboutthose fuckers.
“Think you could help me?” Rowan says, his voice low and urgent. “With that?”
I suck in a breath, then shift in my saddle. Stars above, it’s been a long time since I’ve ridden a horse. I glance over my shoulder, toward the flash of the little stream we’re following as it weaves in and out of a tangle of willow bushes. Rowan’s gaze feels like a stone held against my back.
So he wants to open a portal. Of course. He wants to go back to his home and take his brother with him. I bite my lip as a gust of cold wind swirls around us.
“Yes,” I whisper, once the wind moves past us.
Rowan nods. The chain wrapped around his chest rattles.
“Good,” he says, with a strange little twist to his lips. “I’ve got someone I gotta get back to.”
He’s talking about Arryn. Sweet, docile Lady Arryn Damoira from the court where I spent most of my life as a captive, the merchant’s daughter who was favored to marry Prince Folwynn. Some part of me still has trouble reconciling that woman with the woman I found in the Lands Below, the one who said she’d done heart magic with Phaedron’s brother. But here he is, Phaedron’s brother Rowan, wielding a kind of magic I’ve never even heard of. And saying he has to get back to someone.
“I know,” I answer.
Our eyes meet. He grins. I turn away; something about the sweetness of that smile makes my chest pinch. The air fills once again with the thud of hooves and drifting snatches of conversations that seem to be mostly a string of curse words. The road twists, and the soldiers spread out further. They’d never ride so far apart if they were King Grathgore’s army escorting his magicians. Wherever we are, it must not be very dangerous. I edge my horse closer to Rowan’s and turn toward him.
“When?” I whisper.
Rowan shrugs, making his chains hiss. My teeth sink into my lower lip. I can’t be much help if I have no idea what to expect. Then again, I can’t be much help if Phaedron’s father throws his sleep magic at me again. Frustration simmers inside my chest and bites at the back of my throat.
“Where are we going?” I whisper, the words tumbling out in a rush. “What does he want with us? Where’s the dragon? Why aren’t we dead yet?”
I slam my mouth closed, then lift my gaze. Phaedron’s father rides in the front, surrounded by several rows of horsemen. Magic bristles all around him, hot and angry. Phaedron’s horse is roped to his father’s now, although I’m too far away to tell if it’s magic or sheer stubborn force of will keeping Phaedron in his saddle. I turn away.
I don’t dare look at Phaedron, or at Rowan. Instead, I weave my fingers in and out of the mare’s dark mane. It’s matted and thick with burrs. Poor old thing. We ride in silence as the moon sets and the canyon widens into a sparse pine forest. When the wind gusts down from the mountains, it brings the scent of smoke.
“He doesn’t want you,” Rowan finally whispers.
I turn, surprised by the sound of his voice. Rowan slumps in his saddle, with only the thick bands of magic holding him up.
“You and Phae,” Rowan continues, under his breath. “You’re just a way to force me to do what he wants.”
I swallow around the thick knot in the back of my throat. “What—” I begin.
Rowan shakes his head. His chains click softly.
“It’s my fault,” he whispers. “He said he wanted to show me something. Teach me how to do something new. I never should have agreed.”
