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The sensations fall away, leaving me gasping. My eyes pop open of their own accord, but I can’t make out the daimon in the dimming light around me.
“What was that?” I whisper. “What are they doing to you?”
Either the spirit-creatures can’t answer me or they’re reluctant to. Or they’ve fled completely at the signs of an impending interruption.
Voices are carrying up the stairs, along with the distant rasp of footsteps. My heart skips a beat.
I’m not doing anything wrong, but I’d rather not have to answer to a devout—or worse, a cleric. And if it’s anyone with ties to the scourge sorcerers, they’ll wonder why I of all people would be attempting to appease the daimon.
Not for the first time, I’m grateful for my scrawny frame. I tug the plate off to the side of the alcove where it’ll be less noticeable and then tuck myself between the wall and one of the columns. There’s just enough room for me to pull all the way back into the shadows beyond the nearest window.
I can’t see much other than the alcove now, but there is a narrow gap between the column and the wall that gives me a view of the stairs. I peer through it, waiting to see who’s bothering to climb the tower this late in the day.
A member of the Crown’s Watch appears first, making me even more grateful that I decided to slip out of view. Then my gaze catches on the ornate silk robes of the figures following him.
There’s Hessild, the royal family’s lead magical advisor, looking as poised and polished as when I saw her during Sabrellia. Next to her treads the unnervingly lopsided man who’s a secondary advisor—Lothar, Stavros said his name is. Along with warning me of the man’s hatred of the riven.
The third advisor, Tinom, strides along behind them, a little faster to keep up with his shorter stature.
They’re in the middle of a conversation. Lothar sighs as he passes my column. “I simply feel it’s questionable to put just as much money and energy into celebrating a woman who isn’t even Silanian as we do honoring the godlen.”
Hessild tsks her tongue. “Signy is an important figure to the people—a symbol of our freedom from our former conquerors. If we had a hero from Silana who’d made anywhere near as much impact, I’m sure—”
She goes on, but my mind stops processing her words when I see who’s following behind the three advisors.
There’s no mistaking the chocolate-brown curls or elegant features of the guard who’s taken to badgering me. As he passes by, bringing up the rear of the procession, a trace of the magic he always seems to be emitting pricks at my skin.
I go even more still, holding my breath.
The advisors proceed on up the next flight of stairs without a glance into the alcove, still debating the merits of the festival for Signy that’s happening in a couple of weeks. The guard pauses at the base of the steps and turns toward the alcove.
I can only see a sliver of his pale face—only one of those unsettlingly bright blue-green eyes—but I can tell he’s noted the offering plate. He cocks his head.
His gaze skims the alcove and comes to rest on the shadowy nook where I’ve tucked myself.
My heart thumps faster. My magic twitches in my chest, eager to thicken the shadows and ensure he doesn’t see me.
But does it really matter if he does? Is he going to arrest me for skulking in the tower? There aren’t any laws against that.
It’s certainly not worth risking whatever magical backlash I’d cause.
His mouth twitches with what might be… a hint of a smile? Before I can decide what to make of that, Tinom calls down to him. “Everything all right, guard?”
The guard whips around and hustles up the steps. “Yes. My apologies for falling behind.”
I wait in my hiding spot until I’m sure the tower’s other visitors are well out of hearing. Then I ease out and crouch by my offering again.
Any serenity I’d cultivated has scattered with my thoughts. I take a few deep breaths and try to return to my meditative state, but I’m too aware of the possibility that I could be interrupted again.
No more images waver through my mind. No tingles of magic pass over my skin. The daimon might have wandered off anyway.
I leave the plate behind in case they decide they do want a snack, however exactly ephemeral beings who don’t have mouths or stomachs would consume noble appetizers, and dart down the steps the way I came. I’d prefer to be gone before the advisors make the same trek.
As I hurry back to the college, I contemplate what the spirit-creatures did convey to me. It seems as if the scourge sorcerers have continued meddling with the daimon, just in some new way that has different effects.
They’re being trapped or caged somehow? In a place with fire?
Maybe the conspirators are gathering a whole bunch of them to unleash on the city all at once? If they can control a whole horde simultaneously.
