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Ten thousand years had drained him of his subtlety. I swallowed the thickness at my throat. “I don’t need help with that.”
Feron’s eyes fell on me like a blacksmith’s hammer. “Is there anything you do need help with?”
The fears in my gut bubbled forward. I glanced at his gold ring with the large green stone. Feron had told me of its glamour, the magic that kept others from seeing anything they might use against the wearer. If Rheih managed to find an elixir to stop the dreams, I would have to test it. I would have to make myself vulnerable enough to risk seeing Damien again. The scars on my skin prickled. Those were only some of the secrets I didn’t want Damien to see. I had to protect everyone who was risking their lives to unlock the seals. I didn’t need Damien glimpsing something he shouldn’t if I found myself asleep and unprotected again.
Feron didn’t need me to ask the question. He merely slipped the gold ring off his finger and handed it to me. “Do I get to know what you need it for?”
I blinked at the ring in my palm. “You don’t need it?” I asked, evading the question. “But what about the glamour?”
Feron shrugged. “There are very few Elverin who have not yet broken through the enchantment and of those who will be shocked, I do not think they pose a threat.” Feron closed my fingers around the ring. “I wear it to protect it, Keera. It is a dangerous object if left in the wrong hands.”
I clenched my jaw. “I will not lose it.”
“I know.” Feron smiled. “And I am proud you asked.”
I sighed and pulled the ring onto my middle finger. Until I had a way to completely sever the connection Damien had with my mind, I wouldn’t take it off.
“Can a mindwalker only use memories? Or can they control the mind in other ways?” I bit my lip, nervous my question had given away too much.
Feron went completely still. It was a long moment before he answered. “Most mindwalkers can only sense the emotional state of others.”
I tilted my head. “But you accessed my memories and showed me and Riven yours.”
“Yes,” Feron said more slowly than usual, “But only with the compliance of the mind’s host.”
“So a mindwalker couldn’t do anything more than that?”
Feron’s lips fell to a straight line. “If such magic was possible, it would only be done by a very powerful wielder.”
My shoulders tensed. How powerful had Damien made himself with his experiment?
Feron’s purple eyes narrowed. “A person only has as much power over our minds as we allow, Keera.”
I leaned back in my seat and let those words sink in. I rubbed the golden ring with my thumb. I had already given Damien so much power over me. It was time I took some of it back.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
WE FOLLOWED THE TRAILalong the Dark Wood to the north side of the lake before heading to the western shores of the Faeland. Nikolai and Vrail chatted freely in the middle of our small group as Syrra and Gerarda bookended the line, never speaking but slowly sweeping the trail as if Damien’s armies were about to ambush us.
Riven and I didn’t speak, but rode side by side wherever the trail allowed. There was an edge to the air we shared that reminded me of those first weeks out of Aralinth. I could feel Riven watching me, knowing there was something I wasn’t telling him.
I smelled the sea before I saw it. The brine sat heavy on the air with no breeze to cast it through the tree trunks that were beginning to thin. I waved my hand and a steady gust blew from behind us as we crested over the last hill. Even though it had only been afew weeks of training, the small use of my wind gift felt as natural as walking.
Riven’s shadows wafted in the breeze. A proud smile flickered on his face.
“You’re a marvel,diizra.” Riven pulled on his reins, slowing our pace. “You’re learning control faster than anyone I’ve ever heard of. Feron is impressed.”
I sighed and let the compliment fall onto the ground between us. “Not fast enough.”
Riven’s brow softened and a thin shadow gently caressed my cheek. “I wish I could share some of the burden your mother left for you to carry. Butwhateverhappens, the outcome of this war doesn’t fall just on you, Keera. Seals or no seals.”
Whatever I would have said to Riven evaporated from my tongue. The forest had given way to a sandy beach. The grains were not white like they were in Koratha or even black like the pebbled beaches of Volcar. The entire beach was the color of a sunset with streaks of coral and lilac that had blended from the waves of high tide.
Syrra reached the sand first and dismounted from her saddle. I expected her to untie her saddlebags, but she knelt and tore at the laces of her boots. She peeled off her gray socks and guided her horse on bare feet.
I turned to Riven, who was smiling widely. “Look,” he whispered, and nodded to where Syrra had left footprints in the sand.
Only in the places she had stepped, the grains of sand had transformed into a deep, burnt crimson. It reminded me of a trail fire burning low in the late hours of the night, still hot enough to burn a forest to the ground, but content in knowing how long it had flamed.
