He should probably say thank you.

Why were some words so exceedingly hard to produce? Sephone’s act of bravery had saved them from a fate more terrible than he could contemplate. If Ignis had succeeded in capturing her and taken her to Draven—

He shook his head. He’d seen the exhaustion that had stolen over her after she’d expended her gift on the ignis—how she could barely stand. Cass must have noticed it, too, for he had practically lifted her into his saddle, and now she slept soundly, her head lolling against his shoulder. He remembered how deeply she had slept the morning they left Nulla in the carriage.

“My lord,” came a voice from behind him, and he turned away from Sephone to Bas. “I would speak with you.”

The forest trail was wide enough for them to ride two abreast, so he dropped back beside his bodyguard. “What is it, Bas? Is Bear feeling worse?”

Bas’s brother rode ahead of them. The giant was half-slumped over his pommel, his broad shoulders curled inward as if he might fall asleep at any moment. Bas’s face darkened. “Nay, my lord. He feels very little. And therein lies the problem.”

Dorian knew exactly where this was going. “Your brother has a painful injury, Bas, and many miles ahead of him. He needs whatever respite Sephone can give him.”

The same, of course, could be said for himself, but he thought better of mentioning it. He didn’t think Bas had witnessed his disagreement with Sephone earlier, but if Cass had overheard them, perhaps—

Bas’s scowl deepened. “And when he wakes, what will remain of the brother I knew?”

Dorian’s stomach roiled. “You heard our argument.”

“The girl said it herself. You wouldn’t be the same man if she performed the procedure on you. She might even rob you of your gift.”

Trust Bas to take things out of context. The man already feared and distrusted Sephone—now things would be impossible between them. “Sephone was merely advising me of the risks, Bas. All the gifts have side effects.”

“Even yours?”

He stilled. What were the unintended consequences of his gift? It was temporary, to be sure. But then, most of the gifts were. Sephone could suppress a memory, but it would eventually reappear—sometimes vengefully, the way a buoyant object held underwater shoots to the surface once it is released. Cass could share sorrow, but it was only a temporary fix . . . a momentary respite. Even courage did not last forever.

And then he remembered Emmy. His beautiful, precious daughter. An emerging mem whom his gift had stirred to impossible boldness. Dangerous boldness. For, in the end, it was his gift that had prompted her to come after him. His gift that had gotten her killed . . .

He shook his head, mentally swiping at the cobwebs which had once again ensnared him. Mulling over the past was a fruitless venture. And besides, if he had his way, it would soon be forgotten.

“Aye,” was all he said in reply to Bas’s question, “even mine.”

“It is not the same thing, my lord. That woman, she is dangerous—”

“What I asked Sephone to do was different than what she did for Bear. And besides, Bas, it was done with your brother’s consent. He will be himself again soon enough. You worry for naught.”

“I worry for you, my lord,” Bas replied. “She is little more than a girl, and she brought down an ignis in seconds. An ignis, my lord! He could have killed us all.”

“A fact which should draw your gratitude, Bas, not your censure. It was concern for our safety which prompted her to use her powers. Surely you can see that. I have my staff; you have your fists and your knives; she has her gift. It is the only weapon she has.”

“And if she decides to use her kiss of death on one of us?”

“Sephone would do naught without permission.” Dorian frowned. “Have you no sense of her at all, man? She is more afraid of her gift than you are.”

Bas’s scowl softened, but only slightly. Dorian quenched his rising temper. Hadn’t Bas seen how shaken she was after she’d subdued the ignis? How she had hung back as they’d ventured out of the cave after the storm had ended, staring at the bound man? He wondered what she’d seen in his mind.

Dorian drew his horse to a halt and lowered his voice. “Sephone’s only thought was to ease your brother’s pain.”

Never mind that she hadn’t seen fit to ease his.

Bas reined in his horse alongside him; a substantial gap now stretched between them and the others.

“I told you before, Bas. This is my quest, and my quest alone. If you no longer have confidence in my leadership or my judgment, then you are free to return to Maera. Bear, too.”

Bas’s mouth twisted. “You doubt our loyalty?”

“This is not about loyalty. Danger awaits us at every turn, pursues us with inhuman speed and uncanny foreknowledge. If we cannot trust one another, we will not survive for long. I trust Sephone, and that is good enough for Bear. You must decide if it is good enough for you.”

“I once pledged you my allegiance,” said Bas stiffly. “I told you I would die for you, without hesitation.”

He referred, of course, to the debt he believed he owed Dorian.

“That account is settled, Bas. It has long been settled. As I told you before, you are a free man. Free to choose your own path. Even if it diverges from mine.”

Bas said naught for several long moments. Then his mouth firmed. “I will stay. If only to protect you from your own foolishness.” He spurred his horse to join the others.

Another lord would have punished him for such an insubordinate comment, but Dorian let it go, knowing the man’s painful history. In time, he would soften enough to see Sephone for who she really was.

They halted for the night in another cave, smaller than the one where they’d left the ignis. It was a mercy they’d found shelter at all, for the snow was nearly two feet thick in places, and the slight breeze had become a bitter wind.

By the time Dorian and Cass returned from settling the horses, Bas had somehow gotten a fire going. Sephone was kneeling beside Bear—who had largely regained consciousness—as she gingerly unwrapped his bandaged shoulder. The giant groaned as he leaned against the cave wall. Jewel lay beside them looking uncharacteristically subdued.

“Well,” Sephone said, a little too brightly, “it looks to be healing already.”

Black ribbons drifted unhelpfully between her and Cass, who glowered at the floor as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Dorian crouched beside Sephone. “I’ll handle this. You’re exhausted.”

“So are you.” She didn’t move aside.

Was it his gift that made his employees endlessly defy him, or was he too soft? Still, he let her do as she wished, watching as she cleaned Bear’s wound with melted snow, packed it with healing herbs, and deftly re-bandaged it, all without her skin ever coming into contact with Bear’s.

“You’ve done this before,” he said once she had finished.

She moved to the fire, away from Bear, Jewel, and the others, and he followed. She gazed into the flames. “I used to patch up Regis whenever Cutter was in a bad mood.”

“Regis? Your friend?”

She nodded. “In the early days, he often defied Cutter, sometimes over the smallest things. He was angry about the circumstances of his indenture. He hated Cutter to the point of bitterness, but he also despised the system which had enslaved him and his brothers for the wrongdoing of their father. When it came to politics and rebellion, he was ever starting fires he was incapable of sustaining . . . or putting out.”

“He sounds like quite the idealist.”

“Aye, but only in the beginning. Later on, he became disillusioned; almost cynical. He poured every free thought, every ounce of energy into planning an escape from his torment. And planning how to free others like him.”

With that, at least, Dorian could sympathize. This Regis sounded like the younger version of himself. And the older version, if he was honest. “It sounds as if he wanted to change the world.”

She looked at him. “We both wanted to change the world. Just in different ways.”

He recalled Cutter’s taunt the night the merchant attempted to kidnap Sephone a second time. Regis’s rejection too much for you to handle all those years ago?

“Did you stay because you loved him?”

She flinched. It was unfair—two pointy questions disguised as one sharp barb. And both painfully personal. He was as bad as Cass.

“I did love Reg once,” she admitted, “but I was only a child at the time. It was more childish adoration than true love. It has been many years since I thought of him that way. But he is dear to me all the same.”

“And you stayed,” he observed, “because you couldn’t leave him behind.”

“As I said before, I could have never made it through the seam on my own. But aye, I wouldn’t have left without him, not if it meant he would suffer Cutter’s wrath in my place. I would have begged you to take him with us.”

Even Bas could find something to admire about her loyalty. “If it helps, Sephone, I would have agreed.”

She attempted a smile, but her shoulders wilted, ruining the effect. “I hate to think of him suffering under yet another tyrannical master.”

“When this is all over, I’ll do everything in my power to find him.”

“Another of your promises?” She now smiled faintly.

If only she knew there were more of those than she was aware. But for him to share his promise to free her, she would first have to know that she belonged to him. And he would not confess that for anything.

“Aye,” he said at last. “And I keep my promises.”

“Regis would like you.”

“From all you’ve told me, I believe the feeling would be mutual.” If the lad’s political aptitude proved as abundant a resource as his zeal, Dorian might even take him on as an apprentice. The world needed more men unwilling to consort with the darkness.

“Thank you,” he added after a lengthy pause, “for what you did for us back there. Though I will not say it wasn’t foolish.”

“I can handle myself, Dorian. I grew up in Nulla, remember? You might have trusted me.”

So much for his admonishment of Bas. “The ignis could have killed you.”

“A fact of little consequence when I am already dying.”

He glanced at her shirt, which was laced nearly to her throat. “Has the webbing spread?”

“Nay, not yet.”

He let out a breath. “Then we still have time. We’ll find Silvertongue and learn the whereabouts of the Reliquary.” He hesitated. “Did you see anything . . . in the ignis’s mind?”

“Nay. It all happened too fast. I caught only flashes. But Dorian”—she hesitated—“it may be that he is as much a prisoner as I was.”

“A prisoner?”

“I cannot say for sure. It was only an impression. I’m guessing that Lord Draven holds something over him. Something he cannot afford to lose.”

“A woman, perhaps? A wife?”

“I don’t know. I am sorry.”

If she was right, Dorian was glad he hadn’t killed the young man, though every instinct had urged him to dispose of such a powerful enemy.

War reveals the unlikeliest of allies, his father had once told him.

And the most unexpected of foes, Dorian had learned to add.

Cass materialized on the other side of Sephone, his customary grin not quite escaping the taint of his hangover. Which was the lumen? An unlikely ally or an unexpected foe?

Cass rubbed his hands together as he gazed into the flames. “This fire almost seems a bit ordinary after last night’s display.”

Remembering his advice to Bas, Dorian forced himself to consider that Cass, too, was running away from those who sought only to use him. It wasn’t enough to trust him . . . not yet. But it was a beginning. He owed the lumen that much.

“It also seems that we are short a couple of bedrolls—” Cass glanced at Sephone.

“You can have mine,” Dorian interrupted. “The cave floor is sandy enough to sleep on directly.” Never mind that the sand was probably half-frozen.

Cass was not deterred. “It will be cold tonight.”

“There are extra blankets in the saddlebags. Sephone, you can sleep between the fire and Jewel.” He hoped she would be warm enough. But he’d give her the shirt from his own back before he allowed Cass to lend her his body heat.

Perhaps Sephone would mourn me . . . Cass’s comment, back at the cavern.

Dorian’s scowl nearly rivaled Bas’s as he spun away to check on Bear.

Perhaps he didn’t owe the lumen anything at all.