Chapter 2

  “Two minutes between patrols. First gap—move. Ready?” he forced a breath into his lungs. Calira stirred in his pack, warm. Tessa rumbled. Nymeira settled around Amalia’s throat.

  River’s command over light had hardened, each cast like a muscle flexing; leaner, sharper. Yet it still hadn’t caught up to his other affinities. His status as a primordial only gave him access to all affinities, not mastery over them.

  He cast a veil. Light wasn’t his best, but practice steadied it. The spell shivered over their skin, bending light and thinning sound, and they slipped forward unseen. The ward carved into the wall clicked. Recognition prickled—faint static brushed his skin. It hadn’t last time. What had changed?

  Albert’s vines glowed a soft green. Albert’s essence forced them upwards, tendrils gripping the crumbling stone. The ground dropped away. River’s stomach lurched. He trusted Albert, but dangling in slick vines off an ancient wall felt like trusting a wet rope.

  He caught the lip and rolled over. Glare cut through; the veil thinned but it held. A prick of cold but his wrist where the spell had formed. He kept still, then crept onward. Be more careful, he told himself. Next time someone would be watching.

  They crouched atop the wall, orienting. Below the world swam in a haze; the veil smeared anything beyond a few paces.

  “I can’t see the bottom,” he whispered. “Where do we go down?”

  “Anywhere that isn’t here,” Amalia murmured. “We can’t stay. The guards will be back.”

  Right. He’d let himself forget the patrols that worked this parapet. He pointed to the far side, and Amalia and Albert nodded, already reading his plan. He didn’t want to lean on the vines again, but using multiple affinities now might snap the veil, and the spell couldn’t falter now. They stepped to the edge. Vines curled around their waists, snug as harnesses.

  Albert went first, stepping into the shimmering blur and vanishing. Amalia followed.

  River lingered. Instinct clawed at him, telling him to call out, to make sure they were safe. They’d drilled it at school: distance frayed control. Past twenty paces, River’s grip wavered. His magic tugged at the veil, stretching it thinner. At the edge of his range, it gave. The cold needled his mind. With a shallow breath, he jumped.

  For a sick second, it felt wrong. The vines jerked; the descent pitched too fast. Panic rose. Then the tendrils lengthened, flexed, and the fall eased into a steady glide. His heartbeat slowed. Below, Amalia and Albert resolved within the shimmer. The magic in his mind, jittery a moment ago, settled, pliant once more.

  He reached back to touch Calira. Warm feathers. A soft chirp. The tightness in his chest loosened.

  Vines flexed; earth rose to meet him. Footsteps.

  He lifted a hand, and froze.

  Two soldiers rounded the corner. Plain steel, wards etched along their bracers—guards of some kind. In the haze, River couldn’t make out more. They passed within a few paces of where the three of them stood, veiled. The nearer soldier tilted his head, as if catching a scent, but his gaze slid on. Boots whispered across gravel, then faded.

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  Only when the sound died did River breathe. Amalia stroked Nymeira’s small head. Albert blinked, jaw tight, then gave River a terse thanks.

  For now, they were safe.

  They pushed on to put the wall and guards behind them. With distance, River’s confidence crept up—and with it the slackness that always followed. The illusion thinned. His reserves scraped low; cold needled his fingers and toes, a dull ache spreading inward. He flexed his hands and got almost nothing back. It would pass, he told himself. They’d made it.

  A voice tore the sky. Air thickened. Clouds twisted inward as if obeying.

  “Amalia. Young lady, stop. Right there.”

  The sound rolled like thunder. River’s teeth buzzed. The command cracked through the mist and through him. He looked to Amalia.

  She’d gone pale, eyes wide. Then her shoulders sank, and she lowered her head as if bracing for a blow. “Drop the illusion?” she asked, barely audible.

  Every part of him said hold. But anyone who could bend the sky would pluck them out of a veil like weeds. River exhaled and let the spell go. Sound and color slammed back: the rasp of leaves, birdcalls, the sting of cold air. A high hiss threaded the rush of noise; he blinked until it thinned. The cold of essence use washed over him, clinging to him like honey.

  A man stood before him—broad-shouldered, thick beard salted with gray. Late forties, maybe fifty. Strength in how he stood, command in how he held the space. And the resemblance: the same blade-bright eyes as Amalia’s, the nose and cheekbones in sharper, older lines. The resemblance carried even in the stillness.

  Amalia didn’t look up. She moved toward him, steps dragging, as if unsure what emotion would come out if she let one loose.

  At arm’s reach, she stopped. “Hello, Dad,” she said, flat.

  He hadn’t needed the word. This was her father.

  He set both hands over his stomach and laughed—big and booming. The sound shouldering the air. “Is that how you greet your old man?”

  Amalia opened her mouth, closed it again. Silence settled. His gaze shifted at last to River and Albert—and to the small bonded nestled close to their humans. It snagged on Nymeira, the blue dragon looped at Amalia’s throat.

  For a breath, his face froze. Uncertainty flickered, then vanished. He stepped forward, hand out.

  “I’m William. Amalia’s father, if you hadn’t guessed.”

  River, still keyed tight, took the grip. Calloused palm, fighter’s strength. “River. Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “Please,” William said with a short wave, “just William.”

  River glanced at Albert. The other boy stood rooted, fist clenched, eyes fixed on William. River tilted his chin toward him. “That’s Albert. He’s…in shock.”

  William continued forward, unbothered. “Follow me. Let’s get you fed. We’ll talk on the way.”

  No one argued. They fell in behind him. Fifteen soldiers flowed around them like a tide, erasing whatever chance they’d had. Even if this had been the plan, the way it unfolded unsettled River. A gravel road opened to a waiting caravan of five carriages. The central one was larger, more ornate: dark-stained oak, soft sheen, carvings of curling vines and interlocked runes, a family crest etched on the door. William climbed in and gestured them to follow.

  Inside, a polished table divided two long benches. River, Amalia, and Albert sat together; William took the other side, posture straight, filling the space.

  He peeled off his gloves without breaking eye contact. “Food. Now.” He said.

  A soldier opened the door moments later with a wrapped bundle. William took it, set it on the table.

  “Eat,” he said, voice still iron.

  Amalia unwrapped the bundle, splitting portions for River and Albert. “Head back,” William barked, and the carriage wheeled around, gravel crunching. His gaze sharpened as it traced their faces, then settled on the bonded dozing at their sides.

  He pointed. “We have a few things to discuss.”

  Calira hopped from River’s bag into his hands, feathers hot as embers. He felt her uncertainty prickled. He cupped her closer.

  “Tell me enough to trust you,” William said. His eyes locked on Amalia, heat rising behind them. “Or I’ll see you all behind bars. That includes you.”

  This wouldn’t be easy. They needed to give just enough truth to hold the line—and keep the rest buried. Some things had to stay secret.