Veil of Shadows (21 page)

“Nobody else here is crazy enough to do it,” Elina said, shrugging.

“Agreed.” He slanted his gaze to Xan. “I’m trying to decide if it’s even worth the hassle of addressing the fact that you disobeyed a direct order.”

Xan gave him a small nod. “Perhaps if it makes it easier, I do not recall being told that when one was confined to quarters, it also meant that they could have no company.”

Kalen stared at him. “You truly think I’m going to buy that line?”

“Whether you buy it or not, it doesn’t change the fact that never once has anybody told me that when one of us are confined to quarters, I’m not allowed to enter those quarters.” Xan looked unconcerned.

“Captain, did you fail to discuss this with your soldier?”

Syn pretended to think. “Perhaps not in those direct terms. I think I said something along the lines that you’d have his ass if you knew he was violating the confinement order. He was a bit distracted at the time—seeing as how he’d come to tear a few more strips off my hide. Perhaps he didn’t make the connection.”

“Not buying it,” he muttered, under his breath. Then he blew out a heavy sigh and said, “Fuck it. Xan, you’ve lost your off-duty day for the next week. For the next ten days, you’re picking up two hours of extra duty each day, to be carried out in the stables. Consider that your punishment, although if I get pissed off, I may just assign you to work with Saurell, one on one, for the next month.”

Syn had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. She shouldn’t have bothered. Kalen saw the look in her eyes, and he laughed. “That idea bother you, Captain? Maybe I should do it just for the hell of it.”

Syn said nothing. Kalen had enough of a mean streak in him to do just that.

He waited, watching her with a grin, until Syn looked away.

Shoving out of his chair, the commander made his way to the dented metal carafe resting on the hot plate in their small cooking area. Most of the dormers didn’t have one. The soldiers tended to share their meals in one of the communal dining areas. He eyed the carafe and glanced at his wife. “You drank it all already.”

“I needed the caffeine,” she said dryly. “I had trouble sleeping.”

He reached into the shelf overhead and grabbed the bag of kava beans they used for brewing kion. “Yes, I know. I keep hearing you yell about me. Damn near all fucking night.” He rubbed his temple, a dark glare on his face. “It’s damned annoying when a psychic can’t rely on his psychic shields for some peace inside his mind.”

“Yes . . . it’s damned annoying not being able to rely on one’s gifts,” Lee said with a syrupy smile. “However do you cope?”

He ignored the comment as he added some water and got the kion to brewing. It wasn’t long before the rich, heavy scent filled the air. Syn was glad his mood seemed a little less stormy, because she badly needed a cup of that kion.

“I will be honest. Your rather loud thoughts weren’t the only ones filling my head last night.”

“Really?” Lee looked puzzled.

Curious, Syn studied him. “You usually have no trouble blocking voices out of your head, Kalen. You’re a talented receiver, and you figured out a long time ago how to keep from catching unnecessary thoughts.”

“True. But there are a few specific individuals who have always managed to establish a connection with me when they needed it—whether I want it or not.”

Syn couldn’t help it. A grin curled her lips. To her knowledge, that described only a handful of people. He
could
hear anybody, but these few were people he trusted, people he respected. He wouldn’t cut off communication with them for anything short of life or death.

Other than herself and Bron, she could only think of a few people who fit that list. Syn hadn’t contacted him, and somehow, she doubted the other captain had.

One of those other people was dead. It had been Eira—Elina’s grandmother, the woman who had had a hand in training nearly every witch who had served under Kalen’s command.

His wife was another. Their connection was one born of the bond between them.

The only person left, that Syn could think of, was Morne.

“So . . . who was this other person?” she asked.

Absently, she noticed Elina sitting up straighter, saw something flash through her green eyes.

Kalen smirked. “That’s not really of any importance.” He poured himself a cup of kion and then settled behind his desk. Pinning Elina with a flat stare, he said, “Okay, witch. You have my attention—explain to me
exactly
what you were trying to do, and why in the hell I should allow it.”

The encounter with the unknown Warlord had thrown Morne too far off Dais’s trail. Skittish now, and justifiably paranoid, the traitor wasn’t operating with any sort of logic Morne could understand.

He was moving deeper into demon-thick territory, the huge expanses of land Kalen’s army currently fought to free from Anqar’s demon hordes.

It was damn foolish. There had been more than a few times when Morne had brushed far closer to death than he liked.

Death wasn’t necessarily unappealing to him, but he’d rather not go down under a mess of Jorniak bodies.

But despite the danger, every step Dais took led him, and Morne, deeper into their midst. Too often he came across stands of trees that had been scorched by the presence of the fiery Ickado demons, or land all but sapped of life—both plant and animal, the lingering trace left behind by Raviners. The worst were the half-eaten carcasses—humanoid, demon, animal, anything foolish enough to get too close to a Jorniak.

With bile churning in his gut, he crouched down beside one small body. Malnourished, thin. Young . . . possibly even a child. It was hard to tell, but Morne suspected the girl might have already been dead before the demon took her. Jorniaks were eating machines—living, dead, it mattered not to them.

It wasn’t much comfort, though.

He wished he could bury her. But he had no tools, and as much as it hurt his heart to leave her there, the pragmatic side of him knew she was beyond caring now. Beyond his reach.

Dais, on the other hand, wasn’t.

Dais had to be his priority, especially if he was trying to align himself with Warlords once more. The man knew too much, had too much knowledge of this world, of Kalen, Lee, the camp. All of it. Too dangerous.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly before straightening and scanning the forest, searching for some visual sign that might clue him in on Dais’s direction.

There was nothing. Nothing in the forest to whisper, no physical signs that he could see. Nothing.

Bitter, he muttered, “Did you expect anything else?”

Dais had put his time to good use, getting far, very far, away from the camp, from Morne, diving deep into territory where only the foolish and the desperate would dare follow.

Morne wondered what that made him—a fool? Desperate? Both?

Likely both.

He strode away from the girl’s body, leaving the path and taking to the cover of the trees. He listened, ears pricked, for any slight sound that might betray the presence of another.

There was nothing, not even the sound of the wind blowing overhead.

The air was heavy, thick. Rain was moving in. He needed to get closer to Dais before a storm came in. A heavy storm would wipe out any sign of Dais’s presence and right now, Morne needed all the help he could get.

Flexing his hands, he knelt in the undergrowth, brushing aside the vegetation that grew in thick, heavy clumps. Something swarmed near his ear, settled on his neck. He ignored it as he knelt in the dirt. Laying his hands on the ground, he reached out. Searched.

He had to fight past the taint of the presence of the demons left, had to fight to remain steady in the heavy swirl of power.

Lee would say, “You’re searching for a needle in a haystack.”

She would be right.

Lee, Elina and Syn took up the center of the room, seated on the hard ground with their legs crossed.

Elina’s face was serene.

Lee’s face was a flat, hard mask, concealing the nerves Syn knew jumped inside her.

Syn did her best to look bored, unconcerned.

It couldn’t be farther from the truth.

They weren’t alone this time, and they weren’t in a small shelter outside the camp’s walls. Kalen, Bron and Xan waited with them, each of them in charge of one witch. Kalen had lowered his shields and he was in direct psychic contact with all three of them, but he was specifically focused on Lee.

If one thing went wrong, all three of the witches would feel it and Kalen would end this.

They wouldn’t get another chance, either, Syn suspected.

They were in Elina’s quarters, the old dormer her grandmother Eira had called home for decades.

It was the most secure place they had.

Eira had trained untold witches here, and even months after her death, the protections she’d laid within the earth still held. Waiting and ready. Just walking into the dormer set Syn’s skin to buzzing. It was torture, feeling the warm kiss of magic but not being able to reach for it.

Not for much longer,
she told herself. She wouldn’t even let herself consider that this might fail.

Failure simply wasn’t an option.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she rested her palms on her thighs and looked at Elina. “I’m ready.”

Lee gave a curt nod.

“Relax,” Elina murmured as she reached out and linked their hands. “Everything will be fine.”

Syn wished she had even half as much confidence as Elina had. From the corner of her eye, she saw Xan, watching her with that heavy, intense gaze, as though she was the only one around for miles. He caught her glance and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a faint smile.

Oddly enough, the butterflies in her belly eased and she found herself looking at Elina with anticipation. “Let’s do this.”

Syn could remember the first time she’d actually tapped into the earth, reaching for the energy.

She’d been four, and under her mother’s strict, careful hand, she’d hesitantly reached for the magic and then utterly freaked when it reached back. She’d felt it, sensed it, and in her mind’s eye, she’d seen it—welcoming hands, reaching for her, drawing her close.

Terrified, she’d jerked away and her mother had been waiting, there to steady her, there to comfort and reassure her.

As Elina made the first connection, Syn fought to control the fear inside her as once more, the magic reached for her. There was no welcome, though. Just hunger. A thirst for more.

Panic flared inside but she tamped it down. She couldn’t be afraid, couldn’t give in. Had to be in control.

Elina made the link and then turned to Syn. Lee was the stronger witch, but they were all still leery about drawing Lee in until they knew it was safe. Or rather—until they knew they could use the magic to protect the camp if the need arose.

Adrenaline pulsed, sizzled inside her veins as she caught Elina’s exploratory grasp and linked. A gasp fell from her lips and then she was drowning, swirling in the ebb and flow of energy.

It was hot. Wild. Unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Always before the energy had been a peaceful well—now it was hot, edgy . . . almost erotically so. Under her tunic, she felt her nipples swell as her breath caught in her throat. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she forced her eyes open, staring at Elina—it was like looking at one scene laid over another. Her physical eyes saw Elina, sitting just a few feet away with her legs crossed, her hand linked with Syn’s. Her golden skin was tinged a light pink and Syn could see the hot light burning in Elina’s gaze, one that she was certain was echoed in her own.

With her inner eyes, she saw Elina, standing in a vast, open space, neither night nor day, surrounded by a torrent of power. A silvery glow, edged with veins of purple and pink, the power pulsed and ebbed, swirled and spun, wrapping around them. Elina’s hair drifted around her face, the strands all but crackling with the echo of energy, and her eyes seemed to glow.