“And to claim such a handmaiden lends you power.” He had made no secret of needing her to reclaim his place in his clan. Obviously, these agacins lent status to those with whom they were aligned. “They won’t care that you took me captive?”
His horse paced in front of hers, uneasy before the Veil, even at this distance. Azarion shook his head, and his mouth quirked a little more. “My people will see it as a rescue. I freed us both from the Empire’s grip.”
Gilene frowned. “Convenient. No wonder you’ve sworn not to hurt me.” She knew nothing of the Savatar but was grateful for their beliefs and the value they placed on their witches. Azarion refused to free her but so far hadn’t physically harmed her. She touched her cheek. Not intentionally anyway.
His expression turned cold. “I’m better than those who called themselves my masters.”
She had insulted him and suffered regret for doing so. She shook it off. What did she care if she bruised his feelings? He’d forcibly taken her from all she knew, and while he promised to return her to Beroe, she didn’t really believe him.
The echo of hoofbeats made Gilene jump, certain she’d find Nunari horsemen bearing down on them. The steppe behind them was empty.
She turned back to find Azarion peering hard into the flames. “Savatar patrol,” he said. “They ride the Veil’s boundary. Krael can’t penetrate with its armies yet, but marked spies and traitors can get through.”
Gilene stared hard into the Veil, finally seeing the shadowy outline of riders coming toward them. “The fire is obvious in its protection, but surely it can be defeated? A protective shield wall, wagons that can withstand the flames long enough to break the Veil and drop Kraelian soldiers onto Savatar territory.”
“They’ve tried all those things. The wagons will make it through but carry nothing but men turned to kindling. This isn’t flame made with flint and fatwood. It’s god-fire like you cast. Water doesn’t quench it, and any person who touches it is instantly burned, no matter how well protected.”
She swallowed hard and edged her mount farther back from the Veil. Gilene knew herself to be impervious to the flame built by men and to the fire she summoned in the Pit each year, but who knew if this was the same? Despite Azarion’s insistence that she was his goddess’s handmaiden, she didn’t think herself beyond risk.
“How do you expect to get through?” she asked. “How do you expect to get your horse through?” The shadows of the riders on the other side grew clearer as they rode closer to the Veil.
Azarion watched them, his brow furrowed in thought. “The agacins who raised the Veil understood the need to protect but not to trap. This fire allows animals through as well as those who are marked by Agna’s blessing. I’m marked.” He pulled aside the neckline of his tunic to show a small starburst pattern etched into his flesh just under his collarbone where it met his shoulder. Gilene had noticed it when she helped him wrap his ribs in his cell but hadn’t thought it anything more than some self-inflicted scarification the gladiators practiced. Azarion straightened the tunic. “At their first year and naming day, every Savatar is given Agna’s mark by an agacin as protection against the Veil’s fire. As one of her handmaidens, you’re already protected from Agna’s fire by her blessing. You don’t need the mark.”
He sounded so certain. She wished she could believe him. “What if my witchery isn’t born of Agna? I will burn in her fire.”
He shook his head. “You won’t.” He guided his mount closer until both horses stood side by side, and Azarion’s leg pressed to hers. “You have to trust me, Agacin. I can’t leave you on this side of the Veil, and I can’t stay, but if I thought you’d burn, I’d figure out another way.” Again that wry smile flitted briefly across his mouth. “You aren’t much good to me as a pile of ash.”
“Ride through on my own, or you’ll carry me? That isn’t much of a choice. I risk death by fire no matter which I choose.”
He refused to bend. “You won’t burn.”
“Such faith in your goddess and her blessings,” she scoffed. The Veil simultaneously roared and whispered, its fire crackling, its flames blinding. “I’ll ride. At least if I die, I’ll do so knowing I made the choice.”
“We’ll blindfold the horses and lead them through. They won’t balk so much if they can’t see the flames.”
“What about the patrol on the other side? Will they be friendly to us or put us to the sword the moment we cross?” The irony of surviving the Pit, Midrigar, Nunari trackers, and an enraged barrow wight only to die at the end of a Savatar sword point would have made her laugh if it weren’t so frightening.
“It’ll depend on who they are and if they recognize me.” Azarion sounded supremely unconcerned.
She briefly closed her eyes. “I will die on this journey.”
They prepared the horses, using Gilene’s shawls to cover their eyes. Azarion held the reins of both mounts. Gilene stood next to him, staring at the horsemen who waited on the other side.
Azarion’s green eyes flared in his sun-bronzed face. Eagerness, triumph, confidence. All the things Gilene didn’t feel. Her stomach lurched this way and that, an internal dance of fear, and she knew the steps well.
“We’ll walk through together, Agacin,” he said.
She frowned. “I will haunt you until you die should you be the cause of my death. You’ll know no peace.”
He didn’t mock her threat as she half expected. Instead he offered her a brief bow and a solemn expression. “I haven’t known peace in a long time.” He gestured with a hand toward the Veil. “Come. It’s time.”
CHAPTER TEN
Their pass through the Veil was less of a rush and more of a crawl. Azarion held the reins for both horses in one hand and walked slowly through the fire. Gilene followed, her palm pressed against his back as the flames swallowed them. He could hear the staccato rhythm of her breathing. He knew she’d cross the Veil without incident. Knew it down to his bones. She didn’t, and she didn’t fully believe him.
“Can we not go any faster?” Her voice trembled.
He wished he could grant her request and rush them both through the Veil, but he risked spooking the already anxious horses. “Just keep walking, Agacin, and don’t look at the fire. We’ll be through soon enough.”
Her fear was justified. As a young boy, he and other boys in his clan would ride out with the patrols, learning the roles they’d assume as men and warriors. They often went back and forth through the Veil—as much to numb themselves to the fire’s intimidation as to train their horses not to fear it when they crossed into Nunari territory on raids. It didn’t matter how many times he crossed; the first sight of the roaring, crackling beast always made his stomach drop to his feet.