Penn is outright ignoring me. Jac is avoiding my eyes. Even Mabon and Uther seem to go out of their way to dodge my presence on the one occasion we stop to rest the horses and eat stripsof roasted venison on slices of the thick, crusty bread Edwynna packed into our saddlebags.
Their silence speaks volumes.
My harsh words last night will not pass over the bow unchallenged. My lack of loyalty is a direct affront to their own.
To pass the time, I study the barren landscape. There isn’t much in the way of variation. No vegetation sprouts from the icy ground, no birds circle in the thin air. Mist-shrouded peaks jut into the clouds. The valleys between them are blinding-white stretches of snow, without a lick of color to break up the monotony.
I wonder if the main passes are any less dull. We’ve taken what the men refer to as the Widow’s Notch—a seldom-used route that snakes through the peaks at a higher elevation than most travelers dare venture, where the snows are thick and the trees are sparse. We follow no road that I can discern and see no more settlements like Vintare. My questions concerning when we might reach our destination are firmly rebuffed. I am given only the vaguest details—that we are going to rejoin Jac’s men, who will provide escort to Dyved, and taking the long way to get there thanks to the Reavers.
“Not much farther now,” Uther tells me when I corner him during our midday break. His gray eyes evade mine. “Another day, if the weather holds.”
By the time the sun begins to drop in the sky, I am bone weary and bored out of my mind with nothing to watch except the occasional swishing of a horse tail. I’ve all but memorized the back of Jac’s head. I consider counting the individual strands of his hair, just to give myself a task.
My eyes are glazed over, unfocused on anything in particular, when it happens. The air around Jac’s dark blond mane seems to ripple, shimmering opaquely in the waning sunlight,like a mirage dancing across the horizon’s edge on a hot summer day. Certain my eyes are playing tricks on me, I blink—hard—to clear the haze.
Yet, when I do, instead of returning to normal, my vision somehow…sharpens. As though my eyes have sprung blades. Blades that tear straight through an invisible blindfold—one I had not even realized I was wearing.
Another blink, and the shimmers are torn to filmy tatters. One more, and they are gone completely. I suddenly find myself staring at a pair of pointed fae ears instead of the rounded human ones I’ve come to know these past few days.
His glamour.
I’ve seen through his glamour.
Just like Penn said I could.
I flinch back into his chest with a sharp inhale. He grunts softly at the impact. I’m so startled by the sudden clarity I am experiencing, I shift around, craning my neck to catch his eyes. Whatever expression I’m wearing makes his brows arch in question.
“What is it?”
My mouth opens, then shuts again at the cold look on his face. “Nothing,” I murmur. “Never mind.”
I twist back around, my heart racing at double time. Jac’s glamour is back in place, his ears benignly mortal once more. I’ve no sooner narrowed my eyes when I feel a faint pulse of power from my Remnant mark. The enchantment vanishes instantly, its telltale shimmer dissolving between one blink and the next.
Dazed by my own success, I look past Jac to Uther and Mabon, riding at the front of our party. Both of them have similar shimmers in the space around their heads. Now that I’ve seen them, I can’t believe I never noticed them before.
My eyes narrow. The Remnant prickles. I manage to pierce both shimmers at the same time—so easily, I nearly cheer aloud.
I can see through glamours.
It’s unbelievable. A rush like I’ve never felt before. Along with that rush, however, comes a flurry of questions.
Have I always possessed this ability?
Have I simply repressed it?
And, if so…what other abilities are lying in wait beneath the dark whorls of ink embedded in my chest?
Chapter
Fourteen
We are nearly there.
This is evident for several reasons. Firstly, because our path through the peaks begins to slant downward, our elevation yielding more with each passing hour. Secondly, because Jac had said it was a two-day ride and, as we’ve twice made camp under the stars, I dare to hope. And finally, because our pace increases from a plodding clop to a steady canter as we descend into a valley peppered with pines. Amid them, trails of smoke from what must be at least three campfires ribbon into the sky.
My heart leaps at the sight.
The passage widens at the entrance to the valley, the slope flattening out as we round an icy bend and ride through the copse of trees. It is warmer here, shielded from the wind. Not that I am ever cold riding with Penn. His body radiates heat, an internal furnace blasting beneath his skin. If he were anyone else, I would’ve ordered him to lie down and shoved a brew of feverfew into his hands, thinking him ill.