Instead of flying, we decided to hire a wagon heading north.

  Elvindor insisted on it. “Sometimes it’s useful to feel the ground under your feet and listen to what people whisper about on the road.”

  Sometimes it’s useful to remind yourself the world is still full of idiots.

  The wagon was old, dusty, and packed with random fellow travelers.

  Besides the four of us, there was a group of adventurers inside—typical “soldiers of fortune” in cheap leather armor and completely unearned confidence.

  I sat in the corner, leaning against the wooden side, lazily watching the scenery change. The grass grew yellower, the air sharper. Riza sat beside me, wrapped tight in her cloak to hide her wings.

  “Hey, kid!”

  One of the adventurers—a big brute with a chipped-tooth grin—tossed a gnawed crust of bread in my direction.

  “You even know where this bucket of bolts is going? Up north it’s so cold your snot will freeze before you can shout ‘mommy.’”

  His buddies howled with laughter.

  “Look at him,” a second one chimed in, rattling a rusty dagger. “Thin hands, pale face… what, did you spend too long in a library? You should be flipping pages at home, not sticking your nose into the frozen lands. Up there they’ve got wolves as big as this wagon.”

  Riza tensed. I felt her mana starting to seep dangerously beneath the cloak. She was already about to spring up, but I barely brushed her hand.

  “Control, Riza. Remember what we talked about,” I whispered. “Don’t pay attention. We’re just shadows.”

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  “But Zen…” she glared from under her hood. “They’re laughing at you.”

  “Let them,” I yawned, covering my mouth with my palm. “Laughter costs nothing. Besides, if I start paying attention to every idiot I meet, I won’t have any time left to sleep.”

  Lucida, sitting opposite us, didn’t even look at the adventurers. She was honing her blade with a small whetstone, and the shk-shk sound got under the mercenaries’ skin more than any words. Elvindor just dozed with his hat pulled over his eyes, as if no one existed here but us.

  “Hey, boy, I’m talking to you!”

  The brute was clearly offended by my ignoring him.

  “What, swallow your tongue from fear? Want me to give you a couple lessons on how to hold a knife? Up north even squirrels will rob you blind.”

  “Why’re you heading north anyway?” one of them asked, laughing. “Look, he talks!”

  “Listen, kid—and the girl’s kinda go—”

  I turned my head lazily. My black eyes met his watery pupils. For one moment, I let a tiny drop of my true aura leak out—just a fraction of a second.

  The wagon didn’t bounce any harder, but the air inside instantly thickened, turning heavy. The lantern candle hanging from the ceiling snapped out, plunging us into dimness. The brute choked mid-sentence. His eyes widened with animal terror. He stumbled backward, pressing into the wagon wall as if he’d seen not me, but the Abyss opening beneath his feet. The rusty knife slipped from his weak fingers and clattered across the floor.

  “I… I saw my death…” he rasped, breathing hard.

  ()

  I smiled slowly—predatory, the kind of grin I’d worn back in the war ages.

  “Well?” I asked softly. “What do you say now?”

  “Zenhald, that’s enough,” Elvindor said quietly but with authority, without even opening his eyes. The mana around me snapped back in, and the air returned to normal.

  “Lessons are good,” I replied calmly, closing my eyes again. “But for now, keep your advice to yourself. It’s a long road. Save your strength.”

  The adventurer went pale and quickly turned away, suddenly very interested in his boots. His friends fell silent—they didn’t understand what had happened, but instinctively they felt it:

  there was something very wrong with that “pale bookworm.”

  The wagon kept jolting over ruts, carrying us higher into the mountains—into the kingdom of eternal ice.