Aeduan’s neck stiffened with frustration. “You will only slow me,” he said at last, no longer bothering with formalities.

But Leopold simply glanced at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Or perhaps, Monk Aeduan, I will surprise you.”

* * *

Aeduan lost several hours of precious time because of the prince. To start, Leopold took forever to pack a single satchel and to strap on his useless rapier. Next, Leopold and the Hell-Bard Commander slunk off to speak in hushed, emphatic voices about only the Wells knew what.

All the while, Aeduan stood on the quarterdeck, stretching his wrists and fingers, fuming at the prince’s slowness.

Once the Windwitches finally blasted everyone off the cutter, Aeduan thought surely the pace would pick up. It didn’t. As soon as they touched down on the nearest cliff, Leopold wasted even more time by informing the Windwitches of all the same orders he had just given the captain. Something about a Wordwitched scroll that would alert the Hell-Bards to when and where Leopold and his uncle’s bride would need retrieval.

So, Aeduan abandoned the prince for several minutes and set off into a world of bleached pine trunks. The weight of the silver talers and its iron case was too much for Aeduan to carry at maximum speed, so he might as well use this wasted time to hide the lockbox.

There were no smells or sounds here. It was like being at sea, alone, with only salt to fill the nose and a breeze to tickle the ears. There were scents, as if humans had passed, but no one was near right now.

The emptiness made Aeduan … uncomfortable. Exposed, like a man on the chopping block. Even at the Monastery, high atop its mountain, there were still birds dotting the skies. Still signs of life.

Unbidden, a story from Aeduan’s old mentor rose to the surface. A story of poison and magic and war. This was not the image Aeduan had conjured, though. He’d imagined a crispy wasteland, like the ones of his childhood. The ones left by Marstoki flames.

Somehow this silent desert was worse than smoldering homes. At least with charred earth and village ruins, there was a sign of man’s hand at work. Nubrevna, however, looked liked the gods had simply given up. Decided the land wasn’t worth their time and abandoned it.

At least in a godless world, though, there was no one to see Aeduan hide his talers.

He found a hollowed tree stump and laid his iron box inside. Unless someone happened to pass close enough to peer within the trunk, the lock box was invisible.

Flicking his knife against his wrist, Aeduan sliced open his left hand. Blood welled, dripped down his palm, and finally splattered to the iron.

Now the money was marked. Now Aeduan could find it, even if he forgot where he’d hidden it. Or worse, even if someone tried to take it.

Wind exploded. The Windwitches shot above the trees.

“Monk Aeduan?” Leopold shouted over the gusting air. “Where are you?”

For half a breath, a chaotic rage swept up from Aeduan’s toes. Burned in his veins. It was Leopold’s empire that had desolated this place. Who had ended the lives of not just the people but the earth itself. And now the prince stomped around with no respect, no remorse.

Aeduan reached the prince in seconds, teeth grinding. “Silence,” he hissed. “No speaking for the rest of our journey.”

The prince bowed his head. A slouch to his posture. A layer of sluggish cold in Leopold’s blood.

Leopold did know what his people had done here, and he was ashamed. More importantly, he felt no need to hide that from Aeduan.

But Aeduan had no time to dwell on that. “Men approach,” he said in a low growl as he yanked up Leopold’s bag. “They smell like soldiers, so stay close and stay quiet.”

For a time, they covered decent ground. The farther they traveled, the more the landscape came alive. Insects hummed, birds called, and small patches of green foliage rustled in the Jadansi breeze. The seaside cliffs grew taller and eventually Safiya’s smell moved inland—toward a dip in the land.

Soldiers patrolled, but Aeduan had no trouble avoiding them. He could sniff them out long before he and Leopold reached them. The detours slowed their progress, though, and the sun was descending into midafternoon before signs of civilization grew frequent.

First came distant smoke and footpaths. Then came voices—women and children mostly. Since Aeduan and Leopold were approaching a river and the path seemed well traveled, it was time for greater stealth. Aeduan would need to scout ahead—alone—and leave the prince briefly behind.

In moments, Aeduan had found a fallen oak that was well hidden from the path and carried no scents of a passing patrol. The tree was recently toppled, so decomposition and undergrowth were almost nonexistent—though Aeduan felt certain that Leopold would still complain.

However, when Aeduan ordered the young man below, Leopold neither complained nor resisted. In fact, he crawled beneath the oak’s trunk with unexpected grace.

Dread scraped down Aeduan’s spine as he watched. The prince had been far too compliant and surprisingly cautious on this inland trek.

But once the prince was invisible, Aeduan thrust aside thoughts of Leopold. Safiya was all that mattered now.

As Aeduan crept toward the thunderous river, his magic latched on to many scents—too many. This place was crowded, and there was no way he or Leopold could sneak by. The river was also a problem. Aeduan could easily cross it on his own, but he couldn’t tow the prince over too.

They would have to find another route and try to regain Safiya’s trail at some later point.