The road north was a ribbon of pain. Every hoofbeat sent a jolt through Caius’s wounded shoulder. The borrowed horse was strong, but the pace was brutal. He rode through the night, the cold air biting his face, his mind clinging to one thought: Warn Selene.
He saw flashes of the stable. The club swinging. Mara’s dart finding its mark. Her knife flashing. She had saved him. Again. He hoped she was safe.
By dawn, he was far from Oakhaven. His shoulder was a stiff, burning lump. He found a stream, dismounted clumsily, and nearly collapsed. He drank greedily. He washed the blood from his face. He checked the scroll. It was still safe, a little damp from sweat, but the writing was clear.
He couldn’t stop long. He remounted and rode on.
The landscape changed slowly. The dry southern plains g
