The hand in his tensed. An instinct, no doubt in response to a hint of trickery and deceit. The last time Henry’d dealt with manners of deception, of course, a curse had happened. Even before that, Theo knew, there’d been illusions. Magical, on battlefields, and also less literal. Belief in the war, belief in the command. Shattered, like so much else, when the violence and the pain and the grief had been up close and inescapable.
Henry wore a brave face as they stepped through, but was unable to hide a flicker of reaction when he got a look at the twists and turns that appeared before them. He even moved closer to Theo, as if one or the other of them might need protection.
“It’s all right,” Theo assured him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “It’s only a glamour. I won’t let us get l
