The rain did not stop with the night. It fell in steady sheets that turned the earth to mud and blurred the horizon into shifting gray. The road to Blackvale was little more than a track carved between jagged hills, lined with blackthorn hedges that seemed to claw at the air.
Seraphira kept her hood low, the weight of the wet fabric pressing against her head. Every so often, she glanced at Kaelreth riding ahead, his posture unbent by the weather, his cloak moving like a living shadow in the wind. The shadow-wolves padded alongside, their forms half-solid, half-smoke, as if the rain could not touch them.
By midday, the road narrowed, forcing them into single file. A fallen cart lay across the path, its wheels splintered, its contents sacks of grain, spilled into the mud.
Kaelreth slowed his horse, eyes narrowing. Stay behind me.
He dismounted, boots sinking slightly into the wet ground, and moved toward the cart. Seraphira could feel it too the wrongness in the air, like the moment before a storm's first strike.
A rustle came from the hedge. Then another. Shadows moved in the thorny tangle, and figures emerged, half a dozen men in leather and chain, faces masked with strips of cloth.
Travel tax, one of them called, his voice almost cheerful despite the rain. Road to Blackvale is dangerous these days. Best you pay for safe passage.
Kaelreth's answer was a slow, dangerous smile. You're welcome to try and take it.
The man's smirk faltered. His gaze flicked to Seraphira, still mounted behind. And what about the lady? Pretty thing like that shouldn't be out in the rain. We could offer her better company.
Kaelreth didn't move, but the air seemed to tighten. The shadow-wolves bared their teeth, their forms solidifying in the mist. Choose your next words with care, he said, voice low.
The leader took a step back but too late. A wolf lunged, knocking a man into the mud, teeth snapping inches from his throat. Another bandit drew a dagger, only for it to melt from his grip as Kaelreth's shadow coiled around it like smoke and flung it into the hedge.
It was over in moments. The surviving men scrambled into the thorns, vanishing into the wet gray beyond.
Kaelreth turned to Seraphira. You stayed mounted.
You told me to stay behind you, she said simply.
A faint nod, almost approval, passed over his features. He mounted again without another word, and they pressed on.
By the time the rain thinned, the hills had grown steeper, the air colder. In the distance, through a break in the mist, Blackvale Keep rose from the cliffs, a black fortress, its spires jagged against the fading light.
Seraphira felt a weight settle in her chest. Whatever awaited them there, it would not be simple negotiation.
Kaelreth seemed to read her thoughts. We enter at night, he said. And we do not enter through the gates.