Kaelen's POV.
"He wouldn't just leave," I muttered to the empty room, my fingers digging into the edge of a map until the parchment tore.
"The Queen Mother's loyalists? A hidden ambush? He's too smart for that."
"Kaelen!"
Varro burst through the tent flaps, his chest heaving.
"Tell me you found him," I demanded, my voice cracking. "Tell me he's just out scouting the perimeter. Tell me he's angry, tell me he's brooding, tell me anything other than you can't find him!"
"Not exactly," Varro said, gripping the back of a chair. "The witches in the eastern coven, the ones who handle the border veils, they have a scrying bowl. It pierces any concealment. If he's alive, if he's hidden by magic or anything, they can show us where he is. But it comes at a price, Kaelen. It takes a piece of the soul to look that deep."
"I don't care if it takes my entire soul," I snapped. "Why are we still standing here then?"
