Page 48 of This Vicious Dream

Calysian flicks a glance my way. “One of Vicana’s scouts discovered the iron a few decades ago, which—coincidentally—was when the ancient text was found.”

I roll my eyes. “The text claiming the territory was always Sylvarin’s.”

“Yes. Telanthris would have ignored the iron. They have everything they need. But as Sylvarin began to push into their kingdom, they began using the iron—and their own stores of risplite to make weapons to defend themselves.”

Calysian scans the territory, but it’s as if he doesn’t truly see it. And I’m sure his mind is on the grimoire. Even as he spoke of Vicana’s evil, his voice was empty, as if he was recounting something of little meaning.

My stomach clenches. It’s a tiny glimpse of who he will be when he gets his grimoires.

He urges his horse on, and we travel down into the scrub, our horses carefully picking their way through loose rocks and stones. At one point, we both dismount, leading them down the narrow trail. The wind bites at my face, sharp and cold. I pull Calysian’s cloak even tighter around my shoulders, and he smirks at me. Earlier, I offered him the cloak back, but he merely chucked me under the chin and told me I needed it more than him.

An hour later, Fox throws a shoe. Calysian’s expression is dark as he wraps Fox’s hoof in leather. The ground is rough and rocky, and if we keep riding, the stallion risks becoming lame. “We need a farrier.”

The sun will go down in a few hours. Which means we don’t have time to make it through the disputed territory. “We’ll have to stop at one of the villages.”

Except the first few villages are nothing but charred remains. What were once homes are now razed and abandoned.

The next villages are flying Vicana’s flag.

“Invaders,” Calysian says when I ask. “Which means soldiers. Soldiers who have likely been given your description. Cover that distinctive hair of yours.”

I do as he says, tucking my hair out of sight. The next village we come to is heavily guarded by Vicana’s soldiers. They’ve rebuilt the village, but the signs of occupation remain—charred beams in half-mended homes, a market square too quiet for this time of day. A few villagers move with downcast eyes, while a hunched old man presses a basket of apples into a soldier’s waiting hands with a forced smile, his fingers trembling.

A muscle ticks in Calysian’s jaw as he glances between me and the few buildings scattered before us, his gaze lingering on the lone tavern at the edge of the village.

“You can wait at the tavern,” he says, nodding toward the squat, lopsided structure. “Rest, and I’ll go to the farrier.”

I sweep my gaze over the farrier’s shop at the other end of the village. It’s one of the sturdier buildings, wide doors flung open to let the heat escape. A soldier leans against the entrance, talking idly with the blacksmith—his helmet stamped with Vicana’s seal. Another soldier examines a row of horses in the small paddock next door.

Vicana’s people have taken control of the farrier, just as they’ve taken everything else.

“No.” My voice is thready, and Calysian pauses. Whatever he sees on my face makes his brows lower.

Fury mingles with a kind of dull grief in my chest. “I won’t stay here. Not for one minute.”

“Madinia.”

“I won’t give them a single copper.”

He studies me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. I don’t blame him. I just traveled through Vicana’s kingdom, spending what little coin I had. And yet, the thought of voluntarily interacting with the same people who destroyed the villages we just passed…

I can’t do it.

“The hybrid kingdom.” Calysian’s voice turns gentle. “This isn’t the same.”

“No. It’s worse. We lost the connection to our kingdom. Many of us didn’t even know it existed before the war. But these people have watched their own homes be taken from them. The next village.” My voice is hoarse. “Please.”

The next village isn’t just home to soldiers—it’s worse. Sylvarins have moved in, claiming the Telanthris people’s homes as their own.

The sight makes my blood hot, and I lock my gaze on Calysian’s broad shoulders as we ride past. Which is why I see the moment he stiffens.

I duck.

An arrow slices through the air, narrowly missing my head.

Calysian is already moving, wrenching Fox around and closing the ground between us. I scan our surroundings, my pulse hammering. Where did the arrow come from? How many of them are there?

We could be surrounded.

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