Hours after dark, they came upon the first of the caravan clearings the duke’s herald had mentioned. It was a huddled mass of refugees—Rizonan, by the look of them—cowering at the approach of the caravan. Their wardposts were haphazard, and those painted on the ragged carts were giant, clumsy things, hoping to make up in size what they lacked in skill. They wore ragged furs, fires extinguished lest they attract more demons than the shaky protective net could repel. Many were gathering belongings as if ready to flee into the naked night.

But then Thamos’ great voice boomed. “Fear not, good folk! I am Count Thamos, Prince of Angiers and Lord of Hollow County. You are under my protection. Please remain behind your wards. No harm will come to you! We have food and blankets to spare, and will strengthen your wards before we pass. If you have wounded, bring them for our Gatherers to tend. All of you are welcome to shelter in the Hollow, should you wish it.”

The folk started chattering at that. Some gave a ragged cheer, but others looked on with mistrust, no doubt recalling Jasin’s passage. Leesha could not blame them.

As the caravan called halt, Leesha and the others Gatherers were out before the drovers could ready the steps. The sight of their pocketed aprons put folk at ease. Several of them, some with bandages, others with a limp or cough, came forward with a hopeful look in their eyes.

“I’ll need to see to the warding,” Leesha said to Jizell.

“Of course,” the woman replied. “My girls and I can handle a few scratches and sniffles.”

But as they drew closer, more and more heads poked out from the cart beds, and under them. Men, women, and children of all ages. What appeared to be a small camp held close to a hundred people, more than the entire caravan.

Leesha turned as Wonda appeared at her side. “I want you patrolling the perimeter with your bow until I’m satisfied with the wards.”

“Beggin’ yur pardon, mistress, but I should stay with ya. Don’t know these folk, and said yurself the wards ent safe.”

Leesha gave her a patient look. “I can take care of myself for a few minutes, dear. I still know a trick or two.”

“Ay,” Wonda shifted, “but …”

Leesha put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’ll be protecting me by protecting them.” She gestured to the refugees—ragged, hungry, afraid. “These people haven’t felt safe in months, Wonda. Give them that for me, please.”

“Ay, mistress.” Wonda gave one of her awkward bows and moved off, loosening the cuffs of her blouse, rolling the sleeves to uncover her blackstem wards. Leesha knew from experience that nothing made folk feel safer than watching their protector pummel a demon to death with bare hands.

Jasin was with Count Thamos as Leesha approached the head of the caravan. “What do you mean stay in the carriage? I am—”

“On the very edge of my patience,” Thamos finished for him. “Your carriage is well warded, more than I can say for these folk. You’ve run them out once, and now I’ll thank you to keep back before you do even more damage to the reputation of the ivy throne.”

The herald slunk back to his carriage, and for a brief moment, Thamos was alone. Leesha ached to go to him, but now was not the time. She didn’t even know what she would say if she did. She just wanted him to look at her again.

But there was work to be done. Jizell and Vika had their apprentices triaging those in need, and Rojer was already tumbling and sending dyed wingseeds spinning in the flickering firelight as some of the folk cheered and clapped. He threw snap bangs at the feet of children who had likely not had cause to smile in months. They leapt back, shrieking with delight.

The refugees looked at Amanvah and Sikvah in fear, but Kendall led the trio, smoothing the way for the Krasian princesses. Soon they had a group of women practicing a song of protection.

Leesha walked the perimeter, examining the wardnet. It was as she feared. The Warders in this group were not entirely incompetent, but they were using wards for a circle on an ovoid camping ground. Wards for an oval needed to be shaped differently, a trick beyond most save master Warders. There were no outright holes in the net, but the magic would not distribute evenly, leaving weak points that a powerful demon—or a group of lesser corelings working in concert—might breach.

She focused on the warding, and for a time the other worries left her mind. Some of the wardposts she simply adjusted, rotating a few degrees. She took her brush and paint to others, fixing wards or replacing them entirely. Like clearing debris from a stream, Leesha could see the change in the magic’s flow as she worked. Soon the entire net was glowing brightly to her warded eyes.

Another bright glow caught her attention, this one far outside the camp. Leesha looked more closely, expecting a rock demon, but instead she saw Arlen Bales.

Leesha blinked. She was tired, and blessedly alone for the first time she could remember. Had her thoughts wandered?

But no, it was Arlen, waving from a stand of trees beyond the wardlight. “Leesha!” She could see the touch of magic he imparted on the words, carrying them to her alone.

She glanced around. No one was paying attention to her. She stepped behind a cart by the perimeter, out of sight as she continued to stare into the night.

“Leesha!” Arlen called again, beckoning.

“About time you showed yourself.” Leesha pulled her Cloak of Unsight close and hurried into the night before any noticed her absence. “You’d best have some ripping good answers for me,” she snapped once she’d made it to the trees without being spotted by the camp or patrols.

But Arlen wasn’t there.

“Leesha!” She saw him farther back, where the trees were thicker. He turned and vanished into the shadows, waving for her to follow.

Leesha frowned, stomping after him. “Are you that terrified of being seen?”

Arlen gave no reply, and she hurried to catch up. He was right at the edge of her vision, his wardlight flickering as he passed through the trees.

But then Leesha lost sight of him. She continued on for several moments, but there was no sign.

“Leesha.” Off to the side now. Had she gotten confused in the trees? She hurried in that direction.

“I’m fast losing patience, Arlen Bales,” she hissed when he did not appear.

“Leesha.” Behind her now. She spun, but there was no one there.

“This isn’t ripping funny, Arlen,” Leesha snapped. “If you don’t appear in five seconds, I’m going back to camp.”

If I remember which way it is, she thought. The trees around her all looked the same, and the boughs, still with yellow leaves of autumn, hid any clear look at the sky.

“Leesha.” To the left. She turned, but there was only the dim glow of the trees in the darkness, the fog of magic drifting on the forest floor.

“Leesha.” Behind her again. She began to understand, but it was too late. The calls were all around her.

“Leeeeesha.” It didn’t sound like Arlen anymore. It didn’t even sound human.

“Leesha Paper.” The addition of her surname sent a chill down her spine.

“Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper

Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper

Leesha Paper”