Renna swallowed, but she did not protest. Stiffening, she clutched her knife and looked around, waiting for the demon mist to rise. Arlen glanced up and noticed her discomfort. He straightened from his work, going over and rummaging through his saddlebags.

“Ay, there it is,” he said at last, opening a cloak with a snap and throwing it over Renna’s shoulders. He tied it in place and put up the hood.

The cloth against her cheek was impossibly soft, like a kitten’s fur. Used to rough homespun, the fabric was finer than she imagined possible. She looked down and gasped again. There were wards sewn into the fabric with stitches impossibly small. Hundreds of them.

“That’s a Cloak of Unsight,” Arlen said. “So long as you keep wrapped in it, no demon will even know you’re there.”

“Honest word?” she asked, amazed.

“Swear by the sun,” Arlen said, and suddenly she realized that she was still clutching her knife. Her knuckles ached from the grip when she finally relaxed and let go. She took her first full breath in what seemed like an hour.

Arlen bent back to the circles and quickly had them ready, while she laid a firepit and took out Ilain’s basket. They sat together a time, sharing cold meat pies and ham, fresh vegetables, bread, and cheese. Corelings threw themselves at the wards occasionally, but Renna trusted in Arlen’s warding and paid them no mind.

“You sit the saddle awkward in that big dress,” Arlen said.

“Eh?” Renna said.

“Can’t give Dancer his full head with you not seated right,” he explained.

“He goes even faster?” Renna asked in disbelief.

Arlen laughed. “Much.”

She leaned over to him, putting her arms around his shoulders. “If you’re looking to get me out of my dress, Arlen Bales, just say so.” She smiled, but Arlen recoiled, putting his hands on her waist and lifting her off him like she might lift Mrs. Scratch from her lap. He was on his feet immediately.

“Din’t bring you for that, Ren,” he said, backing away.

“You ent takin’ advantage,” she said, confused.

“Ent about that,” Arlen said, taking a sewing kit out of a saddlebag. He threw it to her, turning away. “Divide your skirts, and do it quick. We have business yet tonight.”

“Business?” Renna asked.

“You’re killing a demon by dawn,” Arlen said, “or I’m dropping you in the next town.”

“Done,” Renna called. She ’d removed her petticoat and shortened the skirt, slitting it high on each side. Arlen looked up from where he sat warding an arrow at the edge of the circle, and his eyes danced across her bared thighs.

“Like what you see?” she asked, and smirked at his discomfort as he started and quickly met her eyes. “Come into the firelight, you want a better look.”

Arlen looked at his hand for a moment, slowly rubbing his warded fingers together, his eyes in distant thought. Finally he shook his head and got to his feet, coming over to her.

“You trust me, Ren?” he asked.

She nodded, and he took out a brush and some thick, viscous ink. “This is blackstem,” he said. “It will stain your skin for a few days; perhaps a week.”

Carefully, almost lovingly, he brushed her long hair from her face and painted wards around her eyes. When he was finished, he blew gently on them to dry the ink. His lips were inches from hers, and she wanted to put her mouth against them, but she still felt the sting of his rejection and dared not.

When his warding was done, he looked at her. “What do you see beyond the firelight?”

Renna looked around. The night was near pitch dark. “Nothing.”

Arlen nodded and laid his hands on her eyes. They were rough hands, scarred and callused, but gentle, as well. There was a soothing tingle in her skin where he touched, and she shivered in pleasure. He took his hands away, and the sensation faded, but the wards around her eyes felt warm now.

“What do you see now?” he asked.

Renna looked around, amazed. Trees and plants now glowed of their own accord, and there was a glowing mist seeping about her feet like a low and lazy fog. “Everything,” she said in wonder. “More’n I see in the sun. It’s all glowing.”

“You’re seeing magic,” Arlen said. “It seeps up from the Core and gives all living things a spark of it that makes them glow.”

“Their soul?” Renna asked.

Arlen shrugged. “I ent a Tender. Corelings are infused with it, and will flare brightly to your eyes now.”

Renna turned toward a rustle in the brush, and a wood demon there, invisible a moment before, now shone in the magic-lit world. She looked at her own hands, glowing only faintly. Twilight Dancer was brighter, wards on his hooves and harness glowing like stars in the sky.

But it was Arlen who shone brightest, the wards on his skin positively brimming over with power. It looked as if they were written in light, permanently activated.

“Too many wards,” Arlen said, noticing her stare and putting his hood up. “Soaked up too much demon magic to ever be just a man again.”

“Why would you want to give up such power?” Renna asked.

Arlen paused, seeming confused. He opened his mouth and closed it.

“Don’t know I would,” he admitted at last. “But it ent a choice you can take back, and I wan’t in my right head when I made it.” He pointed at Renna. “You ent in your right head, either.”

“Who are you, Arlen Bales, to tell me when my head is right?” Renna demanded.

He ignored her in that infuriating way he had, taking up a spear and handing it to her. She looked at it doubtfully, and made no effort to take it.

“Speakers all done it,” Arlen reminded her.

“Know that,” Renna said, “but if I’m gonna fight, it’ll be with my own knife.” She had finished etching the piercing and cutting wards, if nothing else. She held it out for him to inspect.

“It’s a fine blade,” Arlen noted when he took it. He touched the edge to his thumb, drawing blood with almost no pressure. “Sharp enough to shave.”

“Da cared for it better than he did his own kin,” Renna said.

Arlen looked at her but said nothing. He held the knife this way and that, inspecting the etched wards. “Good warding,” he admitted with a touch of contrition. “Good as any I’ve seen. Could do with more, but this is enough to start.” He handed it back, pommel-first, and Renna grunted as she took it.

“All that’s left is to test it,” Arlen said. “Time to leave the circle.”

Renna had known all along it would be necessary, but she could not suppress the wave of fear that overcame her at that moment, like welling vomit. She ’d told her sister that she wasn’t scared of anything anymore, but it wasn’t entirely true. She might not be scared of men, but corelings…Memories of her night in the outhouse still haunted her, startling her sometimes even when she was awake.

Arlen put a hand on her shoulder. “We ’re miles from nowhere, Ren. Corelings cluster where there’s people to hunt, or big game. Won’t be but a few out here. You got your cloak, and I’m right here.”

“To save me,” Renna said. He nodded, and she felt a flash of anger. She was tired of waiting for others to save her, but she looked at a wood demon stalking the edge of the road and shivered. “Ent ready for this,” she admitted, hating to show her weakness.

But Arlen didn’t berate her as he did the Speakers. “Know you’re scared spitless,” he said. “I was, too, my first time. But I learned in Krasia to embrace my fear.”

“How’s that?” Renna asked.

“Open yourself to the feeling,” he said, “and then step your mind back to a place beyond.”

Renna snorted. “That don’t make any sense.”

“Does,” Arlen said. “Seen boys half my age charge demons with nothing more than a wardless spear between ’em. Seen ’em ignore pain and keep fighting like everything’s sunny till they win or drop dead. Fear and pain can only touch you if you let them.”

“Honest word?” Renna asked.