Page 90 of Sword & Sacrifice

How the hell am I supposed to repair this? he wondered as he approached the breech. Steel curled outward, as if someone had grabbed the edges and pulled them apart.

Beyond the gap he glimpsed a forest, ancient trees towering toward the sky, reminding him of home. Yet there was something odd about the trees—an unnatural stillness and quietude.

If he stepped out into the forest, would he return to the real world? Or walk deeper into his own mind?

Penn turned his back on the trees and focused on the gap. Building a shield was as simple as picturing it into existence, so perhaps repairing one worked the same way?

He imagined the steel folding back in on itself, closing like flower petals during a downpour. Except steel wasn’t soft and delicate. It was tough, forged with fire. He adjusted the image in his mind until heat basked his face and the steel glowed orange. Once it was malleable, he bent the steel inward, toward the ripped away pieces of himself.

Sweat dripped down Penn’s brow from the heat and exertion. He ignored it, refusing to let his attention falter as the gap slowly closed.

Finally, the steel cooled, and Penn examined the results. Once smooth metal was now covered in a lumpy mass, clearly marking where it had been repaired. He raised a hand and brushed his fingers along the seam, marveling at the way the steel melded together.

For now, his mind was safe from intruders. All he had to do was wake up—

A jolt went through Penn as he startled awake. A dozen sensations assaulted him at once—the trees moving in the background. Gravity weighing on him as he slowly rose up an incline. The soft clop of horse hooves on a dirt path. The familiar ache in his muscles after riding horseback for hours. The leather reins clutched in his hands.

He’d woken up in the middle of riding up the mountainside.

Niall rode ahead of him on one of the horses that had been pulling the carriage.

Penn blinked and looked over his shoulder at the man riding behind him. The man’s head was tilted slightly back. Sunlight streamed through the trees, illuminating golden skin on an unscarred face. As if sensing Penn’s gaze, the man lowered his head and stared back at Penn with two perfect hazel eyes.

The breath caught in Penn’s throat. “Val.”

The rider’s lips spread in a familiar smirk, and he nudged his horse forward. The path was barely wide enough to fit two riders, and their knees brushed. “Everything all right, darling?”

The endearment, the eyes, the unmarked face—everything signaled Valerian’s victory.

Except the grumbling old man leading their party. Niall scoffed and huffed and did everything to make his annoyance known without directly addressing his master.

Penn’s gaze shifted from Valerian to Niall’s back, noting the subtle changes in the man’s appearance he’d missed before: darker hair with a gleaming bald spot and stooped shoulders, shrinking his frame. The glamour was smeared over Niall like poor face-paint, merging his real face and his stolen identity.

“Not the most pleasant company,” Valerian said, annoyance mixed with amusement. “But it’s difficult to tell him to find his own way when we’re all headed in the same direction.”

“Same direction?” Penn repeated, feeling off-kilter, and not just because of the steep incline. Didn’t I wake up? He remembered the forest he’d glimpsed through the hole in his shield. Am I still dreaming?

“His master is sending him to Castle Arn on some business,” Valerian explained.

“What business?” Penn asked.

“None of yours,” Niall snapped.

Penn opened his mouth to retort, then decided he didn’t really care about arguing with the man. He returned his focus to Valerian, drinking in every detail. The golden stubble lining his jaw. The crinkles around his hazel eyes, giving him a hint of mischief. The way he kept leaning closer to Penn, casually touching him, as if he refused to spend a single moment apart.

An ache spread through Penn’s chest as he realized how easy it would be to step into the trap and let it snap shut around him. If Alistair’s acting had always been this good, I never would have known the difference.

Something had changed while Penn was trapped in the dreamscape. Before, Alistair had been an actor in an ill-suited role. He knew his lines, understood the character’s backstory, but he couldn’t convince the audience. Now, he so fully embodied the character that the stage itself disappeared.

For whatever reason, Alistair wanted Penn to believe he was Valerian. Penn forced his mouth into an imitation of his usual easy, laid-back smile. “At least we won’t have to travel with him long.”

“I can hear you,” Niall muttered.

I might have fallen for your master’s trap if you put in a little more effort. Penn snorted and rolled his eyes, sharing a secretive look with Alistair.

Alistair smiled with Valerian’s lips, reached out with Valerian’s hand and brushed a strand of black hair off Penn’s brow. “Just a few more days. I’m excited to see your home.”

Home.