6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Marcos spent longer in the water than he probably should have.

It was cold, very cold, and yet the icy water seemed to do little to calm the raging fire in his blood.

He'd wanted so badly to reach out and just take what he wanted. What he'd wanted for so long that the unfulfilled ache felt like an old familiar friend. But there was so much Evander didn't know, and Marcos would have to be blind not to realize that he had yet to fully trust him.

It was why the attraction between them made him so uneasy.

He didn't like it, even as he craved it.

Marcos was going to have to exert every bit of his self-control to not give in until Evander understood everything, and unfortunately it was nowhere near as simple as just sitting him down and reciting it.

Evander was going to have to believe it, and that was so much more difficult.

Finally, when he felt his fingers turning blue around the edges, he hefted himself out of the water and threw back on his tunic and trousers, picking up his armor.

He could not avoid Evander forever, even though seeing him in this form sent a tremor through him still that he could not quite control.

With Rhys, he'd seen little bits of Evander. His gaze, his tone, his brilliant brain. But it was blinding when it was all those things coming out of Evander himself.

And Marcos was stupid enough that he'd always dreamt of being overwhelmed by the light of him.

When he approached where he'd tied up the horses, he discovered that while he'd been washing up, Evander had made himself useful.

He'd gathered sticks and even a few logs, sawing away at them with his knife, and with the tinder he'd picked up in the last village, Evander had even started a tiny fire.

"You've been busy," Marcos said, dragging one of the bigger log pieces towards the fire and setting it opposite where Evander sat, cross-legged, teeth ripping into a piece of dried meat.

"Yes," Evander said. "And I was hungry."

I was too, but not for food. Marcos shut the thought down quickly.

He was always going to crave Evander, but he could control himself. He had to control himself.

"I could eat something myself," Marcos said, hoping that filling his empty belly would take his mind away from other hungers.

Evander reached into the bag at his feet, and tossed a large chunk of dried beef his way. Marcos caught it and took a big bite.

"It's not a roast or a haunch of pork, but it will do," Evander said.

Making a small bow, Marcos responded with, "I am gratified at your appreciation."

Evander made a scrunched-up face. "You are so much sillier than I remember."

"You barely ever glanced my way, when we were at the Castle at the Top of the World," Marcos pointed out. He wasn't bitter about that; he wasn't. He'd even managed, over a few hundred years, to banish the ruefulness from his tone.

"I suppose not," Evander conceded. "But I think you will be gratified to know I no longer believe you're to blame for my banishment."

"I told you that I wasn't."

"And yet," Evander pointed out lightly, "your word is not all it took to convince me. I had to see for myself. You had every opportunity to do me harm. To hit me over the head and take me back or take me away, but as far as I am aware, we are on the road to the north, as I intended."

Marcos nodded. "We are."

"Then, I do not believe you were sent by Deimos. And," he added with a heavy sigh, "I do not truly believe that you betrayed me either. It is not in your nature."

"I told you that I did not, and also as I said before, I sent myself," Marcos said.

"But why?" Evander demanded. "Why come to the surface if you did not need to?"

"Like you, I always spent more time here than the others. How could we be Guardians otherwise?"

"And what, now I fall under your protection because I am no longer a Guardian?" Evander's glare and his voice challenged from across the fire, the light of it dancing in the waves of his hair.

"We planned to eradicate the sorcerer's line together," Marcos pointed out. "I came to your chambers and suggested the plan that we undertook. It was not fair that only you were punished."

"Only I was caught," Evander said wryly. "And yet I find it difficult to believe that Deimos did not suspect you."

"Deimos is afraid of me."

Marcos had never said the words out loud before, and he hadn't expected them to fall, with a painful hush, into the falling dark.

Evander stared at him.

"What do you mean?" he demanded to know after a long second of silence.

"After you fell, I waited some time, maybe a dozen years or so? And then when you decided to emerge from your valley, I came down to the surface, too. Just to make sure you were fine."

"I was fine," Evander said, enunciating each word carefully and clearly.

"Yes, you were. You had a purpose. I figured that out quickly. You were going to continue the plan that we had begun together. I did not think you wanted my help, so I watched. I waited, in case you did. And during that time, during the first hundred years or so, Deimos sent the other Guardians to bring me back to the Castle at the Top of the World."

"They came to take you back?" Evander sounded shocked. They had all spent time on the surface. Of course, none as much as Marcos, but still.

"They tried to take me back," Marcos corrected, with solemn satisfaction. "I am fairly powerful, a fact that I have tried over the years to undermine."

"You didn't want them to know, so they wouldn't feel threatened," Evander guessed.

Marcos nodded. "It was not always easy. But they came, and they left without me. And then a hundred years after that, Deimos himself came."

"Deimos was here?"

Marcos could feel the tremor moving through Evander even from across the fire.

"Deimos came. Deimos tried to employ persuasive tactics, at first. He promised me power. Love. Many riches. Storerooms full of gold. Anything he could think of. But I had a purpose, and I was not easily swayed from it."

"But he is Deimos. He is the most powerful of us all. How did he not overpower you?"

"I did not let him get that far," Marcos admitted. "I knew . . . rather, I suspected, that some events had come to pass. I did not have evidence, but I knew enough about what he had done. Enough to make sure that I would not be bothered."

"You threatened Deimos?" Evander sounded incredulous. And it was astounding. Marcos could barely believe now that he'd done it. It had been an incredible risk.

But he was the Guardian of War. He could smell fear, and Deimos had been afraid.

"He left me alone, after that," Marcos finished.

Evander was shaking his head still, disbelieving that he had invited so many hazards.

"And you have not seen any other Guardians in your time here?"

"Oh, I see Gael occasionally," Marcos said. "And Jae. Hyperion. Though not for a few hundred years. I sailed once, upon the ocean, and Osias greeted me. But none of them have forced me to return. They know better now."

Marcos knew what Evander wanted to know. Perhaps it was silly and petty to make him ask for it. "And Vanya?"

"You know there is little belief here anymore," was all Marcos was willing to say. "You have walked among the people. You know."

"I know." Evander's gaze as he stared into the flames was moody. Disappointed. "That is why you think it is a trap."

"I think it is something," Marcos offered. "I do not know what it is yet, and the unknown worries me. That is why I insisted on coming with you."

Evander shot him a look. "Yes, you are an exceptional protector. Leading us right into a band of thieves."

Marcos considered defending himself; he'd made solid decisions—maybe they had not turned out like he'd envisioned—but he hadn't been reckless. It was difficult to be reckless when he knew what he was capable of. But Evander was going to believe whatever he wanted to believe.

And he'd always wanted to believe that Marcos was stupid and thoughtless.

Even though they'd shared a handful of moments where he thought that Evander's opinion of him might be changing. They'd felt intimate and charged, like for the first time, Evander might truly be seeing him, but now he realized that it had only been blind hope.

He'd always had a weak spot where Evander was concerned, and nothing had changed.

"We should get some rest," Marcos said gruffly. "I can take watch, if you'd like."

"I slept most of the day. I should take the first watch. Honestly, I should take the whole watch," Evander said, standing and stretching. Marcos pointedly avoided looking at his body, all lean, perfect lines. Before, he'd have always looked his fill, but what was the point now?

Marcos had believed himself to be resigned to looking and never touching, but he'd started to dream, to wish, to hope. And reality was a colder, harsher blow than he'd anticipated.

"You are still recovering, and I am . . ." Marcos hesitated. "I do not need any sleep right now."

Guardians could go days without sleep. During a particularly difficult campaign when he'd been the leader of one of Ardglass' thirteen tribes, he'd gone a week without sleep.

But Evander was no longer a Guardian, and surely he needed the rest. After all, he'd overexerted himself.

"Fine," Evander grumbled, and wandered off, presumably to fetch the blankets.

Marcos stayed on his log, pretending that he was not staring moodily into the fire the same way that Evander had earlier, when they'd discussed Vanya.

He heard Evander rustling around, talking under his breath to the horses, and then abruptly, an exclamation. And then another.

He must have found the gift that Marcos had gotten him.

Evander emerged back into the circle of firelight, the fur coat wrapped around his body, pulled up close to his chin. He was carrying a pile of worn blankets in front of him. He dropped them next to the fire and shot Marcos an unimpressed look.

"You bought me a fur coat?"

"They were selling it for a very reasonable price, and it'll keep you warm in the north," Marcos said.

He'd also imagined that the light brown fur would look glorious on him—and he was not wrong, though looking at Evander now, the collar pulled tight around his neck, his blond hair tousled around his face, a spike of painful longing shot through him.

"It looks like some rich merchant's wife's coat," Evander complained, spreading out one of the blankets, and flopping down onto it. "I look ridiculous."

"You also look warm," Marcos pointed out dryly.

"It is quite warm, I will give you that." Evander stretched out his legs. "Maybe even too warm for this night."

"But not for the next, when we are a day's travel closer to the north."

"We should be there in less than a week, if we are traveling on horseback," Evander said. "I suppose I will be grateful then that you found this."

"That was the idea," Marcos said. He pulled one of his knives out of its sheaths and began to sharpen it on a whetstone. He did not anticipate finding much action on this road. It was well traveled, and relatively safe. It was why he had selected it, instead of a shorter route. Still, he could not help but be prepared for anything.

"Maybe I will thank you, then," Evander said, his voice growing sleepy, his eyes beginning to flutter shut.

But Marcos wasn't laboring under any kind of false impression anymore—Evander wasn't going to thank him, not the way he'd always hoped he would, and he would have to be satisfied with making sure he didn't freeze to death on the way to the Well, and making sure he didn't spring whatever trap awaited them there.

They did not see anyone on the road the next day, and Evander, sensing Marcos' poor mood, kept quiet. Marcos pulled them off the road as dusk grew, and this time there was no suggestion of a bath. Even a single day's ride north had made it far too cold to consider.

Evander had built the fire again, and they huddled around it. Marcos had even grabbed the thick cloak from his pack and wrapped it around his shoulders, even though he was usually impervious to cold.

"Will there be snow tomorrow, do you think?" Evander asked, speaking for what felt like the first time all day, since Marcos had refused to be pulled into polite small talk.

"Possibly," Marcos said. "But the ground will freeze tonight."

"Of all the things I dislike about the surface," Evander said morosely, "the worst is the cold."

"It's not my favorite either," Marcos said.

"It was one thing to look out the windows of the castle, and see the snow falling on the surface, it is entirely another to sleep on the cold, hard ground, with only a puny fire for warmth."

Marcos was surprised. He had not expected Evander to talk about the past, when he'd lived at the Castle at the Top of the World. When he'd had all the power in the world at his fingertips.

"I may not talk about it, but that does not mean I don't think about it," he said, shooting Marcos a rueful look. "Surely there are things you miss, too. You've been on the surface nearly as long as I have."

And out of choice, not necessity. Evander didn't say the words, but Marcos heard them anyway, echoing in the silence between them.

"The food," Marcos admitted. "Some of it is so poor." He held up a piece of the dried meat he was currently chewing on. "And all of it terribly seasoned."

"You mean, most of it is so poor," Evander said with a commiserating glance. "The food at Beaulieu was excellent."

"King Emory and King Graham do set an excellent table. Is that why you stayed?" Marcos had not intended to ask the question, even though he had been curious from the moment he'd arrived at Beaulieu, as Merleen. Beaulieu was no Castle at the Top of the World, but Marcos had assumed it was an improvement over many lesser places.

"At Beaulieu?"

"You could have gone anywhere, done nearly anything. You could have created your own kingdom. Had your own legions of followers. You did not need to be the unassuming advisor to Rory and Gray."

"Maybe I have seen the ruin that so many kingdoms come to," Evander said lightly, and Marcos knew he was avoiding the real answer.

Would he ever hear the real answer? Deep down, Marcos wasn't sure.

Evander had always held his secrets close.

"We should get some rest," Marcos said.

"You mean I should get some rest," Evander said. "I know what you are doing, and it's ridiculous. I am fully rested and recovered from using my magic."

"Are you?"

Evander glared. "I am," he said haughtily. "And you have not slept for at least four days, which I remember very well is about the point at which you will get very tired."

"I haven't slept for a week before." Marcos didn't know why he'd said it. Maybe he didn't like the idea of Evander taking care of him very much.

It felt too close to what he truly wanted, deep down in his heart.

"That was stupid," Evander said archly. "Do I want to know why you were so foolish?"

"It was a war," Marcos said, wrapping his cloak closer around himself. He would find a blanket and let Evander take the first watch—because if he did not, Evander wouldn't stop arguing about it. "War is the exception to everything."

"Which war?" Evander asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"One of the Ardglassian tribal wars. The last one, I believe."

"I was there," Evander said, clearly surprised.

"Yes," Marcos replied steadily, while admonishing himself to stay calm, "I know."

"I was there . . ." Evander trailed off, making a face. "You were there to watch me."

"To help you. I knew you wanted a united Ardglass. I didn't know why, but I could see that it would help the people to be less fractured and warring with each other constantly."

"You were part of Dougal's contingent, then," Evander said thoughtfully.

Marcos cleared his throat. He had known if he mentioned the sleep deprivation, they would end up down this road, and here they were.

He should have just kept his stupid mouth shut.

"I was Dougal," Marcos said.

Evander's mouth dropped open. "You were . . ." Marcos could see the thoughts flying quick and fast in his eyes. "You disguised yourself."

"You know I can, though not as well as you," Marcos pointed out. "You did not suspect I was Merleen until you touched me and felt my power."

"There was something about you, something I recognized," Evander argued. "And Dougal too, though I could never put my finger on it."

"And now, you know," Marcos said, and stood. He unpacked a blanket from his pack, made sure the horses were settled for the night, took a piss, and when he returned to the fire, Evander was thankfully quiet.

Marcos had already shared more than he wanted to.

He unfolded the blanket on the ground, banked the fire, and settled down next to it. Evander had been right about one thing; four days was when a Guardian did start to get tired, and it took almost no time for his eyes to close.

The ground was frozen the next morning.

Other than making several disgruntled noises and shivering inside his fur coat, Evander continued to be silent.

Marcos pulled a piece of meat out of the pack and, as he mounted his horse, took a bite, chewing it.

As they rode through the forest, the trees were growing scarcer, and each evergreen branch was covered in a thick encasement of ice, weighing the branches down until they looked like they were bowing to them as they passed.

Evander was quiet for nearly three quarters of the day.

High noon came and went, and he merely nodded his thanks at Marcos when he tossed him a piece of meat and bread. As they had the last few days, they did not stop. Marcos was carefully monitoring the horses, and had assessed that if they did not ride them too hard or fast, there was no need to stop in the middle of the day to rest them.

And the colder it got, the less inclined he was to take extra time for breaks.

The sun was just beginning to creep down in the sky when Evander finally broke his silence.

"You were following me. Closely."

Marcos sighed. It had clearly been too much to ask for Evander to let it alone. That enormous brain of his could not stop churning, even for a moment.

"And not just as Dougal. Or Merleen. I can think of half a dozen men that were probably you. Familiar, in some way, that I could not identify. But they were always you."

There was nothing Marcos wanted more than to lie and say he did not know what Evander was talking about.

But there wasn't just a half dozen. It was more like a solid dozen, or more. Even Marcos had lost track over the years.

"Some of them, probably," he finally admitted. "Why does it matter?"

Evander stopped suddenly, pulling the reins up on his horse, and turning it around, exasperation on his face. "Why does it matter? You were following me that closely for hundreds of years, and you ask why it matters?"

"I already told you that I kept an eye on you, that was why I was here, on the surface," Marcos said reasonably, hoping that would be the end of the conversation, but knowing better.

Evander had found the thread of something, and because he was Evander, he was bound and determined to follow it to the end.

Even if the end was a conclusion that he wouldn't want to hear, and that Marcos never wanted him to realize.

"You did not say you were so close so many times." Evander rode closer, gaze narrowing. "Why did you not tell me who you really were?"

There were many answers to that question.

But only one simple one—and it was not quite a lie, which meant that maybe Evander might believe it. "It seemed easier not to," he admitted.

Evander glared. "You did not have the right to make that choice, to take that choice away from me. If you were helping me, if you were there, I'd have wanted to know."

"Perhaps if I was Vanya." It was harder than Marcos had anticipated to make his tone come out so light and unconcerned. When really, the truth had haunted him for years.

"You couldn't have known that I blamed you for the betrayal." Evander's forehead creased in confusion. "Even you are not that all-knowing."

"It was an easy enough assumption to make," Marcos said.

"I would have wanted to know it was you," Evander insisted stubbornly. "And why do it at all? That is what I still don't understand."

And you never will, as long as I am drawing breath to keep it secret.

"I told you, I felt responsible for your situation, even if I was not directly to blame. Also, your goal was laudable. The sorcerers did not need to control the people of the surface. They owned too much power."

"For that, you sacrificed your existence as a Guardian and your life at the Castle at the Top of the World?" Evander sounded incredulous. To him, it must sound like an utter waste. But for Marcos, it had felt like a fair and just trade.

And to be close to Evander . . . even if he was not Evander, and Marcos was not really Marcos . . . that alone had been worth it.

Every miserable campaign, every war, every fight he'd endured. Every terrible meal. Every sleepless night. The snowstorms, the rainstorms, every single bit of bad weather.

But Evander couldn't possibly understand.

"Come, let's continue our journey," Marcos said with finality, nudging his horse closer to Evander's, but Evander still did not budge.

He continued to stare at him.

Incredulous.

Upset.

Uncertain.

Wary.

Then Marcos watched, the weak cold sunlight illuminating the beauty of Evander's face, every plane and curve of it, his blue eyes narrowing, as he realized the truth.

"Vanya teased me about it sometimes, but it was a joke," Evander said, so quietly that it might have been to himself, and not to Marcos at all.

"Come," Marcos said brusquely, and this time, he led his horse off the path and around Evander's blockade. He was not going to discuss this. Especially not when Vanya and Evander had treated it as something to laugh about, late at night when they shared a bed.

He could hear Evander's horse following behind him, but he resolutely did not look back. No matter what Evander said, he was not going to look back.

Humiliation and frustration warred within him.

Why couldn't Evander have just left it alone? Why did he feel the need to push everything to its inevitable conclusion?

Because he's Evander, and you love him, you've always loved him, every single part of him, even this part. Even when he uncovers your deepest, darkest, most painful secret.

Marcos shoved the thought away. It hurt more, just thinking it.

He focused on their surroundings. The trees were growing sparser, bigger boulders, the color of slate gray dotting the landscape. The ground was packed hard, with little in the way of extraneous weeds and plants. He would need to be careful and perhaps stockpile some for the horses, for when snow and ice eventually blanketed the way.

Everyone always assumed that the Guardian of War would only concern himself with fighting—but the best generals always sent their troops into battle well-fed and well-supplied.

Thankfully, after a few minutes, Evander ceased his babbling. Marcos had stopped listening to it, anyway, purposefully blocking his ears so he wouldn't have to hear any more stunned realizations.

Or how Vanya used to tease Evander about it.

For being alive so long, he was always so surprised at how absolutely terrible Evander was with people. Anyone with a modicum of sense or empathy wouldn't have brought up Vanya and his tendency to make Marcos' feelings a joke, and yet that had been Evander's first reaction.

Marcos, half his attention on the landscape as they trotted past, and half on his outrage and annoyance, remembered how once at Beaulieu, Gray had told a whole sequence of stories about how Evrard had raised him in the valley.

"Not exactly a warm and cozy father figure," Merleen had commented at the time—and Rhys had glared at him. Of course, Rhys hadn't known that Merleen had known just who he was.

Or that Merleen was actually Marcos.

But the point remained.

Evander might be good with secrets and hiding in shadows and transforming into a flawless copy of something else, but he was utter crap at anything resembling emotion.

Not that Marcos himself was any better, though at least he'd had the sense to refrain from confessing everything to Evander when he'd realized why his gaze always returned to the other Guardian. Why he always strained to hear everything he said. Why he couldn't get him out of his mind, even though they rarely spoke.

Why he'd gone out of his way to defend him on more than one occasion.

Perhaps he had not been as circumspect as he should've been, but he hadn't marched up to Evander and revealed his undying love, either.

His horse maneuvered around a rock, and Marcos glanced up, attention suddenly sharp. He swore that the horse had made a similar movement only a few minutes earlier. He'd been in the middle of burning with embarrassment and frustration when it had occurred, so he'd been understandably distracted, but it felt so familiar, he shifted his weight automatically, expecting the next adjustment as the horse maneuvered past a larger boulder, set half into the packed dirt of the road.

That boulder . . . it was memorable.

There was no question in Marcos' mind as he stared at it, head turning as they passed by it.

They had been by it before.

At least once.

Marcos picked through his memory, and found it again. No wonder feeling his horse shift that way had pricked at his consciousness.

They'd been by this exact same spot at least twice.

"Evander," Marcos called out sharply, "does any of this road look familiar?"

At first, there was only silence behind him, and for a single heart-stopping moment, Marcos wondered if something had happened to the other Guardian while he hadn't been paying attention.

But then Evander spoke up, and his voice was sulky, in a way that Marcos recognized from his time as a Guardian whenever he hadn't gotten his way. Trust Evander to be pissed off that Marcos wouldn't talk to him, after the way he'd reacted. "Familiar?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

Marcos would be way more annoyed by Evander's sulk, except every nerve and sense was alight and buzzing with his sudden realization.

"I think we're trapped in some kind of repeating spell. Or the road is charmed, or something."

"Or something," Evander grumped.

"I'm not the magical expert here," Marcos reasoned. He knew enough. He had some power of his own, but he'd never made a particular study of it. What need did he have, when he could defeat his enemies with his fists and his knives and his sword?

"Tell me exactly," Evander finally said, "I haven't been paying close attention to our surroundings."

"I wasn't, either," Marcos confessed. "But I felt the horse sidestep around a smaller stone, and I thought the movement felt familiar, and then, like I remembered it from before, I shifted my weight, expecting the next, bigger boulder."

"That one that's set into the road," Evander said.

Marcos pulled up the reins, slowing down and Evander pulled even with him. It was hard—but not impossible, not now—to look over at his profile, concern written all over his beautiful face.

It was easier to face him, now that he knew, because the situation had at least forced them both to focus on this new problem and on finding a solution.

"I think we've passed by that boulder at least three times," Marcos said.

He watched as Evander cast his mind back, trying to remember every minute of the last hour. "More than that," he said, shaking his head. "I can't believe I didn't realize it. I was . . ." He hesitated. "I suppose I was thinking of other things."

"Me as well," Marcos admitted. "How many times, do you think?"

"At least five, perhaps more. I think it must be at least a ten-minute loop, or else we would have noticed sooner."

With how distressed he'd been, Marcos wanted to say that yes, he'd have noticed but he was not entirely sure.

"At least," Marcos said, because he was not prepared to admit that maybe it could have been shorter.

"We should time it," Evander said. "Figure out the edges of the loop."

"Really? We should continue to walk through it? Not try to get out of it?"

Evander shot him a look. "You asked for my opinion, I'm giving it. The loop hasn't hurt us so far. It's only trapped us. I think as long as we stay trapped, we're not threatening whoever or whatever created it."

"We should use the big boulder as a marker," Marcos suggested, pointing to the boulder behind them.

"Yes," Evander agreed.

They set out cautiously, Marcos counting his horse's tentative steps, as he held tight to the reins, eyes scanning through the trees and the brush on both sides of the road. It was understandable, he realized, that he'd missed that they'd been through here so many times before, because the foliage was so repetitive. If you were going to set a trap for someone—and Marcos, while less knowledgeable about magic, knew all about the mechanics of setting a good trap—it was the perfect location.

Finally, they reached the boulder again.

Marcos quickly calculated the ratio of steps to estimated time, something he'd done many times on the road, as early on, there were so few maps of the surface. "Approximately seven minutes," he said.

Evander sighed. "That is not an inconsiderable trap," he said.

"A loop of this length would take power," Marcos agreed. "I thought you eliminated all the power that wasn't ours."

"As did I," Evander said dryly. "I am as surprised as you."

"I did not spot any other inconsistences in the landscape," Marcos added.

"Actually, there was a bit of a shimmering around the far edges," Evander disagreed. "I recognized it, though I am not surprised you missed it. It's Guardian magic. Or it was Guardian magic. It has that same taste. The same flavor. The same look to it. I would recognize it anywhere."

"You could set this trap," Marcos said, not liking the way this was going at all.

Evander might be a Guardian no longer, but he was still powerful, and Marcos, though he'd tried to hide the extent of his own power, knew just how much of a prize he was.

"Yes," Evander said.

"You've done this before." Marcos knew before Evander even answered what his reply was going to be.

"Many times," Evander said. Paused. "This was one of my favorite traps, when I was a Guardian."

"Someone knows who you are."

"We are not precisely hiding," Evander retorted. "I'm in my original form. I threw a fireball at a merchant's private army only a few days ago. You unsheathed your sword. Your highly recognizable sword."

"Yes, I could have disguised it, but I didn't, because it is my sword," Marcos said, annoyed that somehow Evander was laying the blame for this at his feet. He hadn't been the one to demonstrate his magic twice.

He'd merely fought like a demon.

There were men out there who could do almost the same.

Almost.

Evander held up a hand. "There is no point in arguing about this. We have to face the facts: someone knows who I am, and who you are. How they found out is irrelevant."

"I don't think so," Marcos added under his breath.

Evander glared at him. It was so much better than the galling sympathy he'd been directing his way only an hour before that Marcos almost welcomed the return of the normally prickly Evander—because that was an Evander he recognized.

"It is irrelevant," Evander argued. "So, whoever did this knows who we both are, and knows what we are capable of. And, even more importantly, knows my history, knows the kind of magic I liked to employ."

"It has to be a Guardian," Marcos said.

He resolutely ignored how Evander's eyes lit.

No matter what Marcos had said the other night around the fire about men on the surface and belief, Evander still believed it was Vanya. It didn't even matter that if it was Vanya, it meant that he'd trapped and deceived them. It just mattered that it was Vanya, after all these years.

That shouldn't have angered Marcos, but it did, all the same.

"Who could it be?" Marcos continued. "Jae could do this magic. Gael, perhaps, though I do not feel anything more than a slight breeze, so it is unlikely to be him."

"Kadir," Evander said. Then paused. Marcos watched him shift uncomfortably. "It could also be Deimos."

"It is not Deimos," Marcos said resolutely. He felt sure of that fact.

Deimos would not come at him directly—not after their last confrontation.

He would use one of the other Guardians.

Evander did not look particularly convinced by Marcos' certainty.

"We need to continue in the trap, until I can find a hole in it."

"How long will that take?" Marcos asked.

Evander shrugged. "However long it takes."