Kenosera and Laken’s abrupt quiet as she entered her tent nearly prodded her back out. Whatever they had to say, they did not want her to hear, and that annoyed her. Fyrij squawked and dug his white talons into her shoulder before leaping away and landing on the table next to her Chosen, where a variety of fruits lay on a shiny silver platter, pre-shredded so his prehensile tongue could easily wrap around the bits and pull them past his enormous front tooth.

“That’s nice of you,” she said, rubbing the spot where he had sat. He pressed so hard into her neck, her essence prickled from where his head dug in.

“He was screeching about the ceremonial fruit at the fire,” the nomad said with a grin. “The forest dwellers had no idea what to do with him, but since he wanted fruit, I decided to get him some.”

Laken hmphed. “Jare said yellow-wing carolings were native to the Elfiniti. They act like they’ve never seen one.”

Vantra sat on her bed next to Kenosera and rubbed the tops of her thighs. “According to Yissik, they’re sacred animals that bring the words of the deities to dwellers, if one knows how to listen.”

“Well, they’re not listening, if that’s true.” Her Chosen shook his head, then paused, and with an awe-filled smile, ran his hand through his tresses. Now that he had one appendage and could grab things, his sharp side had settled into caustic delight. Combined with the mobility the floating base gave him, he needed her far less than when they started this Redemption adventure; she thought she should feel relieved, but sadness pricked her instead.

“Why do you say that?” Kenosera asked. “I suppose they’re a bit imperious, but listeners usually are. They uphold the spirituality of their peoples, after all”

He snorted and flicked his fingers. “Even the most likeable ones hate ghosts, which means they don’t understand why a holy avian snuggles up to Vantra. And when they realized I was Condemned, and she was my Finder, well, they had words with Yissik, Zepirz and Ayara about us.”

Vantra sat straighter, annoyed. “They did? When?”

“Earlier today. They want them to keep us away from Navosh, but they’re unclear how to achieve that, since he seeks out our company without their permission.”

She slumped. “If they dislike me so much, it will turn to hate. Navosh wants me, if things go poorly, to cast Clear Rays in the Bendebares.”

Laken raised an eyebrow. “That’s going to cause some storms.”

“Yes, but who among the listeners can do the same?” Kenosera asked. “They all accepted Kjiven’s Touch, and that might affect how the Bendebares react to them.”

“Navosh says Tenathi wants to learn the spell,” Vantra said, a swirling queasiness filling her tummy. “Now that we know the Labyrinth is susceptible, it makes sense for her to have something like Clear Rays at hand. She can rework the foundation and alter it for this specific place.”

“Who would have thought, Kjiven still lived and had spread his darkness so wide?” Kenosera murmured. “There was no reason to think he had.”

“There was,” Laken disagreed, pulling his long black hair over his shoulder and absently running his fingers through the strands. “Hrivasine and Anmidorakj knew, Elora knew, elfines in Embeckourteine, like the citadel guard captain, knew, the Gubs councils in Selaserat knew. It’s unfathomable that they all kept silent. Sure, the common populace had no idea, but I bet more of the leadership and the influential knew than we think.”

“Perhaps the mercenaries living below the city silenced those who attempted to speak out,” Kenosera said thoughtfully.

“Maybe the Rotting One kept them mum.” Vantra twirled her silken skirt in her fingers. She had donned the golden slipdress in a misguided effort to impress her mother enough she would divulge the secret of her father, and now she wished to dig through her clothing chest and pull out something that better matched her dark mood.

“Do you believe the Rotting One is the Beast?” the nomad asked, his subdued voice carrying in the over-quiet tent. “If so, I could see why the elfines would keep silent. He sent so many to the Void when he held Death’s mantle.”

Laken laughed. “The Evenacht is home to the special, the curiously odd, the starkest strange,” he said. “Even if syimlin don’t think it’s happened before, it could be, the Beast never entered the Void and discorporated instead. Erse Parr and Veer Tul mistook that for his end, and a minion scampered off with his essence.”

Vantra did not believe that, though, by his tone, neither did her Chosen. “Levassa said he was there, too. I think there were too many strong deities present, for them all to have mistakenly thought he met the Final Death when he actually escaped.”

Laken nodded. “So where does that leave us? We’re facing an unknown enemy who stinks of the Beast and makes mephoric emblems like the Beast.”

“The Beast made the emblems using his personal power, not through a pool of collected magic.” Vantra smoothed the wrinkles she had twisted into the fabric. “That means our enemy doesn’t have the abilities he did and has to work around limitations to mimic the items he created.”

“The Rotting One is the Wiiv’s death deity,” Kenosera reminded them. “They hunt down wayward ghosts, which, from what I’ve read and heard from my people’s elden tales, is what the Beast did while bearing the mantle.”

Vantra shuddered along with Laken. The Beast violated so many oaths, but to send ghosts to the Void without their consent was one of his greatest evils.

“I wonder why they call him the Rotting One,” her Chosen said, his fingers clenching his strands. “That might give us a clue as to who he really is.”

“You don’t think he’s a local rainforest deity?” she asked.

“No. I think he’s a being who took advantage of chaos.” He glanced at the tent flap, his blue eyes glinting. “It’s too bad Kjiven hasn’t woken up yet.”

“He will, sooner or later, and even if Elora doesn’t approve, Erse will talk to him about the mantle and his associates. I just don’t know how useful he’ll be; his mind isn’t whole.” She dropped her gaze to the dusty carpet. “And that might have impacted what he experienced, since it seems Hrivasine and Skerezahn manipulated him.”

“The Light-blessed have been talking about that,” Laken said. “They’re shaken they didn’t realize the depths of Hrivasine’s corruption. They thought he acted like a typical spoiled whizan from an influential family. They never thought he could hide such secrets, especially from them.”

The Light had not illuminated the elfine’s shadows, that was true. “How are the patrols going?”

He shrugged. “Fine. Nothing exciting happens. We tour the shield, welcome suppliers and rescuers, and go back to touring. We’ve helped the locals fix some of the farm equipment, but when it comes to things like the ankis attacks, the whizen take care to net them. They don’t want to upset Strans by killing animals if they can help it, since he’s right here in camp.”

A bell sounded, clear and crisp, over the increasing wind. Laken smiled, pulled his blue hood over his head, hooked the cloak over his left arm to hide its absence, and snagged the spear wedged between the table and his chair. In normal Redemptions, the Finder kept their Chosen’s head in a pack until the Recollection ceremony, when all parts fused and the ghost was made whole. His Redemption had nothing typical about it, so it did not seem so odd, that he joined the Light-blessed for sentry duty. It kept boredom away.

“I’ll be around after dark,” he said before sweeping out the door.

Fyrij chirped after him and returned to his meal. Kenosera grinned and sank back on the bed, elbows propping him up, in no hurry to leave. “I don’t understand why he likes to tour the camp,” he admitted. “I never enjoyed guard work.”

“He’s been stuck in the Elden Fields for millennia,” Vantra reminded him. “Compared to that, guard duty is exciting.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like, to only be a head and sit in the Elden Fields for so many years, absent of hope.”

“I’m not certain I’m providing enough of it.” Guilt raged, because she knew, after they discovered his other arm and two legs, the difficult research into where the Finders took his heart would start. Lorgan was a fantastic scholar, but Nolaris had every reason to keep the location of his last essence very, very secret. No local legends would emerge about a ghostly relic, no newspaper articles about strange events surrounding a specific area, no accidental discovery by two lovers taking a stroll.

How were they going to find it without access to the Redemption map?

She started as his hand settled on her back, and her essence heated in embarrassment.

“I remember what he was like in the Snake’s Den,” he murmured. “Caustic, to cover disappointment. He expected failure because all other attempts ended that way. But what did you do? You fused him to his torso. That’s the biggest hope he could possibly get, receiving part of his essence. It meant you were serious about his Redemption, and you’d place yourself in great danger to see it completed.”

She met his intense gaze. “You kept Nolaris distracted while I fused his essence. I wasn’t the only one providing hope.”

He laughed. “I suppose. And I will continue to do so.”

“You still plan to come with us to the Windtwist Isles?”

“Yes.”

“Have you spoken to Dedari, Lesanova and Tagra yet?”

He bit the side of his lower lip as Fyrij looked up from the fruit, juice rolling down his chin. He chirped with matter-of-factness and returned to his meal.

“No?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “I wish to see more of the world than a Shade enclave’s library or a caravan route, and while they know this, being blunt about it makes me uneasy.” He cast her a quick grin. “I told Yut-ta that, while helping the Shades sort through Greenglimmer information is admirable, I wanted to explore the Evenacht. He said he’d take me to visit his family in the grasslands. He’d take you, too, if you want.”

“To see the big birds?”

He nodded, a sparkle in his eyes not solely from anticipated adventure. Vantra felt a tingle rush through her essence, and she could not squash the sensation.

“I’d like that.”

“I think he wants to see more of the Evenacht, too.”

“Yut-ta?”

“Yep. Lokjac gave him a spelled knife as a gift and told him to use it wisely in your defense.”

“My defense?” she asked, startled. “He’d be in more danger than me! I’m a ghost.”

“You are,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t protect you.”

“But I’m dead,” she reminded him.

“I know.”

“I’m just a spirit.”

“You’re not just a spirit.” He slipped his hand beneath hers and clasped it between his palms, rubbing his thumb over the back. “You can feel that, can’t you?”

“I . . . yes.”

“My people teach that ghosts are little more than greddels. They claim they can’t touch, and therefore they can’t feel anything. Physical, emotional, they’re cold, detached. But you aren’t.” He leaned closer, his green-brown eyes gleaming like gemstones. “The listeners said there’s something very alive about you. I know there is. There is heart within you, and it beats, as strong as the physical thing.”

“I’m not that good at Physical Touch.”

His grin widened. “I think you are. When you aren’t thinking about it, when your attention’s on something else, warmth cloaks you. It’s a strange touch, like a rainforest mist gliding over my skin rather than a chill essence. Yut-ta says ghosts are warmer than I think they are.” He stared into her eyes. “Are you?”

If her body still lived, it would have sang in response. Instead, instead, it . . . she could feel a tingle course through her, as fast as Fyrij trying to outrun a scolding. It zinged from his fingertips and up her arm to her head, then down to her toes, leaving behind a heady, addictive warmth.

He leaned closer.

“I am warm,” she squeaked.

“Kenosera!”

They both jumped at Dedari’s call.

“Are you in there? Ankis are in the river, and they’re ordering everyone to stay in camp until the whizen take care of them.”

“Of course they are,” Kenosera grumbled, his breath a hot brush before he pulled back. “Vantra—”

She shook her head. With a burst of bravery she yanked from the depths of her being, she kissed him, hard and quick, then triggered Ether Touch and phased through the back of the tent, leaving him to deal with Dedari on his own.

Had she done that? Had she kissed him? Why had she done that?

She slapped her fingers over her lips as her essence continued to tingle. A happy whirl of emotion danced through her like a flower petal caught in the wind, and more tingles raced after the first ones. While alive, her experiences with anything like kissing were nearly non-existent. An embrace here, there, snuck because the boy was too embarrassed to be seen with her. The relationships died before they began, and she never pursued one because they would crumble under the pressure of outside animosity.

But now . . .

Now she was dead. What was she thinking?

She was thinking kissing Kenosera felt good.

And he had wanted to kiss her. Didn’t he?

She sped down the pathway, thoughts parading through past hesitations before honing in on the study materials Lorgan had gifted her. While not dedicated to intimacy, the volumes on Physical Touch covered it, and gave suggestions for anatomy books so ghosts could imitate the real thing. Did he have any of those? If not, how might she find one?

Shouldn’t warred with could. Finders discouraged relationships outside the Hallowed Collective, and since only ghosts could join, that placed an automatic restriction. Other ghosts were not so inhibited and embraced their Physical freedom.

Strict religious types felt behaviors one indulged in life should be forsaken in death, which she always thought silly since the Evenacht was supposed to be the place one could do that which eluded them in life. But the negative views of lustful ghosts accompanied outrageous stories of seduction, hedonism, and the terrible repercussions that followed.

Those tales gave her the same impression the stories about divine punishment did; cautionary parables that had more to do with the being telling them than those they warned.

Glancing at the central fire, she saw Badeçasyons and locals involved in delivering supplies, but no Lorgan. She wove through the red tents until she reached his, a generous affair with an awning protecting the tent flap and two poles topped by magical lights guarding the way in. She pulled the cord of the bell attached to the left-hand side; the crisp tinkle was soft enough, she wondered if he heard.

“It’s open,” he called.

Vantra drifted into the interior; much like her mother’s tent, a bed was about the only space not taken up by paper, writing materials, or books. Multiple magic lamps illuminated the study area, a good thing, since difficult-to-read small type filled most of the volumes.

Lorgan sat back from the rough table and ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair, pulling the strands into a tail that reached just past his shoulders. A mister puffed away near the bed, but the wisps hovered over it rather than filling the space. “Progress is slow,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’ll be able to identify the essence’s exact location until we reach the isles.”

“I’m not here about Laken’s essence,” she said. “I’m curious if you have any of the references my study materials list.”

His gold eyes lit. “I do!” He floated through the chair’s back before he stretched, adjusted his plain green scholar’s robe, and whisked to one of the humongous crates that contained his research. “Which ones are you interested in?”

“I want to learn how to eat.” The volumes explaining that would have information on all parts of the body, not just the mouth and stomach.

“I don’t blame you. It’s not something I spent time on, but being around the mini-Joyful makes me wish I had.” He hefted the top off the crate and peeked inside. “It’s strange, how the Finders brag on their sages, but most of them don’t have the Physical prowess to eat and drink, so their acolytes don’t learn. It’s a fantastic way to blend into a hostile populace; after all, ghosts don’t consume food and drink, do they? So if you do, then you must be a native to the Evenacht.” He pulled out a volume thick enough her tummy twittered.

How long was it going to take her to slog through that?

“And do you have something about the connection between Light and Darkness?” The tinge of dark in her Sun power had come in useful, and she wanted to know more about it. Her previous despair about the twist had dwindled, though she could not say why.

“Considering our adventures, that’s wise.” He reached in and pulled out another book. “These won’t be religious texts, though.”

“That’s fine.” She had read enough of those to last several lifetimes.

Lorgan grinned wide; more sarcasm must have infused her words than she thought. “I didn’t think you’d mind.” He set the volumes on the table and reached for more. “I need to re-read some of these,” he admitted. “Now that I know we travel with syimlin, I need to give them study materials that adequately cover modern Touch.”

Vantra blinked. “You’re still planning on giving them study materials?”

“I’ve already sent some on to Qira,” he said, lifting another tome from the crate and setting it with the others. “It will help keep him occupied.” He laughed, but it faded quickly. “Those notes were Finder-centric.”

That Lorgan had the audacity to send learning guides to a deity after he discovered their true identity still shocked her. She had difficulty speaking with them, not knowing what to say, and navigating her continued embarrassment over thinking them avatars instead of divine occupied her in their presence. But focusing on Finder materials that might lead to a better understanding of the Knights of the Finders seemed important, now that they targeted the mini-Joyful as their enemy.

“I’ve also written to the Clastics.” He set the final volume on the table. “Katta gave the correspondence to the Shades because some operatives have ties within the organization. Hopefully it will make it to Jheeka and Cheldisa. We might have research materials waiting for us when we arrive in the Windtwists, if all goes well.” He paused, then frowned. “Do you hear that?”

She strained to listen; a subtle thumping caught her attention. The scholar drifted to the tent flap and opened it; the volume increased, and she heard chants. He eyed her, and she shrugged; with a nod, he whisked outside. She trailed him, heading for the central fire.