The Seer by Rowan McAllister (reading comprehension books .TXT) 📕

which in turn recalled the first Vision he’d had the night he’d met Daks. He scowled, sat up, and removed the cloak. He was not a pawn of fate, and this big lump and his crazy partner were not to be trusted—even if the man had looked pretty heroic riding off to Shura’s rescue, and he’d been quite gentle and solicitous when Ravi’s Vision had come on.

Nope. Not going there.

Stubbornly lifting his chin, he shoved the aches and pains aside and climbed to his feet. He felt Shura’s gaze follow him as he walked around the fire and dropped the warm, heavy cloak over Daks’s prone form. He hadn’t asked for it. He didn’t owe Daks anything for his kindness.

Last night he could have gotten himself killed. But while he hoped to dredge up a little energizing anger over that, he wasn’t particularly successful. First, because he was still tired. Second, because the ambush hadn’t been the women’s fault. And third, and most importantly, because he had no one to blame but himself for getting involved. He could have kept quiet about his Vision. He could’ve lied and left the women to their fates. Even when Daks left, he could’ve stayed inside the cabin and let things play out as they would. But he hadn’t done any of those things. Instead, he’d run after Daks like he thought he should be the hero in one of his grandfather’s old books, riding in on a white horse to save the day.

Idiot.

He clutched his bag to his chest as the sick thud of brick meeting skull echoed in his memory, swallowing as his gorge rose. He would have been perfectly happy to have lived his entire life without knowing what that sounded like… or what it felt like. That man might be dead now because of him. The tales never talked about that part. He was done being the hero. Never again.

After relieving himself in the woods, he moved back to the saddle he’d slept against, sat down on the cold, hard ground, and cleared his throat to get Shura’s attention.

“I can take over, if you’d like to get more rest,” he offered quietly enough he hoped he didn’t wake the other two.

She studied him for a few beats, making him shift nervously inside his cloak.

“I would take you up on that,” Shura finally murmured. “But sunrise is not far off, and we should be on our way as soon as we’re able. If you can rest more, I recommend you do so while you can.”

He started to ask a question, but she’d already turned her gaze away, dismissing him, so he let it go.

Too cold and unsettled to fall asleep again, he untied the water skin from the saddle behind him and took a long pull as he scanned their surroundings for something to distract him. Dying firelight flickered off spring leaves, new and dead grasses, weathered tree trunks, and worn, half-buried boulders, but not much else. The scene was actually quite peaceful if he discounted what might be lurking in the semidarkness beyond. The horses seemed unperturbed, though, so that was probably a good sign nothing waited to jump out at them.

A flicker or light drew his attention back to the stones, and he squinted more closely at them. He’d been too tired to pay much attention last night, but looking at them now, they formed an obvious circle that couldn’t have been natural.

A small tremor of giddy excitement passed through him. Could this be a Singers’ ring? An actual Singers’ ring?

He clutched the bulky shape of the book hidden in his bag and smiled, remembering the countless hours he’d spent in his grandfather’s home, tucked away with forbidden volumes of history and lore—books the Brotherhood had banned but his family had held on to in secret. His smile fell. At least when it came to protecting knowledge, his family had been brave enough to do the right thing.

Shaking off the old bitterness in favor of something far more pleasant, he set the water skin aside, stood, and approached the nearest stone. If the Singers actually existed, one of them might have touched this stone with his own hands, done wonderful feats of magic with it. Veins of translucent milky white running through the gray rock periodically captured and reflected the flicker of firelight. Intrigued, he leaned closer and reached out to run a finger along one such vein, but before he could touch it, he was suddenly knocked aside. Letting out a startled yelp, he lost his balance and landed hard on his butt.

Four long white knobby legs ending in gleaming black hooves filled his vision. He glared up at the stallion until Horse dipped its head and leveled that unsettling blue gaze at him. Quickly breaking eye contact as a strange, unpleasant shiver ran along his skin, Ravi rolled away from the animal and shot to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” Shura called sharply.

Ravi huffed and threw a glare in the stallion’s general direction without meeting its eyes. “I have no idea. This dumb horse just came up and knocked me over.”

“Wha—?” Daks croaked, sitting up. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, framing his scruffy, stubbled face in a dark, bushy halo that had been matted down on one side.

Ravi frowned even harder to smother a threatening giggle, dusted off his ass, and moved back to the fire with the others, away from the damned horse. He’d apparently also woken Mistress Sabin, because the woman stirred out of her cloak cocoon and blinked owlishly at him across the dying flames.

“Sorry,” Ravi muttered to no one in particular. “You should keep that thing tied up,” he continued, scowling at Daks. “It’s a menace.”

Instead of rising to the bait and giving Ravi an excuse to vent his frustration and embarrassment, Daks merely yawned and said, “He’s a perfect gentleman with me.”

“Now that we’re all awake, we might as well discuss our next moves,” Shura cut in blandly, stopping