Chapter 3

Just himself wanting to help. To put his muscles and instincts to use somehow, in whatever way he could. Big and burly and pretty good at dodging and clever about tracking ancient legends and hoards, patient with maps and horses: that’d be him. Morgen Hob. Only human.

But he wasdoing some good. The land needed help; certainly enough cursed and tricky time-bomb objects remained even now, a century after the last great Magicians’ War. Someone had to find them. To do something.

Averet thought the same way, he knew. Averet took each one of Morgen’s worst finds and put magic to work, skillfully dismantling each one, rending curses and hexes inert and harmless, never to hurt anyone again.

Averet was, in fact, wonderful. So gifted. So compassionate. So good at coping with everything Morgen ever uncovered and handed over. Incredible.

Morgen’s mouth, distracted by sparkling grey eyes and expansive night-velvet hair—now right in front of him, inches away—said out loud, “Incredible.”