Malric's Pov

They spat the map at me like a dare.

The soldier, one of the three who'd laughed like dogs at my feet not an hour before, shoved a rolled parchment across the wooden table, eyes flicking between me and the runes scrawled on the paper. He tried a defiant, sideways grin that didn't reach his eyes.

"You'll get your Ramon," he said too quickly. "We'll draw it for you. But you..." he swallowed, "....you'll have to go there yourself."

Reyna's laugh was short, sharp, like glass. "Map," she snapped. "Always a map. Forgive me for wanting the thing returned that matters more than your precious parchment, soldier. Where...