Whether the significant thing was my kidnapping or my going into the tunnel at Iskaeld, I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t planning on asking.
In a way, I was grateful for the silence.
The magic in my chest had settled back to its small, quiet hum — present, patient, and no longer pressing. It felt different from before. Not larger, not stronger. Justknown.
I thought about what Thiece had said. That my magic needed to be known by me first, before anyone else could decide about it.
I looked at Nicco's back, three paces ahead of me, and thought about what he'd call it if he knew. What he'd seen as we traveled north together, the melted snow, the burning mug, the way my hand had gone to my sternum too many times for it to mean nothing.
What had he filed away in that careful, deliberate way of his? And what was he going to do with it?
I was following them south, but I didn’t know why. They came after me, but they didn’t go to Vorn’s settlement, not that they’d be able to pinpoint it. They knew to come to Iskaeld. How? They didn’t question the fact I lied about where Vorn wanted me to take him.
They’d come for me to help me, or to keep me? I wanted to ask. I knew I needed to know. The reason had the potential to change everything. Yet I kept my silence as we trekked south.
We made camp when the light began to fail.
Not a comfortable camp. Three people with a pack each and knowledge that only one of us would sleep at a time.
“I can keep watch,” I told them as Nicco made a small fire.
“You’ll sleep.”
“But you and Baxley won’t sleep if I’m sleeping.”
“Nor will we sleep if you’re on watch.”
I glared at him. “I’m not going to run away!”
Not entirely true, I wasn’t going to run awayyet.
He looked up at me. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Then why can’t I keep watch?” I demanded.
“Because I would rather you were rested.”
“I—” I had no comeback for that. “Fine.”
Baxley was staring farther across the tundra. “Amarya, when you two are finished squabbling, what’s that?”
I turned to look and smiled. “Looks like shelter.”
Nicco stopped making his fire, stood, and we set off again. It was nothing more than a hollow between two drifts that cut down the wind, but it had a curve to it that was almost like a cave, so there was only one outlook. Which meant only one of them had to keep watch at a time.
Still not me, though.
Nicco made a fire with the efficiency of someone who had done it under worse conditions. He had learned quickly in the weeks we’d traveled together, and we ate what we had without complaint.
I sat on my side of the fire, and Nicco sat on his. Baxley moved between the two with the comfortable ease of a man who understood that his role in this dynamic was to prevent it from becoming a standoff.
“Larana's going to kill you,” Baxley told me conversationally, poking at the fire.
“I know.”
“She woke up with snow in her hair and Nicco gone and two soldiers who couldn't tell her what had happened in any useful way.”
“Oh. That doesn’t sound… good.”
