Another silence that lasted longer this time.
“You need her that much?” Baxley's voice had changed, careful now, deliberate in the way it got when he was asking something that meant more than the words.
“Ineedher alive and functional and not surrounded by enemies she made on our behalf.” The answer came quickly, cleanly, and precisely. “She's the only reason we're not walking in circles. She's the only reason we survived Skallfen. She's theonly reason those soldiers aren't already dead in a snowdrift somewhere between here and the last town.”
“That's a lot of reasons.”
“It's a practical assessment.”
“Is it?”
“Bax.”
“I'm just saying?—”
“Don't.” One word said with a finality that would brook no argument.
I waited.
“She's useful,” Nicco said. “Exceptionally useful. And you almost got her killed over a woman neither of us knew, for a principle that won't keep anyone warm tonight.” His voice dropped further, until I had to strain harder to hear him. “I won't lose the best trailfinder in Crystallese because you decided to grow a conscience.”
“Right.” Baxley's tone was unreadable. “And that’s all Amarya is?”
Nothing.
No answer. Not even the sound of movement.
Even my heart was scared to beat in case I missed the answer.
“Nicco?”
“Get some rest,” Nicco said instead. “We move as soon as she wakes.”
“I’ll keep watch with Rana,” Baxley said instead. “She’s better company these days.”
The sound of boots in the snow. One set only, moving away.
I sat very still, my hood pulled low over my eyes, my hand curled around an empty mug, and my eyes closed tightly in case I opened them and stupidly looked for him.
The best trailfinder in Crystallese.
Useful. Exceptionally useful.
I should have felt relieved. Instead, all I felt was nervous. I was pleased he hadn’t seen, or even suspected, my use of magic. But it seemed he’d seen and appreciated my skill at finding a trail.
Was I the best trailfinder in Crystallese? I doubted it. People who recommended me to the Darysian soldiers were probably trailfinders themselves who didn’t want to do the job, so they tossedmeto the gold breastplates instead.
It’s what I would have done.
And now he knew I was practical. I’d demonstrated it last night, when I’d gone back into the tent, instead of demanding she be set free. Because of that, I was a resource he didn't want to lose, just as you wouldn't want to lose a good blade or a reliable horse.
I leaned back, drawing the magic back.
The sounds of the camp came back, ordinary, unhurried, the small noises of people existing in cold air.
I told myself that was fine. I told myself I hadn't wanted it to be anything else. Being practical was good. Being useful was great.
I stayed where I was for longer than was sensible.
