Pagdan nodded to Thran, who hovered just outside the circle of farewells. “May you regain your honor,” he said, neither kind nor cold.
Thran inclined his head, expression blanched.
With no further goodbyes to be said, Dess stepped forward into the leafy canopy. Thia took a gulping breath, and they were off.
It was dark within the trees, as it had been the first time Thia entered Black Forest, beyond the light of the clearing. The same eerie mist swirled about her ankles, but she was no longer so afraid. Perhaps it was because Dess walked beside her, his hand locked around hers, navigating the roots and rocks like he could see in the dark better than a cat. Thia supposed he had lived the bulk of his life in these woods, so she tried not to feel too embarrassed as she stomped and stumbled her way after his silent feet. Thran walked a few yards away from them—or so she thought; she could only make him out occasionally, as they passed under slight gaps in the boughs, though she was privy to the sound of his breathing and his light steps through the brush.
When what felt like several hours had passed, they stopped beside a creek to eat and rest. Thanks to the rush of water, the sky was finally visible, and Dess’s boyish features were properly illuminated again. He sat beside her, while Thran, in turn, took up a perch a little further downstream.
Thia slipped loose from her pack, shoulders aching. Dess did the same, then dug around in his for some bread and cheese. He smiled at his prize, ripping a chunk of each and handing them to her. “Enjoy it while you can,” he said. “It will probably be the last you see for some time.”
Thia suddenly realized she was starving. She had probably never walked so much in her life, and there was a small blister forming on her heel. The shoes were fine—comfortable even—
but they certainly weren’t molded to her feet.
She tried not to snatch the provisions out of Dess’s hands and forced herself to eat slowly. Dess, it seemed, did not share her decorum and had no qualms about shoving the meal violently into his mouth, crumbs tumbling down his chin and onto the ground.
“How far is Cyning?” Thia asked, recalling Callista’s mention of the Mage King’s capital.
He shrugged. “A week, maybe less. Depends which route we take.”
“The quickest?” Thia offered, but he didn’t smile.
“If we head east of here, we can hire a ship in Rivengard, take the river most of the way there. That will save our feet, and a few days. There’s coins in my pack. Not much, so we may have to work for our passage.”
She supposed she could barter her medical knowledge, since Haven had been so receptive. “Alright.”
“I—” A masculine throat cleared. Thia turned to see Thran watching them. He was about ten feet away, so she hadn’t thought he’d been listening. At her attention, he became engrossed in his own bread. But he still managed to say, voice a rasp, “I wouldn’t do that.”
Dess registered Thran’s words with distaste, and maybe a bit of affront at being contradicted. “We know what you would do.”
Thran picked at the crust in his hands, watching pieces flick off and float to the ground. He ignored the reminder of his crime. “Rivengard is in House Heron. They sided with the Tyrant willingly in the conquest.”
Thia frowned. “What does that matter if I aim to seek him out?”
Thran glanced at her. “One whisper of Haven, of the Storm Crow, and we’d all be dead.”
Goosebumps scurried up Thia’s arms at that pronouncement. Dess, however, wasn’t cowed. “What would you suggest then? Sitting here in this forest forever?Coward.” The last word was muttered under his breath. Thia didn’t think Thran heard it, except that the older man’s mouth tightened a fraction.
“There is a pass through the Dwimor Mountains,” he said. “Few know it, so we could travel in relative safety.”
“Then how do you?” Dess asked, brow narrowed in suspicion.
Thran ran a hand over his forearm. He wet his lips, considering. Then he said, “We all had lives before Black Forest, lad.”
Silence met that proclamation. “Aren’t the Dwimors haunted?” Dess asked, after a moment.
Thran picked another piece of crust off his bread. “Aye.”
Dess frowned. Thia could tell he wasn’t quite convinced and, like her, was unable to square Thran’s evident cowardice with a nonchalance toward ghosts. “What do you think, Thia?” he asked, chewing his lip.
She was at a loss. She trusted Dess and believed what he’d said about Thran. But if Thran had any nefarious intentions, wouldn’t they merely be to slip away in the night and abandon them to their quest? She couldn’t see why he would lead them astray when he was driven by self-preservation and still seemed intent on traveling with them.
She weighed the options. Haunted mountains or people who might want them dead.
She didn’t believe in ghosts.
“How far are the mountains?” she asked.
