And she had no good answer, only a bitter true one. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Heat crept up her neck again, and a little anger—but not at him, at herself, for not wanting to pull away.
She did anyhow, swiping all of his shells in one fell swoop. Then she stood and dusted herself off. “I win.”
“Beginner’s luck,” he said with a shrug and a smile.
A thousand thoughts clamored for attention as Fie strode across the camp, tossing the bag of shells back to Madcap and ignoring their surprised yelp.
“Where you headed, Fie?” Pa asked as she passed.
“Washing up,” she said, short, and stopped at the wagon for a fistful of soap-shells. “I’m on watch tonight, aye? It’ll wake me up some.”
“Aye.” A lilt said he knew that was only half the reason. True, she did need to keep sharp tonight.
She also sore needed to cool her head. The burn of Hangdog’s glower did naught to help as she marched out of camp.
They’d used this site a few times before, enough that she could pick her way down to the nearby creek easy by the light of the dwindling moon. Sandy earth yielded to hard, sticky mud by the water, mosquitos whining in her ear as they skirted the tongues of yellow-eyed skinks.
Fie rolled up her leggings and waded to where the stream ran fast and clean, sucking a breath at the chill.
What do you want?
She splashed cold water on her face and bare arms, then paused. Sometimes she caught her reflection in panes of glassblack or polished brass, and sometimes in streams like this. She’d seen her own face well enough to know it now even as a silver-edged shadow in the water: a rounded nose, broad mouth weighed in a frown, wide black eyes. Hair near as black, pin-straight only after she washed it, the ends always bristling up where the mask strap left a crease. Sometimes a smudge of road dust on the point of her middling-brown chin. She couldn’t say if anyone called her pretty; outside the Crows, most everyone only looked her way when she wore a mask.
Now her eyes threaded her silhouette in the brook, searching for a hint of whether she’d been pretty playing shells by firelight.
Then she kenned her own folly and ground the soap-shells betwixt her palms until their hulls split, ears burning. The sharp-smelling sap foamed into suds once she worked it into her face, arms, and hair, wishing she could go deep enough for a proper wash. Maybe once this was all over the prince’s cousin would spare a bit of hospitality.
The thought ofovermade her pause.
Overmeant a Covenant oath kept. It meant no more fear of the Oleanders, not with an armed guard of the Crows’ own.Overalso meant no more lordlings.
Fie’s stomach gave a mutinous twist.
Enough.
Gritting her teeth, she splashed deeper until the water reached her waist, shuddering at the chill. Then she sat and plunged her head below the water.
The cold shocked her skull mercifully empty, even if she could only take it a scant moment before bolting to her feet. Annoyance set in a moment later. She ought to have stripped out of her clothes first, even if she’d dry off quick enough keeping watch by the campfire. But her head was in a twisted way tonight, and it didn’t seem she could think straight for the life of her. She turned to slog back.
A shadow waited on the bank.
“You reckon that bastard’s shining to you?” Hangdog’s sneer slid across the water.
Something in his voice said she was better off staying in the creek. Fie didn’t answer. When Hangdog got himself in a temper like this, she knew better than to try aught but look for a way out.
“You reckon he’ll take you away and polish you up so much that the gentry forget what you came from?” he continued. “Don’t fool yourself. That oath’s trash. You’re only good to his kind on your knees.”
The angry simmer flared fierce. “Oh aye, and I was never that to you? Us fooling about moons ago doesn’t give you a spit-weight of say in who I talk to.”
“I didn’t know you were just practicing until you found a lordling to lie with,” Hangdog shot back. “You think he wants aught more from you than an easy—”
Footsteps crunched toward them. Most of Fie prayed it was a Crow. A treacherous part of her wanted someone else.
Wretch stepped into a patch of moonlight, hefting an armful of empty water skins. “You fall in that creek, girl?”
