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“They’re not questions I intend to indulge.”

I heave a sigh. Trying to get anything from him is like coaxing a song from a stork.

I lower my gaze to the forest ahead. “How do you know about the Aviary?”

“The Aviary isn’t the only place with all-seeing eyes.”

There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for further questions, but it doesn’t stop them from swirling in my mind. I hold them back and let the silence settle once more as I turn over what little he’s given away.

Trickling water breaks through the haze of my thoughts. Distant at first, then clearer as we draw near.

“Let’s stop here.” Lyxander slows Rios and gestures toward the glimmer of a stream beyond the line of trees. “We need to make camp before nightfall.”

I guide Klem through an overgrowth of brambles and low-hanging branches until we reach a small clearing. The water slips over smooth stones, clear and cold, as it twists through the break in the trees.

Our mounts amble toward it, nostrils flaring as they lean down to drink. I dismount, wincing as my legs protest every movement and the bandages pull against my tender skin.

“We should check your wound.”

My shoulders tense, and I glance toward Lyxander as he rummages through one of the packs. When he turns back to me, bandages and salve from Vaith in hand, the sharp curve of his dark brow arches in a silent challenge.

I stifle a groan and trudge over to him, pulling aside my cloak and lifting the layers of my tunics as I give him my back.

Lyxander begins his work with the same practiced care, removing the bandages and cleaning the wound with swift efficiency. But then the fleeting warmth of his fingers skims against my side as he applies the salve. The touch is brief, a mere moment of necessity, yet it blooms across my skin like fire, and a shudder ripples through me before I can catch it.

He stills behind me, and I hold my breath as his hand retreats.

“It’s starting to heal.” His voice dips to barely a whisper, but it clings to me like smoke. “We should leave it unbandaged so it can breathe, at least overnight.”

“Thank you.” I straighten my clothes as I pace toward Klem, then begin unstrapping my packs, compelled by a need for space and something to occupy my hands and distract my mind.

“I’ll gather some wood for the fire,” Lyxander says.

Without waiting for a reply, he disappears into the depths of the forest.

The fire crackles in the clearing. It seems more like a beacon than anything else, yet as the night air bites the nape of my neck, I know it was a risk we could no longer avoid. The farther north our path winds, the more merciless the world becomes, cold creeping in like a presence gnawing at our flesh and spirit alike.

A sharp pop from the flames makes me flinch, but I quickly mask it by tearing into another bite of the dried meat. Lyxander adds a pinch of herbs to the small bronze kettle nestled in the fire’s coals.

A pungent smell hits me first, followed by softer, sweeter notes.

Valerian root. And chamomile.

“Where did you get that?” I ask.

“Vaith,” he says, not looking up as he stirs the mixture with the end of a wooden spoon.

My stomach twists, the memory of waking to find him standing over me, the sharp edge of panic slicing through my chest, the way I lashed out resurfaces.

I press my lips together, unsure what to make of it. The idea of him wandering through Vaith after I’d attacked him, calmly gathering herbs for tea, feels absurd. And yet, here he is, brewing it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The kettle hisses as he pours the tea into a small cup, the steam curling upward in delicate tendrils. He holds the cup out toward me.

“Thank you,” I say, taking it from him.

I stare down at the tea and avoid looking toward my pack, where the vial of somniseed remains concealed. An uncomfortable pressure sits heavy in my throat. I grip the cup and gulp a mouthful of the tea, as if the heat might burn the sensation away.

“Why do you fear your theïkós?” Lyxander says.