Page 41

“Exactly,” he says, and the word is punctuated by a roll of thunder.

I glance up at the sound, squinting at the dark clouds gathering overhead like bruised flesh against the sky. “Was that you?”

“No. But we should find cover.”

More raindrops dash my face. “Should we head back the way we came?”

“There’s a cave nearby.” He urges Rios forward. “If I remember correctly, it’s not far. We need to move.”

I nudge Klem into motion, following him as he veers toward the east and into a thicket where shadows drink the fading light.

The storm hits before we reach the cave.

Rain falls in torrents. The wind howls through the trees, tearing at the branches and sending leaves and debris flying in a chaotic dance. Klem brays in protest, but her footing is sure as I guide her through the drenched undergrowth.

I grit my teeth, leaning forward in the saddle as the rain lashes against my face, soaking through my cloak and tunic.

Finally, through the sheets of rain, a dark opening in the side of a rocky hill materializes. Lyxander dismounts first, leading Rios toward the cave, but the gelding digs his hooves in, refusing to enter.

The cave is small, its entrance narrow and dark, and I can’t blame the horse for his hesitation. I glance around, squinting through the downpour.

“There,” I say, pointing toward a cluster of trees a short distance away as I slide from Klem’s back. Their thick trunks and tangled branches form a natural canopy. “We can tie them there. They’ll be safer under the trees.”

He follows my gaze, then nods.

Once we reach the trees, he pulls out the coil of rope, tying it around a trunk so that two lengths are free. He passes one end to me and ties Rios to the other. I do the same with Klem, murmuring soft reassurances as I secure the knot. The mule shakes her head, water spraying from her ears, but she seems calmer now, her body relaxing slightly under the relative shelter.

Lyxander pulls a pouch of feed from one of the packs, spreading it on the drier ground in front them. They both lower their heads, nostrils flaring as they sniff at the offering.

“Take this,” Lyxander says, unbuckling his pack and passing it to me. “I’ll remove their tack and bring it in.”

I sling his pack over my shoulder, then pull mine from Klem’s saddle.

The rain lashes against my back as I trudge toward the cave, my boots sinking into the mud with every step. By the time I reach the narrow opening, I’m shivering so hard my teeth ache.

The entrance is low and tight, but the cave widens as it stretches back, the ceiling arching high enough to stand comfortably. Roots protrude from the stone above, their gnarled forms twisting downward like skeletal fingers.

I drop the packs near the wall and peel off my cloak, letting it fall in a wet heap beside them.

My gaze shifts to the roots hanging from the ceiling. I step closer, reaching for a lower one, and snap it off with a sharp crack.

I gather a small pile, breaking them into shorter lengths and arranging them in the center of the cave. Finding the flint, steel, and a handful of kindling, I coax a spark to life. The fire sputters at first, the roots reluctant to catch, but I lean close, blowing gently until the flames take hold.

Lyxander ducks through the cave’s mouth, his hair plastered to his forehead. He drops the saddles and bridles near the wall with a heavy thud and scans the cave and the fire I’ve brought to life.

“Clever, little bird.” He shrugs off his cloak and bends to gather mine, then spreads them out near the fledgling flames to dry.

I attempt a scowl at the nickname, but my chattering teeth make the expression difficult.

“You’re freezing,” he says, retrieving our packs. “We need to get out of these clothes.”

My gaze lingers on him as the firelight dances across his drenched form. Then I nod, pulling my pack closer and digging through it for dry clothes and a blanket.

I glance at him, but he’s already turned his back, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he unbuckles his bracers and shakes the water from his gloves. The quiet rustle of his movements fills the space.

Standing, I turn away, and the cold air bites at my skin as I strip off my boots and soaked clothes. I untangle my waterlogged braid and wring out as much as I can, then grab the blanket, quickly toweling off the worst of the dampness before pulling on a dry woolen tunic, pants, and socks.

“I’m done,” I say, my voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fire.