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She felt like she was back on the training fields, a shield slamming her from behind every time she took a moment of satisfaction at the front. She was dizzy with it. Revni had known her people were coming to settle a new land, but she’d only thought about being Isfolj Somewhere Else, not about actually belonging to a new place. She didn’t speak Dinaeii, not really, despite what she’d told Eavus. Brigfaen was an umbrella, Dinaeii a rib—knowledge of the one helped figure out the other. She had no loyalty to the Dinaeii, only their weight upon her back.

She glanced over. Eavus was picking his way across, using the sword to probe the mud between the crossing stones.

“Are you hoping something jumps onto its point?”

He reddened, but any delight in mocking him disappeared with a burn of shame. If he knew the truth of all her actions, he wouldn’t be so agreeable. She had tried to sell him to the Dinaeii, and they had refused. Worse still, she was the one that had sworn them together—twice, once at the Dinaeii camp and again in the forest, making him spit—and then she’d tried to out-clever the fates and offered Eavus to the Blue Men, in exchange for letting her go.

The gods had punished her for that—rightly. They had reminded her that there were things more valuable than an important knife, and had given it to the Blue Men along with everything else, only relenting when she did her proper service to Eavus. The Blue Men had laughed at her, asking to let him keep his sword, but then they’d let her keep the ax as well, telling her to kill the Aleterian with it.

She knew divine intervention when she saw it. And the more she dwelled on it, the more it humbled her. Every fire that took hold of tinder. Every bush swollen with summer fruit. Every breeze that cooled the sweat on her brow. The gods’ undeniable presence filled her with awe.

So why test her faith now?

Because she had thought she was beginning to understand their messages—an afterlife in the Great Hall was about honor as much as valor—but then the gods carved a line up the center of her understanding with a sharp blade, light splitting the carcass. After nights of clouds, yesterday the sky had cracked open to reveal a shining moon only a day or two from full, and today the sky had been as blue as an Isfolj winter. A Traveler’s Moon, the Isfolj called it, one to sail ships by, to plan raids. To sneak away in the night. And then the second slap to her awareness, that low familiar ache, her body’s blatant declaration that her secrets wouldn’t keep much longer.

Signs didn’t get much clearer than that.

But still, that twist in her gut. It only added a slice to the chaos, like so many coins of sharp radish. A small tower of bitterness that would topple if she pushed it.

There was a small rise on the other side of the river. Revni climbed it easily, finding a space within the stand of birch that was clear enough for two bodies to lie down and sleep. She pointed to a fallen tree as Eavus appeared. “Whoever catches dinner first—the other has to chop firewood.”

“How are we supposed to catch dinner? We don’t have any traps, any arrows…”

“They don’t eat fish in Aleteria?”

“Of course we eat fish. But you and I don’t have any nets.”

Think of what Ulf and the others would have made of him. A good fighter, yes. But like a little boy. She felt like when she used to babysit the children. She chuckled to herself, thinking of taking him by the hand and leading him around, pointing out the names of trees and animals, quizzing him on prayers and dangers.

And then she thought of how she’d been like a child, just this morning. Needing him to pry open the nuts they’d found with his eating knife. She didn’t even have the basic tools.

Was this not a binding of them together?

Revni returned to the river, following it to the small decline where it burbled over rocks and pooled in corners. She waded into the shallows and bent low, letting the cool water run through her fingers, searching for the current. Home slammed into her with all the force of a wind snapping a sail, so painfully she had to brace herself against it. Her father, teaching her to fish, when she was too little to stand in the current. She could almost smell the ice. If Mama were here, she would wrap a hot stone in a blanket and rub the small of Revni’s back, give her raspberry leaf tea. Revni shook off the memories. These were dangerous thoughts, and she could not afford them.

Revni realized Eavus was watching her, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She shifted her weight.

“Like a bear,” she explained. “You watch.”

It took a minute to make out the difference between flashes of light and streaks of swimming fish, but they were there, racing around corners, scooting into the little cove where they paused to have a nibble before the next one came crashing in behind.

“And then what?”

“And then…” Revni lowered her fingers again, slower, into the tidepool. She wiggled her fingertips. Something nibbled. In a flash, Revni scooped her hands underneath, flinging the fish up and onto the rocks. It flopped, and Revni took only a moment to beam a quick grin at Eavus, before the fish bounced, thrashed, and fell right back into the water. Revni’s heart sank, but at Eavus’ laugh, she scowled.

“I thought the point was for us to keep it,” he teased.

“You try.” Revni stomped out of the water, her toes suddenly feeling the cold. Let him see how hard it was. Maybe then he’d be more appreciative.

Eavus stepped into the water on his side, his eyes searching. There was a similar turn—Revni could see the fish darting even from here—but no little tidepool to slow them down. Eavus held his eating knife in one hand, wielding it like he was about to get in a brawl. Revni gave a satisfied snort. The water shifted perspective. She was looking forward to watching him stab at nothing, and get wet in the process.

Eavus lowered his other hand into the river, looking up at her as if asking if that was right. Revni blushed and soured at the same time. A grown man, and he couldn’t even catch his own dinner? She crossed her arms, refusing to help. Her toes were very cold now. She should have taken off her boots.

With a sudden jerk, Eavus flipped a fish out of the water. It landed on the bank, but before it could flop away, Eavus shifted the knife in his hand and stabbed, impaling it in the dirt. He spun to her with a grin on his face.

“Dinner!”

“You got dirt all over it,” she said testily. It was a good trick, frankly, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. She plashed across the water, not caring that it was soaking her up to her thighs. “You’re going to have to clean it.”