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“Irfut.” Britta shakes her head as she considers the unpleasant proposition. She’s saddling the gryph closest to me, a pale silver cat with paler wings. It’ll blend in perfectly with the snow in my former home village. It’s sure to be the cold season there now.
We’re leaving the gryphs we brought with us behind. They’re exhausted from the journey and still half starving. The new ones are fresh, especially important since we need them to carry all the gifts the Maiwurians have loaded us up with—not just food supplies and the like but new armor, each piece suited to our particular gifts, like heat-resistant material for Keita. What’s more, the new gryphs are used to ebiki, so Ixa’s presence won’t alarm them as it did our old gryphs when we first started out.
“Why did it have to be Irfut?” Britta groans, shaking her head.
I sigh. “Because that’s where all Mother’s things are, the ones that still smell like her.”
“And smells spur memory, which helps in the combat state,” Britta says, parroting Lamin’s words. “Can’t believe we didn’t think of that earlier.”
“Sometimes, the most practical solutions are the ones most easily missed.” The words spill out of my mouth before I even think them, a testament to how deeply ingrained they are.
Britta snorts. “That sounds like something White Hands would say.”
“It’s precisely something White Hands would say, which is why she said it—repeatedly,” I remind her.
Britta blinks, a fine display of confusion. “An’ where was I when she did?”
“Complaining of your menses.”
Britta taps her lips. “Haven’t had them this month yet.” When I turn to her, alarmed, she swiftly tsks. “An’ this is wha starvation an’ stress will do to ye! They bother everythin’ in yer body!”
As she grumbles under her breath, I clear my throat, unsure of how to continue. “And you’re certain it’s just that, starvation and stress?” I begin delicately.
“Of course it is, Deka, why would ye—” Britta gasps. “Ye don’t think me an’ Li—”
“No, I was just—”
“Just because ye an’ Keita have been carryin’ on doesn’t mean me an’ Li have been—”
“We haven’t!” I’m quick to deny. “We didn’t last night! We just kissed and…”
“An’…?” Britta quirks an eyebrow.
“And you know.”
“No, I don’t.” Britta is so delighted now, every trace of her prior horror is gone. “Yer going to have to spell it out for me. With pictures even, so ye can set the scene.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to set the scene, you—you pervert!”
“How am I the pervert for askin’ questions about a topic ye raised, an’—” Britta stops, frowning as she realizes. “Yer tryin’ to distract me!” Then she grins, delighted. “So wha really did happen last night, Deka? Did ye hold each other tightly an’ kiss an’ caress an’—”
“No!” I say hurriedly. “No to all that and whatever else it is you’re thinking in that twisted little mind of yours.” I humph sanctimoniously. “Get ahold of yourself. We have a mission to complete.”
“Ye mean like ye did last night?”
I grin. “We did embrace and kiss and so forth.”
“Really?” Britta seems delighted. “How forth is so forth? Because Li and I also so forthed a little last night.” When I glare at her, she laughs. “All right, all right, I’ll stop. I’ll focus.” She clears her throat. “So, have ye told White Hands we’re goin’ to Irfut yet?”
I shake my head. “Couldn’t figure out a way. Her gauntlets can’t pierce the Great Barrier, and the gods refuse to communicate with the outside. Nothing goes anywhere except via Bala and Myter, and they already grumbled yesterday about how much they’ve upset the balance, whatever that is. Oh, and they’re yandau, by the way—Myter, that is.”
“Good to know,” Britta says with a nod, her eyes filled with concern now. “All jokes aside, are ye certain ye’ll be all right, Deka? Goin’ back to Irfut?”
Back to the place where I was locked in that cellar and murdered nine times because my blood ran gold instead of red….
I nod. “I’ll be fine. Truly,” I insist. And for once, I actually believe it. I’m not the girl I was there anymore. I smile as I look up at her. “Don’t worry, I have myself well in hand. Even if the wounds return, I’ll still be able to defend myself. They won’t see me coming.”
But Britta is suddenly stuck on my last few words. “Wha do ye mean, ‘if the wounds return’?” She glances at me, her gaze sharp now. “The ebiki cured them. I saw them do it.”
