“Fallon?” she asked worriedly.
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“The ring is . . . painful,” he said, his voice neutral, barely hinting at his discomfort. “It’s like a toothache, except on my finger. I can bear it.”
“Did it start when you invoked the magic?” she asked him.
He nodded firmly, saying little else. “I’ll be all right.”
Knowing that the ring was doing him harm, she hurried her pace, trying to force him to lengthen his stride. The pond was vast, and when they reached the other side, she was grateful to return to normal ground. Again, he was wincing, rubbing his hand surreptitiously.
“Let me see it,” she insisted.
“It’s all right, Trynne. I’ll be fine.”
“Please, Fallon.”
He showed her his hand and her eyes widened with surprise.
His ring finger was gray, the nail fringed with black. She took his hand in hers, gazing at it with concern.
“It feels better already,” he said dismissively and tried to tug it away.
She held on tightly and began whispering the words of healing magic. She felt her stores diminish, but only by a little. He sighed and nodded.
“Much better. Thank you.”
She patted his hand and they continued their walk. Shortly afterward, they heard a frantic series of barks and shouts of surprise coming from the direction of the brackish pond behind them. Several dogs were howling and baying in confusion, and loud shouts of anger from men, the words indistinguishable, joined the mix.
“Well done, sir.” Trynne complimented him, and again he shrugged as if it were of no importance. She eyed him furtively, struck again by how much he had altered. He had once been dependent on praise and kind words. Now he shunned them.
When nightfall caught them, they chose to hunker down on a hill in the middle of another secluded pond. They made a little camp beneath an oak. Neither thought it wise to risk a fire, so they hurriedly ate from their provisions before the sun was completely gone.
There was a fluttering sound above their heads and Trynne saw little gray shapes streaking in and out of sight, just barely visible in the deepening gloom.
“Bats,” Fallon said, wagging his eyebrows at her. “I hope they gorge themselves on these malevolent insects. You have six lumps on your face. They probably itch. How many do I have? I think a dozen.”
She had to smile at that, but she hadn’t bothered to notice—or count—so she just shrugged and ate a portion of her bread in silence.
When their scanty meal was finished, they packed up their gear and brought out the sleeping blankets.
“I’ll keep first watch, if that’s okay,” Fallon whispered. “I’ll wake you at midnight. Or whenever I guess it to be midnight. I don’t know the stars in this place. Or the moon. Do you think they will look different from ours?”
“I imagine they must,” she said, drawing the blanket around her.
She cleared away some of the debris and nestled down onto the earth. She was exhausted, but her mind was alive with thoughts and worries. Where was her father on such a night? She felt closer to him than she had since the night he’d disappeared, but still so very far away . . . She shivered beneath the blanket.
Fallon stepped away a pace or two and settled against the trunk of the oak tree, his sword in his lap. He was silent, but she heard his breathing and found herself listening intently to the little noises he made while trying to get comfortable. Her heart ached to talk to him.
More bats continued to flutter overhead, and the drone of mosquitoes and water bugs was soon conquered by other night sounds—the distant hoot of an owl, the croaking of frogs, and the ticking noise of some unfamiliar insects. The waters of the pond lapped against the hillock. But Fallon was silent. She was grateful that he showed her respect. Not once had he taken a liberty with her.
“Can I ask you a question?” She said it in a whisper, hoping they were still close enough to speak in low voices.
“Aren’t you weary?”
“I am, but my head is too full to sleep. You don’t have to answer.”
“There’s more time now than we had last night. You can ask me anything. But if I fall asleep during your interrogation, revive me, since I’m supposed to be keeping watch.”
“But will you be honest with me, Fallon?”
“Yes, Trynne. What troubles you?”
She was still not quite warm enough beneath her blanket, so after a shiver and adjusting her blanket more tightly around her, she broached her question. “How do you feel . . . about Morwenna?”