“What’s your magic, Rythos?” Prisca asked a few minutes later.
Rythos hesitated, and I struck. “Didn’t you know, wildcat? Rythos has the power to make you like him.”
Something that might’ve been hurt flashed in Rythos’s eyes as Prisca turned an accusing look on him. “You— I—”
“No,” he snarled. “I’ve never used my power on you.”
Doubt crossed Prisca’s face. Strangely, the chasm widening between them didn’t make my mood any brighter.
Gods, I was a bastard. From the narrowed-eyed look Marth sent me, he was thinking the same. It wasn’t often that Rythos’s smile dimmed, but I’d made it happen.
Now everyone else was as miserable as me.
Prisca looked at me. And then she reached for Rythos’s hand. Her skin was so pale next to his. They looked like they belonged together.
“It’s okay,” she told him, her gaze still on me. “I believe you.”
He smiled at her. My hand tightened around the knife I was sharpening.
“How does your magic work?” she asked.
The rest of the night crawled by, with Rythos mixing truths in a way that impressed even me. At one point, our eyes met, and his expression turned defiant.
I just raised an eyebrow. Marth nudged me, while Cavis ignored all undercurrents, likely lost in thought about his perfect family. Galon watched all of us, expression bemused. I couldn’t blame him. Traveling with a woman had changed everything. And not for the better.
Finally, we crawled under our blankets. Prisca was close to the fire, and I positioned myself next to her, hoping it would irritate her. From the blistering look she sent me before rolling over, it did.
I couldn’t help it. I watched her as she fell asleep. Just when my own eyes were becoming heavy, she jolted awake, panting. Something that might have been guilt tightened my gut. Was she dreaming of me chasing her with that rope? For a moment, I had the strangest urge to pull her close. To soothe.
She rolled to face me, likely feeling my eyes on her. I didn’t bother pretending to be asleep. Her eyes slid to the blue mark on my temple and stayed there.
“Nightmare?” I whispered. It was strangely intimate, talking to her by the fire while the others were asleep.
She shuddered, and for a moment, I almost pulled her close until she stopped trembling.
But she was already blinking, long, slow blinks as if she was fighting sleep. When her eyes slid shut for the last time, I wondered if the solitude would eat me alive.
Then she spoke. “I used to see you in my dreams,” she mumbled. “Now all I see is the men I’ve killed.”
I stiffened. “What?”
But she was already asleep.
I’d never been this far from home before. Of course, that was going to change, just as soon as I got to the city and on a ship. But for now, I soaked up everything, ignoring Marth’s teasing as I turned my head from side to side.
The forest had given way to yellow and green bushes, brown grass, and tall, thin trees that reached into the sky with gangly limbs. It was so…open here.
And we were being watched.
My mind kept providing me with images of the king’s guards surrounding us, lying in wait, ready to attack.
I wasn’t the only one who could feel eyes on us. The mercenaries had turned tense, quiet, speaking only when necessary. I kept my mouth shut, my hand occasionally straying to the dagger I’d stolen from the hunter.
It was too large for me, but the feel of the wooden hilt brought me comfort just the same. Galon no longer took it from me before I slept. He seemed to know just how much I’d come to rely on it. And maybe he was finally convinced that I wouldn’t kill Lorian in his sleep.
Lorian must have recognized where we were, because he brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, his hands sliding to my waist as he hauled me to the ground with him. He’d insisted on my riding with him today, and I’d taken one look at the frozen wasteland in his eyes and known I wouldn’t win that argument.
His eyes met mine, his hands still on my waist. “You’ll stay here with Galon,” he said.
To Galon’s credit, he didn’t sigh. Although, he didn’t look pleased. “Not smart to split up.”
“We won’t be long.”
“I would like to come,” I said.
Lorian just shook his head.
Grinding my teeth, I glanced at Marth, who shrugged. “It’s so if you’re tortured, you can’t talk about what we’re doing.”
Lorian let out a sound that might’ve been a growl, and Marth smiled, turning his horse.