Chapter 20
With nothing left to do, I hunkered down in my spot and closed my eyes.
Protesting too loudly would only play into his hands, and I really didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing me rise to his bait.
I imagined leaving him to freeze in the snow and merrily making my way back to the nearest town with his weapons, his boots — they were good boots — and his coin purse, then enjoying a hot meal, a good bed for the night, with enough left over to hitch a ride the next day and then some.
I heard the men moving around. Some were probably grateful for the afternoon pause, and I could almost feel Larana as she passed and returned to scouting.
Feel Larana?
Maybe I did need sleep.
Low voices made my ears prick instead. Against the palm of my hand, I drew the Glyph for sharpness and leaned into the conversation.
“You’re still pissed?” Baxley’s voice was low, almost too low to hear, and that was with the aid of my magic.
“I am.” Nicco’s tone was blunt and unforgiving, a bit like himself.
“She came to no harm.”
I heard the tsk of disapproval. “You didn’t know that.
You took the risk, and it could have ended a whole different way, Bax.
” Nicco's anger wasn’t loud. It was more the specific flatness of controlled anger, the kind that was more dangerous than shouting because it didn't waste itself.
“You took a risk that wasn't yours to take.”
“I took a risk with my own skin.”
“You took a risk with hers.”
Silence.
I stopped breathing. Did they know the woman Vorn had? Was that why Baxley wanted to free her so badly?
“She handled herself,” Baxley said, quieter now.
“She always seems to handle herself.” A pause. “That's not the point.”
I heard the shift of their boots in the snow. “Then what is the point, Nicco? Because from where I'm standing, the woman is free and ready to die on her terms, we're still breathing, and the trail—”
“The trail.” Nicco's voice cut across him, low and precise. “Think about what you almost cost us. Think about what she is to this journey and tell me again that your conscience was worth the risk.”
Another silence that lasted longer this time.
“You need her that much?” Baxley's voice had changed, careful now, deliberate in the way it got when he was asking something that meant more than the words.
“I need her alive and functional and not surrounded by enemies she made on our behalf.” The answer came quickly, cleanly, and precisely.
“She's the only reason we're not walking in circles.
She's the only reason we survived Skallfen.
She's the only reason those soldiers aren't already dead in a snowdrift somewhere between here and the last town.”
“That's a lot of reasons.”
“It's a practical assessment.”
“Is it?”
“Bax.”
“I'm just saying—”
“Don't.” One word said with a finality that would brook no argument.
I waited.
“She's useful,” Nicco said. “Exceptionally useful.
And you almost got her killed over a woman neither of us knew, for a principle that won't keep anyone warm tonight.” His voice dropped further, until I had to strain harder to hear him.
“I won't lose the best trailfinder in Crystallese because you decided to grow a conscience.”
“Right.” Baxley's tone was unreadable. “And that’s all Amarya is?”
Nothing.
No answer. Not even the sound of movement.
Even my heart was scared to beat in case I missed the answer.
“Nicco?”
“Get some rest,” Nicco said instead. “We move as soon as she wakes.”
“I’ll keep watch with Rana,” Baxley said instead. “She’s better company these days.”
The sound of boots in the snow. One set only, moving away.
I sat very still, my hood pulled low over my eyes, my hand curled around an empty mug, and my eyes closed tightly in case I opened them and stupidly looked for him.
The best trailfinder in Crystallese.
Useful. Exceptionally useful.
I should have felt relieved. Instead, all I felt was nervous. I was pleased he hadn’t seen, or even suspected, my use of magic. But it seemed he’d seen and appreciated my skill at finding a trail.
Was I the best trailfinder in Crystallese? I doubted it. People who recommended me to the Darysian soldiers were probably trailfinders themselves who didn’t want to do the job, so they tossed me to the gold breastplates instead.
It’s what I would have done.
And now he knew I was practical. I’d demonstrated it last night, when I’d gone back into the tent, instead of demanding she be set free. Because of that, I was a resource he didn't want to lose, just as you wouldn't want to lose a good blade or a reliable horse.
I leaned back, drawing the magic back.
The sounds of the camp came back, ordinary, unhurried, the small noises of people existing in cold air.
I told myself that was fine. I told myself I hadn't wanted it to be anything else. Being practical was good. Being useful was great.
I stayed where I was for longer than was sensible.
The camp had settled into a rhythm of people resting without fully committing to it — half alert, half exhausted, the kind of rest that didn't fully restore them but was better than nothing. Someone was sharpening a blade. Someone else was eating something cold and apparently not enjoying it.
Normal sounds. Ordinary sounds. I felt completely removed from all of it.
I turned his words over and over. What did they mean? I was making myself dizzy trying to find the negative in what he’d said.
There was nothing wrong with being useful. I'd built my entire survival on being useful to merchants, to caravans, to anyone who needed someone who knew how to read snow and cold and the moods of a land that wanted you dead.
Being useful was fine.
I was also repeating myself, and I didn’t need validation from a man like Nicco.
I pushed myself upright, brushing snow from my cloak, and looked around the camp with the deliberate calm of someone who had definitely been asleep and not eavesdropping with the aid of illegal magic on a conversation they weren't meant to hear.
Baxley was with Larana at the edge of the trees.
They stood close enough to speak quietly, and whatever they were saying held Larana's full attention, which was unusual.
Normally, her attention was spread across everything and nothing specific.
Right now, it was on Baxley, and whatever was on her face wasn't her usual watchful blankness.
I filed that away for later without examining it now.
I scanned the camp, and Nicco was not immediately visible. That meant he'd either taken a position at the perimeter or had somehow made himself invisible, both of which were equally plausible.
Captain Marson appeared at my elbow. “Amarya. Rested?”
“I am,” I lied.
He nodded, the nod of a man who wanted to say something else. I waited him out. I wasn’t good at making conversation, and I found that if you just stood patiently, they’d eventually spit it out.
“The men,” he said carefully, “have been discussing the events of last night and the previous days.”
“Have they.” Ugh, what now?
“They are...” He paused, choosing his words with the care of a man who had learned that careless words caused expensive problems. “They are reassessing their earlier assessments of you.”
I looked at him. “Their assessments of me? Did they have an assessment of me?”
“Well, we had a shaky start.” He gave me a weak smile, and I didn’t return it. Marson hurried on. “You handled the situation with Vorn's men—”
“You and your men handled the situation,” I said quickly. “I stood there and gave a speech.”
“You prevented it from becoming significantly worse.” He held my gaze with the steady expression of someone who had decided to say what was on his mind and was going to finish. “You spoke for us. You took responsibility for something that wasn't yours to take. The men noticed.”
I didn't know what to do with that, so I looked at the soldiers instead. A few of them caught my eye and looked away quickly, not with hostility, which had been their default for most of this journey, but with something more complicated. One of the younger ones gave me a short nod.
I bobbed my head back.
“Right,” I said. This was awkward. I disliked awkwardness.
“Also,” Marson continued, “Private Edran… you told him to keep his fingers moving. When the cold took them.”
I became more alert. “His fingers are fine?”
“They are.” He cleared his throat. “He wanted me to let you know he is grateful.”
I looked over at the young soldier, who was currently very busy examining something in his pack and not looking at me at all. His right hand moved as he sorted through it, flexing and curling. He was doing it unconsciously.
It made me smile a little. It wasn’t a bad habit to have in Crystallese.
“Tell him he's welcome,” I said.
Marson nodded and withdrew, and I stood in the middle of the camp, thinking about how I hadn't been included in the watch rotation, then I had been, then Baxley had defended me, and now the captain was passing along the private's gratitude.
Somewhere in that sequence, the dynamic had shifted, and I hadn't been paying attention to it.
And usually, I was always paying attention. That was what concerned me.
“You look like you're plotting something terrible or trying to solve a riddle. Which is it?”
Nicco appeared at my shoulder from the direction of absolutely nowhere, which I was beginning to understand was simply how he moved. At least this time, I didn't startle. That felt like a small victory.
“Or I just woke up,” I said.
He stopped beside me, close enough that I could see his profile without turning. He was looking north. He did that a lot, looked north the way someone looks at something with reservation, but knows they still want it. It was a look I knew well.
“How much farther?” he asked.
“Days. Depending on conditions. Could be weeks. I’ve never been, so I really don’t know. It could be a hundred leagues, or it could be over the next rise.”