Neither of us had spoken since leaving the sewer—which was probably for the best. I was cold, hungry, and irritable.
Well. More irritable than usual.
But I digress.
Snow fell again as we reached the eastern mountains of Tyria. I tilted my head back, silently cursing each flake that melted against my cheeks.
“Up there. Can your magic reach that?” Shayde’s voice cut through my wallowing.
I brushed past him, following his gaze to a dark hollow carved into the mountainside. Growing up in Hollow Summit meant I knew Kalymdor’s ranges like the back of my hand—and that, up there, was a natural cavern or an entrance to one of the continent’s hidden tunnels.
I sized it up. At least twenty feet high. Maybe more. Perfect for shelter.
I scoffed, muttering as I strode toward it, “Can my magic reach that?”
Like I had at Mageia, I summoned thick summer vines and curled them up the rock face until they formed a rope ladder sturdy enough for both of us. When I glanced back, Shayde was studying the spell with that unreadable look he wore too well, shadows hiding whatever was on his mind.
I gestured toward the ladder with a dry smile. “Snake’s first.”
That snapped him out of it. He shot me a glare sharp enough to kill.
“What? You don’t actually expect me to believe you’re a gentleman, Wylder.”
He brushed past, shoulder knocking mine. “Never for you, I’m not.”
After testing the ladder’s hold, Shayde scaled the mountainside with an ease that almost annoyed me. I lingered below in the falling snow, waiting for his signal. When none came, I rolled my eyes and climbed.
I hauled myself over the ledge and let the vines recoil back into the earth. Up close, the cavern mouth was narrower than it had seemed from below, with a jagged spur of rock jutting outward as if guarding the entrance.
My fingers skimmed the cold stone as I slipped through the gap. Inside, Shayde was already kneeling, striking flint over a careful bundle of kindling. The sight caught me off guard—until my gaze fell to the tungsten collar clamped around his throat.
A sharp pang of guilt cut through me. I tried to push it down and failed, imagining what it must feel like to have your element stolen—not by fate or the Mareki, but by chains.
I cleared my throat, rummaging in my satchel if only to keep from staring. “You really thought of everything, huh?”
Shayde paused, striker poised. He shifted, opened and closed his mouth, and said nothing.
I laid out my bedroll and drank, then channeled more water into his canteen. His efforts soon coaxed a warm fire to life. I held my hands over the flames while he opened the canteen, hesitated at how full it was, and muttered, “Thanks.”
After a quiet dinner of bread, cheese, and jerky, I slipped off my boots and nestled into my bedroll. The thin roll was all I could fit in my satchel, but it added a scrap of warmth alongside my leathers and fur-lined cloak. I was about to close my eyes when I noticed Shayde still leaning against the wall, using the fire for heat—and no bedroll in sight.
I propped myself on my elbows. “Didn’t you pack a roll?”
His eyes never left the fire. “Didn’t have room.”
I frowned, lowering my voice. “You’re going to freeze.”
“I’ll be fine. Get some rest.”
I huffed. “Whatever you say.”
I tugged my cloak over my face. Normally, I could tune out the world and sleep in an instant, but the crackle of the fire and the whistling wind refused to let me drift. My toes were already going numb—and I couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid Wylder boy across the fire trying to be heroic by freezing to death.
I didn’t move, just grunted, “Get over here. We can both fit.”
“I’d rather not.”
I lifted my head just enough to glare. “I’d rather be stuck in a cave with anyone but you, Snake. But you’re no good to me on this mission if you freeze to death tonight.”
