“That okay?” she asked.
“It’s fine,” I lied. “It’s not the dress that’s on my mind.”
Her fingers stilled and she eyed the new gold pendant hanging around my neck. “You don’t have to explain, Isca. I know well enough that more than what you’ve said is going on. You’re old enough to keep your secrets. And I…I also know you probably don’t have much of a choice. They found out about your ability to read people, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” I whispered, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice, fighting to remain composed. “But they don’t know about you, Mama. I—”
“Hush! I don’t care if they know about me. I care aboutyou.” We were quiet as she smoothed the fabric over my shoulders. “I know you’re doing this for us, Isca. For your brother most of all.”
The familiar thud of Papa’s crutch against the floor announced his arrival. When he appeared in the doorway, he merely nodded and looked me over again.
“We’re going to take a short stroll,” Mama said as she kissed my temple. “Now, go put your baby brother out of his misery. He has a present for you that’s been eating at him.”
I didn’t have to travel far to find him. When there were nine of us living here, we’d barely been able to squeeze between the furniture without bumping into someone else. Tegil sprawled in the chair by the hearth, pretending not to watch me lace up my boots. His new shoes and trousersdidn’t pinch him like the old ones. I was gladder than ever for the purchase, thankful that this would help him. His arms were crossed, jaw set in the stubborn way that said he wanted to say something but was still weighing how it would sound once it left his mouth.
“Just spit it out,” I said, finishing the last knot.
He reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out something small. He offered his closed fist. “It’s a bit messed up. I kept snapping the beak off.”
He opened his fingers to reveal a tiny, lopsided bird carved from a bit of light-colored wood. It was the most beautiful thing in the world.
“You made this?” I took it gently. It fit in my palm perfectly. I didn’t know Tegil knew how to whittle. I’d missed out on so much time with him spending all day at the market trying to make ends meet.
“It’s dumb looking,” he demurred.
“You’re dumb looking,” I joked.
That made him grin—just a little. “It’s supposed to be an osprey.” He cleared his throat, not looking at me straight on. “They’re fast,” he explained. “They hunt by flying super high then they just,” he made one hand into a blade then crashed it into his open palm, “dive straight down into the water with a huge splash. No hesitation. They always come back up with a fish. Always.”
He paused, eyes on the figurine now resting in my hands.
“They live everywhere there’s water. Ocean, lakes, river. It doesn’t matter.” Tegil’s enthusiasm didn’t wane. “I thought you were like that. Going far away, somewhere different. But I figure you’ll still do what you always do. And it’ll work. Same sky, different water.”
His gaze lifted to meet mine, his expression revealing a maturity beyond his thirteen years. I should’ve known. Like me, he’d had to grow up too quickly to help support our family.
He turned away hastily, pretending to tie his own shoes. That was a good thing, because hot tears stung in my eyes.
The quiet murmur of my parents’ conversation as they drew nearer saved us both from a tearful exchange.
“Ready?” my father asked with a broken smile.
No. But I nodded anyway.
The sun was just beginning to clear the mist when we arrived at the keep’s western gate. The caravan was smaller than I’d imagined: two heavy carts groaning under the weight of crates and nine riders murmuring quietly amongst themselves.
The lead rider was a broad-shouldered man with a copper torc and Assembly-purple cloak pinned across his shoulders. His horse snorted and stamped as he turned toward us. “Lady Isca?” he asked, already swinging down from the saddle.
“I am,” I answered, my voice steady despite the new label he’d applied to me.
He studied my family behind me for a long moment, probably noticing their plain dress compared to mine. I stepped in front of them, shielding them from his judging gaze.
He gave a swift, decisive nod. “Good. You’re riding with us, Lady Mage. Can’t spare the space or the weight in the carts for this trip.”
The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves sounded as another rider guided a small brown mare with white socks forward. I didn’t know much about horses, but this one looked sturdy and had a sleepy look in her dark eyes.
“I-I’ve never ridden,” I stammered.
With a subtle raising of an eyebrow, the caravan leader questioned my father. Whether it was a judgment for failing to teach me to ride or a plea for support in dealing with a hysterical woman, I couldn’t tell. Either possibility rankled.
