That would never do. “I’m sure I can scrounge up a spare tent.”
“That would be fantastic.”
“What about food?”
“Oh, I ran out days ago, but now that I’m here, I’ve been able to eat with the soldiers.”
That she would take such risks to her safety frustrated him to no end. “If you ever have trouble, come find me at once. Or Kurtz.”
Mistel dabbed her finger in the tallow, smelled it and frowned. “Your brow is wrinkly. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
Now. But she was lucky to be alive. “It’s been a long morning. Before we leave today, we’re meeting with?—”
The tent flap pulled aside, sending a shaft of morning light inside. Kurtz froze, partway in. “This is how you lay low? Put that hair away.”
Mistel let out a soft huff through her nose and brushed a lock of her ginger curls over her shoulder. “I’m being careful.”
Kurtz grunted. “I doubt that. Normally, I’m all about fun and games, I am, but the king entrusted me with both of your safety, which means you”—he pointed at Mistel—“get out.”
“It’s too early,” she said. “Where would you have me go?”
“Wherever you slept last night,” Kurtz said.
Mistel’s bottom lip protruded. “On the ground under a wagon.”
“Perfect,” Kurtz said. “Lots of ground outside.”
“I didn’t think about how cold it would be when I packed for the trip,” Mistel said.
“You didn’t think much,” Kurtz said.
Cole pushed the tallow along the blade again. “I’ll scrounge up a tent for her.”
“For tonight,” Kurtz said. “Right now, I’ve got Quimby outside, I do, and we need to talk. In private.”
Cole put the lid on the tallow and started to clean up. He was eager to get Jol’s take on their mission.
“Can’t I stay?” Mistel asked. “I want to know what’s going to happen.”
“We’ll tell you what you need to know,” Kurtz said.
“Fine.” Mistel tied her hair back into a knot, shoved on her hat, and slipped outside. “Good morning,” Cole heard her say in an amusingly low voice.
“Morning,” came a ridiculously gravelly reply.
The door flap shook, and a broad-shouldered man ducked inside. Jol Quimby’s wavy orange hair and short beard framed a face rarely without a grin. Like Kurtz, he exuded rugged confidence. Both were the kind of men who could drink heartily, fight fiercely, and talk their way out of trouble—or into it.
Quimby’s eyes held a mischievous glint. “Think she knew I altered my voice?”
Cole chuckled. “The bigger question is, could you tell she altered hers?”
“Nah, she’s a fine actor.” Quimby dropped onto his knees just inside the door. “As long as she lays low, no one will suspect a thing.”
“Enough about the girl,” Kurtz said. “Let’s talk about Ice Island, eh? What’ll we be dealing with up there?”
“Well, the biggest concern is that prisoners have been going missing,” Quimby said.
“How many?” Cole asked.
