I wanted to hate him. Gods knew I had every reason to. But I understood him now in a way that scared me. His silence wasn’t arrogance. It was armor. And I knew what it was to wear that kind of shield—to fear what might break through.
The trail narrowed to a pass where the mountain wall rose sharply on one side and dropped steeply on the other. Rydian slowed, allowing his horse to pick the best footing, and I followed his lead, bracing my hand against the rock that rose up beside me. A few paces ahead, Daegel muttered something about mountain goats, and Rydian’s low laugh rolled like smoke in the cold.
The sound of it hit something traitorous in me.
I wanted to hear it again. To cause it. To call it mine.
When the path leveled out, I kept my gaze fixed ahead, counting the crunch of gravel under Mouse’s hooves, the hiss of wind between stones. Anything to ignore how my pulse changed when Rydian drew closer.
By midday, the mountains fell away behind us, though the trees remained. The air turned warmer, heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves.
We stopped only when Rydian called for it, his voice cutting through the silence. “We’ll rest here.”
Daegel shrugged off his pack and began clearing a space for a small fire. I knelt to help Amanti unfasten the straps on her own pack. Her fingers were stiff from the cold, but she brushed mine away.
“I’m not helpless,” she said.
“I know,” I said, smiling faintly. “You’d probably stab me if I treated you like you were.”
“I would never,” she said, lips twitching.
It was a small thing, that exchange, but it felt like something loosening between us—some old thread of loyalty pulled taut with her admission about being Rydian’s aunt now mending again.
An hour later, we resumed our trek, and the day passed quietly.
By nightfall, the world had quieted to only the sigh of wind through the trees. Daegel took first watch. On my left, Amanti cupped a mug of tea, staring into nothing with a look that hollowed me out. On my right, Keres sat, sharpening her blade with slow, deliberate strokes, the rasp of steel against stone steady as a heartbeat.
Rydian sat across from me on his bedroll. His limp had improved, but I could tell from the way he sat that his hip still twinged, thanks to the injury Koraz had given him.
We couldn’t risk a fire, but the moonlight was more thanbright enough to see him watching me. I tried not to notice the way the starlight caught in his dark hair. The strong line of his throat. The capable hands that had killed for me, protected me, betrayed me.
“Tell me about the naiad,” I said, desperate for distraction.
Amanti looked up from the tea Keres had forced on her. “They’re a kingdom made of old magic. Older than the courts.”
“Tyrion never could get them to agree to help us,” I said.
“They still consider themselves outsiders in Menryth,” Amanti said.
“They’ve been here for a thousand years,” I said.
“For some, a thousand years is not long at all,” Keres said quietly.
“Maybe for the gods,” I snorted.
“It’s not just that,” Rydian said. “They consider Beneath a different realm. One not subject to the same threats as Above.”
“They must know by now that Heliconia will not allow them to remain neutral,” I said.
“Patamoi is no fool,” Amanti said. “But he is no pushover either.”
Rydian shifted, and I felt his gaze like a physical touch. “We’ll need to prove ourselves worthy allies. Show him our strength.”
“I’m good at strength. It’s control that’s the problem,” I muttered.
No one else said anything.
Rydian frowned. Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
