“Azamat!” I whirl around. “Did a family pick up their allotment early?”
“No one’s entered the chamber since you left,” he says with a lift of his chin.
“Are you certain? You never left to fetch water? Or accidentally fell asleep?”
Or accepted a bribe?
Or joined the plot to sabotage me?
“I don’t fall asleep on watch,” he says with a sniff.
I try to keep my voice level. Calm. “Then didyoutake the bag of dried meat?”
Azamat’s knobby fingers tighten on the staff and his leather-worn face pinches. His shout rumbles through the cavern. “Why assign me to guard the food if you believe I’m the one who’s stealing it?”
I wince. It shouldn’t be possible for such a thunderous voice to come from such an old, wiry man.
“Enebish didn’t mean to accuse you.” Serik elbows past me, but it’s too late. The cacophony of complaints that only just died down resumes with twice the fervor.
“More food’s gone missing!”
“We won’t last another day!”
The hysteria builds like the pitter-patter of rain, until the shouts are a downpour. The cave is so flooded, I can barely keep my head above water.
“I’m sure the bag has simply been mislabeled. Or misplaced,” I call out. “I’ll take stock again. ThenIwill guard the rations.”
Azamat protests loudly, as does everyone within earshot, but I grab his staff—which is actuallymystaff—and use it to press him out of the cavern like a stubborn sheep. Mercifully, the staff takes a large swathe of the clamoring crowd with him.
Once a space is cleared, I position myself in the cavern’s opening, arms and legs extended so my hands and feet are flush with rock on both sides, like a human wall. The shepherds mutter and glower as they disperse, murmuring that I’m the least trustworthy of everyone, but we all know the real reason they don’t want me to guard the rations: theywantthe food to disappear. Just like they want the scouts to return empty-handed. Any reason to abandon my plans. They’re willing to throw away our only chance at freedom for a smelly tavern and a hunk of bread in Lutaar City.
Serik trudges away last. His steps are slow and he scrubs his hand over his exhausted face. I know I’m not making things easy for him—he’ll spend all night apologizing and giving out extra warmth to appease the shepherds—but we must all make sacrifices.
I certainly am.
And at least they appreciate his efforts.
The hours creep by slower than the pale green snails climbing the cavern walls. No one wanders by to chat with me, as they did with Azamat. But I don’t want visitors. I don’t want to be distracted—purposely or inadvertently. And I have the darkness. The only companion I need.
The tendrils curl around my wrists and twine through my fingers. They coil up my legs and wind around my torso, wrapping me in a velvety embrace. I breathe out and in. Relaxing, re-centering.
It’s impossible to gauge the passage of time without ever seeing the sky, but at least a night and day pass without trouble. By the time the shepherds settle into their tents the following evening, however, my eyes burn and my lids droop as if weighted with stones. My body is so heavy, I slide lower and lower down the wall. Maybe I was harder on Azamat than I should have been. The seductive lull of sleep is almost as irresistible as the night.
I rest my eyes for a second. Just a moment. No one would dare steal the rations while I’m sitting right here….
I don’t know if a minute passes, or if it’s several hours, but from deep within my cocoon of slumber, I feel the slightest nudge. I groan and wave my hand, shooing the pesky mouse or fire gecko. But then the feeling comes again, and this time I realize it’s not a nudge so much as a pull.
A yank.
The threads of night, resting slack in my palms, slide away, burning like rope as they go.
What in the skies?
My eyes fly open and I lurch upright, scanning the ration cavern. It’s barely ten paces across. An intruder would be a mere hand’s breadth away from me.
My muscles tense, prepared to pounce on whoever has the audacity to steal from the entire group. But I force myself to wait as I scan the darkness.
At first I see nothing, but as I gather up a handful of night and tug it back, like the blankets Ghoa hoarded when we shared a bedroll as children, an outline shimmers into focus.
