His mouth curved. "Tell Delia. And Thessaly. They will outfit you."
She stepped forward against him. Her arms went around his waist. Her cheek pressed against his chest, against the rough wool of his tunic and the heat of him beneath it. His arms came around her, and he held her.
"Thank you," she said into his chest.
His hand stroked down her spine. "Do not thank me yet. The journey will not be easy."
"I don't need easy. I just need to get there."
"You will." His voice rumbled through her, felt as much as heard. "I will make sure of it."
The archives welcomed her back. Verity lit the lamps in the main chamber and stood in the center of the web, surrounded by centuries of memory.
She had come here looking for her brother in documents. In records and reports and the careful accounting of the dead.
The orcs did not keep their dead that way.
She pulled her journal from the shelf where she had left it and opened to a blank page. Her pen found the paper.
Verity stared at the empty page.
She had been writing about Corvin for four years. Notes in margins. Questions in journals. A careful accumulation offragments that never quite assembled into a picture she could hold.
Now she had something different. Not a document. Not a date or a location or an official record.
A promise.
He will take me.
She wrote it down. The words looked strange on the page, too simple for what they meant. She had spent so long building her case in ink and evidence, preparing arguments she might need to make, anticipating objections she would have to counter.
Instead, she had climbed off his lap with her thighs still trembling and told him the truth.
And he had saidyes.
She set down the pen. Pressed her palms flat against the table.
In a matter of days, she would go to the place where he died. She would stand on the ground that held him. And Targesh, who carried names the way the mountain carried bones, would take her there.
The tears came then, silent and hot, and she let them fall.
Chapter 19
Delia arrived at her quarters before breakfast the next morning, arms full of wool and leather and what appeared to be an entire sheepskin.
"Targesh sent word." She deposited the pile on Verity's bed. "You're going to the high pass. You'll freeze to death in what you brought from Valdara."
Verity stared at the mountain of fabric. "I have a cloak."
"You have a decorative suggestion of a cloak." Delia held up a garment from the pile. "This is a cloak. Feel the weight."
Verity took it. It was heavier than anything she had ever worn, the lining soft against her fingers. "What is this?"
"Bear. Brenneth cured it himself." Delia was already sorting through the rest, separating items into categories Verity could not identify. "You'll need layers."
Delia held up a pair of boots, turning them to examine the soles. "These should fit. Thessaly guessed your size."
"Thessaly?"
