Essie perked up. “A stream? With real running water?”
“Not imaginary running water,” Teren said. “Figure we can go when most folks turn in.”
“Perfect,” she said.
Nythir swallowed a curse. He could tell her no. He could pull rank as healer, as the least hungover member of the party, as the one with the most sense of caution.
But he saw the way her fingers curled around the mug, knuckles white. The flicker of panic beneath the excitement. The way she clearly expected someone to make the decision away from her.
She didn’t want to be controlled anymore. “Not by my father. Not by my kingdom. Not by anyone.” That’s what she had said.
“Fine,” he said. “After training.”
Teren clapped him on the shoulder like they were friends. “Didn’t know you were her father,” he said, eyes glinting.
Nythir ground his teeth. If he had strong attack magic like Essie, Teren would have been in several more pieces. Cooked. On purpose.
But he could only harness healing and defensive magic. Most mages could only control one or two types. Essie was the exception.
He had always hated the types he had. They didn’t suit him like combat magic didn’t suit her. That was why he had gone on a journey to strengthen his fighting skills. Yet he still became the “healer” of a group. He simply used his skills to his advantage.
“I’m her healer,” he said. “Which means if she gets hurt, I fix it.”
“Then I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Teren said easily. “Scout’s honor.”
Nythir doubted the boy had ever been a scout.
Essie exhaled, shoulders lowering. “Thank you,” she said—to him, not Teren. For the compromise? For not locking her in a wagon? He wasn’t sure.
He just nodded and moved away before she could see the war on his face. He still had time to lock her in a wagon.
Lyssara sidled up next to him as he began setting up practice wards around the fire.
“You hate this.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t stop her.”
“I know.”
“She’ll be careful,” Lyssara said. “She’s not completely oblivious.”
“She thought wanted posters were a novelty,” he reminded her.
Lyssara sighed. “Fair point.”
They worked in silence for a moment. Nythir drew faint silver sigils in the dirt while Lyssara sharpened her sword.
“Going to keep watch?” she finally asked.
“Yes.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
Lyssara hummed. “You could also just admit you’re jealous.”
