A few of his audience snorted, but not unkindly and the moment passed. Alina forced herself to relax, shoulders dropping by a quarter inch. She found the stew in front of her and tried to look busy with it.
Stew was the standard daily food and today, it was even more of a disaster than usual: root vegetables boiled to gray, shreds of what might once have been meat, and a skin of grease that floated on top like pond scum. Still, Alina ate. She had learned, very quickly, that anything warm and filling was a gift, and besides, she needed the energy for tomorrow.
She was in the act of lifting another spoonful when Finn’s voice cut in again, closer this time.
“Careful with that stuff. Too much and you’ll grow a third eye.” He dropped onto the bench beside her, knocking shoulders. “Or isn’t that what they teach in the palace? That rebels eat rocks and mutant stew until we sprout extra limbs?”
Alina managed a smile. “Mostly, they say you eat children.”
Finn considered this, then nodded. “Not wrong. Especially the loud ones.” He jerked a thumb toward the toddler now contentedly gnawing on a fist. “But only if there’s nopie.” He stole a chunk of bread from Alina’s plate and popped it into his mouth, chewing theatrically.
Alina found herself laughing, the sound awkward but genuine. It was the first time in days she’d forgotten to monitor her every word and movement. She realized, too late, that she was staring again—not at Finn, but at the room in general, at the complicated dance of hands and bowls and voices.
She quickly lowered her eyes, only to knock her spoon against her bowl. Broth splashed down her sleeve and onto the stone floor with a sad, wet plop. Alina wished desperately she could transform into one of the sad root vegetables and disappear beneath the table.
Tamsin's crisp voice cut through her mortification from the end of the bench. “Elegant.”
Allina felt her ears burn. She looked up, half-expecting to see judgment, but Tamsin’s eyes were as neutral as ever. She reached out and passed Alina a fresh piece of bread, then returned to her own food without another word. There was kindness in the act, camouflaged as indifference.
From further down the table, Marcus Ironweave nodded in her direction. He was massive, with arms like kiln-fired bricks and a face that seemed perpetually caught between smile and scowl. He wore a leather apron, streaked with ash, and had a way of watching everything at once, like a smith monitoring multiple fires. Marcus had been one of the party who had taken her from the palace. She had met him frequently since she had arrived at the Caves. He was one of the few people who had never been hostile toward her. He generally seemed to be a man of little words, but whenever they met, he had at least had a polite nod to spare her.
“Don’t mind the jokes,” he said. “Finn is just a big child, trying not to cry.”
“Oh, ha ha!” Finn countered. “At least I am not a grumpy old man with no sense of humor.”
Marcus’ gaze dropped to Alina’s bowl which was half empty by now. “The food's terrible, the company's worse, but you'll stop noticing both eventually.”
Alina thanked him, her voice barely audible over the racket in the hall. She tried to focus on her bowl but couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, and she was quite sure it wasn’t just her anxiety talking. Lifting her eyes to scan the crowded room, she searched for the one presence that occupied her mind.
Kael hadn’t joined everyone else at the tables. Rather, he stood near the far wall, one shoulder braced against a timber pillar, arms crossed, eyes half-hidden by the fall of his hair. He looked, as always, like a sentry forced to play at civilian, predator energy wrapped in the thinnest possible disguise. He was deep in conversation with Elara Moonshadow. Alina’s stomach dropped when she saw him and again when she saw his company—and she promptly scolded herself for feeling anything at all about that. That was completely inappropriate.
All right, if she were being honest, she might have a tiny crush on Kael, but he could talk to whomever he wanted. Whom he chose as conversation partner was totally irrelevant to her. Period.
Every few moments, Kael’s gaze would flick back to the room, to the doors, to the fire. Never to her. Alina found herself wishing he would look. The heart could be a traitor, and hers definitely was.
Finn nudged her. “He’ll come over if you ask nicely,” he said, voice low.
Color rose in Alina’s cheeks. “Who?”
Finn pointed his chin toward Kael. “Our fearless leader. He looks like he’s brooding, but really, he’s just tallying the odds. Always does that before a mission.”
“Why?” She blurted out, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Finn shrugged, finishing the last of the bread. “It’s what he does. Figures out who’s likely to die, who’s going to run, who needs a pep talk and who needs a kick in the pants. Sometimes I think he does the math just to keep from going mad.” He glanced at Alina, then away, as if embarrassed by the honesty.
“He’s not what I expected,” she said, mostly to herself.
Finn grinned. “None of us are.”
The conversation shifted, as conversations in crowded rooms do, first to the plan for the next day, then to rumors from the north, then back to stories of the last raid. Alina listened, trying to absorb as much as she could, but her mind kept wandering to the patrol route, to the fragments of map she’d glimpsed in the war room, to the fact that she had not been included in the planning at all. She felt left out by that, a childish, immature thought. Why should they include her? Especially her?
She wanted to ask, to take some initiative, but her tongue felt like it was wrapped in lead. Instead, she waited for the moment to present itself.
It came sooner than she’d dared hope. As the bowls emptied and the noise shifted from hunger to contentment, Kael finally made his way down the room, weaving through the tables with the grace of a big cat. He stopped by their bench, one hand resting on the back of Finn’s neck in a gesture halfway between affection and warning.
“Tomorrow’s patrol leaves before sunrise,” he said, addressing no one and everyone. “We’ll take the south passage, then cutacross the ridge. Marcus, you’re on supplies. Tamsin, point. Finn, rear guard.” He paused, eyes settling on Alina. “You’ll shadow Tamsin.”
Alina’s heart skipped. “Should I… bring anything?”
