The fire crackled. Around it, soldiers talked, ate their rations, and rested. Larana was sharpening something. She was always sharpening something. Baxley watched the darkness beyond the camp with that distinctive vigilance that never quite settled, his knife whittling a piece of wood.
Nicco looked up from his conversation with Marson and found my eyes across the fire.
He held the look for a moment. Then he returned to his conversation.
I pulled my cloak tighter, stared at the flames, and thought about the word escorted and how it was different from the word employed, and how the difference between them was exactly as large as I'd been trying to convince myself it wasn't.
South.
We were heading south.
And if I wasn’t careful, then I was going with them. Whether that was still my choice was the question I was becoming less and less sure I wanted answered.
Fuck. I’d have to leave them at some point. I had the five gold. I’d earned that other five, but I’d rather be short on payment than be forced to go farther than I was willing.
Damn them to shades of the underworld. I was now pissed off at them all. Sitting there, leaning on my knowledge to guide them south to safety, they were going to double-cross me.
I just knew it.
My foot started tapping against the snow, and I saw his head lift once more to look at me over the camp.
“Trailfinder?”
Fuck him.
I was on my feet, walking away from the camp.
A hand caught my arm and pulled me back into his chest. I knew it was him. No one else had the audacity to touch me as freely as he did.
“I need privacy.” If my voice sounded like it came from between clenched teeth, it was because it did.
“For what?”
I wrenched free of him, spinning to face him. “Oh my gods, Nicco, I need someprivatetime.”
“You need to shit?”
My eyes closed in despair. “Please go away.”
“You just needed to say that, bunny.”
“Gods, you’re an asshole.” I stomped away from him and refused to acknowledge the fact that the bastard told me to stay close.
I got maybe thirty feet before I knew he was behind me.
Not footsteps. I never heard his footsteps. Just the change in the air's quality that happened when Nicco decided to be somewhere.
I didn’t turn around. “Why?”
“I said stay close.”
“I heard you,” I said, without stopping. “And I told you I neededalonetime.”
“Amarya.”
“I need some space, Nicco. Just some space where no one is watching me and I can do what I need.” I stopped walking and turned to face him. He was closer than I expected, which was always the problem with him. “Can you give me that?”
He studied me for a moment with that level, assessing look. “No.”
