The camp had settled into a rhythm of people resting without fully committing to it — half alert, half exhausted, the kind of rest that didn't fully restore them but was better than nothing. Someone was sharpening a blade. Someone else was eating something cold and apparently not enjoying it.
Normal sounds. Ordinary sounds. I felt completely removed from all of it.
I turned his words over and over. What did they mean? I was making myself dizzy trying to find the negative in what he’d said.
There was nothing wrong with being useful. I'd built my entire survival on being useful to merchants, to caravans, toanyone who needed someone who knew how to read snow and cold and the moods of a land that wanted you dead.
Being useful was fine.
I was also repeating myself, and I didn’t needvalidationfrom a man like Nicco.
I pushed myself upright, brushing snow from my cloak, and looked around the camp with the deliberate calm of someone who had definitely been asleep and not eavesdropping with the aid of illegal magic on a conversation they weren't meant to hear.
Baxley was with Larana at the edge of the trees. They stood close enough to speak quietly, and whatever they were saying held Larana's full attention, which was unusual. Normally, her attention was spread across everything and nothing specific. Right now, it was on Baxley, and whatever was on her face wasn't her usual watchful blankness.
I filed that away for later without examining it now.
I scanned the camp, and Nicco was not immediately visible. That meant he'd either taken a position at the perimeter or had somehow made himself invisible, both of which were equally plausible.
Captain Marson appeared at my elbow. “Amarya. Rested?”
“I am,” I lied.
He nodded, the nod of a man who wanted to say something else. I waited him out. I wasn’t good at making conversation, and I found that if you just stood patiently, they’d eventually spit it out.
“The men,” he said carefully, “have been discussing the events of last night and the previous days.”
“Have they.”Ugh, what now?
“They are...” He paused, choosing his words with the care of a man who had learned that careless words caused expensive problems. “They are reassessing their earlier assessments of you.”
I looked at him. “Their assessments of me? Did theyhavean assessment of me?”
“Well, we had a shaky start.” He gave me a weak smile, and I didn’t return it. Marson hurried on. “You handled the situation with Vorn's men?—”
“You and your men handled the situation,” I said quickly. “I stood there and gave a speech.”
“You prevented it from becoming significantly worse.” He held my gaze with the steady expression of someone who had decided to say what was on his mind and was going to finish. “You spoke for us. You took responsibility for something that wasn't yours to take. The men noticed.”
I didn't know what to do with that, so I looked at the soldiers instead. A few of them caught my eye and looked away quickly, not with hostility, which had been their default for most of this journey, but with something more complicated. One of the younger ones gave me a short nod.
I bobbed my head back.
“Right,” I said. This was awkward. I disliked awkwardness.
“Also,” Marson continued, “Private Edran… you told him to keep his fingers moving. When the cold took them.”
I became more alert. “His fingers are fine?”
“They are.” He cleared his throat. “He wanted me to let you know he is grateful.”
I looked over at the young soldier, who was currently very busy examining something in his pack and not looking at me at all. His right hand moved as he sorted through it, flexing and curling. He was doing it unconsciously.
It made me smile a little. It wasn’t a bad habit to have in Crystallese.
“Tell him he's welcome,” I said.
Marson nodded and withdrew, and I stood in the middle of the camp, thinking about how I hadn't been included in thewatch rotation, then I had been, then Baxley had defended me, and now the captain was passing along the private's gratitude. Somewhere in that sequence, the dynamic had shifted, and I hadn't been paying attention to it.
