I turned to look at him, my eyebrow raised. “So you tell me what Nicco won’t.”
Baxley laughed. “You may be pretty, Amarya, but I’m not falling for that trick.”
He thought I was pretty?
He walked away before I could answer.
I stood alone in the middle of the camp, surrounded by soldiers who were beginning to trust me, mercenaries who puzzled me, and a horizon that promised nothing except more cold and more north.
I stood where he'd left me for longer than was dignified.
The gap between what he says and what he means is more interesting than most.
I turned that over. Baxley said things plainly. I'd noticed that from the first morning. He didn't embellish, didn't deflect, didn't waste words on politeness when directness was available. So when he chose to be oblique, it was deliberate.
Which meant he wanted me to think about it.
Which meant I was already doing exactly what he'd intended.
I was beginning to find Baxley almost as irritating as Nicco.
I moved back to where I'd left my pack and crouched beside it, occupying my hands with checking the straps and buckles I'd already checked twice.
I stood and shouldered my pack.
Across the area, Nicco was speaking quietly to Captain Marson, his hands moving in brief, economical gestures that indicated direction rather than emphasis. Marson was listening with the full attention of a man who had quietly transferred his operational trust with no resistance.
Two weeks ago, I'd have found that amusing. The captain deferring to a mercenary, and the mercenary assuming authority he hadn't been granted.
Now I watched it and felt something closer to pragmatic relief.
Nicco looked up and caught me watching. He said nothing, just held eye contact for a moment with that unreadable steadiness before turning back to the captain.
I pulled my hood up.
The gap between what he says and what he means.
I knew what he'd said. Useful. The best trailfinder in Crystallese. A resource he didn't want to lose.
What he meant was something Baxley had left deliberately unfinished, probably just to piss me off.
I was not going to think about it.
I was absolutelynotgoing to think about it.
“Trailfinder.” Nicco's voice wasn’t loud or close. It just carried exactly as far as it needed to and no further. “When you're ready.”
I looked at him, ready to snap at him, but he was already facing north, pack on, waiting with the patience of a man who already knew that the time he spent waiting would cost him less than the argument would.
I hated that he was right about that too.
“I'm ready,” I called out, pretending to sound bored with all his dickish ways. Iwasbored with his dickish ways.
I focused on the trail.
North. To the unknown.
I pulled my cloak tighter, looking forward to the normal solitude of the trail because overall? This was a very strange day.
