Dess’s answering grin was wicked, just in time for Sorscha to return.
“I don’t want to know,” she said, before they could talk. She ushered them up. “Time for bed, you two. Pagdan says you’ll leave at dawn.” She smiled a little sadly, lingering the longest on Dess. Then she held her hand out to Thia. “Come, love. You’ll stay with me again tonight.”
“Sorscha,” Dess started, and her smile became pained.
“To bed,” was all she said, before she turned away, leaving Thia to follow. As if unimpressed with the exchange, Mavrel gave a loud squawk and disappeared into the night.
NINE
“HERE. PUT THESE ON.” SORSCHA’S VOICE WAS A LOW WHISPER. ITwas still dim inside the hut; Thia could only see the contours of the older woman’s face by the light of the candle she held, though the window was tinted with a gray that promised dawn. Sorscha handed her a stack of clothes, her expression kind, if a little grim. Thia took them, and the older woman departed, leaving her to dress.
She unfolded the garments, shaking them out one by one: a pair of brown breeches, a dark green tunic, a wrap she assumed doubled as this world’s version of a bra when one didn’t have the support of a dress, a leather vest-type thing she vaguely thought was called a jerkin, and a pair of tall black leather boots. The material was rough under her fingers, a sturdy sort that would do well against the elements and wear of travel.
Her pajama shorts and hoodie lay folded on the chair near the window—courtesy of Sorscha again, she assumed. She eyed them for a moment, feeling like she was abandoning something of herself, but decided she didn’t want to carry them across this strange continent. Leaving them there, she exchanged the borrowed nightdress for the new items, amazed at Sorscha’s ability to guess her size. The skill of a seamstress, she supposed. Only the breeches were a bit tight around the hips and thighs—but then, Thia had never met a pair of pants that weren’t.
Sorscha returned shortly after. “Are you prepared?”
“As much as I’ll ever be.”
The woman gave her a solemn nod. “Take this.” She carried a large leather sack with straps much like a backpack, and handed it to Thia. “Supplies for your journey. Some food, though you’ll likely have to hunt and forage before long. Healer’s supplies. A bedroll. A cloak, if the weather changes.”
It was heavy. Thia nearly dropped it and was in awe of the older woman’s strength. Thinking of the long journey ahead, she grimaced. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry,” Sorscha said with amusement. “I gave Dess the heavier items.” But then the mirth faded.
“I’ll ask,” Thia blurted, before she could stop herself.
Sorscha raised her brows.
“About Oskaren. I’m going to ask about Dess’s memories. When I ask the king to send me home—I’ll ask about her heart.”
Sorscha smiled. It didn’t meet her eyes, and Thia knew the woman held no hope. “Thank you, Thia.” She paused. “Take care of Dessfar. That boy is trouble walking. He’ll need your head.”If he’s to survive this,Thia tried not to hear. She wondered what danger awaited them.
“I will,” she promised. To the best she was able. Which might not be very good at all.
With a brief touch of her hand to Thia’s face, Sorscha turned, leading the way out of the hut.
They met the others at the edge of the clearing. Dess greeted her with a nod as she approached. He indeed had nearly twice the gear she did, and she wondered what else was in his pack. He was also covered in weapons, a bow and quiver slung outside the leather sack, a sword and three different knives hanging from his belt.
Thran looked away pointedly, his haggard face distinctly miserable. Pagdan’s was unreadable, if a bit bleak.
Haven’s leader extended a hand, a small dagger in his palm. “Storm Crow,” he said by way of greeting. “Take this. You’ll need it.”
Thia blinked, her fingers sliding around the cool handle. Pagdan released the blade, and Thia took it fully in her palm, gripping the hilt as tightly as she could, like at any moment it was going to leap out of her hand and stab her of its own accord. Never mind that it was sheathed.
Trying to ignore the attention on her, she attached it to her belt.
“The fortune of Fair Havens go with you,” Pagdan said, clasping forearms with Dess.
“And you,” Dess echoed, solemn for once.
Sorscha pulled him into a hug. “Be safe, my child.”
Dess paused a moment, then threw his thick arms around her. “I will.” The words were nearly lost in her shirt. Then Sorscha broke away, blinking rapidly.
“May you have Fair Havens’ blessings as well, love,” she said to Thia.
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “For everything.”
