Thran ran a finger up his thigh, and she got the impression he was tracing a map in his mind’s eye. “A few days give or take.” His voice dropped. “We’ll have to pass through nÿgen territory.”
Thia shivered at the memory of their beady stares, snouts dripping with entrails.
“Won’t that take us near Aelfort?” Dess asked. “The seat of House Griffon,” he added for Thia’s benefit. “If we want to remain undetected, that’s hardly the way to do it.”
Thran rubbed a hand over his short beard. “They may have bought their survival with tribute, but the Lord Sagan Riltun is known to have given sanctuary to those of the fallen Houses the Tyrant didn’t deem fit to kill. ‘Tis unlikely.”
Dess dug his heel into the dirt. “I suppose the king tolerates it so long as he receives his tribute.” He swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And Lord Sagan is a magician, so he is of a certain use.”
Thia’s lips parted. “A magician? Can’t we just ask him to send me home?”
Dess shook his head. “He’d be even less capable than Callista. Magicians do learned magic from spells given to them by sorcerers. Tricks and trinkets, really.”
“Oh.” She struggled to keep the disappointment from her voice. “So…to the mountains then?” She directed the question to Dess.
He sighed. “Fine. But if anything happens to us, it’s on you.” His hazel eyes threw daggers at Thran.
The man grimaced. “Aye,” he agreed softly, then returned his attention to his bread.
Thia watched him for a moment, hoping she hadn’t just made a huge mistake. Dess, in turn, recovered quickly, shoving more cheese into his mouth. He bit down, then gagged and spat aggressively into his hand. “Fair Havens.”
“What?” Thia asked, worried he’d knocked a tooth out somehow.
“Mold,” he said mournfully, then chucked the bite of cheese into the bush.
Thia chortled. “What’s Fair Havens?” she asked, curious.
Dess raised an eyebrow. “Does anyone know?” He took her in. “Oh, you’re not joking. I suppose you don’t have that in your realm.”
She shook her head.
Dess shifted his position on the grass to face her more fully. “It’s a good place. Some say it’s where we go when we die. Others say it’s where we came from.”
“And what do you say?” she asked.
“I’d like to think there’s somewhere better. But it doesn’t change the fact we’re still stuck here in the meantime.”
“That’s practical. Wise beyond your years,” she teased, though she didn’t share his optimism.
He snorted. “You don’t even know how old I am.”
“How old are you then?”
His face fell.
She chastised herself silently. He wouldn’t know, would he?
“I think I’m about sixteen,” he answered. “Pagdan said they thought I looked about five or six when they brought me in. And it’s been ten years since then. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” she replied. “I win.”
A hint of his smile returned. A bird’s cry echoed through the trees, cutting off his retort. A moment later, feathers rustled near Thia’s ear.
“Mavrel,” Dess greeted him, as Thia felt the falcon land on her shoulder.
She reached a hand up to his feathers. “What are you doing here?” He gave a soft cry. Gently, she lifted him off her shoulder. “Go on,” she said. “Fly home.” He didn’t move, only pecked her lightly on the hand. “Ouch,” she sputtered, batting him away. “Who does he belong to?”
Dess shook his head. “No one. He belongs to himself. He’s been our persistent visitor even before I came to Haven, or so I’m told. The cleric believes he is our guardian.”
