Thia halted, grateful for the reprieve, even if it had come from Oskaren. “What?”
“Give me your pack,” the girl repeated.
She ignored her for a moment, gulping deep sips from her waterskin. “Why?”
Oskaren pulled a face. “I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.”
“Sure you are.”
Instead of rising to the bait, Oskaren said, “I’ll carry it for you.”
Thia frowned. There was no smirk on her face. “I’m fine,” she said hesitantly.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” Thia did trust the girl, at least as far as keeping her alive. But she didn’t want to give her any additional fodder for mockery by seeming weaker than Oskaren already knew her to be.
“No. You’re not.”
“Yes, I—oh, for goodness’ sake,” she exclaimed, when the girl reached behind her and slid the straps from her shoulders.
Oskaren stacked Thia’s pack on top of her own, which, unfortunately, gave Thia a great view of her broad shoulders as she handled the extra weight with ease.
“Thanks,” she muttered reluctantly.
“You were slowing us down.”
True. But it was still nice.
What did that mean? That Oskaren could be kind, so long as it stemmed from practicality and not affection? She watched the young woman’s back, already retreating up the hill. She was an asshole, and Thia actively disliked her. And yet.
She seemed smaller than usual under the weight of two packs, even as she clambered expertly over the rough terrain. Like the softness of her features in sleep, it tugged at something in Thia, a whisper of the girl Oskaren might have been if not for the king.
Her toe slammed into a rock, and she tripped. She caught her balance before she could careen face-first into another and put Oskaren out of her mind.
She soon lost track of how much time passed. She moved slower and slower, until each step was no more than a few inches, and she was practically clawing her way up the mountain. The sky darkened as the sun slipped behind the peak, the shadows closing in around them. She sagged with relief when her companions halted and set about making torches.
A hand rested on her back. Dess. “Hang in there.”
Wiping her forehead on her sleeve, she turned to face him. “We aren’t stopping for the night?”
He offered her a torch. “To spend the night here…would not be safe. We have no sun to guard us now. We’ll try to reach the crest before we stop, where the moon might offer some additional protection.” His face was gaunt in the flickering light. Afraid.
Thia took the torch, gripping it tight.
They set off again, even slower if that was possible, thanks to Thia’s exhaustion. It happened gradually, but as the minutes passed, mist slunk toward them, swirling around their ankles and twisting upward as though testing the retreat of the sun. A wave of a torch sent it scuttling back, hissing like cold water on a hot pan. There were strange voices in the air, some familiar, though Thia couldn’t place them. They called her name, beckoned with promises of comfort or calls of distress, until she desperately wanted to cover her ears, but couldn’t for fear of dropping her torch. Brandishing fire like a weapon, she also couldn’t use her hands to climb, which slowed them even more, until Thran finally signaled to stop.
“What is it?” Dess rasped. She was grateful to hear his fatigue, glad she was not the only weary traveler in their group.
“Trouble,” Thran said gruffly, pointing above.
“Clouds,” Oskaren clarified. “There’s no moon.”
Dess cursed. “What do we do?”
“Perhaps we should rest,” Thran said, with an eye on Thia. “Since where will make no difference now.”
Dess shook his head aggressively. “No. No, we can’t stay here. We can’t stop.” He inspected the sky. “The clouds might clear.”
