He moved away. “If we leave her asleep, she may follow us. We’ll have to tie her up.”
Not for the first time, she wanted to ask about their shared past. But she could see in the curl of his shoulders, the sour pull of his mouth, that he was done discussing it. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
He offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed.”
“We’ll figure it out,” she promised, trying to cheer him with some delusional optimism. “She’ll be agreeable. We’ll go to the king and ask for his help, and he’ll be agreeable too.”
“If he says no, or recognizes me—”
“He won’t.”
Dess gave her a look. “Thia.”
“Fine,” she relented. “Then we run like hell.”
“Like Sothis is crumbling,” he echoed.
TWENTY-ONE
THE AFTERNOON SLIPPED BY WITH STILL NO SIGN OFTHRAN ORMavrel. As evening loomed, thick clouds rolled in, promising rain, and Thia shivered. Next to Dess, she was grateful for the shield he created against the chill seeping in from the barn door, though she wondered if she should muster the effort to fish her cloak out of her pack. They had long since demolished Dess’s carrots, and her stomach was rumbling again.
“I survived off of hay for a week once,” said a sardonic voice from the corner. “You might consider it and let us rest in silence.”
Thia turned. Oskaren was sitting against the wall, watching them with a familiar smirk.
“How are you feeling?” she rasped, nearly running to the other girl in relief. Even though she hated her. Probably. Not really. She felt nothing. Nothing was safe to feel.
“Good as new,” Oskaren said. “What happened?”
“The Silver Sorceress,” Dess breathed. “She healed you.” He looked like Thia felt, as though it was taking everything he had not to go to her and make sure. He tucked his knees up to his chest and clutched them too tightly while he surveyed her in disbelief.
Oskaren seemed taken aback. “I suppose we have our Storm Crow to thank for that.”
“She found me,” Thia said. “I did nothing.” She joined in Dess’s inspection, cataloging the signs of health. Color had returned to the girl’s cheeks. She’d found the energy to smooth her chin-length hair back into a small ponytail, save for those strands at her temples and neck too short to reach the band. Her new silver scar flashed as she shifted under the attention.
“Would you like me to get up and dance so that you can be sure?” she asked both of them pointedly.
Thia blushed, scurrying to inspect the floorboards, while Dess brushed a hand over his hair, cheeks pink.
An hour later the rain began. They sat mostly in silence, the sound of the weather muffled by the wattle-and-daub roof. Thia distracted herself from her empty stomach by trying to recite everything she knew about the skeletal system, while Oskaren napped away the exhaustion that accompanied a healing. Dess threw bits of hay in the air and tried to catch them horizontally on his nose, but gave up when he realized Thia was watching and began pelting them at her.
When the fifth piece floated unthreateningly to the ground in between them, she extended her leg to slide it back toward him. “Your dedication is admirable.” He grabbed it, and her lips curled. “Not your methods, though.”
This time, he reached behind to pick a much larger handful from a bale of hay. Underestimating the length of one strand, he poked himself in the eye as he drew it forward, and let out a sputtering laugh. Thia cackled, only to choke on it in shock as a bolt of silver light tore through the window, setting the floor ablaze.
She scrambled to her feet, panicking at all the tinderous hay, but then the silvery fire went out.
“The sorceress came through,” Dess said, awe palpable.
He was right. Across the floorboards where the fire had been, letters were scorched into the wood in a familiar script, signed with the same rose, a serpent entwining its thorns.
Thia,
Tomorrow at noon.
Best of luck.
C.
