The fire popped. A log broke apart, sending a ribbon of sparks spiraling up into the dark. Somewhere beyond the ring of firelight, a horse stamped and blew.
Around her, the camp was settling. Warriors finished their food and drifted toward their tents, some alone, some in pairs, their voices dropping to low murmurs that blended with the wind in the pines. Annie had already disappeared into the supply cart, curled up with Brownie and the puppies under a mound of blankets. Tibbs was nodding off against a saddlebag near the smaller fire, his chin dropping and jerking up in a rhythm that would have been funny if Mab had the energy to laugh.
"Varek."
"Mm."
"The knife Grald lent me." She pulled it from where she'd tucked it into her apron. The firelight caught the blade. "I forgot to give it back."
He looked at it. Looked at her. "Keep it."
"It's his."
"He didn't ask for it back." Varek's voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. "An orc doesn't forget his blade. If he left it with you, it's yours."
Mab turned the knife over in her hands. Too heavy. Wrong shape. The handle was wrapped in leather worn smooth by someone else's grip.
She slid it back into her apron.
The wind picked up, cutting through the gaps in the rock walls. The fire bent sideways, recovered, bent again. Above them, the sky was enormous and black and salted with more stars than she had ever seen in her life, as though someone had taken all the ones the lowland haze had hidden from her and hung them out to dry.
Mab leaned back against the warmth behind her and looked up at every single one.
Chapter 17
The second day was easier.
Not easy. Her thighs still burned when she shifted in the saddle, and her lower back had developed a persistent ache that no amount of adjusting could fix. But her body had started to learn the rhythm of the horse's movement, and she found herself swaying with it instead of fighting against it.
Varek noticed. His arm around her waist loosened slightly, giving her room to move.
"You're learning," he said against her ear.
"I'm surviving."
His breath was warm on her neck when he laughed. A low sound, barely audible over the creak of leather and the clop of hooves on stone. She felt it more than heard it, a vibration through his chest into her spine.
The road climbed higher. The patches of snow grew larger, merging into sheets of white that covered the ground betweenthe rocks. The air thinned until each breath felt like drinking cold water, sharp and clean and not quite enough.
The column moved in single file now, the road too narrow for anything else. Sheer rock rose on one side, a drop on the other that Mab refused to look at after the first glance. Varek's arm tightened around her waist when the path curved, holding her steady against the horse's careful steps.
"Don't look down," he said.
"I wasn't planning to."
By midday, the road had leveled out onto a high plateau. The wind still bit, but the ground was flat enough that the column could spread out again, horses walking three abreast. Mab's legs had lost all feeling somewhere in the last hour, which she was choosing to view as an improvement.
The stop for the midday meal was brief. Warriors dismounted, stamped feeling back into their feet, passed around strips of dried meat and hard bread. Mab ate without complaint this time. Her jaw had apparently surrendered to the inevitable.
Annie appeared at her elbow, cheeks red from the cold, a puppy tucked inside her cloak.
"Brownie's doing well," she reported. "But this one keeps trying to escape. Drogga says he's got wanderlust."
The puppy was one of the spotted ones, its eyes still sealed shut, its tiny body wriggling against Annie's chest with blind determination. Mab reached out and touched its head with one finger. The fur was impossibly soft.
"He'll settle once his eyes open," Mab said. "Right now the world is just smells and warmth. He's looking for more of both."
Annie looked down at the puppy with an expression of fierce concentration. "I'll keep him warm."
