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That night, they camped in a small cave, only tall enough to crawl inside. It was cramped, and they had to sleep pressed side to side, but the earth and stone around them were far warmer than the freezing air outside. It was near a more open area of the forest, so they had to be silent, taking turns through the night on watch, eyes scanning over the snowbank they’d piled up in front of the entrance.

The next day was similarly tense, moving through riskier areas. Iryana wanted to keep her head down as she trudged along in her snowshoes, wanted to pull the fur of her hood to cover her eyes from the biting wind, but she had to watch the trees.

As they approached evening, the forest thickened, trees pressing in from all sides. The wind lost a bit of its strength, fighting with the tops of the pine trees instead of them on the forest floor.

“We’re almost to the campsite for tonight,” Vaneshta told them, glancing over at Pyetar. “It better be as good as you say.”

“It will be,” Pyetar assured her, with a tired grin.

“Oh?” Iryana asked, a bit too excited. She was cold and achy and would have offered a lot to feel warm.

Pyetar looked at her, his full lips pressing together slightly with amusement. “You’ll see.”

And a few minutes later, she did see.

They approached an abandoned-looking outpost, smaller than the metal temple. It was more of a tower than anything, and she couldn’t see how tall it was from the ground, but the stone stretched into the thick canopy. With the pine trees growing right up to the base of the outpost, it was well hidden.

“This will certainly do,” Vaneshta announced as she headed in first. Lidishta let out a happy sigh behind her.

“I’m surprised no one lives here,” Iryana said once they had all made it inside, bracing the door with thick wooden beams and moving a wooden ladder over to an opening in the ceiling so they could climb up.

“It’s too isolated,” Pyetar told her, pulling up the ladder onto the second floor once they were all up.

It didn’t feel like a home, though the room contained a small oven, sparse shelves, and a table and chairs. There was nothing to soften the stone walls and wooden floors; no rugs, paintings, or tapestries. It felt empty and sad.

Everyone was quiet as they moved about, slowly thawing.

They set about lighting a fire in the oven that Pyetar had deemed safe enough and setting out their bedrolls around the floor. Once the fire was big enough, they put a pot of snow inside to melt and boil, and placed their rations for the evening along the edge of the oven to warm up. The room heated enough that they could remove their outermost layer.

Lidishta and Vaneshta sat on the floor, leaning against the side of the oven. Pepha lay on her stomach along her bedroll, while Mezhimar sat on a chair beside her. Iryana sat down next to Pyetar at the table, offering him a grateful smile.

“How many nights do we get to camp like this?” she asked optimistically.

He grimaced.

“Actually, don’t answer that.” She’d just focus on enjoying it while she could. “We split up in the morning, right?”

“We do,” Vaneshta answered. “I’ll want to get another look at your map before we go, General.”

Pyetar tipped his head. “Of course.”

“And you two need to be careful.” Vaneshta narrowed her eyes at Iryana and Pyetar with a serious lift of her brows. “Nothing ruins the mood more than dakii discovering you in the act.”

Iryana choked as Lidishta nodded sagely. “That’s very true.”

Pepha let out a strangled laugh, and Mezhimar turned bright red. Iryana turned to Pyetar to find him stiff at her side. Iryana leaned over and whispered, “They already know.”

“About…”

“Us.”

“Ah. That would explain it.” He didn’t seem upset, thankfully, just surprised.

“I think it’s great,” Pepha said. The others added their agreement.

Iryana smiled at them awkwardly. She was glad they knew, glad she didn’t have to hide anything with Pyetar in front of them, but she didn’t know how she was supposed to act. Lidishta and Vaneshta were always touching and talking, but Iryana had never really been with anyone who meant something. Never courted anyone—whatever that entailed.

So, she changed the subject.