Conversation was stilted all through that first day of travel. Despite the promise of treasure, Talsar was unhappy, and his foul mood kept everyone else on edge. The cold of the gray mountain winter didn’t help. Nor did the storm that rolled in sometime after lunch, which spat sleet at us until the sky darkened with night.
When it was almost too dark to see, Firenza dismounted and handed her reins to Ezo, who, apparently practiced at this, clambered out of his small seat and onto the main saddle to guide the horse. With a flourish, she took off her cloak and threw it over her horse—and over Ezo, who had to dig his way out from beneath it—and unfurled her wings.
They were bat-like and as deep purple as a midnight sky. From tip to tip, they had to measure over twenty feet. With a laugh, Firenza ran and leaped into the air, sweeping them down and up, pushing herself into the sky.
Well, at least someone was in a good mood.
Twenty minutes later, she came back and reported that she’d found a suitable cave out of the elements. I was grateful. I didn’t want to reveal the extent of my “fancy mage school” education, but I was not going to sleep in the mud. Though, when we finally found the cave, it was so cold and my thighs were so saddle-sore I gave in to the temptation to light the stack of damp wood we found inside with a pinch of sulfur and twitch of my fingers. Thanks to the magic, it didn’t smoke, so we could have it nice and deep in the cave where it could actually keep the air warm.
“Thanks!” Ezo said. “That would have taken me a while to get burning.”
Preoccupied by my sore behind and ignoring the strange embarrassment that threatened to heat my cheeks, I winked at him. “I’ll light your fire anytime, sugar.”
Whoops. That hadn’t matched my sad-girl persona. Ezo didn’t seem to notice. He just flushed, mumbled something unintelligible, then stumbled away to take care of the horses at the back of the cave with Firenza.
To my surprise, Talsar was the one who got down to the business of tending the fire once it was lit. Half an hour later, when Ivy appeared like a shadow out of the freezing rain, he was also the one to skin and clean the brace of rabbits she’d caught.
“Get in here and sit down,” he growled. “Your hands are red. They’re probably numb. You’re lucky you didn’t shoot yourself in the foot. Why didn’t you hunt on the road?”
She rolled her eyes, but pressed her lips together to conceal what I suspected was a pleased smile at his concern. She also sat on the rock he’d indicated. “I had a passenger on the road.”
Talsar shot me a glare. I pointed an accusatory finger at Bob.
I thought I might have seen a flash of a reluctant smile before he pressed his lips flat and turned his attention back to Ivy. “Next time hand me your reins so you can hunt before the sun goes down.”
“As you command, your majesty.” She swept out her arm and bowed without standing.
Talsar grunted. “Yeah. I’m the majesty here,” then went back to cleaning the rabbits.
I felt a little bad that Ivy’s generosity toward me meant she’d had to go out in the cold and the dark, but then Talsar turned his back, and she started smiling softly at him like some kind of fool. Why? He was bossy and arrogant and rude.
When Ivy noticed me watching, she winked and shared her smile. It was a secret, friendly smile, like we were the kind of people who had private jokes about the ornery dark elf. Like we might be acquaintances on the way to becoming friends.
I pretended I didn’t see and rummaged in my bag like I needed something. I thought the vicarious embarrassment of watching her go doe-eyed over Talsar would be the most uncomfortable thing I’d have to endure on this trip. But for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on, having her smile at me like that was worse.
The second day passed much like the first, except the valley we’d entered was larger, the Lessor Mountains sweeping so far west they became misty hills on the horizon. And now, instead of empty, snow-patched grassland as far as the eye could see, we traveled a sparsely wooded ribbon of land, perhaps two miles wide, between the base of the Throne Mountains and the eastern shore of the Skaldsmere—a lake so vast I could easily convince myself it must be the sea.
Along with the change in scenery came a change in the weather. Thanks to the lake, the sleet we’d been battling turned to snow, bright white and drifting down from a lightening sky. Ivy laughed and threw back her hood, turning her face up to the sky. White crystals sticking in her shoulder-length red-brown hair sparkled like diamonds. I caught Talsar glaring at her more than once, but he didn’t bark at her to put on her hood like I’d expected.
Despite the snow, the day was relatively warm, and the snow melted as soon as it touched the road. Moods were lighter, and talk flowed more easily than the day before. I brought up my “sister” a few times to keep that little fantasy alive, shedding tears as necessary.
After seeing me hobble around camp, Ezo had loaned me extra blankets on which to sit, so the ride wasn’t so unbearable. The easier mood carried through that night and into the third day, which passed much the same as the second.
While it wasn’t the most convenient thing, traveling with others, I found that listening to their talk did make the time go faster. And maybe horses weren’t so bad, once my legs and backside got used to riding. At least horses generally went where they were told to go, unlike certain magic brooms.
“—and that’s when I found out I wasn’t the chosen one.” Firenza finished her story, face pinched. “It was a joke by my stupid brother! But it was too late—I’d already spent the whole night in the mud.”
Everyone laughed, including me, but I immediately pressed a hand over my mouth, stifling it.
“What about you, Adeline?” Ivy asked.
I started. “Beg pardon?”
“Your turn.” Ezo had turned backward in his little seat, long legs and booted feet dangling over the horse’s black rump. With him and Firenza riding just to the side and ahead of Ivy’s bay, we were in easy talking distance. “Tell us your best story from before your adventuring days.”
“Oh. I’m not an adventurer.”
“Because setting out to steal magic from hags isn’t something an adventurer does.”
I twisted to look at Talsar, riding several feet behind on a quiet gray gelding. Was he . . . smiling? His mouth was still a flat line, but something about his eyes seemed . . . amused. Odd. I’d thought the only emotion he was capable of feeling was annoyance.
“I was not stealing. I was . . . seeking.” I adjusted my skirts primly.
“Right.”
Maybe I would have considered myself an adventurer, except that adventurers all went on their little expeditions with friends, and I hadn’t exactly attracted many of those. On purpose, of course.
I tilted my head to the side. “Okay, here’s a story. Once Professor Arifiz, remember, my mentor at the Regia Arcanum? He got it in his head that we needed to study swamp hydra. So we squelch our way out there, and he gets lost. We must’ve wandered for three days. At night he would cast this little portal that led to a dry spot in a sort of between space, and on the third night, we found this island that was kind of firmer and higher than the land around it, even though it stank to high heaven. We thought it was just the swamp, right? Swamps stink. But when we woke up and walked out the door in the light of day—well, apparently hydra do their business all in one place to keep the rest of their territory clean. The professor had put the door to his little in between space right on top of an island of hydra dung.”