Mara makes a bland but hot soup of softened jerky, dried onions, and pine bark, but I haven’t slept or even rested since escaping the pit, and I have no appetite. I eat less than half the bowl before giving the rest to Mula, who slurps it down eagerly.
I drag myself into my tent and slip into my bedroll. It’s freezing, and my teeth chatter. I know my bedroll will eventually warm to my body, but I don’t feel like waiting.
Thank you, God, for sparing the lives of all my companions while we were at the enemy’s door. I hope it’s not asking too much, but if you could just help us get to Basajuan before the Deciregi do, I would appreciate it.
The truth is, I’m not sure if God looked out for us, or if we won the day ourselves. I’m not sure of anything about him anymore. The stone inside me bears his name, but it turns out that Godstones existed here long before my people brought the knowledge of God to this place.
Even so, my Godstone spreads warmth throughout my body, and I fall asleep praying.
Mara shakes me awake in the morning. I blink bleariness from my eyes and struggle to my feet. I stretch stiff limbs and shake the snow from my braid, which never quite made it inside the tent with the rest of me.
Everyone else is ready to go; the horses are saddled, the tents are packed up, the fire stomped out. “We let you sleep as long as possible,” Mara says, handing me a fried corn cake that has gone so cold the honey she dribbled on it has crystallized.
“Thank you,” I say around my mouthful of breakfast, but unease fills me. I don’t want to be the one holding us back. “Don’t let me sleep late tomorrow.”
She rolls her eyes at me, then she and Hector pack my tent while I finish eating.
More snow fell during the night. Away from our trampled-down campsite, it is almost knee-deep. Pine boughs sag under its weight. The trees nearest our campfire drip icicles.
“We need to hurry,” Belén says. “Another snowfall like that and we’ll lose the trail.”
“The ash has made everything worse,” Waterfall says. “The last time the volcano erupted—in my grandfather’s time—the world experienced the worst winter in known history.”
“I traveled this path several times during the years when I was an ambassador,” Storm says. “Volcano aside, more snow will make traveling impossible higher up unless we cross the divide soon.”
“At least the Deciregi will face the same delays we do,” I say.
Hector guides his horse beside mine and says, “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Oh?”
“They can’t have missed the eruption. And Pine sensed when the sacrifice was killed. He felt a lessening of power.”
“Oh.” I frown as understanding dawns.
Hector nods. “They know you’re coming for them. Either they will travel as quickly as possible, or—”
“Or they will wait to ambush me.” I sigh. Will there ever be a time in my life when someone isn’t seeking to murder me? Will I ever feel safe again? “I’ll send Belén on scouting forays. Which means you must ride point so he can stay as rested as possible.”
“I can scout,” comes a high, little-girl voice.
I twist in my saddle to find Mula staring at me eagerly. She rides a horse of her own finally—a dapple gray gelding with a fuzzy winter coat.
“Belén is teaching me. I’m very quiet. Orlín said I had the softest feet he ever knew. That’s why I was the one who snuck into the rooms and . . . But I don’t do that anymore!”
Hector and I exchange an amused glance.
“If Belén says you can go with him, I won’t stop you,” I say. “But only if he says. And you’re not going alone.”
She grins triumphantly. “Yes, my lady.”
At some point we’ll have to tutor her in proper address. Not to mention the fine art of eating with utensils instead of one’s hands, or the fact that a little girl ought not expose herself by raising the hem of her shirt to wipe her nose. And one of us should teach her to read and write. If we ever get back home safely, I’ll find a good tutor or buy her an apprenticeship.
I’m not sure when I decided that she would come home with us, but now I wouldn’t consider any other alternative. Mara would be furious if we left her in anyone else’s care. Maybe even Belén.
I let thoughts of the girl continue to occupy me all day as we wind up the snowy mountain. It’s better than dreading an ambush.
We make camp in a clearing. Mara gets a fire started, and Hector and I set up tents while the horses paw through the snow to reach the frozen grass beneath. After a cold meal of what Mula calls “tasty balls”—nuts, ground meat, and cake crumbs rolled together with olive oil and sheep fat, I send Belén to scout. He does not agree to take Mula with him, so I allow her to stand the first watch with me.
As everyone else turns in, she retrieves Lucero’s Godstone from her pocket and hands it to me. “I kept it safe for you,” she says solemnly.
I pluck it from her fingers and shove it in my own pocket, thinking to stow it in the box beside my Godstone crown when I get a chance. “Thank you, Mula.”
Moments later, it begins to snow again.
Belén returns in the morning. “No sign of an ambush ahead,” he says, shaking snow from his cloak. “But last night’s storm makes tracking difficult. I did find a few footprints from a large party traveling ahead of us, but they were old and already mostly snowed in. If we move fast, I might be able to catch them in a day or two on a scouting foray. We’d have to get really close, though. I just can’t cover as much ground in the snow.”
I shake my head. “I need you sharp, Belén. I won’t make the same mistake I made before and exhaust you.”
“I can sleep in the saddle with Hector at point.”
Hector sits on a nearby boulder, scraping one of his daggers with a whetstone. “And Mara will take up the rear—she’s handy with her bow. Storm has the next best distance advantage, with that Godstone of his. I want him beside Elisa. And I want Waterfall where someone can see her at all times.”
“You can trust her,” Storm says from the side of his mount. He buckles a saddlebag and gives the cinch a final tug.
“You really can,” Waterfall echoes in her soft, syrupy voice. “I have no use for any of you Joyans, and I would just as soon murder you all in your sleep, but my brother is now heir to Crooked Sequoia House and I am bound by oath to obey him.”
Storm leans toward her and says in a teaching voice, “Joyans consider it is rude to express one’s true opinion unless it is unequivocally flattering.”
Her brow furrows. “Then how do they express anything at all?”
I roll my eyes at both of them and walk over to mount Horse. She cranes her neck to give me a side-eyed gaze. I stroke her neck. “Good morning, stupid girl. Ready to ride?” I grab the reins and lead her toward the trail. A head toss sends her ridiculous mane flying, and she steps high through the snow.
We travel in silence. There is an odd, expectant hush over the world, as if the thick snow and rolling clouds demand quiet, and everything is helpless but to obey. Even the footsteps of our horses are muted. I marvel at how like a desert this place is, with nuances of light and color that gradually separate themselves from a seemingly uniform and barren landscape.
It is almost time for our afternoon meal and rest break when Storm clicks to his mount and pulls even with me and Horse. “I smell a storm,” he says.
“Well, obviously,” I say, reaching out with a gloved hand to catch snow in the palm of my hand.
“No, I mean it’s going to get worse.”
I wipe my hand on my pants. “Any more will block our trail.”
He nods. “We are still at least a day away from the divide. We should take shelter at the nearest way station.”