Mirian had no idea how long it had been when Tomas stretched an arm out in front of her; it felt like she’d been walking for her entire life. She hoped he had a good reason to stop her because she wasn’t entirely certain she could start moving again.
“We’re at the edge of the mill property,” he said quietly, bending close to her ear. “It smells like the mill’s still running in spite of the war. Not surprising, since the duke sold a lot of his high-end lumber to the empire. Ryder says that’s why he wanted our oak and…”
Tomas stopped talking when Mirian turned to face him, their mouths suddenly so close together she could feel his breath on her lips. “I appreciate the depth of your knowledge…” She did. It was a lot more interesting than fashions or her mother’s nerves or who had recently gotten married to whom, but would, unfortunately, have been as out of place in a drawing room as it was in the middle of the night outside a small town in the recently conquered Duchy of Pyrahn. “…but why have we stopped?”
“What?”
His lower lip was slightly chapped. She hadn’t noticed that before. “You stopped me.”
“Yes.”
“Why? Has someone else died?”
“No.”
His jaw was as smooth as hers. Did the Pack not need to shave? “Then why have we stopped?”
Instead of responding, he shook himself then shoved her behind him, taking half a dozen steps down the road, dragging the blanket off over his head as he moved, changing on the last step, hackles up, looking even bigger than she knew he was. He’d pulled the blanket out from under her stocking, not stopping to untie it, and it hung around his…waist?…the middle of his body, a dirty white stripe around the black, like some kind of weird medieval favor.
What was he protecting her from?
Now that all her attention was no longer locked on putting one foot in front of the other—or, she reluctantly admitted, on gazing at Tomas’ face like a simpering ninny—she could see an irregular landscape made up of piles of wood and, beyond that, a cluster of buildings topped by the distinctive shape of the mill wheel. Past the mill, the road turned to the northeast and followed the glint of the river for a while until it disappeared into a cluster of shadows showing only one or two scattered lights. Herdon. Only a little farther now.
Movement caught her attention and, looking back toward the mill, she could see a pair of shadows cutting diagonally across toward the road. She couldn’t see what they were, but she knew what they had to be. Captain Reiter had said they kept big dogs in this part of the duchy.
The profanity she’d learned from Adine suddenly seemed remarkably limited.
Not until the shadows reached the edge of the road did they finally resolve into dogs. They had a look of Pack about them, although they were smaller and their heads proportionally narrower.
Tomas growled, a low rumble Mirian felt roll across her, and took a stiff-legged step forward.
The dogs snarled and mirrored Tomas’ position.
Tomas took another step and stopped.
The three of them held their positions long enough Mirian had to bite her lip to keep from swaying in place, then the dogs lowered their heads, sniffed the dirt around their front feet—it looked very much like they were trying to convince Tomas they’d just run out to check that particular bit of ground—turned, and trotted back toward the mill, disappearing into the night.
Tomas stayed where he was for a moment before he turned and changed. “Guard dogs,” he said, retrieving the blanket, as though she hadn’t figured that out on her own. “Anyone coming down this road at night probably intends to help themselves from the mill yard.”
He sounded like he’d been reenergized by the encounter, moving as though his skin could barely contain him. All Mirian felt was tired. “Why didn’t they raise an alarm?”
“We’re upwind.”
“That’s how they knew we were here.” She started walking again before sitting down in the middle of the road and remaining there until someone provided a hot bath and a change of clothes became her only option. “But why didn’t they raise the alarm?”
“Dogs recognize the dominance of the Pack.” Tomas fell into step beside her, still holding the blanket. “They don’t challenge us. But guard dogs are both bred and trained to challenge, so they need more convincing. Geese,” he added after a moment, “are a bigger problem. They’re mean.”
Mirian had never met a goose that hadn’t been plucked, roasted, and served with chestnut stuffing. The thought of Tomas, hackles up in the dining room, facing down a holiday dinner made her giggle. Once the giggles started bubbling up, she couldn’t stop them. They kept coming even with her eyes closed and her hands clamped over her mouth.
“Mirian?”
Her ribs ached with the effort of keeping things in, and she felt as though she was going to shake apart. Her knees started to buckle, but something pushed against her legs when she threw out a hand to keep from falling, her fingers sinking into fur. She opened her eyes to see the top of Tomas’ head and to feel his warm weight against her, supporting her. He wasn’t watching her. He wasn’t judging. He was just a quiet presence lending her his strength until she could get herself back under control. Letting her know they were in this together.
She took a deep breath. If it still sounded a little shaky on the exhale, at least the terrible noises she’d been making had stopped. A second breath. A third. She forced herself to relax. Mage-craft came from calm. That lesson, at least, she’d always excelled at.
The outer layer of fur slipped cool past her fingers, the inner softer, warmer. Stroking his ears reminded her of the gray velvet evening cloak her parents had given her at Winter Solstice and the list of events that had accompanied it, including the parties for her to be paraded at before she returned to the university at the holiday’s end.
Tomas glanced up at her when she laughed.
“It’s okay,” she told him, stepping back to give him room to change. “I’m okay. Just putting things in perspective. As horrible as the last two days have been, I’d rather be doing this than nothing at all.”
“When we get through Herdon, we can look for a place to hide and rest.”
That was the best suggestion she’d heard for hours. “Good.”
The road entered Herdon between a large house by the river and lines of small cottages disappearing into the darkness on the other side. Mill owner, mill workers, Mirian assumed, tugging the blanket from Tomas’ hand and kneeling to retie the bedroll. She assumed that should they run into anyone awake, a young woman out at this hour with a big black dog would be less notable than a young woman out at this hour with a nearly naked young man. They had to find Tomas some clothes.
“Will there be soldiers?” she asked, untangling her bootlaces.
“Why would there be soldiers?”
“Maybe because the duchy was recently conquered.”
“The emperor wants the mill to keep producing. The people of Herdon want the mill to keep producing. There’ll be someone new in the mill house taking orders from the empire. Probably new workers brought in to replace those killed in the war.” He shrugged when she looked up at him. “Ryder says most people don’t care who’s in charge as long as someone is.”
Mirian thought of the empire absorbing Aydori. Of the emperor thinking he could just send soldiers in to take what he wanted. To take people he wanted. “I care.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve established that you’re not most people.” Tomas grinned. “You’re sensible.”