It could be her. The thought bounced in his head every time Cass woke in the night. He checked the position of the moon through the clouds, searched the camp for signs of visitors, and made himself go back to sleep. He had no doubt they would be found, but he wanted it to be on his terms, when he was ready.
When he woke at dawn and found Elia in his arms, curled close against his chest, the thought rang louder than before. He ached with a longing unlike anything he’d ever known.
It could be her.
She was frustrating. Innocent and naive in ways he could hardly wrap his mind around, yet strong-willed and determined in ways she couldn’t hide. She’d been made to hide it, he decided. Made to be quiet, demure, obedient. Traits others enjoyed in a girl whose sole purpose seemed to be helping others. Fixing.
Yet she saw no need to fix him.
His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. What would that be like? Someone who accepted his cross and sullen ways without encouraging him to be more cheerful? More personable? It was strange to be accepted that way.
Smile, Alessia always said. You’re someone now. They’re watching. You should smile.
Elia didn’t care if he smiled or not. She hadn’t been put off by his cold attitude or short words.
Nor was she put off by danger. Part of him hated that safety was a question, but he couldn’t deny that being near him was a risk. There was a chance it always would be. No matter how he tried to leave that life behind, it would always trail behind him, a possibility for threat that would never let him lower his guard.
That, perhaps, made his feelings foolish. Maybe she was the threat. Maybe that was why she’d turned that stranger loose. Or maybe she really was so trusting and innocent that she believed he’d posed no danger after she’d slathered some herb paste on his busted lip and bleeding face.
Cass should have pummeled the man into the ground.
A soft hand slid against his side and around to his back. Elia sighed softly and nestled her head under his chin. “You’re warm,” she murmured.
“So are you.” The fabric of his shirt was a thin barrier between her fingertips and his skin, and it did nothing to keep fire from lancing through him at her touch.
“Mmm. I guess it’s not so bad that the tent is so small, then.” She curled closer.
Curse it. He knew he’d grown lonely, and this… This was torture. And yet he couldn’t stop himself from sliding his leg over both of hers, drawing every bit of her into his grasp.
Elia gave a soft, sleepy chuckle. “You shouldn’t hold me like that,” she whispered. “I might think you like me.”
“It’s cold outside. You’re warm. That’s all,” he lied.
Her small laugh said she was unconvinced.
He shut his eyes and tried to think of the day ahead, but none of it changed that she was still in his arms. Curse it all. A thousand curses.
With a tiny sigh, Elia drew back. “I suppose we should go. Our friend will be back today, won’t he?”
“Most likely.” Cass hadn’t seen any signs of outposts nearby, but he wouldn’t discount them. Their visitors could be sitting right outside their pathetic tent, for all he knew.
He crawled out from under the blankets and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers snagged on a braid. Ah; he’d forgotten. The braids at the sides of his head were only tied with string, so he tugged it off the ends and unraveled them so his hair fell loose about his ears. Then he reached for his boots.
Elia watched him while she pulled on her own. The tiny canvas tent’s interior had begun to brighten. Had the canvas been dark, she wouldn’t have been able to see. “You’re a very handsome man, Cassian.”
He fumbled the laces. “What?”
“From what I can see, anyway. I’m sort of guessing what your jawline must be like.” Her eyes sparkled when she glanced his way.
His hand drifted to the underside of his chin and he threaded his fingers through his beard, testing the length. He’d thought it was all right. Now he second-guessed himself. “Normal. I guess.”
“No, I mean… Is it square? Sharp? Are you hiding a big chin? Or something else?”
It took him a moment to realize she was teasing, then he snorted and returned his attention to his boot laces. “Dimples.”
Elia paused. “What?”
“My sister says they make me look like a little boy who’s up to no good.”
Her laugh was sweet. Enticing. “I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time picturing you with dimples. Or as a little boy, for that matter.”
“We were all little at some point.” With his boots tied, there was little left to do to get ready. Instead of reaching for his coat, he gathered one of the blankets and folded it up small.
She took the other and did the same. “Well, yes. But you’re so serious. And strong. It’s hard to imagine you being anything other than what you are now.”
He stuffed the blankets into a bag. “What we are now is all that matters. It’s not like you can go back.”
“Well, no, but you can always reinvent yourself. I feel like you know something about that.” She peeled their bedrolls apart, smiling to herself as she did. They’d unbuttoned the sides of both and spread them on the ground instead of nestling into just one, using one as cushion and one as an additional blanket. The decision to huddle close together for extra warmth had been mutual. The decision to embrace had apparently been unconscious.
Cass tried not to let the thought distract him as he folded his in half and rolled it tight. He didn’t need to button it to get it to cooperate. He’d had plenty of practice. “Not sure where you got that idea.”
“You came to Kentoria and took a job working with trees. You have a natural inclination with wood. It makes sense that you’d gravitate to something like that. It isn’t all for the purpose of spying, is it?”
He should have guessed. She was sly in ways he hadn’t anticipated, smoothly twining conversation and nosiness together so they couldn’t be unraveled. Well, he wouldn’t satisfy her with an answer there. He pulled on his coat and buttoned the front. “Don’t think it matters much now. Wrap that up. I’ll take down the tent.”
She didn’t object, just finished packing up her things and dressed for the cold.
Cass pulled out the tent’s pegs and support ropes and let it fall in on itself as soon as she exited its flaps. He considered the makeshift wooden poles he’d cut the night before, then tossed them aside. They were in the middle of the forest. If they made camp again, he’d cut more poles.
Then again, he’d already cut them, and it seemed a shame to let the wood go to waste. He turned that thought over for a time, then took the hatchet he’d kept and cut a chunk from the bottom of one pole. He slipped it into his pocket with a rough idea in mind, then finished breaking down the tent.
To his relief, Elia did not pose her question again. She helped fold up the tent and tuck it away, then fished some dry rations out of her bag and offered him a piece. There were more pleasant things to eat than the too-dry bread, but he wasn’t going to complain.
“It doesn’t look like we had any guests overnight,” she said as she checked her water flask. They’d filled them with melted snow the night before and the water was still liquid after being kept in the tent, but it would likely freeze before they reached their destination. She drank without reserve now. There would be logistics problems that came with that, but they’d managed the day before, and he assumed they’d manage now. The larger challenge came with ensuring they stayed safe.
Cass crammed the ropes and tent pegs in with the canvas, almost as an afterthought. He’d made the pegs, but they were small enough to pack and save himself some time. There was the return trip to think of, after all. He hoped. “If you’re lucky, we won’t have any guests at all.”
“If I’m lucky?” She pressed a hand to her chest, fingers splayed. “Why me and not you?”
“Because you’re the one who let our last guest go. When he comes back with friends, you’ll have to deal with them. And then deal with me.” He offered a grim smile.
She did not seem disturbed.
Maybe she’s not, the small, lonely part of him whispered as they took their bags and he turned toward the southwest. Maybe that’s why it could be her.
He screwed his eyes shut tight and willed the thoughts away. Not here. Not now, when he needed to focus. The time for those kind of thoughts was… when? He snorted softly and made himself stare at the horizon.
Something about heading that direction stuck out to him as wrong. They’d gone northeast from Vinson’s place. Cutting southwest took them back the way they’d come. A trap laid behind them seemed unlikely, and the possibility they’d missed an outpost was slim. They’d not encountered as many trip lines in the latter part of their travels. He wasn’t so arrogant to think it impossible they could have gone the wrong way, but something nagged at his sense of reason.
Cass turned north.
“Where are you going?” Elia closed the distance between them and worked to keep up with his pace. The snow had to be troublesome with her skirts and shorter legs, but she did not complain as she trotted along beside him.
“Wherever the trail leads.”
From the way she pursed her lips and looked back toward the camp they left behind, he expected questions. Despite his certainty he was making the right choice, he wasn’t sure how to explain his misgivings. Worse, he wasn’t sure why he felt the need. He’d rarely had to justify his decisions or actions to anyone but the king he served. His parents, he supposed, and Alessia after they were gone and she’d taken on the work of raising him, but that was so far behind him that it hardly seemed relevant. Something about the way Elia looked at him, though, her spirited gold-hazel eyes full of curiosity and trust at the same time, made him feel as if she deserved an explanation.
All of a sudden, he felt as if he had no control of his tongue.
“Well,” she sighed, “you are the one who knows how to track. If you’re sure we should go this way, then…” She trailed off with a shrug.
The sudden lifting of the burden of expectation freed him. He cleared his throat. “If you don’t trust me—”
“I never said that,” she replied before he could finish. “You don’t have to explain yourself. If you think you know how to find Peretor, I’ll follow you.” Her sincerity took him off guard.
Cass searched her face for some indication she was just humoring him. He saw none. Unsure how to respond, he merely forged ahead.
They traveled some distance before he saw footprints in the snow.
“One person?” Elia asked. They’d seen plenty of animal tracks along the way, but this was the first time they’d encountered a clear sign of humans. “Going that way. West?”
“Doesn’t look like it’s a return trip.” He stopped to search below the snow, hunting out the hard-packed and hidden tracks they’d been following. It was warmer today, and the snow had thickened into something that packed easily and turned to slush when stirred. It did not bode well for tracking.
“Not our guest from last night, then?” There was a hint of hope in her tone.
Cass hated to crush it. “I think it is. It’s going the same way we are.”
Her face fell.
“Boots are the right size.” He stood again and skimmed a finger toward the horizon, tracing the path. “Looks like he curved around to keep us from seeing him in the woods again.”
She nodded, though she struck him as more reserved now. Embarrassed by her mistake, maybe. That could be a hazard. She was trusting, innocent. Both of those things spelled trouble.
Yet you ask her to trust you, he told himself. That he meant her no harm made no difference. She hardly knew him, and it was asking a lot.
“If he lied about which direction we needed to go, what are the odds he lied about Peretor being all right?” Elia tucked her gloved hands under her arms to warm them up, shifting from one foot to the other. He didn’t blame her. It was easier to stay warm when they stayed on the move.
“Guess we’ll find out when we find their headquarters.” He adjusted the hood of his travel cloak and pressed on. The hood was thick enough to blunt the icy wind, but his ears still ached with cold. He raised a hand to rub warmth back into them. “You worked in a Threadmancer’s shop, right?”
Her footsteps crunched in the snow behind him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Can you make me something?”
She did not reply right away.
“Something to cover my ears. Keep them warm.”
“I’m not a Threadmancer,” she replied. “I’ve already told you that.”
“You don’t have to have magic to be able to sew.” If anything, artisans with the ability to infuse their work with power were the rarity. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he hadn’t settled as a carpenter. He’d never considered it before, but now it seemed plain and obvious. What good did enchanted wood do? Resist rot and flame? He’d work himself out of a job. True, he’d found other things he could work into it, but their uses were limited, best for unique situations. He thought on that, his head tilted to one side.
“Well, no,” Elia agreed after a moment. “I suppose not. I did the more ordinary things. Thea worked her magic on the special pieces. Most garments don’t require a lot of power to do what’s needed of them.”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “Most garments don’t require any power. Make me something. It shouldn’t be hard.”
“Make it from what?”
That, he hadn’t considered. Maybe they shouldn’t have been so fast to leave the horse blankets behind.
When he didn’t answer, Elia sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
Good. “We’ll stop for rations at midday, if we don’t see a cabin first. We’ll make something then.”
“We?” she asked. There was the tiniest lilt of sarcasm in the word, but he disregarded it.
Let her be sullen. As long as she provided what he needed, everything was all right. He’d make it worth her time.
And what do you need? came the soft whisper of his own thoughts. He held it there, considering the question as he touched his pocket, the one where he’d stowed the small piece of hardwood from the sapling he’d cut down.
Need had driven so much of his life, it no longer felt like the right question.
What did he want?
