Bai’s head snapped up at the sudden, frantic rattling of wings as a woodpigeon was startled from its roost in a nearby stand of hazels. He rubbed his forehead, sore from constant squinting into the sun. He was too hot. He unbuttoned the rest of his coat buttons and let the garment hang loose off his shoulders, and rolled them, trying to roll the kinks out. He wanted to be out of his saddle and flat out on the cold earth. Maybe with something hot in his belly too. He reached for the slice of sugared apple Lute offered him.

‘…clean cloths, and hot tea,’ Sanna was saying, some paces behind. She and the Lyr Blaed woman had been flagging for the last few miles. ‘Gods, is that bone-headed man going to let us stop, or will we slide off our saddles and burst our heads open on the rocks first?’

The Lyr Blaed woman kicked her heels to her horse’s flanks and rode up alongside Bai. ‘We need to stop. For her sake. Please.’

Bai drew rein and gestured for them to halt. ‘What is it now?’

Sanna dipped her head. ‘I’m sorry, I think it’s my fault, Bai pen…penvarzhavoy. I am...’

‘Moontime,’ snapped the older woman, impatience furrowing her brow. ‘She needs to rest.’

‘We can spare time for that,’ said Bai, understanding. ‘I think we can all use the rest. We’ll stop and have some tea.’

He swung down from his horse, trying not to let the stiffness in his limbs show, and held his arms up to Sanna. She hesitated, then leaned down and let him help her dismount. She faltered on her feet before righting herself. He grinned. ‘Saddle-sore?’

‘A little.’

To his surprise, she took a basket from one of the packhorses and went in search of dried pats to burn.

Lute watched mildly. ‘We’ll make a Tethiri of her yet, don’t you think?’

Bai squinted into the weak sun hovering behind pale clouds. The air smelled cold, despite the unseasonal warmth of the day. They only had another two or three hours before sunset anyway. Should they camp now? Or move on? Another hour would bring them to the foothills. It might be a good place to camp…or it might mean a night spent battling ghosts. ‘I want you to ride ahead a little way, see if there’s anywhere to stay the night. I know there are one or homesteads in these parts. If you can find one, offer a generous payment for extra food and baths for the women.’

Lute’s mouth turned down on learning he wasn’t to enjoy a rest just yet, but he nodded and rode away at a brisk trot.

Bai let the rest of the horses loose to graze, then gathered a handful of dry grass to use as a fire-starter. A few strikes of his fire-flint on steel had a fledgling flame going, and he added that to more grass, and finally the pats Sanna brought.

She walked slowly, as if each step pained her.

‘Is it that bad?’ he asked. He’d never seen a Tethiri woman make such a show of it.

She flushed, fisting her tanshán folds self-consciously. The fabric was marred with dust and saddle-grease, and she smelled of horse and sweat.

Much like I imagine I do.

He relented. ‘Sit, then. And don’t fret for modesty. You’ll find Tethiri men are well versed in the ailments of women.’

Her flush deepened. ‘Thank you.’

He contented himself with nursing the fire into a proper blaze, and watching Sanna out of the corners of his eyes. He smiled. Although Siris had an almost relentless stream of vitriol about men and their lack of comprehension about anything to do with women, Sanna herself hadn’t complained about a single moment of the three days they’d spent on the road so far. He admired her for that. She was strong. He hadn’t thought she’d get past the first night. They’d slept on the ground, with nothing more than narrow mats of woven grass to keep them from the dew, and the coarse woollen blankets felted from hardy Vartjastafellan sheep to keep the rain and cold of the night off them. She’d huddled against the Lyr Blaed woman for warmth, and said nothing. Even now her countenance was serene, with only a little sharpness about the corners of her eyes to betray her current discomfort.

He handed her a strip of dried meat and a handful of toasted nuts that he’d had in his saddle-roll, and asked her the question he’d asked every evening for the last few days. She hadn’t answered honestly yet, but he intended to get the truth from her or leave her by the road to fend for herself.

You won’t do that. You couldn’t.

He sighed. ‘Tell me how many men I can expect to dog me on our way to Vartjastafel.’

‘My mother has twenty good riders she can send.’

Bai nodded, surprised she’d finally answered. Not too many, then. But enough to keep them on their toes. So long as they didn’t get too close. ‘You need to ride. Or stop and wait for them to catch you. Will they come this way, or follow my rhón?’

‘They don’t know I’ve…’

‘They’ll get it out of your serving woman,’ he snapped. He hadn’t forgotten the older woman’s haughty stares and supercilious manner. He thought her weak, and the type to curry favour and save her own skin first and foremost. He knew that type, had seen many of them lie too. ‘Think you she’ll keep your secret?’

Her chin jerked up. ‘I won’t go back!’

Bai’s grin widened. For all her quiet, timid modesty, she could produce a spark when she wanted. He liked that, too.

‘Then we’ll get you to Vartjastafel. But…it won’t be an easy journey. We’re going through the hills. Are you fit to ride?’

‘I can ride.’

He watched her a moment, then folded his arms across his knees and stared into the fire. ‘And now tell me what you’re not telling me.’

He felt her shock. Ah, so he was right. He’d watched her closely for three days now, and what had started as a hunch he wasn’t getting the full story had grown into certainty. He slanted a look at her. That deep flush high on her cheeks was the colour of ryeberries, and made her eyes glow. A scar cleaved one brow in two and gave her an oddly savage look. It was that which had tipped him off that she was hiding something. Coddled noblewomen didn’t get scars like that.

He tilted his body toward her, one leg flung out in front of him. ‘What did you do? Is it only fear of the Beyli of Mortua that your mother sends twenty of her best riders after me?’

‘No.’

Defiance sparked gold flecks in her eyes. She hadn’t even hesitated before confirming his suspicions. Bai couldn’t decide if this was going to be fun, or tortuous. Either way, he needed to know what kind of danger he was putting his friends in, and for what.

‘Tell me.’

‘It’s a secret I’d rather keep for now. It is my burden. But I didn’t commit any crime. Not among your people.’

He stored that away for future questioning, his suspicions beginning to form. ‘I would have to hand you to the authority of this land if you had. You know that. I couldn’t risk the retribution that would come to my people if I were found aiding and abetting a wanted criminal.’

‘I would never ask you to.’

‘You have asked me to! But over the hills, it’s another story. Earl Cangarth might not bother to send you back – but would he bother to defend you? What should I do with you? Take you to Silverheim? Or further North, to Hviturek?’

‘Just over the hills. Then I can make my own way to where I please.’

‘And where is that?’

Sanna grimaced as she shifted position, and he saw that she was tired of his questioning. No matter. He had enough information for now. He could get more out of her as they went through the hills. He sensed he’d have to prise it out of her gradually, and with clever words. And even then…She didn’t look as if she would be easily fooled into giving up secrets she didn’t want to. She wasn’t talkative. She sat on information like a dragon on a pile of gold. He approved. A tattle-tongue was never to be trusted.

On the other hand, those who kept secrets for the sake of it weren’t to be trusted either.

I hope you know what you’re doing.

He hoped he really did. He fiddled with the silk tassel on his boot cuffs, suddenly wanting to be alone with his thoughts and the wind.

The Lyr Blaed woman came back with a basket of wild roots, and sat to prepare them. Bai watched her; she wielded her small, sharp knife with impressive dexterity. He had questions for her too, but he knew she would never tell him anything just because he asked.

He tried anyway. ‘What is your name?’

She didn’t answer. She hadn’t answered the last five times he’d asked either. Her face, grey and lined, was set in a expression on introverted stubbornness as she peeled the roots, the wind ruffling strands of her pale hair around her face.

Bai asked his next question. ‘How did you get South of Vartjastafel?’

She always answered that one. ‘A Mariskene slaver took me.’

‘The Mariskenes are not slavers, not any more.’

‘This one was.’

He sighed. ‘So tell me his name!’

‘I don’t know it.’ A handful of wild burdock roots went into the embers around the edge of the fire. ‘Ask your next question, war-rider.’

He didn’t like her tone. On her tongue, war-rider sounded like an insult. He assumed it was. ‘Who took the bracelet off for you?’

‘My Mariskene master.’

The answer to that was always the same, too. Bai waved aside a plume of smoke, coughed, and rubbed his eyes. ‘I am only trying to help you, and to make sure I don’t take my shield-bearer into a noose. My own neck, I am happy to, if it is from my own mistake. But I’m responsible for him too, and he doesn’t deserve…’

‘I won’t endanger the boy,’ she snapped. She poked at the roots, already blackening, with a stick. ‘I have a son. I will not rob another woman of hers with my actions!’

‘Then I don’t understand why I can’t know who you are and what you’re doing in my country without a bracelet.’ He stood up. ‘Mind the fire, and the woman. I’m going to set up our camp.’

‘Is running from a man who would delight in torturing me a crime?’

Sanna’s voice, sharp with distress, startled him. ‘Is that what he would do?’

‘I have heard it said.’

‘And damage the mother of his heirs?’ Bai was incredulous. ‘Such a man needs his throat cut. We cut hands off for less!’

Sanna swallowed hard, her lips thin. ‘And I would do it, and be a criminal.’

‘Not among my people. We’ll get you to Vartjastafel,’ he vowed.