I decide I like Markos. I shake my spoon at him. “You sweet talker, you. And dude, I’m an anchor. We’re eating for two.” With my spoon, I wave it at Aron, who stands nearby, watching us eat with a hint of impatience. “I have to fuel up.”
“You eat more than any soldier I have ever seen,” Vitar whispers into his bowl as he eats. “We will not have enough supplies if this keeps up.”
I just keep eating. “Oh please,” I say between bites. “You act like this is shocking. Didn’t the wizard eat a lot?”
“Yes, but he was a wizard.”
“Well, I’m a girl. I’m allowed to eat.” And I take another heaping mouthful just to prove that I can.
Vitar looks uneasy, but Markos grins and takes a bite almost as big as mine, as if to prove that he can. Big goof. We eat in companionable silence, and a few moments later Yulenna comes out of her tent, wearing leggings and boots for a day of travel. Her hair is pulled back into a fashionable knot and she looks less like a slave and more like a fine lady about to go on a journey. I glance down at my belted tunic—one of Omos’s old ones—and remember that I didn’t brush my hair this morning after I rolled out of bed.
Markos prepares a bowl of porridge for Yulenna and offers her a spoon, and she smiles sweetly at him and sits down next to me. “So much food,” she murmurs, and then takes a dainty bite.
I make a face into my bowl, and I can hear Vitar muffle a laugh.
Breakfast is eventually over, though, and the tents are packed up, the woales loaded with gear we’ve opted to take. There’s a small mountain of it left in the bushes, and I look mournfully at the bedding I slept in last night. Goodbye, mattress. Goodbye, pillows. Goodbye, delicious night’s sleep. Even though I understand it—we need speed if we want to stay ahead of anyone else that might be following us—I’m still a little bummed at the thought of sleeping on woale-back again.
I’m never going to complain about taking the bus again when I get home, I decide. Never, ever again. Woale-back is ten times worse and twenty times slower.
When the camp is nothing but a firepit, Kerren kicks dirt over it until it, too, is no more. Then, one by one, the men drop to their knees and put their fists over their hearts in Aron’s symbol.
“We are ready to serve, my lord,” Markos declares. “Tell us what you desire.”
"Faith and I are not going to Novoro," Aron says in that imperious voice of his. "That is our next stop."
I watch the others closely, because the moment he mentions Novoro, one shifts, and the other grimaces. Another just stares at the ground.
"Novoro?" Markos asks hesitantly. "I…you truly wish to go there, my Lord of Storms?" He swallows hard and ducks his head. "Not that I question your ways—"
"Novoro," Aron repeats in a firm voice.
"Where were you guys planning on heading with the old Aron?" I ask, curious. "Isn't Novoro the only place up in the mountain pass?"
One nods. "My lord Aron told us he wished to go into the mountains and establish a hideout so he could have defensive ground."
I glance over at my Aron. He just shakes his head, and I speak up again. "I think he lied to you guys. We're going to Novoro, and I bet he was, too."
"But why Novoro?" Vitar blurts, looking confused. "They do not open the gates of their fortress to anyone."
"They will not open for me," Aron declares.
He's right. They'll probably welcome him with open arms…even if it's only to betray him later. But hey, one problem at a time. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure getting in won't be our problem. Novoro's the destination."
"It is the end of the world." Markos's expression is solemn.
"Not quite the end," I add in. "We're going somewhere after that."
“There’s nothing past it,” Vitar says, curious.
"I require your services." Aron speaks again, his tone grave. He doesn’t clarify where we’re going, just that we’re going. "If you choose not to follow, I will be angry."
Markos clenches his hands over his chest, the expression on his face full of intensity. "We are here to serve you in this life and the next, my Lord of Storms. There is no greater honor. Forgive us for questioning you."