it.
I shake my head, but realize she can’t see me. “Another time.”
A low whistle coming from the trees signals Dez’s approach. Relief unwinds the muscles of my shoulders, and I let go of a small anxious breath when he comes into full view. He’s undone the laces of his tunic down to his sternum. He grins when he catches me staring, then nods, eyes sweeping over our camp.
“Are Esteban and Margo still gone?” he asks suggestively.
Sayida lifts one eye at him, her smile lazy like a cat’s. “Let them be.”
“On the contrary,” Dez says, shooting a wink in my direction. “I only worry one of them might make the other smile.”
He takes his position at the edge of our campsite, leaning against a roblino tree like a sentry, his stolen sword staked in the ground at his feet. He told me once that the Forest of Lynxes was his favorite place for how green the leaves always were, the trees with bark so thick they retained water and could be drained of sweet sap. Long ago, lynxes roamed this forest, but they were hunted so much that the creatures haven’t been seen in a decade. It’s why Dez chose to name us Lynx Unit.
The campfire crackles and sparks, warming my skin as the sun sets, bringing out a chill in the air. I think of the brush of Dez’s thumb on my cheek, the easy curve of his lips, the gold flecks in his eyes. When I realize Dez is staring at me, something in me wants to leap forward. I wrench my gaze away and busy my hands with wrapping the rest of the cured meat in waxed paper and stoppering a bottle of olive oil and throwing another log in the roaring fire. I look at anything but him because I know a person can never really belong to another—I should know it better than anyone. And yet, when Dez looks at me the way he just did, I want to believe he could be mine.
Suddenly, Sayida is leaning into my ear, her meditation over. “We should change our unit name to Squirrel Unit. Instead of walnuts, our commander collects swords and daggers.”
Despite my best efforts, I laugh. “I don’t believe our commander would appreciate being compared to a furry rodent.”
“That boy would let you call him anything, and you know it.” Her voice is low and conspiratorial among the chitter of night birds and insects. “Should we find out?”
I gently shove her away, but the movement still sends pinpricks of pain up my stiff arms. “Be serious, Sayida.”
She laughs in reply, the music of it is a beautiful thing.
“What’s so funny?” Margo asks.
She and Esteban drop the swollen waterskins in a heap, then settle in for the night. Margo’s lips appear puffy, and Esteban’s tunic is inside out.
“I was just reminiscing about ángeles,” Sayida says, fighting back a grin.
“Soon we’ll take back the lands of Memoria and you won’t have to reminisce,” Margo says. The fervor of her words brings an end to our silly gossip.
“If we survive at all,” Esteban says.
“Always the optimist,” Dez says. “Tell us, Margo, does he at least smile when he kisses you?”
Esteban grabs a flat stone and throws it at Dez, who doesn’t move at all as the rock misses. I draw my knees closer to my chest, but unless I walk off into the forest, I can’t escape this conversation.
Margo leans forward across her bedroll to me. “Tell us, Ren, does Dez ever stay quiet long enough to kiss you?”
A hot sensation starts at my sternum and spreads across my chest. I glance at Dez. He does delight in being the center of attention. Maybe it’s the impending attack we have ahead of us, or Margo is in a particularly good mood, but I don’t feel on the fringe of their teasing this time.
“Dez has never been quiet in his life,” I say, matching her playful tone.
He winks at me, and everyone falls into an easy laughter. It’s better than thinking about what’s happening at the palace or what this weapon is or what would happen if the king and justice use it everywhere from the populated citadelas to the tiniest hamlet. What if they already have? What if that’s the real reason the justice set fire to Esmeraldas? What if we’re too late?
I snap out of it when Margo lays claim to all the sugar bread the moment we’re back at the ángeles ruins. This time, Esteban doesn’t suggest