trap.”
Dom’s voice was deep behind her. “Certainly you have a plan for whatever enemies we do run into,
Sarn,” he said dryly.
“Most of them involve throwing you at them,” Sorasa shot back. He grumbled in reply.
“No roads, Corayne,” she added finally. The girl sank in the saddle, scowling. Sorasa could see a
hundred replies fighting up her throat. “Farm lanes and deer paths won’t get us to Adira quickly, but they’ll
get us to Adira alive.”
“And once we’re there?” Andry reined alongside her again, undeterred. He looked older on horseback, at
ease and in control. “You going to sell us to a northern slaver or bet our lives in a game of dice?”
Sorasa wanted to ignore him. Silence was a stone wall few could climb. And the squire’s fear of Adira
was inconsequential, if not idiotic. But she had a feeling he would pester her all the way to the city gates
if need be. She offered a flash of teeth barely cousin to a smile.
“I was sold into slavery before I could walk, Trelland. I don’t intend to put anyone else through that, even
Lord Domacridhan,” she said, jerking her head back at the Elder. It was easy to pretend she didn’t see
the sudden pull of pity on their faces. Even Dom softened a little, like granite worn by centuries of wind
and rain. Sorasa had no use for any of it. “And I doubt any of you would be worth much in the gambling
dens. The witch, maybe.”
Corayne and Andry exchanged uncertain glances, falling quiet. But before Sorasa could enjoy it, Dom
rumbled from the rear of their party.
“You aim to recruit more of your kind in that cesspool,” he growled.
Sorasa sucked in a frustrated breath. How can a few rumors of thievery, murder, and citywide criminal
enterprise have everyone in such a twist?
“Assassins and mercenaries,” Dom pushed on. “Bound by coin, not honor or duty.”
“Am I still being paid for my services, Elder?” Sorasa snapped, turning in the saddle to face him. Dom’s
infernal gaze bored into her. “No, the Amhara are not my aim,” she said, collecting herself. “One of us is
enough. But I do have two others in mind.”
“Murderers and thieves, then,” she heard Dom mutter.
“Better than a queen already allied against us. Or an Elder monarch too afraid to leave her palace,”
Sorasa snapped. She listened for his telltale snarl or hiss of frustration. Somehow, he rewarded her with
both.
She guided her horse down a stream bank and crossed the rocky shallows. The air was cooler, the light
soft. Though her homeland was dominated by the vast beauty of the Great Sands, it was also a country
of water. Oasis pools, thousands of miles of bright coast, and the mighty Ziron thundering out of the
mountains to dance northeast across the desert, giving life to Qaliram and Almasad before joining the
Long Sea. She felt better with the water kissing her boots and the farms fading behind them.
The others followed her into the stream, silent and storm-faced. Andry, afraid of the city ahead. Corayne,
afraid of the sword on her back. Dom, afraid of nearly everything.
And I am afraid too. It did no good to ignore fear or doubt.
The borderlands between Galland and Larsia were no wilderness. An hour’s ride in any direction would
bring them to a farm or castle or village. But for now they threaded a needle. It was right somehow, the
path unseen but still felt.
Though the horse beneath her was next to useless, Sorasa patted a hand down her neck.
“Besides,” she said, “only one of them can be considered a murderer. Best not to bring it up.”
“I can take first watch.”
Andry stared down at her. He was both taller and wider than the Amhara assassin. His stance was
broad, his brown hands on his hips, his dark eyes black in the dim light of evening. Even in his battered
clothing, with no beard and light bruises on his face, he looked the picture of a knight.
She heaved the saddlebags from her horse’s back, tucking them over her arms. “Noble of you, Squire,”
she said, dropping them in a heap. The clearing was good ground to make camp, halfway up a rocky
crag, their backs defended by sheer rock, their front obscured by trees. “But I think the Elder can
manage.”
Corayne stood at the edge of the campsite, looking down into the valley of the Green Lion. Under a black
moon and clouded stars, there was only darkness.
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