Chapter 4: The Ridge

I put Jorund on latrine inspection for the rest of the day and took Caelan on patrol.

It was not a punishment for either of them, but it kept me from standing near Jorund and thinking.

We rode out along the Silverlake ridge, six of my scouts a quarter mile behind us.

The wind was cold, and the sky was a hard clean blue.

Caelan rode a tawny mare with his coat open.

"You don't like being touched," he said.

"I like it fine."

"You flinched when Segrave pinned you."

"I flinched because he's heavy."

"You flinched like a woman who thought, for one second, that she wanted it."

I turned my head.

His gold eyes were calm, and not at all unkind.

"Be careful, Gournay."

"I'm always careful.

"It's why I'm alive."

"You're alive because you smile before anyone can hit you."

He laughed, a real laugh.

"That's true."

We rode in silence for a while.

"The letters," I said.

I hadn't meant to say it.

His smile slipped half an inch.

"Which letters?"

"Never mind."

"General."

"I said never mind."

He kept looking at me, a long, steady look, and he opened his mouth.

Then his mare's ears flicked back.

Mine did the same.

All the little hairs on my neck stood up.

I knew the smell before I saw them: oiled steel, cold sweat, and under it the thin, sharp reek of silver.

"Down!" Eira's voice screamed from behind us.

The first arrow hit my saddle horn.

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