“How did you meet?”
She paused, considering her reply. “I met her when I pledged as a soldier.”
A lie.
“You know her well?”
“Quite well.”
More questions only produced more terse answers, and I wasn’t sure any were true.
I stopped abruptly and stepped in her path to block her, the question I promised myself I wouldn’t ask bubbling up anyway. “Why don’t you like me?”
She stared at me, confused. “What?”
“Back at the river, you said that you don’t like me. I want to know why.”
She rolled her eyes like it was obvious and tried to sidestep around me. Again, I moved to block her path. She looked at me then, her eyes as smooth and calm as a summer sea, and said without blinking, “Because you’re an opportunist. You’re a cheat. You’re a thief. Shall I go on?”
My back stiffened, but I forced myself to deliver an unruffled reply. “Wouldn’t those all be the same thing?”
“There are differences. Can we walk and talk at the same time?”
“Maybe you’re right,” I replied, and we fell back into step. “I guess it would take a real thief to know the subtleties. I saw you steal those oranges.”
She laughed. “Did you, now? I paid for those oranges. You and your bunch of thugs were too drunk and full of yourselves to see anything beyond your own inebriated noses. I can see your kind coming a mile away.”
“My kind?” I squared my shoulders, struggling to remain calm. She had no respect or fear for the Ballengers, and I wasn’t used to it. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough. I’ve read the long list of your violations. Skimming merchants. Caravan raids. Stealing livestock. Intimidation.”
I stepped in front of her path, blocking her again. “Ah, so there you have it—a list with the Vendan twist. Do your kind have any idea how hard it is to survive out here in the middle of everything and everyone? Surrounded by kingdoms on all sides? Everyone thinking it’s their right to enter your territory and take what they want? Moving in at the slightest sign of weakness? My world is not your world.” My temples burned and my voice rose. “Vendans sit behind their high, safe walls at the far edge of a continent, scribbling out new treaties and training their pretty, smart-mouthed, elite soldiers who have no idea what it’s like to fight to survive!” I lowered my voice to a growl. “And you, Kazi of Brightmist, have no understanding of the trouble you’ve caused me. I should be home with my family, protecting them, and instead I’m out here, chained to you!”
My chest heaved with anger, and I waited for a caustic comeback, but instead she blinked slowly and replied, “I may know more about survival than you think.”
Her pupils were deep black wells floating in a calm circle of amber, but her hands betrayed her, stiff at her sides, ready to strike. A war raged inside her, one she held back, biting it off like a poisonous snake with disturbing self-control.
“Let’s go,” I said. Our worlds had an impassable gulf between them. It was useless to try to make her understand.
We walked in silence, the clank of the chain between us suddenly amplified.
Her steely control made me angry at myself for losing mine. It wasn’t like me. That was one of the reasons my father gave for naming me Patrei. I wasn’t the oldest, but I was the least impulsive. It was a strength my father valued. I weighed the advantages and costs of every word and action before I acted. Some saw me as aloof. Mason said, with admiration, that it made me a stone-cold bastard, but this girl had pushed me to a reckless burning edge I didn’t even recognize, and her calm reply only pushed me further.
She knew something about survival. I wondered if she might even know more than me.
Each other. Hold on to each other because that is what will save you.
I hold back tears because others are watching, already terrified. I pile handfuls of dirt, brush, rocks, thing upon thing until his body is hidden. It is the best I can do, but I know animals will find him by nightfall. By then he will be far behind us.
How many more will I have to bury?
I shout into the air, a rush of tears and anger breaking loose.
No more of us, I scream.
The anger feels good, saving, a weapon when I have nothing else.
I shove a stick into a hand. And then another, and another, until even the youngest holds one. Miandre balks. I squeeze my hand around hers until she winces, forcing her to take hold of her club. If we die, we will die fighting.