Of course it wasn’t fair, and if Anji had the use of her arms she’d skewer this bitch right here on the spot, let her blood cake through the permafrost. Then she’d steal the horse and the tent and head north until she reached Conifor—where she’d never be found again. She cursed herself and the throbbing pain behind her eyes, her aching face. Why had she stopped running? How could she have been so stupid?

Anji whimpered, tears leaking out onto her cheeks to join the dribble of spit lining her jaw. The tears etched frozen lines on her skin as the wind began to rise with the sun.

“Idiot girl,” the Hawk muttered, and Anji heard the scratch of steel on leather. The bird mask loomed overhead. “I’m going to cut you loose, but if you scream or try hopping off I swear to the Nine I’ll slit your moronic throat myself.”

Anji stared, chest heaving, and blinked at the mask. The Hawk, and if she’s here, that means … She glanced about the darkened hills, searching for signs of movement before the Hawk gave her a rough shake, maneuvering Anji so the mask filled her whole vision. The black metal gleamed in its contours, covering the woman’s entire face save for the ridge of her wrinkled jaw. The dagger’s burnished steel reflected the fire’s light.

“Deal?”

Anji nodded. Felt a tug at the base of her skull, then a release of tension in her arms and shoulders as the shorter rope was cut.

The gag fell away and Anji worked her mouth, spitting fibers. The Hawk reared back on her heels and sheathed the dagger once more.

“There,” she said. “Never liked gags much anyway. Cruel things.” She surveyed Anji, then stood and padded to her previous spot near the fire.

Anji heaved herself up. The manacles were connected by three fat links, heavy and coal-black. They clinked together as she inched toward the rim of firelight. A blast of wind scratched at the tattered remnants of her hair, at the scabby cuts where her dagger had slipped. With the icy gale scraping at the sides of her face, she wished she’d kept it long.

The Hawk resumed her seat behind the fire and stirred at the pot, her mask reflecting the flickering flames. Anji shuffled a bit closer to the light. The warmth spread out like welcoming arms, and she edged nearer, sniffing up a trail of cold snot. She’d never felt more pathetic.

A long silence settled on them, and Anji watched through the remnants of her drunken haze as the woman stirred in slow circles, the spoon’s metal tip never scraping against the bottom.

“How did you find me?”

Her voice sounded empty on the air, devoured by all this open space.

The Hawk didn’t respond. She merely kept stirring, her mask giving nothing away.