“Can’t see in the tent,” said the Goat, kneeling to the ground. He unrolled the piece of cloth, revealing a hand-sized silver hammer. After patting himself down, he produced a palm-sized, flame-orange stone and set it on the canvas. “Let her watch. She’ll be dead in two days, anyhow.” His words came out in a rush. Anji wondered what the man’s eyes must have looked like behind the mask as he scanned the cloth. Were they purple, like Alphoronse’s? Like her mother’s without her glasses?

The Ox turned her mask to Anji.

“I told you to eat.”

Anji glanced at the half fish, still untouched on the rock at her knee.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Ox.

Heat rose in Anji’s cheeks. “I’d rather have the crossbow bolt.”

The Goat wheezed a laugh. “Haven’t you been listening? You’re wanted alive. The bounty for your corpse isn’t worth the minimal amount of poison it would take to kill you. Now do as Ox says and eat before you pass out and become more of an inconvenience than you already are.”

A jolt ran through Anji. The Goat’s words reminded her that indeed, she had already been poisoned. “The Hawk poisoned me,” she said. “I forgot, the antidote is in that bag.” She pointed at the horse.

The Goat let out a wheezy laugh . “Told you that, did she?” He adjusted his mask.

“More lies,” said the Ox. The Goat nodded.

“We never poison, girl,” he said. “Hawk least of all. She may have left the cadre—”

“We don’t know she left—” the Ox started, but the Goat talked over her.

“But she’ll still hold to her own principles. Reckon we wouldn’t have half the rules we do if it hadn’t been for her.”

“So … she didn’t poison me?”

“Are you feeling sick?” asked the Ox.

Anji opened her mouth, closed it again. She had felt sick, but only periodically. Whatever nausea she’d felt had been brought on by the Goat’s kick to her stomach, and before that it had been a short-lived, negligible unease—more like anxiety than what she imagined it would feel like if her body were failing her. Now she thought about it, she hadn’t noticed any serious symptoms of being poisoned since the Hawk had told her she’d been dosed. And any fatigue or fever she’d developed could be explained by the harsh trip she’d suffered over the past week.

“She said it would take a week to feel the effects,” she said, more to herself than to the pair across from her.

The Goat slapped his knee. “A week! What kind of poison would take a week to gestate?” He gasped another laugh. “See? Dumb as a rock.”