Petrik heads for the stream to wash the dishes, his nose up in the air. Temra loads up Reya. Kellyn stretches out his cramped muscles.

And I leave. I put distance between myself and all the other people.

Because there’s nothing I want more than ten minutes of alone time.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

I spend ten blissful minutes feeling safe. Ten minutes where I don’t have to worry that I’ll say something stupid to embarrass myself. Where I don’t have to deal with the sharp pains in my chest that come from being around Kellyn Derinor.

It’s not enough.

I want a day to myself. A day to recharge and relax without having to worry about any of the people around me. Not to mention the fate of Ghadra should this sword fall into the wrong hands.

But I don’t get what I want. What my body so desperately needs.

“Remind me again why you said we couldn’t travel on the road?” Kellyn asks the next day.

“We didn’t,” Temra answers.

“Right. Well, consider this me asking. Why aren’t we traveling on the road?”

“You’re not being paid to know things. You’re being paid to swing your sword,” I say.

“All right, bladesmith,” he says, raising his hands in defense. “I see your identity isn’t the only thing you like to keep secret.”

“Not my fault you didn’t automatically assume I was the smithy when you walked into the shop.”

“I thought the most talented bladesmith in all of Ghadra would be an older woman. Someone who had time to build a reputation and hone her skills.”

“Still not my fault.”

“You didn’t have to lead me astray so blatantly! And blowing me off? What was that—revenge?”

I shrug, because talking to him has my body temperature rising to uncomfortable levels. I don’t think I can manage another word. The only thing that’s allowed me to talk this long is not being cornered in a room with him, and I’m keeping my eyes on the ground beneath my feet.

“Okay,” Kellyn says at my silence. “It was my fault, and I deserved to be blown off. I’ll agree with you there. You keep your secrets and leave the sword swinging to me.” He resumes his position at the head of our party.

“Do you think we can keep trusting him?” I ask Temra quietly.

“The warlord can’t have gotten to him before us. I think as long as he doesn’t interact with anyone on the road, we should be fine.”

We both go still as pounding hooves sound to our left. Peering through the trees, Temra and I watch as a rider in a red tunic goes by at a breakneck pace.

He’s wearing Kymora’s sigil.

We freeze to the spot, not daring to breathe even once the rider is out of sight.

“What are we looking at?”

We both jump into the air as Kellyn puts his head right between us, peering through the foliage.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Who are you running from?” he asks.