“For what it’s worth,” Bree said, “I think he’s as upset as you are. I think you should go talk to him.”

River climbed to her feet. “For what it’s worth,” she decided, “I think I should too.”

• • •

Choosing not to eat with his people, Easton stayed in his tent, brooding over the maps and visualizing the best paths to take up the mountain. The marmot had been waiting for him, clearly upset at being left behind again and giving Easton his second chewing out of the day. He’d thought letting it into his tent would help, but apparently that gave them the privacy for the marmot to express its displeasure.

“I can’t take you through the Veil,” he told the furball. “It’s not safe for you.”

A harsh chittering reply told him the marmot strongly disagreed.

“I can’t even get them safely through. And I never made any promises to you about summiting.”

The marmot bit his boot.

“Oh, that’s really mature. Compromise is two-sided you know.”

A sniff of disgust was all the marmot would reply.

Distracted by the argument, Easton didn’t notice someone approaching his tent until a hand lightly slapped the outside fabric.

“Knock-knock.”

He could no sooner refuse her entrance than he could stop the sun from circling the sky. “Come in,” Easton grunted. “Watch out. The furball is pissed off.”

River had a thermos that smelled of tomato soup in her hand and a look of wanting to make peace on her face. At least the expressionlessness was gone. Easton had never hated anything more than looking at her and her not looking back at him. When the marmot narrowed its eyes at her, he scooped it up and dumped it outside, zipping the tent.

“One lecture at a time,” Easton grumbled when she raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” she said by way of explanation.

“Had a protein bar.” Even as he said it, he accepted the thermos she offered him. “Thanks.”

Easton wasn’t hungry in the least, and the protein bar he’d forced down had tasted like chalk. Still, he kept the thermos in his lap to protect it from the icy ground.

“On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you at me?”

At her question, Easton finally met her eyes. “I’m not sure. But the marmot might be back in the tent tonight.”

“And I’m out?” River joked.

“We’re still deciding.”

“I’m sorry,” River said quietly. “I know I screwed up. In the moment, I couldn’t let it go.”

Easton took a sip of the soup, even though he didn’t like tomato soup. She’d made it for him, and that meant something to him. “I know the feeling.”

Sitting next to him, River took off her boots, then folded her legs beneath her.

“Did you check your feet?” he asked, rougher than he’d wanted to.