Jude leapt gracefully, effortlessly, from perch to perch, until Hector had him hemmed in against the water. Jude’s counterattack was so quick, Anton almost couldn’t track him with his eyes, and a moment later Hector was disarmed, Jude’s blade tip pointing to his heart.

“All right, I get it!” Hector said, laughing. “You’re a better swordsman than me now! A fistfight, though, I’d’ve won.”

“If you say so,” Jude said, sheathing his sword.

“I say so,” Hector replied. “C’mon, let’s test it right now. No swords.”

Jude laughed, turning away like he was going to decline. Anton abruptly realized that he’d never seen Jude laugh with anyone besides him.

Jude whirled back to Hector, waving a hand through the water behind him, splashing it onto Hector. Hector let out an undignified yelp, clearly not expecting it, and leapt at Jude. Before Anton knew what was happening, they were grappling on the rock.

“I fought in the sandpits you know,” Hector was saying as he ducked under a blow from Jude. “They called me the Sandstorm. I was undefeated.”

“Your opponents must not have been very good,” Jude teased. He spun away from a punch and then suddenly stopped, his eyes finally landing on Anton. Hector, who hadn’t yet spotted him, aimed another blow at Jude from behind, and Jude’s hand shot out to catch Hector’s fist without looking.

“Anton?”

Anton shifted, feeling uncomfortably like he was intruding. “I wasn’t sure where you’d gone.”

Jude leapt down onto the riverbank, leaving Hector on the rock. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” Anton said too quickly. “I just … we should probably go talk to Penrose again, right?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jude asked as he reached him. “I know you didn’t sleep well last night. When I woke up in the middle of the night, you looked like you were having a nightmare. I tried to wake you…”

“Yeah,” Anton agreed. The image of Jude’s lifeless body flashed behind Anton’s eyes, and he suppressed a shudder. “Just the usual nightmares.” He smiled up at Jude. “But there were some nice dreams, too.”

“Like what?” Jude asked.

“Well,” Anton replied. “I seem to recall one about a handsome boy standing beside a waterfall who very dearly wanted to kiss me.”

Jude’s smile was slow and heated. Despite the cool mist of the morning, Anton felt warm, all the worry and dread of the night bleeding out of him. A knot of guilt remained lodged in his gut. But as long as he didn’t think too hard about what he was hiding from Jude, he could ignore it.

“You know,” Anton went on, “I am a Prophet. My dreams predict the future.”

“Is that right?” Jude asked with feigned curiosity.