“Oh—yes, sleep,” said Crier. It was too dark to see her expression, but she sounded startled, even embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget you need to do that every night.”

“Unfortunately.” Ayla lowered herself onto her side, trying to find a patch of ground without too many rocks. Again she longed for a fur, a shawl, anything to put between her and the frozen dirt. “Are you . . . sure you’re all right? You can wake me in a few hours and I’ll take over as watch.” Gods, she felt so awkward.

“I’m fine,” Crier said. “Sleep. You need it.”

Ayla turned her back to Crier and curled up in a little ball, arms wrapped around her shins. Trying to preserve as much body heat as possible. And though she’d been yawning just a minute ago, the moment she lay down, her mind became a lantern she couldn’t douse. How was she supposed to stop thinking about everything Crier had told her? How was she supposed to sleep when she knew Kinok was out there somewhere? Kinok, and other monsters in the dark?

“I can hear you thinking,” Crier whispered.

“No you can’t,” Ayla whispered back. “Not even with your ears.”

“How would you know?”

Ayla opened her eyes. Crier was sitting with her back to Ayla, facing out over the river. When Ayla’s sight adjusted to the blue darkness, she could make out the bloodstains on the back of Crier’s shirt.

“All right, then,” Ayla said, just above a whisper. “What do thoughts sound like?”

“Bees,” said Crier.

“You’re making that up. You mean the sound of buzzing?”

“No. The sound of a bee’s footsteps as it walks across a flower petal.”

“That’s not a real sound!”

Crier sniffed. “Maybe not to you.”

“You’re lying,” said Ayla. “I can tell because you’re terrible at it. You’re using your storytelling voice.”

A pause. “My . . . storytelling voice?”

Ayla shifted, pillowing her head on one of her arms. There was a tree root digging into her hip, another at her ribs. She longed for the cloudlike bed she’d left behind in the queen’s palace. “Mm. Like when you told me the story of the princess and the three animals. The princess in the”—she yawned—“snowstorm. With the rabbit.”

“Hare,” Crier corrected her.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter?”

“. . . No.”

Ayla was still far too cold, but she felt her eyes slipping shut. “You should do that again sometime,” she said, not really paying attention to what she was saying.

“Do what again?” Crier asked, soft.

“I d’nno,” Ayla mumbled. “Tell me a story. You know a lot of stories, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Crier said. “I know a lot of stories.”

“Mm. Well. Don’t keep ’em all to yourself.” Ayla’s words were slurring together. “Don’t be . . . don’t be selfish.”

The last thing Ayla heard before the lantern of her mind finally winked out was the sound of Crier’s quiet, helpless laughter.

She woke once in the night. Judging by the black sky, she’d only been asleep a couple hours. It wasn’t yet her turn to take watch. Satisfied that all was well and Crier was still sitting straight-backed at the edge of the water, Ayla closed her eyes, ready to slip back under. Then a thought occurred.