Ren forced a faint smile as she rose to walk her sister out. “For what it’s worth, Akeylah, if you need to talk any more about this… Well.” She gestured at her bedroom. “You always know where to find me.”

14

Zofi

The next morning, Zofi spotted a familiar tuft of black tumbleweed curls at a farmers market in a small marsh-side town, just half a day’s ride past the edge of the desert. “Norren!” She stood up in her saddle to wave. Beside her, Vidal started and reached for his sword before he realized she was grinning like an idiot.

“Zofi?” The old bear of a Traveler, almost wider than he was tall, paused in the middle of haggling over potatoes. “Am I seeing things?”

She kicked her feet from the stirrups and slid off her silver stallion.

By the time she’d dismounted, Norren had abandoned the potatoes entirely to gape at her horse instead. He knew exactly how much an alpha like this would fetch at auction. “Well, if it isn’t Her Highness the princess visiting in style,” he joked.

Zofi slapped his shoulder, and only then did he recall himself and pull her into a crushing hug. “Nice to see you, too. How’s Rull?”

“Oh, you know, as big a pain in my rear end as that brat has ever been.” He grinned. To hear him talk, you’d never guess Rull had been his exclusive partner for the past fifteen years—rarer than a double lunar eclipse by Traveler standards. “What in sands’ name are you doing here, child?” He squinted at Vidal. “And riding with a king’s Talon, no less.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t bring him to camp,” Zofi was saying while Vidal dismounted.

“How can you tell I’m a Talon?” Vidal glanced at his attire. He wore a simple cotton shirt, leather breeches, and unmarked boots. His uniform sat balled at the base of his saddlebag.

“Besides the stallion?” Norren pointed at Vidal’s waist, where his horn dangled. “Only Talons carry stormwing horns.”

Vidal cursed. “You told me it would pass for a drinking horn, Zofi. That nobody would notice the carvings.”

Her eyes sparkled. “My bad. I should have said nobody but Norren here, who’s got the best eye in the Reaches for the finer details of anything he might be able to pawn.”

“Give you a hundred kolons, if you’re looking to sell.” Desire flashed in Norren’s eyes.

Vidal swept into a bow, one hand clasped protectively around the horn. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m afraid a hundred kolons wouldn’t pay for half the menders’ treatments I’d need if my commander found out I’d sold this.”

Norren burst into laughter. “Sir.” He slapped Vidal’s shoulder, then turned to wink at Zofi. “Don’t worry about bringing the boy to camp. Not if he’s with you.”