She looked around the skiff as each of them, even Etcher, nodded. Her face flushed.

Hadrian chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. You can’t be held accountable for what you do in your sleep.”

“Still,” she said, “it’s not very ladylike.”

“Well, if that’s all you’re worried about, you can forget it,” Hadrian informed her with a wicked smirk. “We lost all illusions of you being prissy back in Sheridan.”

How much better it was when they were silent.

“That’s a compliment,” he added hastily.

“You don’t have much luck with the ladies, do you, sir?” Wally asked, pausing briefly and letting the paddles hang out like wings, leaving a tiny trail of droplets on the smooth surface of the river. “I mean, with compliments like that, and all.”

Hadrian frowned at him, then turned back to her with a concerned expression. “I really did mean it as a compliment. I’ve never met a lady who would—well, without complaining you’ve been—” He paused in frustration, then added, “That little trick you managed back there was really great.”

Arista knew Hadrian only brought up the sneezing spell to try to smooth things over, but she had to admit a sense of pride that she had finally contributed something of value to their trip. “That was the first practical application of hand magic I’ve ever performed.”

“I really wasn’t sure you could do it,” Hadrian said.

“Who would have thought such a silly thing would come in handy?”

“Travel with us long enough and you’ll see we can find a use for just about anything.” Hadrian extended his hand. “Cheese?” he asked. “It’s really quite good.”

Arista took the cheese and offered him a smile but was disappointed he did not see it. His eyes had moved to the river-bank, and her smile faded as she ate self-consciously.

Wally continued to paddle in even strokes and the world passed slowly by. They rounded bend after bend, skirting a fallen tree, then a sandy point. It took Arista nearly an hour with her brush to finally work all the knots out of her hair. She retied its length with the rawhide into a respectable ponytail. Eventually a gap opened in the river reeds to reveal a small sandy bank that showed signs of previous boat landings.

“Put in here,” Etcher ordered, and Wally deftly spun the boat to land beneath the shadow of a massive willow tree. Etcher leapt out and tied the bowline. “This is our stop. Let’s get the gear off.”

“Not yet,” Royce said. “You want to check the mill sails first?”

“Oh yeah.” Etcher nodded, looking a little embarrassed and a tad irritated. “Wait here,” he said before trotting up the grassy slope.

“Sails?” Hadrian asked.