When Ashyn didn’t see Ronan the entire next day, she began to wonder if he was there at all. It would be a clever scheme. Promise to guard her from a distance, then hurry on ahead and find his soft mat and hot food, and wait for her to arrive. She trusted, though, that he wanted his freedom and a reward enough not to risk it. To be honest, she only suspected him of ill intent because she was disappointed not to see him. The others were hardly spirited conversationalists.

The next morning she sought Ronan out. For very good reason. They’d woken to find Quintin’s sleeping blankets empty. Empty and cold. Worse, she’d had to prod Gregor to hunt for him.

“He’s missing,” she’d said. “Possibly injured, out there in the Wastes.”

“My responsibility is with you, Seeker.”

Which he was doing a poor job of, as Ronan had said. She’d ordered him out to hunt and then gone looking herself—both for Quintin and for Ronan.

Finding Ronan turned out to be simple enough. She walked straight to the biggest outcropping of rock and he was there, settled into his sleeping blanket. He roused at her footsteps, as if he’d only just gone to bed.

“Quintin is gone,” she announced as he stood.

He peered at her, feigning sleepy confusion as if trying to determine what reaction would best suit the situation.

“You knew that, I presume?” she said.

A flicker of anger. “If you are accusing me—”

“Of harming him? Of course not. Of seeing him walk away and doing nothing? Yes.” She pointed at the rocks. “You were sitting guard up there last night?”

“I was, and yes, I saw him, and yes, I did nothing. He was not attacked, Ashyn. He walked away. He knew he was a burden, and he made his choice.”

She stared, stunned at the casual way he said it. “Abandoning elders is the mark of a primitive society. We’ve moved past that. Long past it.”

“Because we can afford to. Because we have an organized system of trade and communication that means a village never needs fear passing a winter without sufficient supplies. Do you think they used to drag the elders off to the forest as they kicked and screamed for mercy?”

“Sometimes.”

He paused, then nodded. “Yes, I’m sure sometimes they did. But for most elders, it was a part of life. A final sacrifice for their families. A way to die with honor.”

When she didn’t answer, he moved toward her, his voice lowering. “Every time you needed to stop for Quintin to rest, the entire group was at risk of being bitten by rattlesnakes or attacked by nomads and bandits. You were all at risk of running out of food and water because the walk was taking twice as long as it should. He knew that.”

“And you gave no thought to going after him?”