“How do you know that?”

“Yordenas does it, if a person angers him. Makes them hold the clasp until the skin burns off their hands.”

Marit shuddered. “Where is he now?”

“He was sent south to take charge of Argent Hall, and I was sent south with the army.”

“Then you both failed.”

“And I’m pleased to hear it!” His grin made her laugh. “I did my best to do as little as possible with my command. I marched as a mercenary with the Qin for a while, and I saw how disciplined their troops were, and how certain men could not bear the discipline. I was given the dregs, the criminals and the insane, I swear to you, and I let them give in to the worst that drove them. That’s why they were so easy to defeat at Olossi.”

“Whose side are you really on? Had you ridden them harder, you’d have led them to victory.”

He bent to grab a stick, and poked into the fire until, with an oath, he flung the now-burning stick into the river. “Let’s ride. No use lingering here.”

She raised her arms, stretching. He watched her in silence, but she did not need the sense granted by her Guardian’s cloak to recognize a stirring of arousal in his body.

“Harishil, eh? Hari being your short name. You’re not Water-born?”

“I don’t know what that means. Although my brothers complained that I was always too full of hot air.”

She smiled, not wanting to think of Fire-born Joss. “Air, then. Which suits me. I can think of a reason to linger here, where it’s quiet and isolated.”

He sucked in a breath, moving neither toward nor away.

“I don’t like being alone, Hari. And whatever else you may be, you’re an attractive man. Despite everything”—she leavened the phrase with a cocky grin—“I like you.”

Her dear friend Kedi had often said, “There’s a reason it fits firmly in the hand, convenient for women to lead us around, for it’s true that’s what leads and we must follow.”

Hari spoke a phrase in a language she had never heard before. He ran a hand over his hair to his nape. She rose, because surely he was not budging, and tested him by stroking up from his nape. He kept his coarse black hair clipped so short it was like bristles. A reeve’s cut.

“That tickles!” she said, laughing.

His breath grew harsh, but not from fear.

The first time she’d bedded Joss, she’d played coy, to encourage his reckless streak, but Hari was a different man, so guarded it seemed likely he’d lost the habit of trust. Forget subtlety.

One kiss was all it took. And if he was a little desperate, in the manner of a drowning man, she didn’t mind: She too was a little desperate, having swum in cold and lonely waters for far too long.

MARIT AND HARI rode at a leisurely pace south toward Toskala on the Istri Walk, in no hurry to reach the army although Marit knew they ought to move quickly.