The image of her husband lying dead in the road with the flies buzzing in and out of his gaping mouth sprang so vividly into her mind that she began to cry. He had stayed behind with the other men to hold off the army while the women and children ran into the forest to hide. Dazed from a day of hiding in the brush, Jerad and little Zi had not truly understood what had happened to their father. Avisha had trembled so close to hysterics that Nallo recognized only now how much strength it had taken the girl to suck it up and keep going for the sake of the little ones. And they’d done it. They’d walked away from the ruins of a life they could never have back, and by sheer stubbornness they had found other shelter. Not a safe place, for maybe there weren’t any safe places left. But a decent place, a good place. A place they could find pride in.

“I didn’t give up before, and the gods know I’m cursed well not going to give up now. What if we can hold this rock? Won’t that give hope to others?”

“Who will be captain?” repeated Pil.

“That’s right,” she said fiercely, looking at each in turn: the fire captain still stricken and likely to break out in a whine; Peddo exhausted but thoughtful; Kesta twisted between despair and hope. Pil as always so calm that you didn’t know whether to love him or shake him to see if he would ever yelp. “We need a commander, someone who knows Toskala and the other halls. Someone who has allies. Someone who might actually know what he’s doing, even if he is a vain-hearted and insufferably smug horse’s ass. I say, we send word to Argent Hall. To Marshal Joss.”

53

Joss paced to the edge of darkness beyond which Scar drowsed on a rocky perch, but he heard and sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Yet he could not shake off a tingle along his skin, like ants crawling up and down his neck. He returned to the fire. Water boiled in a pot set on a tripod over the flames. He placed a bowl on a rock and poured water over leaves, then covered it to steep. Darkness had trapped them in the steep-sided, hidden valley, and he was himself confined to the circle of firelight with a blanket on the ground, if he even dared attempt sleep. Hearing the scuff of footsteps, he rose.

Miyara set down their lamp beside the bowl. She wiped sweat from her forehead with a cloth and sank into a crouch, rubbing her neck.

“How are things?” he asked, not sure how much he was permitted to know but desperate for any scrap.

“I’ll take the tea. Thanks for brewing it. Priya and I could use a sharp pinch to keep alert.”