Chapters (35)
- SOMETHING IN THE SNOW
- Books by Richelle Mead
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Copyright Page
She merely grunted at that, but as the riders turned around, I caught sight of her smoothing back her hair in some weak attempt at styling. “That was ridiculous,” I told Dorian, once she’d left. “She’s not the kind of person to fall for your flirting.”
“On the contrary,” said Dorian. “She’s exactly the kind of person to fall for it. I understand these warrior maids, you know. They live such harsh, cold lives, always trying to keep up with the men ... when really, they just need someone to make them feel like a woman. And that, of course, is an area in which I excel. Why, if I’d had ten minutes alone with her—”
I groaned but couldn’t help laughing too. “Just stop,” I said. “I don’t want to hear it.” Dorian grinned back at me, supremely pleased with himself.
“We need to make camp,” said Kiyo harshly, not looking amused at all. In fact, he looked downright disapproving. “And post watches, if what she said was true about this being a hostile land.”
The levity vanished, and we were back to business again. The blight itself was more than enough proof that Varia and her allies weren’t people we wanted to underestimate. We doubled our usual night watch, and even those of us who weren’t on duty had trouble sleeping. The tropical setting was full of night noises, and I tossed and turned over each one of them, certain every insect or rustle of leaves was a combatant sent by Varia.
And yet, morning came uneventfully. I didn’t know if our presence had gone undetected or if the Mimosa residents really weren’t as dangerous as the Beech captain had claimed. Since this land didn’t seem to border any of the blighted ones, maybe there wasn’t such a need to protect against refugees. Regardless, we deemed ourselves reasonably safe enough to finally take our full break and get in some serious bathing in a nearby lagoon. We took the baths in gender shifts—something most of the gentry found silly—while the other half of the group gathered food. The Mimosa Land didn’t have fruit immediately growing on the road, but in this climate, one didn’t have to search far for sustenance.