Instead, her legs burned from the ride. Her feet throbbed from walking. Her arms were as limp as wet noodles fresh from the pot. She opened her mouth to comment on her misery but thought better of it.

Amaris had learned that Odrin wasn’t one for idle chatter and was satisfied whenever they managed to exchange a few words. She wasn’t bothered by the silence. The quiet gave her an opportunity to release her tension, focusing on nothing but the way the stars burned, the sound of Cobb’s steady breath, and the sharp, horrid feeling of the pebbles that poked through her thin, leather shoes.

Amaris opened her mouth and closed it repeatedly as the hours passed, fighting the urge to complain, or to comment on the pretty, pearly quality of the light, or the fresh smell of pine and crisp mountain air. She wanted to tell Odrin that she’d never seen such a star-soaked sky. She thought to comment on how high up they were. Then, she wanted to ask how much longer their trip would be and how often he made the trip. Instead, she asked only one question.

“If I fell off this trail, would I die? Or would I just be mangled and wish I had died?”

His silhouette pressed forward. She thought she saw his shoulders shake in a noiseless laugh as he said, “I was wondering when you were going to spit out your thoughts. You’ve been making gaping noises like a trout out of the pond.”

“Well?” she pressed. “What would happen?”

He chuckled without turning toward her. Shrugging, he asked, “Are you planning on finding out?”

“No.”

“Then I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he said. Ever amicable in their two days together, Odrin didn’t seem the least bit annoyed by her question.

Cruel rocks continued to bite into her soft shoes. Amaris felt the passage of time acutely as blisters formed and popped within her shoes, scraping her raw. She fought the need to limp, to mount Cobb, to sit in the middle of the path and take off her shoes until the pain subsided. Stronger and louder than any of those needs was a single, potent desire: she refused to be treated like a special treasure, hidden away only for special occasions. It was a life she’d left behind. If she wanted acceptance, she was the only one responsible for its fruition.

She was on the trail to become an assassin. She didn’t have the luxury of whining about her shoes or the blood from her own raw feet that soaked them. That being said, whenever she was sure Odrin couldn’t see her, she allowed herself the grimaces, winces, and secret flinches of pain.

Amaris also learned something new about herself: she did not care for heights.