The camp bore little resemblance to the organized tent villages of earlier marches. The tents had been left behind, along with all the other equipment that the wagons normally carried, leaving the soldiers with only bedrolls and blankets to make themselves comfortable. Small fires blazed everywhere, and the men and women of the Third Regiment sat around them, leaning on their bedrolls or already stretching out on the uneven ground. The banter was good-natured—legs were sore and feet blistered, but for the moment morale seemed to be high.

She found Jane in a rocky copse, near the edge of the hill, where Edgar and some other horses had been tethered. Their saddlebags had been neatly piled nearby, and Jane was rooting through hers. As Winter approached, she straightened up, triumphantly holding her prize.

“Socks,” she said. “There’s a hole in mine and it’s rubbing me something awful. I knew I bought an extra pair after we got to Desland.”

Winter did her best to put on a grin, but it must have looked as sickly as it felt, because Jane’s expression darkened.

“We need—”

“To talk.” Jane sighed. “Come on.”

Winter followed her into the trees, out of sight of the rest of the camp. Jane found a small boulder and sat down, gingerly, and started unlacing her boots. Winter stood opposite her, arms folded. She realized she had no idea how to begin.

“What were you doing at the citadel?” she said after a moment. It wasn’t the right question, but it was the only one she could think of. “You said you weren’t coming back.”

“I’m not sure I remember anymore,” Jane said, pulling off one of her boots and setting it on the ground. “I think I came looking for a fight.”

“You found one.”

Jane chuckled. “Not the kind I wanted. I just thought . . . I don’t know. I was going to grab you and shake you until you understood.”

“Understood what?”

“I’m not sure I knew. I was pretty drunk.” Jane sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You saved me. Probably Cyte and Bobby, too.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Still.” Winter took a deep breath and hugged herself a little tighter. “Thank you.”

Jane tugged off her sock and held her foot in the air, wiggling her toes. “Ahhh. Much better.”

“Jane—”

“What do you want me to say?” Jane looked up. “I was acting like an ass. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you nearly had to get killed before I realized it.”

“It’s all right,” Winter said.

“No, it’s not,” Jane said. “When you came back to me in Vordan, and told me your story, I don’t think I understood it. I thought you were . . . hiding, pretending, when you talked about being in the army. But this is your life.”