“I…well, yes. I…er, that would be, I would agree,” she stammered, her stomach warming, the area around her heart feeling light.

He grinned.

“So, marriage and Firenze and a son,” he decreed.

“I would not wear a pink dress,” she stated firmly.

“It would not look good with your hair.” His head dipped close and his tone dipped low. “The purple of Nadirii. Or the green of Firenze.”

“Maybe,” she muttered.

If it was a tunic and leg casings.

Though, she would consider a fancy tunic.

He was grinning again.

And then he wasn’t when his head shot up and turned, as if he was listening.

But she heard it then too.

They were both out of their shelter, back to back, Chu had his sword in hand, and she had her fingers about the hilt of the weapon on her belt.

They turned in a circle, keeping the other at their backs, and scanning the area.

“Which way did you hear it?” she whispered.

“North,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I’m high. You’re low. You’re on tracks, warrior,” he ordered, turned and then he moved up the hill behind their shelter.

Stealthily, gazing about and opening her senses, she moved in the direction where she heard the noise.

It had been soft. Needles rustling.

She thought this sound came through an approach.

Thus, she often cast her eyes to the ground to check for tracks.

But she saw nothing.

She’d searched a relatively thorough area before she heard, “Zsst.”

Her head turned and she moved up the incline to Chu.

“Nothing,” she said. “Maybe an animal?”

He pointed.

She turned in the direction he indicated and only saw some evergreens.

“I don’t—”

“The trees, Rena.”

She looked closer.

Disturbed needles.

Bent boughs.

“Gnomes,” she said.

“Hmm,” he hummed.

She looked to him. “How did they get bloody gnomes on their side? The gnomes hate Airen as it was, almost as much as the Nadirii.”

Chu simply continued regarding the disturbed trees.

“Chu?” she called.

“Before I left my birth country, I had just started training in the Mystics.”

“Sorry?” she asked.

“Not the continent.” He looked to her. “The arts.”

Oh.

The Mystics.

Her gaze slid back to the trees as a chill slithered up her spine.

“I can harness my momentum to propel me to do a number of things many cannot. But I did not train long enough to ascend to the art of weightlessness.”

She again gave him her attention. “Do you think they have Mystics?”

“I think a gnome would disturb the needles, but he would not break boughs.”

Serena fully turned to study the area.

The vantage was good for their cover.

“They were spying on us,” she deduced.

“Yes.”

“We need to go into Dunlyn.”

“Yes.”

She gave him her eyes. “Disguises?”

“Pull up the hood of your cloak,” he ordered. “I shall take my chances. You are not changing us here.”

She nodded.