“No. I’m not,” Amon said, as if it hadn’t occurred to him till then.

The silence coalesced around them once more.

“That’s impressive. What you were doing,” she said. “What is that called?”

He studied the weapon in his hands as if he’d forgotten it was there. He seemed absent, distracted. “I learned it from the Waterwalkers. They call it sticking. Their staffs are made of ironwood—it grows in the marshes. They don’t use metal weapons, but a weighted staff is deadly in the hands of a stickmaster.” He shut his mouth, as if to cut off the flood of words—a whole month’s worth for him.

“Were there Waterwalkers at the academy?” Raisa asked, surprised. “Was that where you learned it?”

Amon shook his head. “No. I fostered in the Fens for six months during one of my terms at Wien House. I was sponsored by the marsh-lord, name of Cadri.”

“Is this what you do every day? When you leave?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Pretty much. I…ah…train in different ways. It helps relieve the tension.”

Tension? Raisa squinted at him. It was miserable, true, what with the rain and ice and wind and bad food and all. But it was more tedious than tense, in Raisa’s opinion. She almost wished something exciting would happen, to break the boredom.

Was he really worried about an attack? That seemed unlikely, despite his warnings. They were still in the Fells, and Demonai Camp kept this area well patrolled. Besides, who would venture out in this weather if they didn’t have to?

Perhaps it was just the stress of knowing his father was counting on him to keep the princess heir safe; of not knowing what would happen when they reached Oden’s Ford.

It had been too long since they’d had any fun. Raisa yanked off her gloves and stuffed them inside her coat, then strode toward him.

Amon flipped the staff horizontal, making a barrier between them. “We’d better get back to camp,” he said, jerking his head in that direction.

Raisa stopped a foot away and looked up at him. “Amon. Could you teach me?”

“Teach you what?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“That battle dance. How to fight with a staff.” She took hold of the staff, slippery with ice. She couldn’t compete with his swordplay, but she could learn this.

It would be like the old days. Amon had been her first weapons master.

He shook his head. “It’s too heavy for you.”