“Whatever you said to him must have sunk in. He hasn’t said a single word.” I didn’t think I really needed to warn Gunner to keep his temper in check. He’d been notably quiet ever since we left the old site. He was probably thinking the same thing as the rest of us. The Vendans had been caught in the crossfire of a battle that wasn’t theirs.
A shadow passed over us, and I looked up. It was Caemus. He washed up silently near us, but with a long riverbank in both directions, I knew he could have chosen a spot farther away. There was something on his mind.
He scooped up a handful of sand and rubbed it in around his fingernails, trying to scrub away the embedded dirt. “Kerry do a good job?” he finally asked.
“He’s learning.”
Caemus finished his hands, scrubbed his face, then stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. He looked at me, his weathered face still shining with water.
“I didn’t know you had kin buried there.”
I was silent for a moment, old angers rising again, not feeling I had to justify any of the reasons why we wanted them off our land.
“We don’t,” I finally answered. “It’s a spot to mark where an ancestor died.” I stood so we were eye to eye. “We don’t know for sure if it even happened there, but it’s a traditional spot we’ve recognized for generations. And we Ballengers are big on tradition.”
His head cocked to the side, his chin dipping once in acknowledgement. “We have traditions too.”
I looked down at the tether of bones hanging from his belt. “That one of them?”
He nodded. “If you have a minute, I’ll tell you about them.”
I sat back on the bank and pulled Mason down beside me.
“We have a minute.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
KAZI
The cook dished out hearty stew into bowls and plopped a thick slice of black rye bread on top. Jase had brought in field cooks from the Ballenger lumber camps. If you included Wren, Synové, and me, there were about an equal amount of Vendans and Ballengers. Thirty of them, thirty of us, and as each person got their dinner they filed off to sit with their own.
The Ballenger crew sat on one side of an oak, and the Vendans on the other, which prevented any conversation between them, but maybe that was the goal. This was going to be a long, dreary evening, maybe even a contentious one if someone took a sharp word too personally. A small fire burned in a ring in the center, ready to stave off darkness as dusk rolled in. There were some benches and chairs from among the Vendan belongings, but not enough for everyone, and so they perched on the sides of empty wagons or on stacked lumber as they ate their meal.
Jase was the last to arrive at the cook wagon. As he got his meal, Titus called to him, offering a seat on a crate beside him—on their side. He didn’t even look for me, and I wondered if my encounter with the dogs in the tunnel had created a permanent distance between us.
I noted that the Vendans still watched Jase closely. When we had unloaded wagons, I heard their sentiments, ranging from disbelief to continued wariness, but knew they all felt cautious gratitude. Mostly, they were still puzzled by this new development. Many eyes glistened with tears as they unloaded their goods to a designated spot beneath a strung canvas. There was no question that this was a site that held more promise than the last. One woman had openly wept, but now, as we sat eating, they kept their words quiet and emotions in check, as they had learned to do around outsiders.
But there was a curiosity, too—on both sides. I saw the glances. Even the camp cook had regarded them with something that wavered between worry and compassion. He was generous with their portions.
“Well, would you look at that,” Synové said. Her eyes directed us to Gunner across the way. “The nasty one keeps looking at Jurga.”
She’d been the one weeping earlier today.
“How can you be sure he’s looking at her?” I asked. There were several Vendans huddled close to her.
“Because she’s looking back.”
I watched more closely and it was true, but Jurga was careful, only looking sideways at him through lowered lashes when he looked away.
Maybe the divide wasn’t as great as I thought. If the nasty one could catch softhearted Jurga’s eye, maybe the divide only needed a little help to narrow.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. I strolled across the empty expanse, and several pairs of eyes followed me, like I was a plow churning up a furrow of soil in my wake. Gunner didn’t like me. He’d made that clear, but the feeling was mutual so I didn’t hold it against him. Once I signed the letter to the queen, my purpose was done, and I was dead to him. When I stopped in front of him, he looked at me like I was a swarm of flies blocking his view. “She won’t bite, you know? You could go over and say hello.”
“I’m just eating my dinner. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your bowl is empty, Gunner. Your dinner is gone. Would it be the end of the world to get to know some of the people you’re building shelters for?”
I reached down and took the bowl from his lap and set it aside, then grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Her name is Jurga. Did you see her weeping today? It was with gratitude for what you Ballengers have done.”
He yanked his hand loose. “I already told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me finish my dinner in peace.”
We both looked at his empty bowl.
“Hello.”
Jurga had come up behind us.
Perhaps seeing me talking to Gunner had given her courage to do the same. I wasn’t sure, but Gunner calmed, shifting awkwardly on his feet, and I stepped away, leaving the finer points of introduction to the two of them.
Now I turned my attention to another Ballenger.
I walked over to one of the older Vendan boys testing notes on a flute. I asked him if he knew “Wolf Moon,” a common Fenlander song that Synové sometimes hummed. He did, and when he started playing the first tentative notes, I ambled over to Jase, still deep in conversation with Mason and Titus, and I curtsied in front of him, quickly getting their attention. “We never got to dance last night, Patrei. Would now be a good time?”
He looked at me uncertainly. “What about your ankle?”
“I’ve ridden for hours, dug up a barrel of parsnips and potatoes, and helped unload two wagons today, and now you’re worried about my ankle? Maybe it is your delicate feet that are too weary? Are you trying to get out of this dance, Patrei? Just say so and I’ll find someone else to—”
Jase was on his feet, his arm sliding around me, pulling me to the center of the Ballenger-Vendan divide. The truth was my ankle was still tender, but Jase seemed to sense this in spite of my protest, and he limited our dancing to gentle swaying.
“I think this is the least we can do to warm the chill between these two camps,” I said.
“So this is all for show?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I don’t care anymore, as long as you’re in my arms.”
The tune was slow and dreamy, the notes gliding through the air like birds heading home through a dusky sky to roost. Jase pulled me closer, his lips resting against my temple. “Everyone’s watching,” he whispered.
“That is entirely the point.”
“Not entirely.” His mouth edged closer to my lips.
The question of whether it was a show was swept aside, forgotten. There may have been other secrets between us, but this much was true and honest—I wanted to be in his arms, and he wanted to be in mine.
Maybe that was enough.
Maybe moments like this were all the truth we could expect to get from the world. I held on to it as if it were.
“Last time we danced we were knee deep in grass,” I said.
“And now there’s not even a chain between us,” Jase whispered.
“Maybe we don’t need one anymore.” We were in the wilderness again, and it felt easy and natural to allow ourselves to slip through a hole that was familiar.
I had an awareness of others joining us, but my eyes were locked on Jase’s and his on mine, and as I heard more feet shuffling, others dancing around us, I wondered if they had fallen through that same hole with us, and I wondered if, this time, we would be able to make it last.
*