While they finished eating, Thrace stood among the great stones, staring west, her hair and dress whipping about. Her sight rose to the horizon, out beyond Colnora, beyond the blue hills to the thin line of the sea. She looked so small and delicate he half expected the wind to carry her away like some golden leaf, and then he noticed the look in her eyes. She was little more than a child and yet her eyes were older—the glow of innocence and the sparkle of wonder were absent. There was a weight to her face, a determination in her gaze. Whatever childhood she had known had long since abandoned her.
They finished their food, packed up, and set off again. Descending the far side of the heights, they continued to follow the road for the remainder of the day, but as sunset neared, the road narrowed to little more than a simple trail. Farmhouses still appeared from time to time, but they were less frequent. The forest grew thicker and the road darker.
As sunlight faded, Thrace grew very quiet. There was nothing to see or point out anymore but Hadrian guessed it was more than that. Mouse skipped a stone into a windblown pile of the past year’s leaves and Thrace jumped, grabbing his waist. She dug her nails in deep enough to make him wince.
“Shouldn’t we find shelter?” she asked.
“Not much chance of that out here,” Hadrian told her. “From this point on we’ll be leaving civilization behind. Besides, it’s a lovely evening. The ground is dry and it looks like it will be warm.”
“We’re sleeping outside?”
Hadrian turned around to see her face. Her mouth was open slightly, her forehead creased, her eyes wide and looking up at the sky. “We’re still a long way from Dahlgren,” he assured her. She nodded but held on to him tighter.
They stopped at a clearing near a little creek that flowed over a series of rocks, making a friendly rushing sound. Hadrian helped Thrace down and pulled the saddles and gear off the horses.
“Where’s Royce?” Thrace asked in a whispered panic. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, looking around anxiously.
“It’s okay,” Hadrian told her as he pulled the bridle off Millie’s head. “He always does a bit of scouting whenever we stop for the night. He’ll circle the area making sure we’re alone. Royce hates surprises.”
Thrace nodded but remained huddled, as if standing on a stone amidst a raging river.
“We’ll be sleeping right over there. You might want to clear it some. A single stone can ruin a night’s sleep. I ought to know; it seems whenever I sleep outside, I always end up with a stone under the small of my back.”
She walked into the clearing and gingerly bent over, tossing aside branches and rocks, nervously glancing skyward and jumping at the slightest sound. By the time Hadrian had the horses settled, Royce had returned. He carried an armload of small branches and a few shattered logs, which he used to build a fire.
Thrace stared at him, horrified. “It’s so bright,” she whispered.
Hadrian squeezed her hand and smiled. “You know, I bet you’re a wonderful cook, aren’t you? I could make us dinner, but it would be miserable. All I know how to do is boil potatoes. How about you give it a try? What do you say? There are pots and pans in that sack over there and you’ll find food in the one next to it.”
Thrace nodded silently and, with one last glance upward, shuffled over to the packs. “What kind of meal would you like?”
“Something edible would be a pleasant surprise,” Royce said, adding more wood.
Hadrian threw a stick at him. The thief caught it and placed it on the fire.
She dug into the packs, going so far as to stick her head inside, and emerged moments later with an armload of items. She borrowed Hadrian’s knife and began cutting vegetables on the bottom of a turned-up pan.
It grew dark quickly, the fire becoming the only source of light in the clearing. The flickering yellow radiance illuminated the canopy of leaves around them, creating the feel of a woodland cave. Hadrian picked out a grassy area upwind from the smoke and laid out sheets of canvas coated in pitch. It blocked the wetness that would otherwise soak in. The treated fabric was something they had come up with after years on the road. But they did not have time to make one for Thrace. He sighed, threw Thrace’s blankets on his canvas, and went in search of pine boughs for his own bed.
When dinner was ready, Royce called for Hadrian. He returned to the fire, where Thrace was dishing out a thick broth of carrots, potatoes, onions, and salted pork. Royce was sitting with a bowl on his lap and a smile on his face.
“You don’t have to be that happy,” Hadrian told him.
“Look, Hadrian—food.”
They ate mostly in silence. Royce made a few comments about things they should pick up when they passed through Alburn, such as another length of rope and a new spoon to replace the cracked one. Hadrian mostly watched Thrace, who refused to sit near the fire; she ate alone on a rock in the shadows near the horses. When they finished, she stole away to the river to wash the pot and wooden bowls.
“Are you all right?” Hadrian asked, finding her along the stony bank.
Thrace was crouched on a large moss-capped rock, her gown tucked tight around her ankles, as she washed the pot and bowls by scooping up what sand she could find and scrubbing them with her fingers.
“I’m fine, thank you. I’m just not used to being out at night.”
Hadrian settled down beside her and began cleaning his bowl.