It felt strange taking River’s hand again, but there wasn’t much choice. Ice was forming on the rocks, and it was difficult to see the way back. I wished we had thought to bring one of the dragons. They were too far away to hear my whistle.
We came to the ledge where we had jumped. The gap seemed narrower from this side, less intimidating, but perhaps that was only a trick of the light. River’s hand tightened around mine, his knuckles brushing my hip. He was close enough that I could smell the campfire smoke on his skin, entwined with his own clean scent, which reminded me of a forest plant I couldn’t place—something that bloomed after nightfall, when the rest of the world slumbered. For some reason, I said, “We were.”
“What?”
“Tem and I. We were. We tried being—together, for a while. It didn’t work.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. I didn’t really know the answer—or at least, I didn’t know how to put it into words. I never had. “We’re just better this way. As friends.”
River gazed into the chasm. He may have been calculating the distance, or lost in thought—in the darkness, I couldn’t see his face. He released my hand, and I saw his smile flash like a spark.
“Your turn,” he said.
NINE
“WHO WON?” TEM said as I approached the campfire the next morning. He had fallen asleep waiting for me—it was long past sunset when River and I returned. Now he was hunched over the stream, washing his socks.
“It was a draw,” I said. And it had been. No matter what I did, no matter how impossible the move or narrow the handhold, River had matched me, fumbling only once or twice before catching himself. He clung to the mountain like a spider. Still, all the agility in the world wouldn’t make up for his natural impatience, which sometimes led him to make thoughtless moves, overextending his reach or forcing himself into awkward positions. I had watched as the muscles in his arms clenched and strained during the final descent, certain that at any moment he would admit defeat. He hadn’t, infuriatingly, but I was certain I could beat him next time. If there was a next time.
We would reach Winding Pass tomorrow.
Tem raised his eyebrows. “That’s a first.”
I toyed with my breakfast, half lost in thought. I had woken at dawn to examine the maps for the hundredth time. I felt better with them spread out before me, the journey ahead reduced to a series of tidy black lines and labeled features. They helped quell my sense of foreboding.
The feeling grew the closer we moved to Winding Pass. Though our campsite that night was pleasant enough—a patch of springy saxifrage sheltered by two glacial boulders—I could not sleep.
I remembered little of the return journey through the pass with my mother’s expedition. We had been caught in a storm; everything was dark and confused. I remembered shouting, Lusha’s hand squeezing mine like a vise. Strange shapes woven through the darkness, reaching for us with spectral limbs. I thought something grabbed my shoulder, its fingers cold and thin and sharp—Lusha had yanked me free. Had it been my imagination? Nothing made sense in that swirling void.
I rolled onto my side, rubbing my shoulder—sometimes, it was as if I could still feel that strangely shaped hand. The others hadn’t made it out of the pass. Their cries, the shamans’ shouted incantations, had faded into the darkness behind us, as my mother half led, half dragged me and Lusha through the storm. Only her iron will and almost superhuman energy had protected us.
The terror I had felt in those moments threatened to envelop me again, but I beat it back—barely. I watched the flap of the tent as it moved in the breeze, gently rustling. My mother was gone. My sister was out there somewhere, but out of reach. This time, there would be no one to protect me if something went wrong. The thought brought with it a surge of loneliness, but also hard determination.
I rolled over again and began going over the maps in my head.
Norbu approached me the next morning, as I washed our breakfast dishes in a half-frozen stream. “This weather won’t hold.”
I followed his gaze, wiping a wet hand across my forehead. To the north, dark clouds were massing among the peaks.
“The last storm swung east,” I said, ignoring a stab of anxiety.
Norbu fingered one of his talismans. “Nevertheless, I should begin the weather chants.”
“Tem can help with—”
“The Royal Explorer trusts me to protect his expeditions,” Norbu said, a cold note entering his voice. “River and I have endured many such storms.”
I’m sure you have. Norbu’s abilities had not become any more impressive over the last few days. After the others had gone to bed, Tem had told me in a low voice how he had broken Norbu’s warding spells simply by waving his hand through them. He had recast them, of course, properly, but it made me shake my head in amazement. How had River survived so long without a proper shaman?
We set off, and I tried to ignore the darkness gathering in the skies ahead. The wind picked up, cooling my sweaty brow. The dragons took flight and coasted above us, riding the gusts and chirruping at each other.
Where is Lusha?
We should have caught up to them by now, given the pace I had set. They must have been traveling into the night, to stay so far ahead.
Or—something had gone wrong. I tried not to think about what that could be—there were any number of possibilities. Surely Lusha would be cautious, and not take any unnecessary risks. But if Mara protested, would she give in?
I had no idea. I had no idea of anything—what had driven her to sneak off with Mara, what she hoped to gain by betraying one of the most powerful men in the Empire.
I still wanted to catch Lusha, to beat her to the mountain. To see her face when I sauntered into her camp, the dawning realization that I had bested her. But as I gazed at the storm, I also felt something else. A nagging worry, hovering at the edge of my thoughts.
The terrain was difficult, uneven and strewn with rubble cast down from the mountain, and there was a risk of turning an ankle at every step. It was a tiring hike, and as the day wore on, we moved more and more slowly. Tem paused every few steps to cough, while Dargye, his large frame not built for balance, had torn a gash in his knee. Even I was out of breath, and frustrated with my own lagging pace.
Soon the wind was too strong for the dragons—they landed on the yak, burrowing in between our gear, their lights flickering chaotically. At my side, Tem began muttering incantations. He held the string of kinnika in his hands, allowing the wind to brush through them. The music they made was gentle but discordant, and formed an eerie backdrop to the worsening weather.
“Can I help?” I said. “Chirri taught me all the weather spells.”
Tem glanced up. It took him a moment to focus on me.
“That’s all right,” he said carefully. “You have enough to do.”
I smothered a sigh.
“Kamzin?” River called. “Are you sure this is right?”