Tem’s cheeks turned sunset pink. “I didn’t—I mean, that wasn’t my idea. I don’t know how River did it, but—”
“But you didn’t mind, did you?” I said as Tem flushed even deeper. “And neither did she, I bet. You probably had to tear yourself away from her at the end of the night. Or did you? Come to think of it, Tem, I didn’t hear you return to your room—”
“Stop it, Kamzin.”
I chortled to myself.
Later, though, as we both settled into our blankets, trying to get comfortable on the uneven ground, Tem said, “You really wouldn’t care?”
I dragged my eyes open. I was so tired I felt as if I were weighted to the earth. “What?”
He coughed. “If I was interested in someone. It wouldn’t bother you?”
I was quiet for a moment. “Are you?”
“No.”
I shifted restlessly. “Well, what does it matter, then?”
“You didn’t seem to mind dancing with River.”
“I don’t mind being able to walk today.”
“It was more than that, though,” Tem persisted. “The way you looked together—”
“Listening to you talk about dancing is like listening to a fish talk about fire-building.” I rolled onto my side. “It was just a dance. Can we drop it?”
“I just mean—”
“Tem, if you need me to say it, I’ll say it. I wouldn’t mind if you were interested in someone. The two of us haven’t been together that way in over a year. So I don’t mind. All right?”
Tem didn’t reply, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t entirely sure I had told the truth. The thought of Tem liking another girl made me feel strange. It wasn’t jealousy precisely. It was closer to loneliness than anything else. If I didn’t have Tem, who did I have?
Sleep did not come easily for me, despite my exhaustion. Though the sound of the waterfall and Tem’s quiet snores were soothing, I lapsed in and out of a doze. The music of the Ghost March threaded through my thoughts. Part of me felt as if I were still spinning in circles. As if River’s arms were still around me, his breath warm against my ear. Others circled us—the masked dancers, but interspersed among them were the fiangul. Their beaks snapped at me as I passed, catching at my hair, my chuba, my skin. River melted away, and suddenly, they were everywhere, reaching for my throat with taloned hands—
A noise startled me awake, my heart thundering. I listened, and it came again—a snuffling, scrabbling sound. The same sound I had heard before, at the edge of Bengarek Forest.
I lay very still. It was hard to pinpoint the direction of the noise over the splash of the water—but it seemed close. As quietly as I could, I pushed back my blankets and rose to a crouching position. Ragtooth, who had been sleeping by my head, gave a low hiss.
“Shut up,” I whispered. My hand moved to the tent flap. The creature was just outside. I could hear its snout huffing against the rocky bank. Taking a deep breath, I pulled on the flap.
Ragtooth bit my leg—hard.
“Ouch!” I cried. Tem gave a start and muttered something, but he was not truly awake. He rolled over onto his side with a mumbling groan.
Rubbing my calf, I listened. The sounds had stopped, and all was quiet. It was a different quiet from before, an honest, nighttime hush. I knew, somehow, that the creature was gone.
In the morning light, there was no evidence of a trail. The earth was hard-packed, almost frozen. Not even Dargye’s footsteps left a trace.
“I know it was out here!” I said. “It was the same creature I heard before. Whatever it was, it’s been following us.”
Tem gave me a skeptical look. The others, preoccupied with breakfast, paid little attention to me.
“It could have been the wind,” he offered, releasing the dragon he was holding and reaching for a second. The chill air dried their scales, which needed oiling every few days to keep them in good condition. The dragon’s eyes half closed as Tem rubbed heartseed oil between its wings.
“It wasn’t the wind,” I said. “Please say you believe me. I wasn’t imagining it.”
“I believe you,” he said quickly. “But, Kamzin, I set the warding spells myself last night. If an animal had slipped through them, I would have felt it.”
I shook my head. “You don’t believe me at all. You could at least have the decency to say it.”
“Kamzin . . .”
I stomped over to the fire. Dargye handed me a bowl of sampa porridge, lumpy and slightly burned, which did not improve my mood. I stabbed at it with my spoon, trying to saw through the lumps.
“The wind can play strange tricks on your hearing,” he said, turning his attention to his own porridge—which, I couldn’t help noticing, had fewer blackened grains than mine.
“It wasn’t the wind,” I said through my teeth.
“Do you recall the storm we had last winter?” Dargye continued, as was his habit, as if I hadn’t spoken. “The sound it made against my hut—I thought the witches had come to carry me off. But it was only loose branches hitting the windows.”
I mashed the lumps with the back of my spoon. “Shame.”
“We should choose our camps more carefully,” he said. “We’re too exposed. I’ve said as much to River, but he doesn’t listen.”
“I can’t imagine why not.”
Aimo brought a bowl of porridge to Norbu, who sat hunched over his butter tea, rubbing his eyes.
“How is he?” I asked.
Aimo made a so-so gesture. Norbu was wearing his heavy fur chuba, as opposed to his lightweight traveling one, but still he was shivering. He seemed stronger, but there was a lingering weariness in his movements. I eyed him warily. It wasn’t just that I was concerned for his health; I was calculating how much he would slow us down. An ill traveling companion was a danger not just to himself, but to the entire group. Our supplies would run low if we were delayed, and Norbu would be unable to handle difficult terrain, forcing us to take roundabout routes that would use additional resources and expose us to unexpected dangers.
Ragtooth nosed up to me, sniffing at my bowl. I fed him a few porridge lumps and let him stick his snout in my tea.
“At least you believe me,” I murmured, scratching his ear. He regarded me silently and allowed me to pet him for several seconds before trying to bite my fingers off.
Despite my worries, we reached the edge of Garamai Forest—the day’s goal—by sundown. Sleet fell during the night, pummeling the tents and making sleep difficult, but by the next morning the skies were clear of all but a few skinny clouds, which trailed at the edge of the retreating storm like frayed threads.