I stopped short. The view opened up here, away from the foothills, revealing a vast landscape that took my breath away. The bowl of the valley brimmed with shadow. Beyond it, the Northern Aryas faded into the distance beneath a sky brightened by early stars. To the east, the Nightwood was dimly visible, sharp treetops reaching for the sky like claws. River gazed out over the land, a brooding look on his face, looking for all the world like a king surveying his domain. The pale side of his chuba melted against the weathered stone as if it were part of it. He would have been invisible if I hadn’t chanced to look right at him.
I turned, about to go back. It wasn’t that River and I hadn’t spoken over the past few days, since leaving Jangsa—we had spoken a great deal. Every morning began with the two of us hunched over the maps, planning the day’s journey. River was an expert at reading maps, but he didn’t trust them implicitly the way most people did. He listened to my advice, and never questioned me when I suggested we avoid a particular route, or pause to climb up the mountainside to survey the land ahead. We always went together, just the two of us, and though I did not openly challenge him to another game of shadow, it was always understood between us. Climbing with River was a wonderful distraction, because we were so evenly matched. Sometimes I felt as if River truly was my shadow, or I his. I finally beat him one morning, trapping him in a narrow crevice that I had only escaped by hooking my heel around a rock almost level with my head while walking my body up the wall behind me with my hands. River couldn’t repeat the move, and so climbed up a different way. I had expected him to be annoyed by his loss, or embarrassed, but he seemed to find it uproariously funny. I doubted that anyone had come close to challenging him before, and he seemed to delight in my ability to do so. I understood the feeling—it was wonderful to be traveling with someone who could match me move for move and step for step, who made me try things I would never dare with Tem or anyone else.
And yet, despite all this, I found myself avoiding River’s gaze, or purposely positioning myself so that we weren’t walking together. It wasn’t because I wanted to avoid him. It was because my desire to impress him was now jumbled up with other, more problematic feelings. I spent far too much time thinking about River Shara these days. I might be clambering over a fallen tree, and suddenly I would be thinking about how he had spun me among the other dancers in Jangsa. I might be examining the clouds, trying to determine the direction of the wind, and then I would be thinking about how he scrubbed his hand through his hair when he was lost in thought.
It was annoying.
I was just sneaking away when River glanced up and caught my eye. He beckoned me to his side.
“Drink?” he said, holding a bottle out.
I settled beside him. “No thanks.”
He placed the bottle in my hand as if I hadn’t spoken. I sniffed it, then took a swallow. The drink scorched the back of my throat and filled my chest with a sharp warmth. It was spicy and smooth in equal measure; I had never tasted anything like it.
“I didn’t realize we brought liquor,” I said, handing back the bottle. “Aren’t we trying to travel light?”
He held a finger to his lips, as if the explorer in charge of the expedition were lurking nearby, listening, rather than sitting beside me. I couldn’t help laughing.
He took another drink, then gave the bottle to me. I took only a single swallow before putting it down on the rock between us.
“That’s it,” I said. “I’m not letting you get me drunk again. I remember too well what happened the last time.”
“I don’t remember much getting on my part—wasn’t I the one prying the bowl from your hands?”
I made a face. “My father was so disappointed in me for embarrassing myself in front of such a famous guest. For embarrassing Azmiri.”
“I can’t imagine you disappoint him often. So what’s the harm?”
I made a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. “But I do. I’m a constant disappointment to my entire family. When they notice me at all.”
“That is a sad story.” River nudged the bottle toward me again. I swatted his hand away, and he laughed. It echoed off the rocks, and if rocks could laugh, I couldn’t imagine a wilder, more suitable sound.
“Let me tell you something.” He leaned toward me. “I’m the youngest of four brothers, so I have some expertise on this subject. I love my brothers very much, but I also hate them. Really, truly despise them. They’re much better than me at many things, and were forever winning my mother’s praise, and I hate them for that. But you know, in a way, it’s just as hard for them. They’re trying to live up to their own set of expectations, even if they are different from those I face.” He lowered his voice, as if speaking half to himself. “In some way, we’re all trying to prove ourselves to our families.”
I gazed at him, surprised. Was that why he had become an explorer, rather than contenting himself with the lavish parties and grand palaces of the Three Cities? Because he wanted to please his family, to be a good son? It struck me again how young he was.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.” It had the air of an announcement. He held the bottle up as if toasting the darkness. “It’s my birthday.”
“Today?” I felt inexplicably annoyed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
He laughed. “I’m sorry. Were you planning on throwing me a party?”
“That’s what the box of firecrackers is for,” I said. “And the drums, and the floating lanterns—just in case I needed to throw River Shara a birthday party. But now I guess it’s too late.”
He laughed again, sagging forward slightly. Liquor splashed over the side of the ridge. I pried the bottle out of his hand.
“There is one thing you could give me,” he said, when he had caught his breath.
His tone made me suspicious. “No.”
“You didn’t even—”
“I don’t trust you,” I said sternly, moving the bottle out of his reach. He made a grab for it, and I snared his hand. “At least, everyone keeps telling me not to.”
“Your shaman, you mean.” He was smiling at me. His teeth were very straight, except for one at the side, which tilted slightly.
“Stop calling him ‘my shaman.’” I forced myself to look at his eyes rather than his mouth. “His name is Tem.”
“Yes, yes, whatever. Tell me something. How does someone as clever and talented as you become best friends with someone that dull?”
“Tem is not dull,” I said. “You just don’t know him.”
“No, I don’t, because he barely says two words at a time.”
“He doesn’t trust you. He’s like that when he doesn’t trust someone. I don’t know why you’re complaining—you talk enough for a dozen people. But I won’t have you insulting Tem.” I narrowed my eyes. “You should be glad he’s here, otherwise who would be setting the warding spells? Who would we turn to if some dark creature attacked us?”
“Me.” River shrugged. “That’s the way it’s always worked. Every night, Norbu would set the warding spells, and then after he went to bed I would go around and set them properly.”