“If we defeat them in the hills first, we could take the town afterward.” The general sat a little straighter in her saddle. “That’s a definite possibility.”
“And there’s a bridge over the river in Bartolo,” Deni put in.
The strategy talk continued on as the column slowed to a stop and began to set up for the night.
Ava had listened to it for the last three days, so she slipped away, rubbed down her horse and then went to find the bathing tent. When they’d set up camp by the river, they’d jumped in it and washed, but the water had been cold and the current strong. Ava had stayed in the shallows, shivering, even as she was grateful to be able to immerse herself in water.
Her two years in a cell, using a shallow bowl to wash in, meant even a cold river was a luxury to her.
The bathing tent in the Venyatu column was more wonderful still. The water was hot, and the soap smelled of lemon and rosemary.
As she sank down into the hard leather tub full of hot water she remembered the way Luc’s arms had come around her from behind while she washed in the freezing water, enveloping her in sudden heat.
He’d chuckled in her ear. “I can hear your teeth chattering.”
She’d felt his smooth, taut skin against her own, and the hard, poking evidence of his arousal at her back.
The memory had her rushing through her bath, pulling on a clean change of clothes, and heading for Luc’s tent. He wasn’t there, though, and she guessed they’d moved the strategy session to the general’s quarters.
She stood for a moment, pack in hand, considering her options. Eventually she set her things beside his bed, on the side she favored, took out her knitting, and went to find a campfire to sit at.
She found one where a man was working on some leather boots, another was whittling a stick, and a few women sat companionably darning rips in their clothing. Oscar was there, too, sharpening the knife he wore on his belt.
He patted the spot beside him and she settled down to a warm welcome from the others. She let the conversation and the crackle of the fire soothe her, along with the click of her needles.
She was invisible here. Or unremarkable.
She was grateful for some space to concentrate on the tunic for Luc. She wove impenetrability into every stitch she knit, every twist of the work. Nothing would get through this.
And it was almost done. Just a few more rows and she’d only have to sew the pieces together.
“Ava. There you are.”
She looked up in surprise as Frederik stopped in front of her and then sat beside her.
“Look.” He pointed to his face.
The stitches she’d put there had been taken out, most likely by Dorea, and the wound was just a thin white line on his warm brown skin.
She leaned closer for a better look. Her relief that there was an actual scar made her feel a little giddy. “That looks good.”
“It’s barely noticeable. Dorea says she’s never seen the like. Never seen anyone heal so fast.” He rubbed it. “I can’t even feel it’s there, so thank you. But the reason I came looking for you is that Revek asked me to find you and bring you to him.”
Ava went still. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. He had to do something for the Commander, and didn’t know where you were so I said I’d find you and take you to him.”
Ava packed away her knitting reluctantly, and stood. “Where is he?”
“The armoury tent. It’s not far.”
“Would you like me to come with you?” Oscar had been silent through the conversation with Frederik, and the young soldier seemed to start at his words, as if he hadn’t noticed the warrior’s presence.
“No need, Oscar, but thank you.” Ava couldn’t feel anything off about Frederik. Her new cloak may not be as sensitive as her old one, but there wasn’t even the smallest of warnings.
Revek might be a different story, but she would deal with that when she had to.
She walked with Frederik, listening to him recount the training session he’d had that day, and laughing at his enthusiasm.
“Here we are.” He waved toward a large, open tent which had a hot fire burning in front of it, and a man and a woman dressed in leather aprons working with hammer and tong.
She supposed their work day could only start when the column stopped and they could build a fire hot enough to repair damaged weapons and create items the stores manager needed.
Revek sat on a stool at the back of the tent, surrounded by crates, a wooden board with parchment clipped to it in his hand.
“I’ve got guard duty, so I’m off. Thanks again.” Frederik tapped his cheek and then turned and walked away.
Revek had seen them arrive, and he watched her as she skirted the weapons smiths and approached him.
“You ever heard of someone who healed so fast?” he asked her, tilting his head in Frederik’s direction. “The boy barely looks like he got scratched by a tree branch.”
She didn’t answer.
“Me, on the other hand.” Revek pulled the neck of his tunic to the side, exposing the wound high on his left shoulder. “Why, I might have actually been hit by an arrow. Two months ago.”
Ava came closer to look at it.
It did seem less healed than Frederik’s, but not by much. It would end up looking very similar.
She thought of the resistance she’d felt to her healing while she’d stitched him, and realized the spell in the oil on Revek’s face had interfered with her own working.
Maybe that was for the best.
“You wanted to talk to me?”
Revek pulled his tunic up again. He was holding the piece of board in both hands, and she saw his knuckles were white.
“I haven’t felt sick since Haslia left. I didn’t realise I felt sick until I didn’t anymore, if you understand what I mean. I had gotten used to feeling ill, maybe.” He looked up from whatever was written on the parchment. “I want to know if Haslia was enspelling me.”
“Why do you think I’d know?” She shouldn’t ask questions she didn’t want the answers to, but it came out of her mouth anyway.
He simply stared at her for a beat. “What would she have done to me?”
Ava sighed. “I really don’t know. But it could have been something she gave you to eat or drink, or even the crockery you used to eat or drink out of. Massi and Luc think someone, probably Haslia, gave her an enspelled cup to drink out of.”
“She told me that, but the cup and plate I’m using I’ve had for years. It could have been in the tea we often shared in the morning.”
“Does it matter?” Ava rose up from her crouch. “You’re feeling normal again, so it was obviously something she was doing daily to you.”
“Yes, it matters.” His voice rose, and heads turned in their direction. “It matters.” He lowered his voice, but there was no doubting his feelings. “I never want to be vulnerable like that again. I endured years of manipulation and mind games in the Chosen camps and I thought I was finally free. Now I know there’s no such thing as completely safe.”
“No. There is no such thing.” She was sorry for it, but it was the truth.
“What I want to know is, are you doing the same to Luc? Are you playing the same games Haslia played with me?” At last Revek rose up from his stool, more than head and shoulders taller than her.