Then Kirin and Shine were left with Sky.
He stared from across the fire, arms folded over his broad chest. His blue-black hair spilled around his shoulders, and his eyes still flickered with bluish flames, though the fire before the royal tent had faded to embers.
“Sky,” Shine said, stepping toward him.
Sky flicked his glance to Kirin, and suddenly Shine realized the demon-kissed warrior was furious.
Kirin leaned on one hip, head tilted. “Yes, Sky?” he drawled softly.
Sky uncurled his arms, letting them hang loose at his sides, but his hands remained in fists. He said, very quietly, very pointedly, “Nothing, my prince.”
Then he turned and left.
Shine snapped her head around to Kirin. “What did you do?”
The prince shrugged and shoved open the tent flap. He ducked inside, and Shine followed.
“It’s how things must be,” Kirin said simply. He poured a cup of wine, though dawn approached, and refused to speak more of it.
They departed two hours later, Kirin, Sky, Shine, and twenty-one Warriors of the Last Means, including the witch with the mouse demon.
It was five days to the capital from this far south on the Selegan, less than the sorceress had claimed what felt like ages ago but had been only two weeks. But the horses would eat up distance they couldn’t have on foot, and because they rode under the auspices of the army, the roads would be clear for them and inns or crossroads shelters emptied in their favor. Shine had no experience with horses and rode behind Kirin on a tall cream-colored mare with black mane and tail.
The prince wore an army uniform, as he had in the vision The Scale had shown her, and before they mounted, he’d asked Shine to powder his face, line his eyes, and shade in his lips with black. Perfect contrast, a binary lie.
“I can put pearls in your hair,” she’d offered, thinking of how pretty it would look around his severe topknot.
“Not too beautiful,” he murmured.
She’d knelt and taken the brush from Kirin. He opened the paint pots he’d obtained from who knew where. The powder was easy to smear on, very fine and pearly. She drew black along his lashes, pulling the corners out prettily.
“Are you a boy today?” she’d asked absently, focused on making her lines smooth. His harsh uniform was very masculine.
Kirin had stopped breathing. Her eyes flashed to his. He blinked a few times, swallowed, and Shine waited while he calmed whatever had overtaken him. He said, “No, not really. But I will be the prince anyway.”
Sadness pulled her lips into a frown, though Kirin had not let any such emotion bleed into his words. Those he kept cool. Shine suddenly realized how very controlled Kirin always had kept himself. He was cool not by instinct, but necessity.
“Don’t look like that,” the prince said. As she’d painted only one eye, he was lopsided and silly. But his smile, when he forced it, stretched truthfully. “It surprised me to be asked. But it was good. Thank—thank you.”
“I’ll ask every day,” Shine said ferociously.
“Thank you,” he said again. He put his hand on hers, flat on her knee, and pressed.
She nodded and touched his chin to turn his face for easier access to his other eye.
When she was finished, when the red scale armor bulked up his shoulders and chest, he looked strong, bold, and regal.
They left quietly, after Kirin had a word with Commander Sharp Star. As they departed, Kirin lifted his hand in a wave to the whole of the remaining army.
Sunlight pressed hot through the spreading foliage in a final gasp of late summer. The bright-green forest was alive with birdsong and hissing insects. Shine scooted close to Kirin, arms loose around his waist, and pressed her cheek to his back. The rocking of the horse soothed her, though it was so broad she was sure her thighs and bottom would be sore in no time. Kirin sat straight, guiding the horse along behind Sky’s with ease. He murmured to the horse sometimes, but otherwise their only lullaby was the wind and birds, the ringing of tack and the clomp of hooves on the dirt road.
As they traveled, Shine looked for spirits and demons, trying to will her eyes to reshape themselves to see aether. She saw spirits often, inhabiting various trees or humming in dens and floating above their animal counterparts as they hid from the noisy passing group.
Seven warriors led their party, then Sky, then Kirin and Shine, with the witch whose name was Immli beside or directly behind them, and the rest of the Warriors of the Last Means arrayed behind or scouting ahead.
The witch attempted to engage Shine twice that first day, but Kirin put him off by answering until the witch’s glower grew rebellious. He was ten or fifteen years older than Shine, hardened by the army life instead of soft from living in the palace like the witches she’d known, and she wanted to discuss why he had a mouse demon instead of a more intimidating familiar. But for now Kirin clearly wished her to ignore the witch’s entreaties, so she pushed her nose against his spine and obeyed.
Sky rode rigidly and kept his distance. Sometimes Shine peered around Kirin’s arm to watch the bodyguard, wishing she’d had a chance to speak with him. When they stopped for a break at midday, Sky moved away, heading into the trees, perfectly avoiding her. Kirin saw her look after him and said, “I’m sure he’s walking the perimeter. Doing his job.”
“This is almost as obvious as being too close,” she whispered.
They ate together, with the captain of the crescent and the witch, and Shine kept her eyes on the mouse demon. It was gray furred, musty looking, with little crystals dried around its milky demon-blue eyes and tiny black claws. Shine entered into a staring contest with it, so intense she lost track of the conversation.
The witch Immli hissed softly at his demon, and the little mouse whipped its tail as it looked at its master. Shine laughed, “Ha!” and slapped her knee, only to realize everyone around her was staring at her like she was insane. Most could not see the demon. Her cheeks warmed, but she glowered down at the muddy ground.
Kirin said, “Making friends?”
She said, “I would be a better friend than Immli,” lifting her gaze to the witch.
Immli rubbed his hand over his bald, sigil-marked head. “This is Omkin, and you’re welcome to try, but we have a strong bargain.”
Annoyed she couldn’t read any of the sigils, Shine held out her hand, and the mouse hopped onto her palm, its claws pricking her. She brought it near to her face and said, “Hello, Omkin. I’m Shine. Do you get enough to eat?”
“I am always hungry,” it said.
“Oh, well then.” Shine knelt, her knees sinking into the leaf litter and mud, and flattened her empty hand to the ground. She took a deep breath and pulled at the energy, drawing it through her bones though it burned her a little, and pushed it into the mouse demon.
The demon expanded in a flash, twice as big as before. It squeaked and then bit the meat of her thumb, hard.
Shine dropped it with a squeak of her own, and the demon raced to its witch, taking shelter behind his leather boot. But it peeked around at her, chittering angrily.
Immli reached down to stroke the demon with one finger. But he kept his brown eyes on Shine. “You didn’t even draw sigils to pull the aether.”
“Maybe that’s the difference between a witch and a sorcerer,” she said, with a touch of Kirin’s haughty tone.