I don’t do anything to stop him. Instead, I lean back on my heels, giving him the space he so desperately desires. He draws up the hood of his new coat, obscuring his face as he stalks toward the tree line. Good brown leather and fleece lining, perfect for keeping him warm and hidden. I stole it a week ago in Haven. I didn’t think Kilorn would accept such a gift from me, but even he knows the value of warmth.
My company this afternoon doesn’t bother just him. Ketha glances at me sidelong, almost blushing. “He asked to learn,” she says, almost apologetic. Then she pushes past me, heading back to the warmth and relative comfort of the Notch.
Ada watches her go, her golden eyes bright but sad. She pats the log next to her, gesturing for me to sit. When I do, she tosses one of her blankets across my lap and tucks it around me. “There you are, miss.” She was a maid in Harbor Bay, and despite her newfound freedom, old habits haven’t worn off yet. She still calls me “miss,” though I’ve asked her to stop many times. “I think they need some kind of distraction.”
“It’s a good one. No other teacher’s ever made it this far with Kilorn. I’ll make sure to thank her later.” If she doesn’t run away again. “We all need a little distraction, Ada.”
She sighs in agreement. Her lips, full and dark, purse into a bitter, knowing smile. I don’t miss her eyes flicker back to the Notch, where half my heart sleeps. And then to the forest, where the rest wanders. “He has Crance with him, and Farrah will join them both soon enough. No bears, either,” she adds, squinting at the dark horizon. In daylight, if the mist holds off, we should be able to see the distant mountains. “They’ve gone quiet for the season by now. Sleeping through the winter.”
Bears. At home in the Stilts, we barely had deer, let alone the fabled monsters of the backcountry. The lumberyards, logging teams, and river traffic were enough to drive away any animal bigger than a raccoon, but the Greatwoods region teems with wildlife. Great antlered stags, curious foxes, and the occasional howl of a wolf all haunt the hills and valleys. I’ve yet to see one of the lumbering bears, but Kilorn and the other hunters spotted one weeks ago. Only Farrah’s muffling abilities and Kilorn’s good sense to keep downwind kept them safe from its jaws.
“Where did you learn so much about bears?” I ask, if only to fill the air with idle conversation. Ada knows exactly what I’m doing, but humors me anyways.
“Governor Rhambos likes to hunt,” she replies with a shrug. “He had an estate outside the city, and his sons filled it with strange beasts for him to kill. Bears, especially. Beautiful creatures, with black fur and keen eyes. They were peaceful enough, if left alone, or attended to by our game warden. Little Rohr, the governor’s daughter, wanted a cub for her own, but the bears were killed before any could breed.”
I remember Rohr Rhambos. A strongarm who looked like a mouse but could pulverize stone with her own two hands. She competed in Queenstrial so long ago, when I was a maid just like Ada.
“I don’t suppose what the governor did could actually be called hunting,” Ada continues. Sadness poisons her voice. “He put them in a pit, where he could fight the animals and break their necks. His sons did it too, for their training.”
Bears sound like ferocious, fearsome beasts, but Ada’s manner tells me otherwise. Her glazed eyes can only mean she’s seen the pit herself, and remembers every second of it. “That’s awful.”
“You killed one of his sons, you know. Ryker was his name. He was one of your chosen executioners.”
I never wanted to know his name. I never asked about the ones I killed in the Bowl of Bones, and no one ever told me. Ryker Rhambos, electrocuted on the sand of the arena, reduced to nothing more than his blackened flesh.
“Beg pardon, miss. I did not mean to upset you.” Her calm mask has returned, and with it, the perfect manners of a woman raised as a servant. With her ability, I can only imagine how terrible it must have been, seeing but not speaking, never able to prove her worth or reveal her true self. But it’s even worse to think that, unlike me, she can’t hide behind the shield of an imperfect mind. She knows and feels so much that it threatens to pull her down. Like me, she must keep running.
“I’m only upset when you call me that. Miss, I mean.”
“A habit, I’m afraid.” She shifts, reaching for something inside her blankets. I hear the distinct sound of crinkling paper, and expect to see another news bulletin detailing Maven’s coronation tour. Instead, Ada reveals a very official-looking document, albeit a crumpled one with singed edges. It bears the red sword of the Nortan army. “Shade took this off that officer in Corvium.”
“The one I fried.” I trace the burned paper, feeling the rough, black material threatening to disintegrate. Strange, this survived where its holder could not. “Preparations,” I mutter, deciphering the order. “For relief legions.”
She nods. “Ten legions, to replace the nine holding the Choke trenches.”
Storm Legion, Hammer Legion, Sword Legion, Shield Legion—their names and numbers are listed plainly. Five thousand Red soldiers in each, with another five hundred Silver officers. They’re converging on Corvium before traveling together into the Choke, to relieve the soldiers on the lines. A terrible thing, but not something that interests me.
“Good that we’ve already checked Corvium” is all I can think to say. “At least we avoided a few thousand Silver officers passing through.”