knife.” His voice smiled.
“Only a kitchen knife.”
“It’s not so different. With a kitchen knife, you don’t swing it about, right? If you must use this knife, be deliberate. You’ll probably get only one chance to strike, so hit hard and up. Throat, eye, midchest under the ribs if there’s no breastplate.” He released her hand. “Lay it somewhere nearby while you sleep.”
The chill of the room returned full force as Melaia realized what he was saying. Stab someone? She closed her eyes against the vision of what the hawkhad done to the angel in Navia. To be the cause of such bloody wounds—she couldn’t do it.
She shoved the knife under her pack and wiped her clammy hands on her skirt. “If the raiders don’t come,” she said, “I’ll return your knife tomorrow.”
“Keep it. It belonged to the man on the stretcher.” Trevin dragged his pallet to the wall under the window and lay down.
“He died?” Melaia curled up on her own pallet, wrestling with both sadness and guilt. She might have helped him. Might have saved him. She’d never know.
“I should tell you I sometimes fight terror-dreams,” said Trevin. “If I wake yelling, feel free to shake me. Slap me if you need to.”
She rose on one elbow. “Truly?”
“Another question.” He yawned. “Ah, well. You’re wise not to trust me.”
CHAPTER 6
T he cockcrow woke Melaia. As the caravansary came to life, animals brayed and nickered, people coughed and spoke tersely. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Trevin already knelt at the window, peering out the openings in the latticework. She took a pinch of anise seed and crunched on it, releasing the clean, sharp sweetness. Then she joined Trevin at the window and squinted through a half circle at the thread of light edging the horizon.
“Nothing yet.” Trevin’s breath smelled of anise. “They’ll attack as the sun blinds us full on.”
“If they attack.” She fingered the gray and red sides of his cloak knotted around the base of the lattice. She craned her neck to see if she could tell which side was displayed on the outer wall.
Trevin tugged her back down. “Some things you’re safer not knowing,” he said.
She started to question him, then bit her lip as a new thought hit her. If she wanted to trust him—and she did—maybe it truly was better not to know. This morning she didn’t want to go back to Navia. She liked this new freedom and the prospects of a new life. Surely for a priestess, affairs at Redcliff would not be as difficult as Trevin had portrayed them.
“There.” He shot up like a bird released from a snare. “On the ridge. An outrider.”
Melaia scanned the ridge under the pale-green-and-pink-streaked sky, marveling at how Trevin spotted anything so far away.
“He rode down into the cover of the trees,” said Trevin.
“But the sun’s not fully up yet.”
“Soon now. The rest of the raiders are hidden, watching for the outrider’s signal.”
Melaia hardly breathed. The caravansary churned with bumps, bangs, shouts, and the complaints of restless animals. Footsteps sounded overhead. Then the sun blinded her. She shaded her eyes and thought of the knife under her pack, but she couldn’t pull herself away from the window to get it. Trevin’s hand went to his dagger, but he made no other move as the minutes crawled by tortoise slow.
The world outside kept its silence as the sun rose. Trevin stared out the window. “The outrider again. Back up the hill.” He turned to Melaia, grinning. “They’ll not attack.”
“So you sent the raiders home empty-handed.”
“Not likely.” He began untying his cloak from the lattice. “They’ll not go home without plunder of some kind.”
“Will they attack our caravan as we travel north?” She noted that the gray side of his cape was toward the wall, the red side facing out. A signal for the outrider?
“Don’t worry about the caravan.” Trevin pulled in his cloak. “I strongly suggested the
“Only a kitchen knife.”
“It’s not so different. With a kitchen knife, you don’t swing it about, right? If you must use this knife, be deliberate. You’ll probably get only one chance to strike, so hit hard and up. Throat, eye, midchest under the ribs if there’s no breastplate.” He released her hand. “Lay it somewhere nearby while you sleep.”
The chill of the room returned full force as Melaia realized what he was saying. Stab someone? She closed her eyes against the vision of what the hawkhad done to the angel in Navia. To be the cause of such bloody wounds—she couldn’t do it.
She shoved the knife under her pack and wiped her clammy hands on her skirt. “If the raiders don’t come,” she said, “I’ll return your knife tomorrow.”
“Keep it. It belonged to the man on the stretcher.” Trevin dragged his pallet to the wall under the window and lay down.
“He died?” Melaia curled up on her own pallet, wrestling with both sadness and guilt. She might have helped him. Might have saved him. She’d never know.
“I should tell you I sometimes fight terror-dreams,” said Trevin. “If I wake yelling, feel free to shake me. Slap me if you need to.”
She rose on one elbow. “Truly?”
“Another question.” He yawned. “Ah, well. You’re wise not to trust me.”
CHAPTER 6
T he cockcrow woke Melaia. As the caravansary came to life, animals brayed and nickered, people coughed and spoke tersely. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Trevin already knelt at the window, peering out the openings in the latticework. She took a pinch of anise seed and crunched on it, releasing the clean, sharp sweetness. Then she joined Trevin at the window and squinted through a half circle at the thread of light edging the horizon.
“Nothing yet.” Trevin’s breath smelled of anise. “They’ll attack as the sun blinds us full on.”
“If they attack.” She fingered the gray and red sides of his cloak knotted around the base of the lattice. She craned her neck to see if she could tell which side was displayed on the outer wall.
Trevin tugged her back down. “Some things you’re safer not knowing,” he said.
She started to question him, then bit her lip as a new thought hit her. If she wanted to trust him—and she did—maybe it truly was better not to know. This morning she didn’t want to go back to Navia. She liked this new freedom and the prospects of a new life. Surely for a priestess, affairs at Redcliff would not be as difficult as Trevin had portrayed them.
“There.” He shot up like a bird released from a snare. “On the ridge. An outrider.”
Melaia scanned the ridge under the pale-green-and-pink-streaked sky, marveling at how Trevin spotted anything so far away.
“He rode down into the cover of the trees,” said Trevin.
“But the sun’s not fully up yet.”
“Soon now. The rest of the raiders are hidden, watching for the outrider’s signal.”
Melaia hardly breathed. The caravansary churned with bumps, bangs, shouts, and the complaints of restless animals. Footsteps sounded overhead. Then the sun blinded her. She shaded her eyes and thought of the knife under her pack, but she couldn’t pull herself away from the window to get it. Trevin’s hand went to his dagger, but he made no other move as the minutes crawled by tortoise slow.
The world outside kept its silence as the sun rose. Trevin stared out the window. “The outrider again. Back up the hill.” He turned to Melaia, grinning. “They’ll not attack.”
“So you sent the raiders home empty-handed.”
“Not likely.” He began untying his cloak from the lattice. “They’ll not go home without plunder of some kind.”
“Will they attack our caravan as we travel north?” She noted that the gray side of his cape was toward the wall, the red side facing out. A signal for the outrider?
“Don’t worry about the caravan.” Trevin pulled in his cloak. “I strongly suggested the
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