Her people were safe and content, she fumed. Was it too much to ask to savor that victory? Maybe Sona deserved it. With a mental snap she instantly regretted.
Enris gave no sign she’d struck at him. Did you? he sent almost gently. Do they? This with an unnecessary nod at the Yena exiles sitting in front of them.
Though busy with pots and embers, Haxel looked up, the beginning of a question on her face. Aryl made herself smile back. “You’re making people nervous,” she said. Not quite a whisper.
“As they should be,” he countered the same way. “Don’t let them stay too long, Aryl. You can’t trust the Oud.”
“I’m not a fool.” She might not have met one, but every Om’ray understood their world. Only Om’ray cared about Om’ray. “We can’t leave until Chaun and Myris can travel. There are others hurt. Let alone Juo. We don’t need her giving birth mid-journey. We’ll use the time to find food…get some rest. All of which, I’m thankful to say, can wait for morning.” With a yawn, Aryl leaned against the Tuana’s comfortingly solid arm as she contemplated where to sleep. “Anyway,” she continued idly, “what’s this ‘don’t let them stay?’ It’s not as if you’d leave without us.”
She’d meant to lighten the mood; instead, the words fell into silence, like a treasure let drop in the black waters of the Lay. Despite their physical contact, her inner sense gave her nothing beyond the who and where of him. She drew back and twisted to look at him. His face, smudged by exhaustion and dirt, was shadowed more than revealed by the flickers of firelight. Reflections like tiny flames danced deep in his dark eyes as he returned her gaze.
Then, predictably, the corner of his wide mouth crooked up, creasing a dimple. “I’m the one who’s seen an ice storm before, remember?” he said lightly. “Delay too long and no one’s going anywhere. Even Grona warned against travel late in the cold season. You’ve had a taste of it.” Before she could respond, the Tuana pushed himself from the wall and her. “Speaking of taste—” a too-quick laugh, “—looks like there’s more ready.”
Aryl watched Enris squat beside Gijs, as if he had nothing on his mind but a still-empty stomach. The other Om’ray made room with a laugh and some comment she didn’t catch.
She took her lower lip between her teeth, not hungry at all.
Enris hadn’t said he’d leave them.
He hadn’t said he’d stay either.
“Tomorrow,” she said out loud. “Everything looks better in daylight.”
“Which implies sleeping first.” Haxel replaced Enris, her lean form taking much less space. Unlike the Tuana, her emotions—satisfaction, pride, determination—were easy to read. Deliberately so.
Aryl tightened her shields to keep in her own. The First Scout had a right to her pride: she’d found safety for truenight. No need to share her own foreboding—or Enris’. “I’ll help keep watch outside.”
“Leave it to those who’ve had some rest. You led well today, Aryl Sarc.” A stronger flash of pride. “As I expected.”
Before Aryl could utter a word, the other Om’ray was on the move through the firelight and shadow, touching shoulders, helping arrange blankets as more and more of the exiles stretched out near the fire. Haxel finally settled beside Weth, who’d managed to spoon some liquid between Chaun’s slack lips before donning her blindfold. The conflict between her Chosen as she remembered him and his pale strange face must have become too much for her Talent to reconcile.
Led well?
If she’d hadn’t led them at all, Aryl reminded herself bitterly, Weth and Chaun would be sitting across a table, supping by the light of glows, not a fretful fire. He’d tell her one of his stories and she’d laugh—or they’d fall silent, as Chosen were prone to do, and gaze into one another’s eyes, fingertips just touching, thoughts and selves mingled in a haven of their own.
Lie down before you fall down.
Her look of affront was wasted. Enris had his broad back to her, busy slurping his share of bread-broth with gusto. Aryl yawned involuntarily until her jaw ached and her eyes watered. Tempting to stay where she was. And prove what? Hardly a good example in someone who led. However unwillingly.
With a sigh, she went in search of room on the floor for her bed.
Before it left, the storm wandered the ruins. Snow curled around the base of stone, dusted askew beams to lines of white. Fingers of wind explored emptiness and rustled withered stems. A last chill breath guttered the fire that held back the dark, stirring the hair of those who slept like the dead.
On some level, Aryl heard the storm, shivered in the chill, but these were distant, unimportant things. The other pressed against her like a lover in the night, seeking entry, whispering seduction.
She resisted with all her strength, not knowing if she struggled to push the wild darkness away or to pull herself free of it, only that if she let it claim her, what she was would be lost.
As she fought, whispers became voices, clamoring to be heard. She refused to listen, heard herself moan and came half awake at the sound.
They—something—tried to speak to her through her mouth. She pushed harder and…
…was awake.
Aryl froze in place, her hand hard against her lips. When no further sound came out, she lowered her hand and eased herself up on an elbow.
The fire was banked; Enris had shown them how. The light from its embers bathed the low rounds of shoulder and hip, the huddles of blanket and coat that marked where Om’ray lay asleep. She was the only one awake.
A dream. That was all.
She was the only one awake, she realized a moment later, but not the only one disturbed. Sobbing, so quiet Aryl almost missed it over the breathing of the rest. Seru. Did she dream, too?
Someone else squirmed and whimpered. Aryl reached, careful to lower her shields only enough to seek outward, not to send and disturb.
Ziba?
She shouldn’t be surprised. What they’d faced today would give anyone bad dreams, even a youngling with the courage of any Chosen—
Yet another soft complaint. Aryl reached again.
Juo.
Even easier to explain, she decided. All the bedding they’d carried couldn’t counteract the hard cold pavement beneath, cracked and heaved into sharp edges. Hardest on poor Juo, swollen with her unborn. Wise Husni had refused to lie on the stones, instead curling against her seated Chosen, who, to everyone’s amusement, had began to snore at once. There they were on the other side of the fire, like a pair of ancient rastis whose fronds had intertwined until neither could fall alone.
There was light, similar to the radiance that found its way through curtains. A soft, comforting light.
Nothing was wrong. She’d dreamed.
That was all.
Aryl started to close her eyes, settling back down. She was so tired…
…light took a red tinge, like blood bathed the walls, then suddenly faded. Darkness assumed movement and form to tear at her consciousness, like a wind trying to tear her from a safe hold.
…Aryl thrust herself from the other place, her heart pounding, eyes wide. She sat up.
Impossible. It hadn’t been real. Couldn’t be real. Her mind couldn’t slip into that place while she slept. She was safe.
She had to be.
They had to be—
She’d dreamed.
That was all.
Words formed, as if echoing her thoughts…Bad dream?