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“It’s just the forest,” he reasoned, apparently unsettled even more by her second apology.
“No,” she said flatly. “No. I—”
He grabbed her hand, and she jolted as he hoisted her to her feet. He walked off as she steadied herself.
“Thank you,” she called, following him, but he didn’t reply.
“Stop talking,” he said, and Clea chuckled a bit at his strange response, but didn’t say anything more to him after that.
She walked with her bag now clutched to her chest, no longer feeling so angry at herself, and no longer feeling as angry with him either. Now all that remained was a lingering awkwardness that she was sure she felt more than he did.
Surprisingly, her mood lifted as the hours pressed on. Ryson was keeping a measured distance from her, like he was afraid she might apologize again. The idea, true or not, lightened her perception of him. The silence was peaceful again.
That thought persisted until their trek ultimately led them uphill. Patches of snow grew in size as they progressed toward a snow-capped peak. Clea rushed through the snow with a renewed energy and stumbled to the peak before Ryson.
She widened her stance and placed her hands on her hips as her eyes scanned the valley below. The snow across the land reflected the sun so perfectly that the area before them looked like a valley of clouds and light. The pines were a deep, dark green, peppering the landscape in waves. She leaned forward, squinting into the distance. “This is absolutely amazing,” she said, now content to speak only to herself again. Well, at least for the time being.
She glanced over at Ryson as he stopped beside her. He watched the valley with critical, searching eyes until he focused on a single point in the distance. He proceeded down a path to the valley, steadying himself against a steep slope. “It seems a group of forest nomads has settled in the valley.”
“Forest nomads?” She frowned. Where had she heard the term before?
“They travel through the woodland. Mainly Kalex banned fromhuman cities. Sometimes they harbor humans,” he said, sliding down a slushy slope with balanced ease. “We’re going to drop by and see if they’ll have you for the night.”
“How will we know if they’re friendly?” she asked, tottering after him with her arms out and knees bent.
“We find out ourselves.”
†††
“Find out ourselves?” Clea repeated through her teeth, digging her feet into the snow. And what exactly would they do if the Kalexweren’tfriendly?
Ryson nudged her forward as they approached the collection of Kalex tents. The sun would begin to set soon, and Clea saw fires and figures dancing and howling about them. The steady beat of drums reached her ears.
“Enough of your ansra has regenerated. If they’re friendly, they’ll welcome you. If not, I’ll pull you out. Either way, I’m sure you’ll give them the clothes off your back since you apparently can’t tell the difference,” Ryson said, somehow content to walk behind her and not in front of her. It was putting her newly renewed faith in him to the test.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Clea shot back.
“You’re Veilin royalty. Aren’t you supposed to be braver than this?” Despite how offensive the question was, he seemed to be asking with a genuine sense of wonder.
“Ryson, I have barely over a half of the ansra I might normally have,” she argued back as they reached the outskirts of theencampment. She rubbed her bare arms before adding, “Why can’t I close the cloak? And we’re in the open. No shade or shadows to worry about. They won’t see your eyes. They look stark black in this light.”
“They need to see your skin under the shade of the cloak. It will make the fact that you’re a Veilin easier to spot. That’s quite difficult considering you dress like a celibate priestess farmer.” She twisted back to give him a look that was both horrified, offended, and bewildered.
“Don’t Veilin in Loda worship the sun?” he asked, ignoring her expression as if he were now wondering aloud to himself. “Isn’t it some kind of blessing or regular, holy practice to expose your skin to it? I thought there was even a holiday in Loda essentially dedicated to sunbathing. Other than your hands and face, you’re as pale as a sundried skeleton.”
Clea locked her gaze forward as a burning blush rushed into her face and she pulled her sleeves farther down across the stark tanlines of her wrists and tugged her collar higher up along her neck again, almost to her jaw this time. She wished she could completely shrink into her clothes, hoping Ryson’s line of thought would ferry him somewhere else. She was suddenly grateful that he didn’t often voice his thoughts.
“Barely over a half of your ansra? That’s a very specific measurement.”
“I’m very specific when it comes to life and death, you know.” She spoke in a rushed reply, eager to anchor them to that topic and avoid reverting back to any other observations about her clothes. “It took everything I had to create that first seal on the medallion’s influence, and I’ve been struggling to recover eversince,” she said, stopping in her tracks when a woman and her child noticed them from in between two tents. The girl, around the age of ten, broke out into a run toward Clea.
Clea retreated toward Ryson, moving faster as the child picked up her pace.
Ryson grabbed her arms as she slammed back into him.
The girl stopped before Clea, wide blue eyes staring through a matted mess of blonde curls.
The child said something in amazed Kaletik and then shouted it again back toward the encampment.
