“How thoughtful of you,” she replied sarcastically.

He shrugged deferentially. “I am all kindness, I know. So answer me this. Why has it taken you so many days to drop your sneering and behave?”

“It is the middle of the night, Paedrin. I am too tired for pretenses.”

“So if I am ever to have a normal discussion with you, I must wait until midnight? How uncharitable.”

“If you were not such a braggart and a spleen beetle, I might have talked to you before now.”

“I have never bragged in my entire life!” he said archly.

She elbowed him in the ribs and then caught herself. “I’m sorry. Is that where you were wounded?”

“Good thing the magic healed me first or that would have hurt. You have quite a temper.”

“Yes, but didn’t you drone on about how pain is a teacher?”

Paedrin chuckled. “I could almost grow to like you. But I am afraid that your sulky disposition will forever ruin any chance of that happening.”

“If you have nothing of intelligence to say, then I will get some sleep since you are supposed to be on watch now. You are a braggart, Bhikhu. I know I will always dislike you.”

“I do not care about your good favor, Hettie. But sleep well, all the same. In the morning, we will be good enemies again.”

Hettie crawled over to her bedroll that was near Annon’s and slumped inside with a yawn. There was just enough light from the moon and stars to make out her face, her expression, as she rolled over and faced him.

“I’m sorry if we woke you,” she whispered.

“I was sleeping soundly up until a short while ago. I’m glad we have him with us.”

Paedrin’s voice lifted slightly. “You should be.”

Hettie scowled and shook her head. “Silence, braggart!” she hissed over her shoulder.

Annon thought about the others, prowling the woods for them. “It was not your talking that woke me. Some spirits told me that Kiranrao is hunting us. They did not name him but they said a Vaettir and a group of Preachán were roaming the woods following our trail. If they draw near, I will be warned again.”

Hettie’s expression hardened. “I will help conceal where we camped tonight. There are some things we can do to throw them off.”

Annon smiled nervously. “Not that I doubt your skills, sister, but I imagine Kiranrao can afford a Finder himself. We may have to confront them. Like we did on the road to Havenrook.”

Paedrin turned to look at them. “Only after they have killed me first. Save your magic. I’m not afraid of Kiranrao.”

“You should be,” Hettie said.

“And why is that?” Paedrin challenged. “No one speaks of him in Kenatos. No one even knows his name.”

Hettie rolled over and looked at him. “Not now, Paedrin, but the Arch-Rike has offered a reward for his death so vast that even the Romani are tempted to betray him. He stole something from the Arch-Rike’s palace and got away. Very few people have been able to do such a thing or fear the Arch-Rike too much to try. Kiranrao is dangerous and he is deadly.”

“Which is why I’d prefer we stay ahead of him,” Annon said. “Does he know about the fireblood?”

“Does he know that I have it?” she asked.

“That’s not what I meant. Does he know that it exists?”

Hettie shrugged. “I am sure he keeps a vial of our blood with him at all times to ward off the Plague. Yes, I am fairly confident he knows about our race.”

Paedrin leaned forward. “What exactly is your race? You never said in the woods before we reached Havenrook.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Annon replied. “We do not know what the race is called, only that it gives us the power of the fireblood. That power grows as we age, but also becomes more uncontrollable. We were taught the words to tame it and warned never to lose control of it.”

“If anyone says those words, can it be controlled?” Paedrin asked.

Hettie shook her head. “No, it does not work like that. We say it in our minds before summoning the power. It helps us control it.”

“But we run the risk of losing control,” Annon said. “I would rather not use it at all. But if Kiranrao is hunting us, we may not have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” Paedrin said. “If I hear them coming, I will wake you.”

“If you all stop talking,” Erasmus complained, “We will all be able to sleep. I told you this journey was impossible at the beginning. We may make it there before he catches us. But not away. I hold to my prediction.”