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Even Andry knew that was good as an embrace.

“Now, where are our stoic sentinel guardians?” Charlie said, looking around the camp with one eye. He rubbed his face, wiping away the last remnants of sleep.

“You know Dom, never far away,” Corayne said, pointing off through the grass. “And you know Sorasa, only a few feet behind, making sure he doesn’t step on someone.”

They snickered together, the three of them. It reminded Andry of his life in the palace barracks, together with the other squires. Some were terrible, like Lemon, but they weren’t all bad. Their training had united them, giving them a common obstacle. Taristan and the Spindles were the same.

Charlie sighed and climbed to his feet, his cloak still wrapped around him for warmth. “Let’s see if I can’t convince Sigil to let me go after all this is over,” he muttered, straightening up.

Something small and tan slipped out of his clothes as he did, fluttering to the ground. Charlie stooped, but Corayne was quicker, snatching up the folded piece of paper. She turned it over in her hand but knew better than to open it.

“Give it back,” Charlie said sternly, his jovial manner gone.

Corayne startled at his tone and held it out quickly. She flinched when he snatched it back.

“You should’ve sent this off with the girls and their escort,” Corayne said, narrowing her eyes. “I doubt there are any couriers left in Gidastern.”

He shoved the letter back into his jacket, going red-faced. “I can’t exactly send a letter if I don’t know the destination.”

Andry quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t know who it’s to?”

“No, I know him well enough,” Charlie answered, sounding bitter. “But not where he is.”

“Ah,” Corayne said, her brow smoothing over with realization. “Garion.”

The name rang a distant bell in Andry’s brain as he struggled to remember where he’d heard it before. It came to him slowly, as if through mud. The look on Charlie’s face was more telling than anything.

Garion had been his paramour, some time ago. And one of Sorasa’s Amhara brethren.

“That mind of yours is quite annoying,” Charlie muttered.

“Don’t I know it,” Corayne answered, slinking down a little. “Sorry.”

But Charlie waved her off, the folded letter still in hand. “It’s fine. It’s not a love letter or anything so foolish.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Charlie’s face fell, the cloak slipping from his shoulders. He pursed his lips. “It’s a farewell.”

“Burn it,” Corayne said, her voice suddenly sharp. “You didn’t die in the oasis, you didn’t die at the temple, and you won’t die in Gidastern. None of us will. I won’t allow it.”

Her teeth bared, she glanced back to Andry. Again she looked more like a soldier than the young woman he’d first met. He thought of his commanders back at the palace. She was fearsome in comparison. After meeting her pirate mother, he found it easy to guess why.

Her blustering worked on Charlie, and he nodded grimly. But Andry knew better. Corayne needed to say the words, for herself as much as anyone else. It was the best thing she could do, and he held on to her conviction, false as it was.

Wincing, Andry stood. He wavered but held himself up, ignoring the pain.

“With me,” he said, extending his arm.

The old battle cry of the Lionguard felt good on his lips.

“With me,” Corayne answered, clasping his forearm.

They waited, expectant, as Charlie blinked between them. He eyed their joined hands with a withering look, his face pulled in disdain.

“This is silly,” he said dryly, shuffling off.

Andry and Corayne chuckled in his wake, the laughter of one feeding off the other, until they both doubled over, gasping into their hands. It felt strange and ridiculous, but freeing too, to laugh so openly with fire on the horizon.