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“Yes, I informed them that mywifeand hercousinmade too much for our journey, and we’d love to share.”

“Oh,” I say, and Temra and I both look toward the ground awkwardly. Petrik was making himself more memorable. Hiding Temra and me. Even though he has no clue what’s going on.

“Give me some credit. I’m not an idiot.” Petrik steps forward, making a path through the trees and ferns at the side of the road so we can continue traveling more discreetly. We keep the road barely out of eyesight, checking occasionally to ensure we’re still on track.

When we finally stop for an early lunch, everyone turns toward the mercenary. He’s still out cold. Aside from the rise and fall of his shoulders, you’d think he was dead.

“We’ve got to cut him down,” Temra says. “Reya needs a break for as long as we can give her.”

We start with the saddlebags and weapons. Only when we can’t avoid it any longer do we cut the ropes holding the large man in place.

Petrik helps us to lift the mercenary off the horse’s back, but we only manage to get him halfway to the ground before he topples in our lopsided grip and falls the rest of the way.

The jolt from striking the hard soil wakes him right up.

“What—” Kellyn sputters. He tries to stand and reach for his longsword, which isn’t on his back anymore. We attached it to Reya with the rest of the weapons so as to keep it fromsliding out of its sheath from the angle Kellyn was perched on the saddle.

The motion, which was off-balance to begin with in his state, results in him crashing to the ground once again.

He is not happy. Sick from too much mead, cramped from the way he slept on a horse all night, the bright sun—none of this is likely to put him in a good mood.

Kellyn rises again, this time more slowly. He shades his eyes and takes in the three of us.

“Who are you?”

I look to Temra in a panic. He doesn’t remember us.

“Your employers,” Temra says, not missing a beat. “So far, we’re not pleased with your performance.”

Kellyn squints, as though that will help him see better. “I took a job?”

Temra glances at Petrik only briefly before saying, “Safe passage to Thersa for three.” She can’t very well not tell our escort where we’re going. And it would be impossible to tell Kellyn without telling Petrik. So I guess everyone is in on our final destination.

The mercenary moves his free hand to his temple, as if willing his brain to remember last night. Kellyn asks, “How much did I agree to?”

“Not an amount. A Zivan blade. Ziva will make you a magicked longsword when we reach Thersa safely.”

His alarmingly alert eyes shift to me, and I focus on my boots.

“I know you. You were in the smithy shop.You’reZiva?”

My eyes snap up. “What is that supposed to mean?” Does he find something wrong or distasteful about me? And why do I care?

“You didn’t say anything last time,” he says.

“I was busy.”

“You two know each other?” Temra asks.

“I came by the shop to commission a blade,” Kellyn says. “She told me to come back in three weeks. Wait, that’s not until next week. Did you already know you would be leaving then? Were you blowing me off?”

My fingers are practically tangled in knots, and I can’t find anything safe to look at. I’m sure to find judgy eyes from all three of my companions.

“The important thing,” Temra says, drawing the mercenary’s attention, “is that you’re getting your weapon. Let’s not worry over what happened before.”

I can feel his eyes return to me as he asks, “Why do I feel as though I slept on a log?” He cricks his neck.

“You slept on the horse,” Petrik says unhelpfully.