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Catching myself, I abruptly cut the thought off and clear my throat, hating the way I’ve let her get into my head.

Once again, our tenuous relationship has crossed the line to mildly antagonistic—and all because I suggested she should return to the castle.

Not that I truly wanted to send Clover back. When she all but demanded I bring her along, I didn’t fight her very hard. After all, if she had returned with Simon, I would be traveling with only Bartholomew and Pranmore—and Clover is certainly better company. She doesn’t need to know that, however.

The lady-in-waiting gives me a sweet smile, but she challenges me with her eyes.

“Well?” she demands.

I didn’t expect her to call my bluff, but I should have known better. Though the stone outcrop would be the safest place to camp while there are aynauths on the move, I wasn’t actually planning to drag this lot up there.

I glance back at Bartholomew. “Can you climb?”

The young man looks at the wall and then shrugs as if he has no idea but is willing to try.

“Pranmore?” I ask, hoping the elf will object.

Instead, he nods. “Quite well.”

“I’ll spot you,” I say to Clover with a sigh, taking her pack. “If you think you can make it…go ahead.”

Momentary hesitation softens her face, but then she steels her spine and gives me a curt nod. She turns toward the wall and hoists herself up, scuttling up the rock like a stubborn squirrel.

In fact…I think she just might make it.

I watch, grudgingly impressed, as Clover moves swiftly and without any sign of hesitation. It’s not until she’s almost to the top that she loses her confidence.

“Are you all right?” I call up when a few stones fall and Clover stops moving.

She doesn’t answer.

“Lady Clover?”

“I can’t find a handhold,” she finally answers, her voice a little shaky.

Angry with myself for letting this go so far, I say, “Can you climb down? We’ll camp here.”

“No,” she says stubbornly. “I can make it—just give me direction. Your view is better than mine.”

“I’ll say,” Bartholomew mutters under his breath, looking up at Clover.

I shoot him a stern look. A sheepish smile crosses his face, and he raises his hands in a weak apology.

“Just…stay put,” I command Clover, throwing the packs at Bartholomew. He catches them, stumbling back with the unexpected weight.

Unafraid of heights, I climb quickly, coming up beside her. Even though it’s not too far up, we shouldn’t be up here without ropes, and I know better. But that doesn’t change anything now.

“There’s a crevice in the rock about six inches above your left hand,” I tell Clover. “Can you reach it? After that, the cliff begins to slope back, and it should be a little easier.”

She nods as if to reassure herself, and then she boosts herself up, blindly following my instruction. When her fingers slide over the divot in the rock, she pulls herself up. I climb with her, keeping to the side and just a little above so I can give her instruction, murmuring senseless encouragements as we go.

“Almost there,” I tell her when she stops again. “Do you want me to go up first and give you a hand?”

“I’ve got it,” she insists.

But her knuckles are white, her breaths are shallow and fast, and I know she’s lost her nerve. I quickly climb the rest of the way and lie on my stomach, ignoring the way the rocky ledge jabs into my chest as I lean over the edge.

“Let me help you,” I say as I grasp her arms. “Let go.”