“Hey, orchole,” Davrosh said. She walked toward him.
She’d tied her hair in the same cords. Styled it with the same coarse tufts and swirls. It was the same brown color of fresh-turned earth, or weathered oak made dark by rain. But it looked less disheveled, more intentional. A unique style. Natural. Sorrows frowned, couldn’t tell if she’d done something different, or if he just saw it different. She wore the same grin, but it seemed less smug, more confident. It showed off her chin, which had a dimple he hadn’t noticed before. It was a somewhat pointed chin, which emphasized the lines of her jaw and neck. A strong chin, which drew attention to her mouth and lips. Sorrows decided that after her eyes, her chin was her best feature. Wondered how he’d missed that when they'd first met. He returned her grin with his own and added a nod.
“Master Remma Davrosh,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure. Of sorts.”
“Of sorts,” Davrosh said. “You two are leaving?”
“Yes,” Mig said. “As soon as we can. It’s a long road back to Tam. Did you speak with Ivra?”
Davrosh shook her head. “No, but she left me this note.”
She handed a scrap of parchment to Sorrows. He took it, turned it over. Done, it said.
“If we can trust her—”
“We can,” Mig said, fast. She glanced at Sorrows. “She wouldn’t lie to us.” She wouldn’t lie to Solomon.
“Then it’s done,” Davrosh said. “I thought you’d be happier?”
Sorrows shrugged. “It’s nothing. I thought she might come back to the tower.”
“Why do you care? Did you want to see her again?”
“No.” A lie.
Mig squeezed his hand. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Another lie.
The truth was Jace’s question lingered in his mind, echoed in his ears. Do you love me? He’d thought he had at one point, or at least thought he could learn to. Jace was unlike any elf he’d met. If she’d asked him a week before, a month before, he might have answered differently. But in that moment, he’d answered honestly. And in the moments that followed, he’d doubted.
Mig looked away, pulled his hand to her chest, pressed against him. “We just need to get away from here. Go somewhere, just the two of us.”
Davrosh sighed, shook her head. Gave him a look that said, Orchole. He met her gaze, gave a small nod. I know.
Mig didn’t notice. She smiled and pointed. “What’s behind your back, Remma?”
Davrosh blushed. Extended a hand holding a gray cloak.
“You’re as much Mage Guard as he is,” she said. “I thought you might prefer this to, well, rags. Not that you look bad, it’s just…”
Mig’s patchwork cloak fell in a heap at her feet, and she grabbed the bundle from Davrosh’s hand. She stepped forward, kissed Davrosh on the cheek, stepped back and worked her arms into sleeves and the cloak over her shoulders.
“Thanks, Remma.”
“Least I could do. Can’t believe you’re willing to head back with, well, him.”
Mig looked up at Sorrows, took his hand again. “He’s not so bad.”
The outside doors opened. The air blew cold across the floor and whispered an invitation to leave. Sorrows shifted on his feet. Restless.
“Should probably get going,” he said.
Davrosh offered a hand. “A pleasure.”
Sorrows reached forward, grasped her forearm. She raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what this handshake means?”
“I do.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Me, too. Take care of yourself, orchole.”
They held the embrace for a moment, then Sorrows released Master Remma Davrosh and turned toward the twin oak doors leading outside. He stepped into the snow and wind, looked out upon the crowded streets, didn’t feel Mig slipping him from the gods-stream.
When he shook himself into awareness, minutes later, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the tower was smaller, but not as small as he’d expected. He figured they’d been walking for ten minutes at most.
“You’re getting better at that,” he said.
“You think so?” Mig asked.
“Couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes stumbling.”
She elbowed him. Hard. He laughed.
“Ten,” he said. “At best, ten minutes. Better than sunshine. Fen will be jealous.”
“I hope so. The little split.”
“You must miss him.”
“I do.”
“Thanks, Mig. For everything.”
He bent down to kiss her cheek. She pulled away, shook her head.
“You can kiss me when you’re not thinking of her anymore.”
“It’s not like that.”
She looked up at him. An odd look. Lips pursed, softly pouting. Eyes wide, forehead faintly wrinkled.
“I know it’s not. I know it better than you, in fact.”
He didn’t know what she meant, or what she expected of him. Knew he couldn’t tell her he’d never stop thinking of Jace. But sensed he didn’t need to. Mig studied his face, eyes drifting over him.
“Trust me. You’ll know when to kiss me.”
They kept walking. They talked. The sun shone and the snow swirled in slow circles around them. They made camp, ate, slept. They woke, continued. A day passed, then another. Then another. The mountains grew small behind them. The plains stretched out endlessly ahead. The sun blazed—a ball of golden flame within a cornflower sky.
Their conversation turned to trolls, as conversations sometimes do. Sorrows glanced at Mig, saw her hair shining like black water, saw her evergreen lips spread in a wide smile, saw how her cloak followed the swell of her breasts to the curve of her hips. Realized the moment had arrived.
“Why do you think they’re so fixated on them?” she asked.
He blinked, blew out his cheeks. Had no idea what she was talking about. “What else would a troll fixate on?”
She turned to him, narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. No idea whatsoever. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
She scoffed, pointed a finger. “You weren’t listening.”
“No.” The unfortunate truth.
“Gods, Sol, you’re the one who brought it up. What’s gotten into—oh.”
Mig stopped walking because he’d stopped walking. He stared at her, hard. She stared back. He took a step closer.
