much. It seems I was wrong.”
“That’s not-” Fetnalla shook her head. “This is ridiculous! Come here where I can see you. I feel like I’m speaking with a wraith.”
Evanthya took a long, steadying breath and sheathed her dagger. Then she limped into the firelight, her eyes fixed on her love’s face.
Seeing her, Fetnalla let out a small cry, her face contorting with grief and pity. “Look at you!” she whispered. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself!”
“Done to myself?”
Fetnalla hurried to where Evanthya stood and guided her to a spot beside the fire. “I told you to rest. I warned you that the bones needed time to mend.”
Evanthya sat, and Fetnalla knelt before her, placing her hands first on Evanthya’s leg, and then on her shoulder, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“The bones have knitted poorly.” She opened her eyes again, shaking her head. “But they’re set now. I don’t think there’s anything I can do for you.”
“I wouldn’t want you to, even if you could.”
Fetnalla sat back on her heels, her expression hardening, her lips pressed thin so that her mouth was a dark gash on her face. After a moment she stood and walked to the other side of the fire. “You’re a stubborn fool.”
“Better that than-”
“Don’t say it!” Fetnalla said, whirling on her and leveling a rigid finger at her heart.
“Don’t say what? That you’re a traitor? A murderer?”
“Stop it!”
Evanthya almost said more. But she stopped herself, realizing that no good could come of it. Fetnalla had called her stubborn just a moment before, but the truth was that she, and not Evanthya, had always been the stubborn one. Even under the best of circumstances her love found it next to impossible to admit when she was wrong; she would never do so now.
“You look like you haven’t been sleeping,” Evanthya said at last, gazing at her across the fire.
Fetnalla shrugged, her arms crossed over her chest. “I sleep well enough.”
“I don’t. I dream of you every night, and each time, when I wake up alone, I can’t get back to sleep.”
Her love looked away, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You’re lying, but thank you.”
“I am not lying.”
“Of course you are. In all the time we were together you never dreamed of me. Why would you start now?”
It was true. She never used to dream of Fetnalla, though her love claimed to dream of her often. Fetnalla had teased her about it for years. But it was equally true that Evanthya had dreamed of her several times since last they spoke, dark visions in which her love shattered her bones one by one, while a shadowy figure-the Weaver, no doubt-stood nearby, laughing.
“I’m afraid for you.”
Fetnalla’s smile vanished. “And I’m afraid for you. You should leave here, Evanthya. Tonight. If the Weaver finds you, he’ll kill you. He knows that you’ll never join his movement, and so he sees you as a threat, not only to me, but to him as well, and to everything for which we’ve worked.”
“I can’t just run away. You know me better than that. I hate him and all that he’s done to this land. I have to fight him.”
“Then you have to fight me.”
Her shoulder began to throb at the mere thought of it.
Fetnalla walked to her mount, reached into the leather bag hanging from her saddle, and pulled out a small pouch.
“You must be hungry,” she said. “I don’t have much-some hard bread and cheese-but you’re welcome to it.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve eaten already.” She smiled sadly. “And before long, I’ll either be able to get all the food I need, or it won’t matter what I have left.”
Evanthya was famished, and after a moment she stood, stepped around the fire, and took the food. Sitting, she began to eat, shoving bread and cheese into her mouth as quickly as she could, barely chewing one mouthful before taking another.
“You’re going to make yourself sick eating that way.”
She forced herself to stop, closing her eyes and slowly chewing what she had taken.
“Have some of this,” Fetnalla said, handing her a skin of water.
“Thank you.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a day or two.”
“Evanthya!”
“You didn’t stop. How could I?”
“You’re mad!”
“I thought I was a ‘stubborn fool.’”
“You’re all of that, and more. You should have just let me go.”
“Is that what you would have done had it been me?”
Fetnalla straightened. “Yes.”
“I don’t believe you,” Evanthya said, grinning.
“I wouldn’t have starved myself, and I certainly wouldn’t have…” She looked Evanthya up and down, her gaze lingering on Evanthya’s crippled shoulder. “You’ve sacrificed too much.”
“I’ve suffered less than others.”
Fetnalla opened her mouth as if to argue, then stopped herself and just shook her head.
Evanthya took another bite or two of bread and a few sips of water. Then she handed the food and skin back to Fetnalla. Hungry as she had been, she filled up quickly.
“Don’t you want more?”
“Not now. I’m grateful to you, though.”
Fetnalla returned the pouch and skin to her bag before facing Evanthya once again.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, firelight shining in her pale eyes. “I don’t want to fight you, and I know better than to think that I can turn you to the Weaver’s cause.”
“You could come away with me.”
Her beloved frowned. “This is no joke, Evanthya.”
“I know that. Leave here with me tonight.”
“Impossible. I’m a murderer, remember? I’m a traitorous minister who killed her duke. That’s what the Eandi will say. I can’t ever go back to Aneira.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere else. Wethyrn or Caerisse or Sanbira. We can join the prelates on Aylsa for all I care. As long as we’re away from the Weaver and his war.” She swallowed, trying not to cry. “As long as we’re together.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“A moment ago you said that you had to fight the Weaver. That you hated him too much to run away from this war.”
“My love for you is stronger by far than my hatred of the Weaver.”
“You’d leave Tebeo? You’d give up your service to Dantrielle?”
She nodded. “If it meant being with you.”
Fetnalla smiled at her, the tender, loving smile Evanthya recalled from so long ago, before they had ever heard of the Weaver and his conspiracy. Tears glistened on Fetnalla’s cheeks and she wiped them away. “I’d like that very much.”
“Then come with me.”
