Karigan nodded, barely withholding a sigh. She’d like nothing more than to sleep and keep off her leg, but there could be no waiting around in Blackveil, and of course she did not wish to appear weak.

“So we are going on to Castle Argenthyne,” Karigan said, feeling a strange thrill despite the circumstances, to be journeying toward a place that had, for most of her life, existed only as a fairy tale.

“The tiendan and I will resume our journey to the castle,” Graelalea said. “Your Grant and the others have been debating whether to continue with us, or to turn back.”

Grant had already acknowledged that trying to return without the Eletians to guide them was likely suicidal. Yet it did not make sense to be leading poor, blind Yates to Castle Argenthyne, or, for that matter, her with her hurt leg and unreliable visions. And they had found out the truth of what the Eletians sought in Argenthyne: the Sleepers. Had they achieved what the king asked of them, or would he want them to press on?

“We recovered your pack from your campsite,” Graelalea said. “I shall pass it in to you, but first I’d like you to take a sip of this.” She produced the cordial and Karigan eagerly took the flask to her lips. “One sip only,” Graelalea reminded her.

Karigan reluctantly returned the flask, licking her lips to ensure she didn’t miss a single drop. Graelalea crawled out of the tent, then reappeared in the opening and pushed in the pack Karigan had believed long lost.

“When you are ready,” the Eletian said, “come out and see if you wish to try some food.”

At the mention of food, Karigan’s stomach gurgled and she realized she was famished, quite a change from when she’d felt so unwell only a day ago. Was it the effect of the cordial? The leeches? She only hoped it was not temporary.

She dug through her pack looking for a change of clothes. The contents were none the worse for wear—not even damp, which was miraculous. Maybe the Eletians possessed drying magic, and a part of her did not doubt it. She was grateful to have her own supplies and her own clothes to change into. Her old pants were shredded beyond repair. She did not think even meticulous Ty would be able to mend them.

She crawled from the tent and unsteadily rose to her feet. Placing weight on her leg sent hornets buzzing in it and she winced. She steadied herself and looked around at the campsite. Lhean fletched an arrow beside the fire and gave her what looked like a genuinely friendly smile. Grant sat hunched before the fire, pushing coals around with a stick and muttering to himself. His appearance was haggard and stubble failed to conceal the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He was much diminished, looked unwell, and appeared unaware of her.

Ard paused searching through his pack for something and gave her a hard, penetrating gaze. As if remembering himself, he schooled his expression to something softer, but for some reason he didn’t look happy to see her. “Well, look who’s up and about.” He smiled, but his joviality rang false in her ears. Then again, she wasn’t herself and maybe wasn’t perceiving things right.

“Karigan?” It was Yates, also sitting by the fire, gazing in her general direction.

“Hello,” she said, and limped over to him, taking his hand.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I’ll live.”

Ard dropped his whetting stone and swore. He bent over to retrieve it and said nothing more.

Ghosting in the background was Ealdaen, probably on watch. He spared her a glance, but it was brief and indecipherable. She did not see Solan or Telagioth, but perhaps they were in the Eletian tent, or guarding another side of the perimeter.

“Good to see you up,” Lynx said, but he did not look particularly happy.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He held up his tobacco pouch and sighed mournfully. “My leaf has gone bad. Moldy. And I’d been using it sparingly to make it last.”

Karigan was just glad she was not the source of his misery.

“Come sit with us,” he said, and he helped her over to a seat by the fire. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes.”

He fetched her a spoon and a cup of gruel from a pot on the fire. Normally the stuff was not very palatable, but this morning—afternoon?—it tasted like a feast.

“Must be doing better if you’ve an appetite,” Lynx observed.

She nodded and was permitted seconds. She knew enough to take it slowly, and sipped at intervals at the tea Lynx handed her. It had the tang of Blackveil, for they were down to collecting drinking water from the rain that fell through the leaves of the forest.

Her companions remained quiet. Yates tapped his toe to some unheard music. No one asked her about her adventures while separated from the group. Yates must have filled them in. Still, the tension was palpable. Grant hadn’t moved one bit, transfixed by the campfire.

Graelalea emerged from her tent and stood before them, hands on her hips. Ealdaen drifted closer, and Solan and Telagioth appeared from the woods.

“The day grows old,” she announced. “It is time to push on. The question is, will you be coming with us?” This she directed at Grant.

Finally he moved, gazing up at her with eyes shadowed by dark rings. Although it was not especially warm, sweat glided down the sides of his face.

“Ask him.” He nodded in Lynx’s direction. “He seems to think he’s in charge.”

Whoa! Karigan thought. Graelalea had mentioned there was a debate, not a coup. She could not imagine quiet, taciturn Lynx deciding to take charge. She glanced at Yates, who wore a tight smile on his face. She’d have to ask him later what had happened.