BY THE TIME I returned to the fire, Tem had left to set the warding spells, while Norbu was in his tent, muttering to himself. Dargye’s words still rang in my ears, and the darkness was oppressive. I couldn’t stop thinking of Aimo, her calm refusal to accept what had happened to her family. I pictured her by the tree, alone and staring into the darkness with that expectant look on her face. She had joined the expedition on the impossible chance that somewhere, in this vast wilderness, she might find them. Was that love, or madness? Could you love someone so much that it stole your reason?
The wind seemed to have voices in it—witches’ voices, or perhaps those of long-forgotten spirits. I shook myself, trying to silence my fanciful thoughts.
I wandered to the edge of the outcrop, where two of the dragons were rolling about, biting each other’s ears. Leaning against a rock, his legs dangling over the edge of the cliff, was River.
I stopped short. The view opened up here, away from the foothills, revealing a vast landscape that took my breath away. The bowl of the valley brimmed with shadow. Beyond it, the Northern Aryas faded into the distance beneath a sky brightened by early stars. To the east, the Nightwood was dimly visible, sharp treetops reaching for the sky like claws. River gazed out over the land, a brooding look on his face, looking for all the world like a king surveying his domain. The pale side of his chuba melted against the weathered stone as if it were part of it. He would have been invisible if I hadn’t chanced to look right at him.
I turned, about to go back. It wasn’t that River and I hadn’t spoken over the past few days, since leaving Jangsa—we had spoken a great deal. Every morning began with the two of us hunched over the maps, planning the day’s journey. River was an expert at reading maps, but he didn’t trust them implicitly the way most people did. He listened to my advice, and never questioned me when I suggested we avoid a particular route, or pause to climb up the mountainside to survey the land ahead. We always went together, just the two of us, and though I did not openly challenge him to another game of shadow, it was always understood between us. Climbing with River was a wonderful distraction, because we were so evenly matched. Sometimes I felt as if River truly was my shadow, or I his. I finally beat him one morning, trapping him in a narrow crevice that I had only escaped by hooking my heel around a rock almost level with my head while walking my body up the wall behind me with my hands. River couldn’t repeat the move, and so climbed up a different way. I had expected him to be annoyed by his loss, or embarrassed, but he seemed to find it uproariously funny. I doubted that anyone had come close to challenging him before, and he seemed to delight in my ability to do so. I understood the feeling—it was wonderful to be traveling with someone who could match me move for move and step for step, who made me try things I would never dare with Tem or anyone else.
And yet, despite all this, I found myself avoiding River’s gaze, or purposely positioning myself so that we weren’t walking together. It wasn’t because I wanted to avoid him. It was because my desire to impress him was now jumbled up with other, more problematic feelings. I spent far too much time thinking about River Shara these days. I might be clambering over a fallen tree, and suddenly I would be thinking about how he had spun me among the other dancers in Jangsa. I might be examining the clouds, trying to determine the direction of the wind, and then I would be thinking about how he scrubbed his hand through his hair when he was lost in thought.
It was annoying.
I was just sneaking away when River glanced up and caught my eye. He beckoned me to his side.
“Drink?” he said, holding a bottle out.
I settled beside him. “No thanks.”
He placed the bottle in my hand as if I hadn’t spoken. I sniffed it, then took a swallow. The drink scorched the back of my throat and filled my chest with a sharp warmth. It was spicy and smooth in equal measure; I had never tasted anything like it.
“I didn’t realize we brought liquor,” I said, handing back the bottle. “Aren’t we trying to travel light?”
He held a finger to his lips, as if the explorer in charge of the expedition were lurking nearby, listening, rather than sitting beside me. I couldn’t help laughing.
He took another drink, then gave the bottle to me. I took only a single swallow before putting it down on the rock between us.
“That’s it,” I said. “I’m not letting you get me drunk again. I remember too well what happened the last time.”
“I don’t remember much getting on my part—wasn’t I the one prying the bowl from your hands?”
I made a face. “My father was so disappointed in me for embarrassing myself in front of such a famous guest. For embarrassing Azmiri.”
“I can’t imagine you disappoint him often. So what’s the harm?”
I made a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. “But I do. I’m a constant disappointment to my entire family. When they notice me at all.”
“That is a sad story.” River nudged the bottle toward me again. I swatted his hand away, and he laughed. It echoed off the rocks, and if rocks could laugh, I couldn’t imagine a wilder, more suitable sound.
“Let me tell you something.” He leaned toward me. “I’m the youngest of four brothers, so I have some expertise on this subject. I love my brothers very much, but I also hate them. Really, truly despise them. They’re much better than me at many things, and were forever winning my mother’s praise, and I hate them for that. But you know, in a way, it’s just as hard for them. They’re trying to live up to their own set of expectations, even if they are different from those I face.” He lowered his voice, as if speaking half to himself. “In some way, we’re all trying to prove ourselves to our families.”
I gazed at him, surprised. Was that why he had become an explorer, rather than contenting himself with the lavish parties and grand palaces of the Three Cities? Because he wanted to please his family, to be a good son? It struck me again how young he was.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.” It had the air of an announcement. He held the bottle up as if toasting the darkness. “It’s my birthday.”
“Today?” I felt inexplicably annoyed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
He laughed. “I’m sorry. Were you planning on throwing me a party?”
“That’s what the box of firecrackers is for,” I said. “And the drums, and the floating lanterns—just in case I needed to throw River Shara a birthday party. But now I guess it’s too late.”
He laughed again, sagging forward slightly. Liquor splashed over the side of the ridge. I pried the bottle out of his hand.
“There is one thing you could give me,” he said, when he had caught his breath.
His tone made me suspicious. “No.”
“You didn’t even—”
“I don’t trust you,” I said sternly, moving the bottle out of his reach. He made a grab for it, and I snared his hand. “At least, everyone keeps telling me not to.”
“Your shaman, you mean.” He was smiling at me. His teeth were very straight, except for one at the side, which tilted slightly.
“Stop calling him ‘my shaman.’” I forced myself to look at his eyes rather than his mouth. “His name is Tem.”
“Yes, yes, whatever. Tell me something. How does someone as clever and talented as you become best friends with someone that dull?”
“Tem is not dull,” I said. “You just don’t know him.”
“No, I don’t, because he barely says two words at a time.”
“He doesn’t trust you. He’s like that when he doesn’t trust someone. I don’t know why you’re complaining—you talk enough for a dozen people. But I won’t have you insulting Tem.” I narrowed my eyes. “You should be glad he’s here, otherwise who would be setting the warding spells? Who would we turn to if some dark creature attacked us?”
“Me.” River shrugged. “That’s the way it’s always worked. Every night, Norbu would set the warding spells, and then after he went to bed I would go around and set them properly.”
With your invisible talismans, I thought but did not say. To my knowledge, River hadn’t used his magic again since he had fought the fiangul. Despite this, Tem remained convinced of what he had seen.
“There was one time,” River went on, his gaze distant, “when Norbu and I were hiking along the Lake of Dumori in the Southern Aryas, and a water ghost sprang up and dragged me into the depths. Norbu stood on the shore, waving his beads around and yelling his useless head off, while I battled twenty of the wet, nasty things, all of them intent on draining the breath from my lungs and taking my place among the living. I had to freeze the lake just to immobilize them, and then hack my body free with my own ice ax. Norbu couldn’t even master a melting spell.”
I shook my head. “Why bring Norbu at all?”
“All explorers bring at least one trained shaman on their expeditions. It’s just the way it’s done.”
“But why Norbu? Why not someone capable of casting a warding spell strong enough to repel more than a rabbit?”
“I told you—I can trust Norbu.”
I sighed, giving up. Perhaps River’s reasoning made sense to him, but it made little to me.
River glanced at me, a faint smile on his face. He turned back to the dark valley and made a small motion with his hand. Out of the night rose a single flower, plucked from the valley floor far below. It was a lily, its pale petals brushed with moonlight. River gestured again, and more flowers drifted up, like ghosts rising out of a primordial void. Roses and orchids and heartleaf—they hovered there, as if rooted in the darkness. A shadow meadow, teeming with flowers.
“Oh,” I murmured. I had never seen a summoning spell used this way before. As I was staring, River reached around me and grabbed the bottle.
“Hey!” I tried to wrestle it away from him. “You—you sneak!”
“Sneak?” He began laughing again. “That’s insubordination.”
“What are you going to do about it?” I was laughing too, in spite of myself. “Send me back to Azmiri? Let Dargye guide your expedition?”
“Well, he’s not as pretty as you, granted, but he’s more tractable. Wait, don’t—”
As we were tussling, the bottle, slippery with spilled liquor, slid from his hand. I batted it away before he could make a recovery, and it tumbled down into the darkness. We both froze. Seconds later, there was a distant, echoing smash.
I turned to him, grinning triumphantly. “Serves you—”
He kissed me.
I let out a muffled noise. His mouth was warm and tasted slightly salty. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was kissing him back, pressing my face into his. A fierce desire rose inside me, hot and rippling like summer haze, startling in its intensity. I could not have said how long the kiss lasted—a second or a minute; I was oblivious to everything except his lips against mine and his hand as it threaded through my hair.
Finally, we broke apart. River gazed at me for a moment, then he began to smile. My heart was pounding, and I felt light-headed, as if I had drunk as much as he had.
“I told you there was something you could give me,” he said. He was still holding my arm. I yanked it away.
“You’re drunk.”
“Yes, I am.” He rose unsteadily to his feet. “But not enough, thanks to you. Good night, Kamzin.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he staggered off, heading vaguely in the direction of his tent.
I stayed where I was, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. It took a long time. Whenever I thought about the feeling of River’s mouth on mine, it would speed up again.
The flowers were still floating in midair, only now they seemed adrift, like abandoned ships in a storm. The wind tossed them up and down, pushing them south along the ridge. One, a golden marigold, came within arm’s reach. I lunged out and grabbed it.
What am I doing? I thought. I released the marigold, and it drifted away with the others. Suddenly, I wanted nothing to do with flowers, bobbing eerily on the wind. I stood so fast I had to steady myself against the rock until the spots cleared from my vision. I turned my back on the floating meadow and hurried back to my tent.