𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

27

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R O C K  M E  L I K E  A  W A G O N  W H E E L
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IT HAD TAKEN NINA LESS than an hour to discover that most of the prison wagons passed by a roadhouse known as the Warden's Waystation on the route to the Ice Court. Feta and the others had to trek almost two miles out of Upper Djerholm to locate the tavern. It was too crowded with farmers and local laborers to be useful, so they headed farther up the road, and by the time they found a spot with enough cover and a stand of trees large enough to suit their purpose, Feta felt close to collapse.

That wasn't to say Feta wanted Jesper volunteering to continue on and be the lookout, tasked with signaling to the crew when the prison cart rolled by. She'd become more dependent on his limitless energy since this frigid wasteland had zapped hers. I'll get over it, Feta told herself as she watched Jesper bound along the path made from a dirty mixture of soil and snow. I've laughed in the face of worse things than a shitty childhood.

Nina took a few minutes to tailor Jesper's forearm, hiding the Dregs' tattoo and leaving a blotchy patch of skin over it. She would see to the remaining tattoos later. Feta had not had truly bare skin in years. She was curious whether removing the pillars of what she held dear would push her closer to the edge.

She had been close to suggesting the possibility that no one at the prison would recognize Ketterdam gang or brothel markings, but there was still a far higher chance they would recognize Rusalye, the sea whip of the somewhat local Bone Road, renowned for becoming one of the Sun Summoner's amplifiers. The druskelle guards would probably get a kick out of that.

"No mourners," Jesper called as he loped off into the twilight, long legs eating up the distance easily.

"No funerals," they replied. Inej murmured a real prayer for him. Feta forced a smile to her face, the best she could offer.

They camped in a dry gully bordered by a tangle of shrubs, and took shifts either dozing on the hard rock ground or keeping watch. Despite her fatigue, Feta hadn't thought she'd be able to sleep, but the next thing she knew, the sun was high above them, a bright pocket of glare in an overcast sky. It had to be past noon. Inej was beside her with a piece of one of the pepper wolf cookies she'd bought in Upper Djerholm. Feta saw that someone had made a low fire, and the sticky remnants of a block of melted paraffin was visible in its ashes.

"Everyone leave us to the wolves?" Feta asked, accepting the cookie she was offered.

"They're in the road," Inej answered. "Kaz said we should let you sleep." She continued braiding her thick black hair over her shoulder, holding Feta's gaze. "I think your night terror scared him off though."

"My what?" Feta said through a gaping yawn, not bothering to hide it behind her hand.

"Night terror," she repeated. "You were begging someone not to start a fire. He didn't leave until you started crying though." Feta's face had felt stiff, but she'd assumed that was from sleeping with her cheek smushed against a rock. "You might've done the impossible. I think Kaz actually felt guilty."

Sitting up, Feta tented her knees and folded her arms across them. She pushed a hand through her hair and hung her head so she could study the toes of her boots, as though that would reveal the details of the dream to her. She could guess there'd been a pyre involved.

Acting like a child, again.

Finally, Feta raised her head. "Djel," she breathed out on a hollow, tired attempt at a laugh. It rang more with disbelief at herself, if anything. "I'm really fucking this one up, aren't I, bug?" She said it with a light shake of her head, a joke in her voice that Inej did not find funny.