Prince of Traitors

Jasper

Owin refuses to make camp for two days. She claims we are too close to the city and its patrolling guards, but when I look around I see nothing but forest around us.

She finally stops in a grassy clearing, tossing her satchel down and freeing her bow from where it loops across her torso. The sun is beginning to lower in the sky. We have probably less than an hour of daylight left.

"Start a fire," she says. "I'm going to get us something to eat." She starts to walk away, reaching back to wind her long silver hair into a coil atop her head.

"Wait," I say. She turns at my voice. "I don't know how."

She rolls her eyes. "Start by gathering firewood. Build a triangular structure with it with dry leaves underneath and rocks in a circle around it," she says. "Wait here." She reaches behind her back to pull an arrow from her quiver. She nocks it on her bowstring, only half-drawing it while she stalks silently into the woods.

I eye her as she disappears into the trees. I almost don't want to turn my back on her—not while she's armed. I sigh and go into the woods in the opposite direction. I find branches about a foot long each, and gather them in my arms. I take them back to the clearing and try my best to arrange them upright. I make another trip for a few handfuls of dry leaves, and a third for an armful of stones the size of my fist. My back begins to ache from bending to the ground over and over. I crinkle the dry leaves in the empty space under the firewood, and place the stones around the perimeter of the firewood.

Owin is gone for a long time. Night blankets the forest, and with it comes the chirp of summer bugs and the hoot of distant owls. I wander back into the trees, to a shrub I'd seen while I was gathering firewood.

There are dark berries on the shrub. I break off a few clusters and bring them back to the campsite, setting them on the ground next to me. I sit on the grass with a sigh.

My surly Navaarim companion may have commanded me to stay put, but it doesn't mean I can't do anything to help feed us. I decide to wait till she gets back to present the berries to her. Show her that I'm not just going to sit around doing nothing. The clearing is dark, however, and I peer around, unable to see much around me.

I hear Owin's footsteps in the brush before I see her. I look up and see the silver sheen of her hair in the darkness. She lobs something at me. A warm, lumpy thing hits me, and I fumble it. A glassy eye stares up at me, and the bird falls from my hands.

"Saints, what the hell—"

"Pluck that," Owin says. She kneels before the firewood and stones. She strikes a flint stone, sending sparks up. The dry wood begins to light, and she blows on it to bolster the flames. She looks at me and quirks an eyebrow when I stare blankly at her. "You don't know how to pluck a pheasant, do you?"

"I don't know how to start a fire, you think I know how to pluck a damn pheasant?" I reply.

She rolls her eyes at me, grabbing the bird from my hands. She plucks the feathers using quick movements, laying the thing on its back and spreading the wings apart. "You pluck it when the body is still warm, or you'll tear it apart," she says. I watch her closely. She plucks half the pheasant, and tosses it to me to finish.

I copy her hand's quick movements, pulling feathers from the bird. Its body is lumpy and still warm in my hands, its flesh dotted with bumps all over. I grimace, but don't say anything about it.

She pokes the firewood with her knife, adjusting the placement of the logs. The fire grows to a decent height. It lights the clearing in a flickering orange glow and warms me.

I finish plucking the bird. "Now what?" I ask.

She wordlessly takes the pheasant back. She slices it down the middle with her knife, swiftly pulling out its innards and getting up to toss them into the underbrush. She finds a bunch of thin, long sticks, building a spit over the fire and stabbing the pheasant through. She sets the bird above the flames.

"It'll be ready in an hour or two," she says. She sighs as she sits back down in the grass several feet from me near the fire, her knees drawn up halfway to her chest, her arms resting on her knees.

"I found something to hold us over," I say. "If you're inclined to care." I hand her the berries that I found earlier.

She peers at them, and frowns at me. "You didn't eat any of them, did you?"

"I was being polite and waiting to share them with you," I grumble. "You're welcome." Owin rolls her eyes at me and stands, still holding the berries.

"This is nightshade, you idiot. It's poisonous." she says. She throws them into the brush, and the leaves rustle as they land.

I glare at her. "Seriously?"

"Yes," she snaps. She sighs heavily. She sits back down on the grass. "Useless," she mutters.

I pretend not to hear her.