At least the storm had passed. Overhead, budding branches created a latticework framing a blue sky. While admiring that sky, Amaranthe slipped on a wet, mossy stone. The barrel of her rifle caught on a tree and the butt jabbed her in the ribs. She winced at her klutziness. “Any reason we’re in such a hurry?” “You find this pace taxing?” There was a hint of something in his tone—like maybe he intended to practice that teasing she had offered to receive. “No.” Teasing aside, she suspected he would read any admission of weakness as a request for extra training. “It’s just that a more leisurely pace would let me think about everything. I meant to cogitate more last night, but I fell asleep as soon as my head touched that stiff, straw-stuffed object Hagcrest placed in the pillow position.” It was probably good she had fallen asleep before she could dwell overmuch on the fact she was sleeping in a dead man’s bed. “We left Akstyr and Basilard alone with our lorry and more money than they’ve likely seen in their lives,”
