Chapter Forty-Four

I woke against Aien’s chest, and for a moment thought that we were back in the farmhouse. I was warm and comfortable curled up with him, his heartbeat under my palm and his steady breath stirring my hair. My mind drew a picture of our bedroom there, the sun bright through the window on the scuffed and bleached floorboards, the heavy wooden bed that creaked under our lovemaking, and the little fireplace with its stack of wood laid by ready for a cold day.

But the sounds did not match my memory. There was no sound of a farm waking, no birdcall from the trees, the goats complaining about captivity, and chickens squawking about their morning eggs. No, there was the ever-present flap of canvas in the wind, the creak of rope straining under the pressure, and the distant whisper of the river.

We were at the camp, I realized as the softness of dream faded into reality. We were at the camp on campaign, and I was in Aien’s little nest in the entrance to Rue’s tent. I would need to rise soon and