As the sun started to sink below the mountains, Mara pointed to a nearby clearing. “There. This is a good place to stop. We’re stopping.”

“But we’re nearly there!”

“This is far too long of a ride, they can’t take any—”

“Oh, certainly they can—”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. We’re making camp.”

They rode into a clearing that was near the road but secluded by brambles and towering pines, so they were not easy to spot from the road.

Aven had barely dismounted before Sorin grabbed him by the arm.

“I’ll take him to relieve himself, meet you back here in a few,” Sorin said, voice gruff.

“You think I made it this far without enchantments to keep him in check?”

Sorin said nothing and continued to make for the brush with Aven in tow.

Mara rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Have it your way. But he is chained, you know. He can’t run far.”

Sorin shrugged as if he did not care. What did he have up his sleeve? “Can’t be too careful with the Masters’ precious goods, Miara,” he said.

Miara! Aven almost stumbled at the word. Was that her real name? He glanced quickly back at her, finding a new color of fear mixed with sadness in her eyes. Her mouth hung open as if she wasn’t sure what to say, but to him it was a confirmation—that was her real name.

But he didn’t have much time to think of that. The mage was dragging him roughly toward the woods’ edge, around and behind some large pine trees. Aven’s shoulders tensed—clearly Sorin was up to more than being helpful. But what?

He did need to go, so he did at the mage’s first direction. Sorin also did, and Aven was very tempted to look and make a comparison, but he didn’t need any more problems than he already had.

“She’s mine, you know,” the air mage said in a whisper.

Aven raised his eyebrows but didn’t meet the mage’s gaze. So this was what the fuss was all about. Perhaps Sorin had heard their words in the tent, but more likely he could simply tell. A man could sense these things, sometimes, if he was looking for them.

Deny it, he told himself. To hell with your pride, deny it. Act like you don’t care in the slightest. It’s none of his business. He knew he should, but he couldn’t form the right words.

“If she’s yours, then why are you whispering?” he replied, buttoning up his trousers.

“I see you looking at her. Stop it. She’s mine.”

Aven felt quite sure Mara—Miara?—did not want to be Sorin’s. Although, could this have something to do with what she’d said? No, she’d said there was no one. Deep breath. He needed to be diplomatic. He should shrug and walk back to the campsite as if he didn’t care in the slightest.

“Like hell, she is.”

Sorin lunged at him, and Aven dodged the first blow, but he was stiff from riding so long. The mage’s elbow struck his chin from the side, sending him spinning.

Aven tried to stagger away, but walls of air solidified around him, keeping him from dodging. Well, that’d be a neat trick to learn someday, when he wasn’t getting pummeled. The wind kept thrusting him back toward Sorin, but it never sent the bastard off-balance. Air magic in combat, indeed. He should be taking notes.

The air didn’t just solidify. It thickened and roiled and felt wet with… was that rain? Aven stole a glance up, and even in the growing darkness, he could see the cloud forming above them, tiny bolts of lightning flashing.

Aven didn’t put up much of a fight, mostly dodging and ducking and spinning as much as the air would allow. He got in a good staggering blow or two to Sorin’s jaw, but with each contact, Aven felt a light sting along his skin—as though he was being shocked. Strange magic, indeed.

Aven knew he could lay his foe out quickly if he wanted to. But killing the man would only complicate things. One particularly off-kilter dodge and a blow to his temple sent Aven tripping to the ground as a loud clap of thunder rumbled above them.

Either Aven’s thud or the very unnatural thunderclap must have caught Mara—Miara’s attention, because she came running around the corner of the pine trees and cursed as Sorin kicked him hard in the ribs.

She threw herself on Sorin, heaving him away from Aven and into the trunk of a tree. Small flashes of light sizzled from him as he collided—the storm’s energy in him. She was stronger than the bastard, Aven thought with some amusement.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

“Whatever I damn well please,” he spat at her. He balled his hands into fists, and Aven could see spasms of lightning gathering in the trained mage’s hands.

“This is my mission. How dare you endanger it.”

Sorin finally seemed to realize Miara was not going to capitulate. “He tried to run.”

She snorted at him in disgust. “So you were going to lightning bolt him as he ran away?”

“Just a reminder of why not to leave, no?”

She glared at him. “No.”

Sorin was panting. His face grew colder, voice icy. “These non-mages. These so-called normal people. They hold every freedom and never appreciate it. And we have to grovel at their feet? Why should we have to risk our lives for just another sack of flesh—” He stopped, shaking his head, and started toward Aven again. Convincing cover story, or perhaps both motives were true.

“Don’t make me fight you, too.” Miara’s voice was stony with warning. “My orders are specifically to return him alive. Stop now, or I’ll be taking you both back captive.”

“Fine, love,” he said. He looked pointedly at Aven with the words.

“Get back to making camp,” she ordered. “And don’t call me ‘love.’ ”

Sorin huffed and stalked back to the horses.

Her face was creased with concern and anger in the dim twilight. But not surprise. This was only the beginning, wasn’t it? This is why she wanted me to run, he thought.

But he could never have done that. He could not leave her. Especially not now, when the stars were just about to come out.

Suddenly, he remembered how weak they’d gotten after they’d healed the boy. Maybe there was a way he could use Sorin’s foolishness to his advantage.

As she took his hand and heaved him up, he did in fact see stars, and dizziness swam through him. It did not take much pretending to allow himself to fall back to the ground like a sack of potatoes and pretend to pass out.