The caravan was ahead of the tavern's report, and they caught up with it in less than a day. Tris and the others dismounted and led their horses into the bustle of the fair. Caravans were popular because they brought both entertainment and trade. Far from the cities, the caravans carried gossip about the court and fashion the rural women could discuss if not mimic.
This caravan came up from Trevath in the south. As Tris and the others made their way through the crowd looking for Maynard Linton, Tris wondered at the number of people involved in setting up the fair and moving the goods and animals. He had attended many fairs in Margolan, but always long after they were set up, never amid the bustle of the workers and entertainers behind the scenes.
"Some setup, huh?" Harrtuck elbowed him, guessing his thoughts.
"A different view of things," Tris admitted. "Amazing that everyone knows where to go."
"Comes with practice," Harrtuck shrugged. "I spent a while with a caravan out west a few years back. If there's not much trouble about it's a decent enough living, although the more peaceful it is, the more boring for types like us."
Tris smiled at the swordsman's casual acceptance. As if he knew what Tris was thinking, Harrtuck grinned. "Oh, Vahanian will toughen you up, never fear," Harrtuck assured him with a laugh. "We'll make sure you earn your keep." He paused. "Wait here," he said to Tris and the others. "I'm going to check some things out while Vahanian's making our introductions. Stay out of trouble."
"Do you think we're in danger here?" Carroway whispered.
"Question is," Soterius snorted, "can we possibly be in more danger?"
"Come on," Vahanian called to them from near a large, weathered tent. "And be quick about it. I want you to meet the caravan master." Before Vahanian could reach to draw back the tent flap, angry voices carried on the crisp air.
"Kaine, I've told you before," an older man argued. "We are expected in Dhasson. If I let every rumor steer this caravan, we'd have never left our southern base."
"How can you pay no mind?" an angry voice countered. "Traveler after traveler from the north tells of magicked beasts in Dhasson, yet you lead this caravan like you're going to a summer picnic!"
"Foolish tales don't pay for our food and horses," the first voice returned. "We've survived war, flood and locusts. We cannot run from shadows."
"You'll see these shadows," the second voice argued. "And you'll see what they'll make of your precious caravan if you go to Dhasson!"
Vahanian drew back from the tent flap as angry boot steps neared from inside. A young, red-haired man shouldered his way through them without looking up. Tris and his friends exchanged glances, and watched as the man stomped off angrily into the fray of the caravan.
"You find a little bit of everything, even lunatics, in a caravan," said Vahanian, dismissing the event breezily. "Follow me."
Vahanian entered first, followed by Soterius, then Tris, Carroway and Harrtuck. The inside of the tent was furnished as comfortably as any room at court, Tris noted, although all of the furnishings and decorations were easily transportable. By the look of the rugs on the ground and the tapestries that hung from the tent's sides, this caravan did a profitable business. "Jonmarc, this is a surprise," greeted a booming voice. A short, round man with a coppery tan rose from behind a portable counting table and bustled over to meet them, grinning broadly. He clasped Vahanian's hand in a firm handshake and slapped the mercenary on the shoulder, although Vahanian stood a head taller.
"Hello, Maynard," Vahanian returned. "How's business?"
"Adequate," the fat trader returned, moving with nervous energy. "The south was good to us. Took in some spices and silks that will trade well north. Been a while since they had a caravan through, so they were hungry for entertainment, too," he added with a grin.
Vahanian chuckled. "I'm sure your people kept them well supplied."
"Nothing but the best," Linton boasted. He turned his attention to Tris and the others. "But you've never been the caravan type, Jonmarc."
"We're looking to sign on, at least until you reach Dhasson."
Linton's eyes narrowed as he appraised the rest of the group, stopped at Tris, then looked back skeptically at the fighter. "I don't suppose you'd tell me why?"
Vahanian shrugged. "Things change. Now it's a good time to head north."
"So you want somewhere to hide?"
Vahanian smiled. "Uh huh."
"Who's looking for you?"
"No one important. Jared of Margolan."
Linton stepped forward, stopping in front of Tris. "These three look too saddle sore to be real hired swords," the caravan master said.
Vahanian raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest of Linton's postulation.
"Their hands aren't rough enough to have done much real work."
Beside him, Tris could feel Soterius start to bristle. Carroway looked tense, his gaze flickering around the room. Harrtuck seemed unruffled. Tris began to wonder if Vahanian's idea was a good one. If we stand out so obviously...
"Let's just say one goal is to remedy both those problems as quickly as possible," Vahanian said blandly. "Calluses come fast on the road. You'll get your money's worth out of them setting up camp, even if we don't see any bandits."
Linton looked at Vahanian once more, as if weighing the danger against their friendship. Then, with a shrug, the trader broke into a broad smile. "You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like, Jonmarc," Linton offered, heading back to his counting table. "If word from the road is true, a few more hired swords—even marginal ones— may be very welcome."
Vahanian crossed his arms. "What did you hear, Maynard?"
The fat caravan master shrugged. "Wild stories that get bigger with each retelling," he replied. "I've heard that some of the boarder clans may be restless, out on Dhasson's outer fringes. And if that's true," he said, grinning, "then the good people of Dhasson may need some entertainment to ease their minds."
"Is that all they're saying?"
Linton frowned and looked down. "No, it's not," he said finally. "There's talk of dark magic. Monsters. You know the country folk, Jonmarc," Linton said. "They blame magic for a cloudy day."
Vahanian smiled. "Or a poor hand of cards," he agreed. "Me, personally, I blame it for flat ale." He paused and cleared his throat. "Maynard, we couldn't help overhearing your last, um, guest..."
Linton's face darkened, and he turned away. "Kaine. Devil Bitch take him! Signed on a week ago, and it's been the longest week I can remember."
"So get rid of him."
Linton began to pace. "Goddess knows, I would like to. But he's the best rigger we have, and my old rigger fell and broke his back. Might be able to sign on another one in Dhasson, but we won't find one out here," he said with a sweep of his arm, "in the middle of nowhere."
Vahanian frowned. "Pretty convenient timing, wouldn't you say, Maynard?"
The weathered caravan master looked up, and shook his head. "You've always been cautious to a fault, Jonmarc and, the Lady and Childe knows, it's kept you alive. But sometimes, bad luck is just bad luck."
Just then, the tent flap whisked back. "Maynard, are you here?" A dark-haired woman strode into the room, stopping toe to toe with the stocky caravan master.
"What can I do for you, Carina?" Linton asked, unperturbed by the woman's abrupt entrance. She wore healer's robes that hung loosely on her thin frame, and was no taller than the squat caravan master. Short, dark hair framed a pretty face with a determined expression. She had the pale skin of the clans near the Northern Sea. Her green eyes glinted with fire and intelligence, and the set of her jaw made it clear that she would not be ignored. While it was equally clear that Carina had not noticed their presence, Tris could tell that Vahanian certainly noticed hers.
"Taking on clerics, Maynard?" Vahanian quipped.
"You've got to do something about Kaine," Carina demanded, ignoring Vahanian's comment.
"What now?"
"He's got the riggers in an uproar," Carina continued. "When he isn't filling them full of ghost stories, he's got them convinced that we'll be snowed under on the northern route long before we get to Dhasson. He's even got half of them believing that there are monsters waiting to eat them once we cross the border." She sighed in complete exasperation. "Both my assistants quit this morning, just walked away muttering about monsters. They're not the only ones you'll lose unless you shut Kaine up."
"Maybe I can help," Vahanian interposed, stepping forward.
Carina appraised him coolly. "How?"
Vahanian managed his most charming smile. "I've run into Kaine's type before. I can take him aside, talk some sense into him."
By the expression on Carina's face, the healer had no doubt as to just how that conversation would occur. "No thanks. Whatever bones you break, I just have to fix, and I've got more than enough work to do already." She turned pointedly back to Linton. "If there's something between ignoring Kaine and having him mashed to a pulp, I'd advise you to do it soon."
Linton clucked appeasingly. "I'm sure Jonmarc had something less unfriendly in mind," he said with a warning glance at Vahanian, who shrugged. "I'll talk with Kaine. It's just that he's the only rigger we have."
Soterius spoke up. "I'm from the mountains," he said, conveniently omitting just which mountains. "Everybody up there climbs. I don't know much about tents, but there's no problem getting to the top of one."
"You're just full of surprises," Vahanian murmured under his breath to Tris.
"That could be useful," Linton said, brightening. He put an arm around Carina's shoulders as he walked the healer out. "I promise you," he said to her, "I'll take care of it." With a look that said she was not completely convinced, Carina nodded and went her way. Linton turned back to Tris and his friends. "Go see the caravan for yourself," Linton offered. "It may not be the biggest in the Winter Kingdoms, but you won't go away disappointed." He paused. "And don't mind Carina. She's a spitfire, but she's the best damn healer I've ever had. Lucky to have her. Just happened to be heading north, like you," he added.
"Where do we go for a tent and some provisions?" Vahanian asked. "There wasn't time to pack for the road."
Linton gave him a skeptical look. "That bad, huh? Go see my provisioner. Tell him I sent you to him and he'll see to your needs."
"Thanks, Maynard," Vahanian said as they moved toward the tent flap.
"It'll be thanks enough if you don't get me run out of town this time, Jonmarc."
"I promise," Vahanian replied with a roguish grin. "Uh huh," Linton muttered skeptically. "We'll see."
They filed out of the tent and into the bright mid-morning sun. The air was crisp. Heading north would bring winter sooner, Tris thought as they joined the bustle of the caravan. Tris could see the traders setting up dozens of brightly tinted booths with gaily colored flags picturing their wares. The babble of voices carried in the clear air as work teams raised the large tents. Already, the air carried the smell of roasting meat and cooking vegetables, and Tris realized how hungry he was. "We've got a lot to do before there's time for food," Vahanian said.
On one side of the caravan grounds were the animal handlers, with their collection of exotic beasts. There was a great leathery stawar from the southern jungles, swishing its huge tail in boredom. In their cages, two adult maccons padded from side to side, their exquisite coats rippling and their dark eyes disquietingly intelligent. Beasts of every kind populated the cages, along with hundreds of squawking birds with brilliant plumages. Even at this distance, the smell was overpowering.
To the other side were the traders, setting out their wares: spices from Trevath, beautifully wrought jewelry and gems from the mines of Margolan, exquisite fabrics from the east, trinkets and pottery and hundreds of other desirables from the Winter Kingdoms. One merchant snapped out a small Noorish carpet from its packing, draping it on his booth with others in a casual display of wealth. Even the small rugs were far too expensive for any but the lesser nobility, Tris knew, although many such tapestries hung at Shekerishet. That had never seemed remarkable, but now Tris realized just how fabulously expensive even one such carpet must be.
The glint of gemstones came from another booth as a leathery old man bent over his tables. Whether they were real or just clever fakes, Tris did not know, but the stones glittered with fire in the bright sun. The next booth offered the buttery leather of the western plains, tanned and worked by skilled artisans. Boots and sheaths, saddles and packs, or well-worked leather armor all hung from the display. The merchant looked as preserved as his wares, his dark, dry brown skin tight over hawk-like bones. He regarded the four newcomers for a moment, then looked back to his work.
"Not a bad place if you've got money to spend," Harrtuck observed, sticking his hands in his pockets.
"Well, well, there's our 'friend,'" Soterius said, as Tris followed his stare. At a cooking pit not far ahead of them, Carina the healer talked with an old woman who was turning a spitted roast. "You know, Carina's not bad looking, if you don't mind a little temper."
"She's a healer, Ban," Tris replied dryly. "I doubt she's been waiting for you to liven up her life."
Soterius grinned. "You never know. Practicing the healing arts could be a lonely business."
Just then a huge, dark-haired man came from between the tents and sauntered over to the cooking pit. Although he did not touch Carina, his stance and his proximity made it clear that they were a pair. He stood taller than Vahanian and was twice his bulk, with large hands and thick arms. A cloud of wild, dark curls framed his face, shadowing green eyes. He looked as if he could raise one of the largest caravan tents by himself, Tris thought. Carina spoke gently to him, and the giant smiled. There's something odd about those two, Tris decided. Something that doesn't fit here any better than we do. His speculations were interrupted as Vahanian called to them to follow.
The afternoon passed quickly setting up tents and booths. Soterius used his climbing skills to lend a hand with the rigging, while Carroway joined up with the bards and minstrels, and was soon laughing and trading stories with the group. Tris stretched and winced at sore muscles. Lacking Soterius's climbing expertise or Carroway's talespinning talents, he joined Vahanian and Harrtuck in setting up camp. It was a vivid revelation that training to be a prince meant no training at all outside the court, and Tris was chagrined at his lack of skill in the simplest tasks. Harrtuck stuck close to him, whispering instructions and fending off the curious, but Tris intercepted enough questioning glances and condescending instructions from the workmen to have a realistic appreciation of his skills.
The few muscles that were not already sore from the road would be aching in the morning, Tris thought as he and the others lifted, steadied, pulled and pushed to ready the caravan for the night's audiences. The other camp workers asked no questions. Harrtuck took to the activity effortlessly, though Vahanian remained watchful. Tris doubted that the fighter ever looked at ease. When the last ropes were tightened and the final stakes driven, Tris straightened painfully. He wondered just how long it would take to harden to the demands of his new life, and whether he would survive that long.
Harrtuck stopped beside him and grinned. "And you thought supper was free. We'll loosen you up with some sword practice," Harrtuck promised, his grin broadening at the look on Tris's face. "Best way I know to relax after a long day. Not a bad way to meet some of the other hired swords around here, either," he added, glancing around them. "I don't mind the idea of knowing how good the other escorts are before we get into a tricky situation."
"My thought exactly," Vahanian said from behind Tris. Tris turned. The fighter's dark hair was windblown and his sleeves were rolled up for work. Sweat glinted on his brow as he dragged an arm across his forehead. But other than that, Vahanian looked as comfortable as he ever did, Tris thought, relaxing a little. If he felt safe here, it was probably all right, Tris told himself. Soterius joined them.
"Talk is thick with the ropers," Soterius confided under his breath. "No one believes the old rigger's accident was accidental. Watch your back around Kaine. He's as well liked as a trapped skunk." He paused. "And one more thing. He went out of his way to try to talk with me. Maybe he's just nosy. But he tried his best to find out who I was and where I'd been. So, keep your guard up. I'll bet a purse of gold he'll try the same with each of you," Soterius warned.
Vahanian shrugged. "His kind is in every caravan. The less said, the better."
"Do you think he's a spy?" Tris asked.
Harrtuck snorted. "Anything's possible. Best to keep your head up and your eyes open."
When the supper fires were lit and dusk was just an hour away, Vahanian led Tris and the others to an open field not far from the edges of the camp. "Let's start to put a little edge on your swordsmanship," Vahanian said, unsheathing his sword. Soterius stepped forward, meeting the challenge.
"I think you're underestimating what Jaquard taught us," Soterius said, warily advancing.
A faint smile grew at the corners of Vahanian's mouth. "Not really," he said, raising his blade and beginning to circle. He thrust forward and Soterius parried, their swords clashing. Soterius wheeled and swung his blade, going high. There was a crash of steel and a blur as Vahanian dove and tumbled and Soterius's eyes widened as he swung around, looking for his opponent. Vahanian parried and ducked, dropping below Soterius's guard and moved in, then Soterius gasped and dropped his weapon, clutching at his shoulder in surprise. Vahanian stepped back and opened the fist of his free hand to reveal a small dagger.
"Your armsmaster taught you the rules," Vahanian said evenly as Soterius examined his shoulder and found only a scratch, although the cloth of his shirt was cut. "Out here, there aren't any rules. And the sooner you learn that, the longer you'll live."
"You drew blood!" Soterius said in amazement.
Harrtuck made a disparaging noise. "He could've had your heart, boy! Takes skill to score so lightly. Jonmarc's right. Alley skills, not tournament rules, are what keep you alive out here."
"Up to the challenge?" Vahanian said to Tris with a grin. Tris smiled warily in return and took up a fighting stance. He held few illusions about how the bout would turn out, but he set his jaw and sprang forward with a cry, taking the offensive. He saw a glimmer of surprise in Vahanian's eyes. Vahanian met Tris's blade in mid-swing, deflecting it. Tris thrust forward and Vahanian sidestepped, bringing his own blade around so quickly that Tris relied more on instinct and peripheral vision than sight to parry the blow. The blades clattered and slid along each other for an instant, and then Tris freed his weapon and pressed forward.
He sensed more than saw Vahanian drop and roll and wheeled to counter. Although the tip of his sword snagged on Vahanian's sleeve, Tris felt a rush of air behind his right leg and then saw Vahanian spring to his feet, grinning widely, sword lowered.
"Nice job, Tris!" Soterius cheered.
Harrtuck guffawed. Tris lowered his sword and looked at Vahanian, not attempting to hide his chagrin. "I think you'd have hamstrung me if you'd made that blade connect, wouldn't you?" Tris asked.
Vahanian jabbed the point of his sword into the soft ground and rested both hands on the pommel. He wasn't even breathing hard, Tris noted sourly. "Right you are," the mercenary replied. "And it's a good move if you're fast enough, because you're assured they won't be coming after you."
"That's cheating," Soterius replied with a knowing grin.
Vahanian shrugged. "When would you rather learn moves like these, now—or when some son of a whore clips you in a fight?"
Soterius raised a hand in appeasement. "No contest from me on that one, Jonmarc," he conceded. "I've spent enough time around the barracks to be a little dubious about chivalry and honor."
Vahanian raised an eyebrow. "Chivalry, yes. Honor is another thing entirely."
"That's not a beginner's move," a rough voice said. They looked up to see the burly giant who had been with Carina.
"I'm not a beginner," Vahanian replied neutrally. Tris noted that the fighter neither raised nor sheathed his sword, and he guessed that the mercenary sensed no threat.
"Obviously," the large man answered. His unruly dark hair sat like a storm cloud around his face, and his skin was bronzed from a season out of doors. He was dressed in a simple tunic and pants, but the sword belt that hung from his ample waist was finely worked, and if the blade in the scabbard lived up to its pommel, it was well crafted, a working piece and not for show.
There's more here than meets the eye, Tris thought.
"I'm Cam," the dark-haired fighter introduced himself, directing his comments to Vahanian but taking in the rest of them with a sweep of his glance. "I watched you practice. I'd like to join you if I could, for a few rounds."
"Sure," Vahanian agreed amiably. Maybe with luck, Tris thought, the big man would be a good source of information. At the least they should be able to learn something more about the other guards who attached themselves to the caravan.
Cam was surprisingly agile for his size, Tris found after a round with the giant, and good with his sword, too. Although seeing the blade in action gave little opportunity to appreciate the artistry of its forging, Tris thought he glimpsed runes etched in the side of the blade, and a complex and foreign inscription on the guard. An unusual weapon for a hired fighter. He watched from a distance as Cam sparred with Harrtuck. Either the weapon was stolen or, like themselves, there was a story unwilling to be told.
The smells of dinner reached them on the crisp night air as Tris and Vahanian ended another round. Tris dragged a sleeve across his face and wiped back his hair from his forehead. More than a candlemark of hard practice worked up a sweat, even in the cool fall air. He was just about to suggest that they head for dinner when a man ran up from the camp.
"Cam! Come quickly!" the runner shouted while he was still a distance away. "You're needed!"
Without a word the giant sheathed his sword and with a nod toward the group, started out at a run for the camp.
"That's it for tonight, anyhow," Vahanian said, putting up his own weapon. "Let's see what all the excitement is about."
It was not hard to keep Cam in view, even when following at a more leisurely pace. The burly fighter stood a head taller than many in the camp, and was twice the bulk of all but a few. Cam slowed to a jog as he reached the more crowded section of the caravan's midway, then took off again at a run as the messenger pointed to the left. Sure enough, there was trouble, Tris noted. But not the sort for which he imagined Cam would be summoned. He had expected a brawl or a thief. One of the large tents where the caravan performers held shows in the evening collapsed. A crowd of caravaners gathered, and Tris and the others worked their way toward the front.
"What happened?" Tris asked one of the men who was nearest the front.
"Damn pole snapped clean in two," the man replied. "Kraveck was setting the last of the rigging when it went down, and so did he."
Carina knelt beside the fallen rigger. As Cam approached, she stretched out her hand to the big man, who took it, paused for a moment as they spoke in low tones, and then settled into place on the other side of the man. Cam raised his massive hand for quiet, and the crowd hushed immediately, stepping back a few paces.
Carina reached out once more for Cam with her left hand, and placed her right hand gently on Kraveck. She shut her eyes and let her hand begin to slide gently down the length of his body, slowly, hovering just above his skin. As Tris watched, her face twitched with pain, and her eyes pinched shut with the suffering she shared.
When she had followed the full course of his form once, she shifted toward his head, and gently laid her hand on his forehead, retaining her contact with Cam with her other hand. Cam looked as if he were in a trance, his eyes shut and his face slack, completely open to Carina's working.
She's drawing strength from him for her healing, Tris realised. Kraveck must be in bad shape.
Carina's hand remained over Kraveck's forehead for a quarter of a candlemark. Then, slowly, she began to move once more, slowing this time over his chest. Her face contorted and it seemed to Tris that Kraveck breathed more easily.
Just below Kraveck's ribcage, Carina stopped. She swallowed hard and leaned forward, and it seemed to Tris that the thin healer was willing every ounce of her strength into her effort. For nearly half a candlemark, she labored, her lips moving in concentration, her body tight with effort. Then suddenly she slumped and would have collapsed but for Cam's quick reflexes, as he caught Carina and tenderly lifted her into his arms. She raised her head and lifted one hand, giving direction that only Cam could hear. "You there," Cam hailed one of the riggers standing near. "She's done all she can for him, and she wants to get him to the building where he'll be easier to watch. She says to slip a board under his back so you don't undo what she's done, and take him there directly. She'll be there as soon as she's rested."
Two of the riggers sprang to do as Cam ordered, and Tris noticed that the big man looked drained and tired himself. Cam waited, Carina cradled in his arms, until the riggers did as he asked. Satisfied that Carina's wishes were carried out,' Cam turned toward the healer's tent, followed by the crowd as if he were a prophet.
"I've seen healers before," Vahanian said. "But not like her. Curious why a healer with that kind of talent is here, wouldn't you say?"
"Maybe they were dismissed from a noble house."
Vahanian shook his head, still staring after them. "I doubt it. That kind of talent is too rare."
"Easy on the eyes, too, if you ask me," Soterius offered from behind them.
Vahanian shrugged. "Friends and lovers are just hostages to fate, waiting to be- taken," he replied. "When you're out on the road long enough, you learn that," he said, and turned away, walking back toward the fallen tent where workers were already swarming to ready the area for the night's crowds.
"Leave it to our friend to have a sour comment on everything," Soterius said darkly, watching Vahanian leave. "I've never spent much time with a mercenary before. Guess I haven't missed much, if they're all like him."
"Only the ones who stay alive very long, m'boy," Harrtuck commented, joining them from behind. "When you've survived as many tight spots as Jonmarc has, you'll have rough edges of your own, I wager." .
"We can't reach Dhasson soon enough for me," Soterius returned.
That night, the dreams came. Tris heard Kait calling his name so plainly that he expected to see her standing in his tent. She called again, more distant now, so plaintively that it made his heart ache.
"Kait, are you here?" he asked quietly, unsure whether he was awake or asleep.
"Help me, Tris," Kait's voice called, muffled and far away. Tris concentrated, allowing himself to fall into a light trance. Kait's spirit remained distant.
"Kait, where are you?" he called after her. She gave no sign of hearing him. Her voice grew more desperate, her pleas more anguished, but try as he might, Tris could neither bring her spirit to him, nor let his spirit be drawn to hers. It was as if a thick window separated them, on the edge of a gulf, so that he could see her, but nothing he could do could break the transparent prison, or bridge the gap.
"Help me, Tris. Help me."
Tris woke shaking, covered in sweat. His heart raced and as he lifted a hand to wipe a sodden lock of hair from his eyes, he saw that his fingers shook. I'm going mad, he thought. He forced himself to breathe deeply, willing the shaking to stop, and attempted the centering exercises his grandmother had taught him. He failed miserably.
Tris covered his face with his hands, as close to weeping as he had been since the night of the murders. I'm coming for you, Kait, he vowed. Living or dead, I'm coming for you. I'll get you out, I swear!
"Are you all right?" a voice sounded outside the tent. Soterius popped his head through the flap.
"Just a bad dream," Tris said, hoping his voice sounded stronger than he felt.
"I guess you're entitled to a few of those," Soterius allowed. "Me, I just keep dreaming about all those pretty wenches back home. Stood one up, you know, the night we left."
Tris looked up, barely able to make out his friend's face in the moonlight. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I've ruined everything for all of you."
Soterius managed a tired grin. "It's a little late for second thoughts," he quipped. "And you didn't ask us to come, we came on our own." He shrugged. "I didn't leave anyone special behind, just a string of broken hearts." He grinned. "Harrtuck never said anything about a family. I think the barracks was home to him. Carroway had his eye on that pretty flute player, but I don't think she knew it," he added, "so don't lose sleep on our account. I look at it as a chance to see the world."
Tris stretched an aching muscle in his back. "Move the world, you mean," he said. "I'm so sore from setting up tents I probably couldn't sleep anyway."
"I know what you mean," Soterius replied. "And what doesn't hurt from rigging tents hurts from Vahanian's damn training. I wasn't this sore when I first joined the guards!" He paused. "Are you going to be all right?"
"I'll be fine." By the doubt on Soterius's face, Tris knew the other took the lie for what it was worth, but with a nod, Soterius left. Tris ducked his head out of the tent flap and stared at the full moon. Kait's voice, more distant now, still called to him. He would not sleep again tonight, he knew, staring at the moon. Not now; maybe not ever again.