“Why not?”
I roll my eyes at Hawke’s non-answer. Of course he’d be cryptic.
“So,” he says slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. “What secrets have you uncovered for me?”
I bite back a snarky retort. As much as I’d love to tell him where he can shove his questions, I can’t risk my family’s safety.
“Well,” I begin, “I was washing pots by the lake earlier...”
Hawke raises an eyebrow. “Riveting start.”
I resist the urge to throw said pot at his face. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
He gestures for me to continue, that irritating smirk still in place.
“They always patrol in groups of eight. And there are at least three thousand warriors here.” It’s not exactly earth-shattering intel, but it’s true. And hopefully enough to keep Hawke off my back.
“Anything else?” he prods, his tone now sharper, as if he’s internally preparing a dagger for his next attack on some poor, innocent person.
I wrack my brain, trying to remember any other information that might satisfy him. “Luc and Gabriel have joined Cenric, and they brought a lot more warriors with them.”
Hawke’s eyes narrow. “Interesting. What about Cenric? Learned anything useful about him?”
My heart thunders in my ears as I struggle to keep my face neutral. “He’s in charge of a lot of the strategic planning. He’s always in meetings with the other commanders.” It’s vague, but true. And hopefully enough to placate Hawke without actually betraying Cenric.
Hawke studies me for a long moment, and I resist the impulse to squirm under his stare. Finally, he nods. “Keep digging. I want to know everything about their defenses, their plans, and especially about Cenric.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“See that you do,” he says, his tone carrying a clear threat. “Remember what’s at stake.”
With that, he steps back, his body dispersing into a swirl of wind.
Great. Now, I have to figure out how to keep spying without actually spying.
Only the gods know when and where Hawke will appear again.
Hopefully in the middle of a roaring campfire.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
EVERLY
The next morning,Morwen puts me to work hauling supplies from the newly arrived caravan to the cook tent. She enlisted Finn to help, and I can’t decide if I’m relieved or annoyed. On the one hand, the company is nice. On the other, I’m not sure Cenric will be happy that I’m talking to Finn again.
“Ready for some heavy lifting?” Finn asks as he bends down and grabs a crate of vegetables.
I reach for a sack of flour. “Yes. I’ve always dreamed of being a pack mule.”
As we walk toward Morwen’s tent, snow pelts our faces like tiny, icy daggers. The flakes prick my cheeks and melt into my hair.
We drop the supplies inside Morwen’s massive tent. She thanks us with a brief smile and shoos us back out into the storm.
Finn flashes me a smile as we begin our trek through thegrowing snow drifts toward the caravan, each step making a satisfying crunch beneath my boots.
“So,” Finn says, “what was little Everly like?”
