Fen, who now needed only to check on Dol when Race was not around, had plenty of time to observe anything he wished to, except for whatever councils Lan and his advisors held. With Ati and Biron, one of the camp’s cooks, he learned to forage for seasonings and certain roots, although he did no cooking except to stir when requested or help keep the fire going.
He found knowing the cooks useful, for he could point out to them that their leader did not eat as he should, and they took to making extra camp bread with dried apples and taking it to Lan in the mornings.
Alliances might be formed between nobles and kitchen staff, Fen explained to Dol later, pleased at having at least been slightly helpful. Dol, smiling faintly, had in return taught Fen the trick of drinking hot tea or spiced water before bed to enjoy more warmth through the night, although it did lead to, in Dol’s words, “an annoying amount of pissing.”
Dol no longer slept in the healer’s tent, although he was still restricted to horseback during their travels. He and Race spent their nights in each other’s arms, but he must have needed more warmth in the time before he and Race had come together, when he’d learned about the tea.
Fen didn’t want to be a bother, nor to get up to piss in the night, so thanked him but didn’t take the advice. However, he did consider it more and more as they went into places in the wood where he did not think a human had stepped before, although the fae might have. The canopy above them grew thicker, allowing in less and less light, and what sky he did see was gray, as if autumn came in faster in this part of the country.
He washed as much as he could every morning, though his shivers began then and did not fade throughout the day unless he was directly in front of a fire. The others did not seem to share his problem, used to the cold or better dressed for it. Fen hoped they reached their destination before they were hit by the first frost. He didn’t know what he would do then.
He’d taken to lingering around the fire at night to delay lying in his frozen bed of leaves or moss for as long as possible while he contemplated his strange alliance. As he had predicted, when hunger finally drove Lan to the fire, he sat far from Fen to eat. Fen’s hair was going to grow out soon and cover his eyes, which might help conceal how he frowned at Lan for that, even if Fen did not think he frowned. If hedidfrown, it was likely from the cold and how he had realized that perhaps the only thing he missed about The Acana’s holding was the hot spring that heated the baths and many of the rooms.
His longer hair would also help hide the shadows beneath his eyes that Fen was sure must exist. He was slower to stir and rise in the morning than he had been, and worried that one day he’d wake to find the others had gone on without the useless flower of an Earl’s son.
So when he woke to the sight of a bowl on ground in front of him, he frowned as Race insisted he did. The bowl was filled with porridge and still warm, because someone had set a piece of camp bread made with apples on top of it.
A lopsided alliance, if it was an alliance at all, Fen reflected, tender within his chest again as if the porridge had pressed on a wound.
No one was around to watch him tear a piece of the bread to use as a spoon and a sweetener for the porridge. Anyone awake then was busy with work of their own, as Fen should have been. But when he finished and took his bowl with him to the stream to wash it after washing himself, the others around him didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
There were also several people missing, more than might be accounted for by the scouts and those who hid among the trees at night to keep watch. Fen went to the cooks with the bowl and was sent out to collect more firewood because there would be no traveling today. They were waiting.
For what, of course no one told him.
Fen kept an eye out as he went back and forth into the trees but did not see Lan, nor Heni, nor Race.
Ati came and found him, but Fen didn’t mind crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle. And he might as well be in a tent, cut off from the rest of the camp, since the rest of the camp wanted nothing to do with him.
Heni had told him he could do as he pleased here, but it was much the same as The Acana’s holding.
“Good, good.” Ati startled him with the praise, peering over Fen’s shoulder at the white and brown powder that had once been dried Morning Lance flowers. “You’ve not the spirit of a dedicated healer, but you listen, and that’s worth a great deal, believe me. That fool could, but chooses not to.”
“That foolthought Fen needed something to do while he frets,” Dol answered, although he was doing work for Ati as well, attempting to mend a cloth bag in a way that made Fen anxious. Dol’s sewing would do, but was hardly neat, and the stitches would likely tear again soon.
Fen looked up from his work. Those around him in this camp seemed to see more in his face than his family had.
“Do I fret?” he asked at last.
Ati pushed out an exasperated breath and growled a little.
“You worry like my beloved worries,” Dol answered. Fen thought his tone was meant to be kind. “He is out there now, worrying because he is not here. And if I were out there, he’d be worrying here.”
Dol and Race were wedded, tied together in love. Fen tipped his head to one side in question.
Dol stayed kind. “The bracelet he gave you is coming loose again.”
Fen did not follow immediately, then twitched when he did. He pushed up his sleeves in order to more tightly wind the piece of rope around his wrist and tuck in the ends so it wouldn’t fall into the petals he was crushing. Then he covered it with his sleeve again. His cheeks stung the whole time.
Dol sighed the way people sighed at lovely sunset views. “Lan has taken on Earls and won, Fen-the-Flower. And fed and cared for himself long before he ever came of age, which, as you may have noticed, was several years ago.”
Fen took that to mean that Lan had spoken to Dol about the camp bread, probably when Dol was relating whatever it was he related about Fen to Lan. Fen assumed most things he said to Dol had been reported to the others and had told Dol so. Dol had responded with a wry smile and a remark about the lack of trust among nobles. He also hadn’t denied telling Lan anything.
“I didn’t order anyone to make him special breakfasts,” Fen murmured, complaining but making sure his voice stayed sweet to do it. He looked up again. “My worry irritates him?” he guessed. “He accepted an alliance but won’t let me offer advice. What else am I supposed to give him?”
Dol exchanged a look with Ati before facing Fen again. “I’m sure an answer will come to you,” he said at last, then returned to staring at his terrible needlework.
Lan and the others did not return by nightfall. Food was made and served, but no one in the camp stayed by the fire to chat or sing songs after eating. Fen didn’t think he was the only one who worried. All of their fates were bound to Lan and the others, but he thought Lan’s people were fond of Lan too. Fen hadn’t made the cooks put dried apples in Lan’s breakfast or even suggested they should. They had done it on their own to please him. The Wild Dog shared smiles and sometimes laughter with Heni and Race, though he didn’t joke with the others. But he also did not snap or shout orders, and he was thoughtful in his decisions, and he saw that everyone was fed, not only Fen.
