When finally they paused for a break, Karigan came up from behind to find Graelalea drawing in the mud with the tip of her dagger.

“If we can keep up our pace,” she said, “we will reach Castle Argenthyne in a few days.”

The drawing, Karigan saw, was a map showing where they were and how far they had yet to go. Yates looked frustrated he could not see it. They were on a squiggly path to a spot marked with an X, and they did not look far from the X.

When Grakelalea finished, everyone except Yates went their separate way to sit or take a drink of water. “Karigan,” he called.

She limped over to him. “I’m here.”

“Good.” He lifted the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and thrust it into her hands. “You need to copy whatever Graelalea’s drawn,” he said. “For the king.”

Karigan’s mouth dropped open. She wasn’t much of an artist. “But—”

“You’ve got the neatest hand among us,” Yates said. “Just do your best.”

“All right,” she replied uncertainly. She dragged herself to a nearby rock and sat, then removed Yates’ journal and writing supplies from the satchel. As she flipped through the journal, she found pages filled with his own tidy handwriting, maps sketched out with measurements and landmarks, and other drawings that appeared to be more of a personal nature. She did not think it any of her business to pry, so she did not pause to look at the pictures, but the journal fell open to a lovely rendering of Hana. He must have done it early on in their journey, for he’d captured her with a hint of a smile on her face.

“You’re an amazing artist,” Karigan said. It was even more amazing she had not known this side of him.

“I take after my mother,” he said proudly. “She did most of the etchings and art for my father’s press.”

As Karigan searched for a blank page, she caught glances of drawings of the forest, its flora and fauna, including hummingbirds. She shuddered, and hastily found a blank page. She copied Graelalea’s map as best she could, jotting down notes. It was nowhere as good as Yates would have done, but passable. Thanks to her practice in keeping the Rider books, her hand was very neat.

When the ink dried, she replaced the journal and pen in the satchel, and put it into Yates’ hands, but he immediately passed it back to her.

“You’d better hold onto it,” he said, “in case something else needs recording.” More somberly he added, “You also have a better chance of getting this back to the king.”

Karigan started to protest, but he shook his head. “I’m not giving up, just being realistic.”

Another layer of gloom blanketed her. She knew he was right, but she did not have to accept it. They would get out of Blackveil. All of them. They had to.

Grant paced nearby holding his arm to himself. He was pale and perspiring. “Nythlings,” he muttered. “Gotta let the nythlings come.”

Graelalea came and crouched before Karigan. “I would like to take a look at your leg.”

“Maybe you should look at Grant’s arm.”

Graelalea sighed. “I have tried, and more than once. He refuses me and becomes violent if I press him.”

“I’ve seen it,” Ard said, easing down onto a nearby rock. “He didn’t show me, mind, but I saw him looking at it. Sickly in color with black lumps on it.”

“I cannot aid him unless he wishes it,” Graelalea murmured, and she set to tending Karigan’s leg with fresh evaleoren salve. Karigan sighed as the salve absorbed the pain.

“I offered to help, too,” Ard said, “and he offered to smash my face in.”

Short of all of them jumping on Grant to hold him down, Karigan didn’t know how else they could help him. Perhaps if he got much worse, they’d have to do just that.

When Graelalea finished with Karigan’s leg and moved off, Karigan glanced at Ard who sat with his head bowed and eyes closed as he rested. The journey had been hard on him as it had been on all of them. He’d lost considerable weight. When she looked at his hands splayed on his knees, his knuckles skinned and embeded with dirt, a shining silver ring that she had not noticed before caught her attention. Had he worn it all along and she just hadn’t seen it, or was it something he put on recently? If so, why?

It was not a wedding ring, though it was placed on the customary finger. Ard had stated he’d no family. It bore a sigil depicting the cormorant crest of Clan Coutre, so perhaps he was, in a way, bound to the clan in no less of an important way than a marriage. He must be held in great esteem by Clan Coutre for a simple forester to be in possession of such a ring.

Ard stirred and met her gaze. “Something on your mind?” he asked gruffly.

“I was just admiring your ring.”

His hands came together and absently he twisted the ring around his finger. “A gift,” he said, “from the lady.”

“Lady Coutre?”

“No, my Lady Estora. When she gave a blessing upon me for my safe return from Blackveil. The ring is a gift of trust that I will carry out my duty here in the best interest of the clan, which it is my honor to do.”

Ard’s eyes were hooded as he regarded her and she sensed there was more to it than he said. Karigan did not have a chance to probe more deeply, however, for Graelalea announced it was time they continued their journey.

Over the days that followed, Karigan’s strength gradually improved, her leg showing minute signs of mending with each application of the evaleoren salve. Her visions of dancers in the forest became less frequent as well. One or two would occasionally catch the edge of her sight but would then quickly vanish.