She looked back.
"You are doing fine," he said. "We're going to make it."
She nodded and hurried to her sleeping blanket.
Twenty-nine
They found no water the next morning, and the sun seemed hotter than ever. Ashyn remembered tales of travelers to Edgewood, those who'd come late in summer, when some of the oases had gone dry. They'd told of having to drink their own urine. I could never be so desperate, she'd thought at the time. By midday she was reconsidering.
They'd found an outcropping of rock that provided some shade for a rest. Wenda was so weak she'd fallen straight asleep. Once the sun started to drop, they'd headed off again, but Wenda could barely walk, and when they prodded her, she'd vomited, losing what little liquid her body had retained. Neither had the strength to carry her. As for Tova, the hound was the worst off of them all, trapped in his heavy coat.
After Ashyn settled Wenda into her sleeping blankets, she found Ronan sitting guard.
"How is she?" he asked.
Poorly. That was the truth, but he didn't need to hear it. "Well enough."
He shifted as if restless. When he noticed she was still standing, he waved for her to sit, but as soon as she did, he stood and peered out across the lava plains.
"I know you want to keep moving," she said.
He looked down, as if startled. Then he gave a short laugh. "No. Well, yes, I would but . . . Do you know what I'm truly doing?"
"What?"
He lowered himself again. "Promise not to laugh?"
"Of course."
"I'm looking for water to steal."
She choked on a laugh.
"You promised," he said, waggling his finger. "Yes, I know, it's ridiculous. Obviously there's no one here to steal water from. I just can't shake the urge. That's how I was raised. If you need something and you don't have it, you take it from someone else."
She nodded and watched Tova as he settled in beside her.
Ronan's gaze slid her way. "You've never asked me why I was condemned to the forest. I'll presume that means you'd rather not know."
"No," she said. "I don't ask because that would be rude."
Now it was his turn to sputter a laugh. Then he leaned his shoulder against hers, briefly, but enough to make her cheeks heat.
"I ought to have guessed you were simply being polite," he said. "I'll tell you my crime, then. Selfish of me, but I'll feel better if there are no illusions for me to shatter." He sobered. "We killed a minister. He wasn't supposed to die. It was a robbery. We ran a . . . a scheme. With a woman my father . . . spent time with. She used to . . . entertain men."
He cleared his throat. "That part isn't important. The point is that we had a scheme for robbing rich men while they were . . . otherwise occupied. It had worked many times. This time, something went wrong. We were caught."
He went quiet then, for so long that she thought that was the end of his story.
"No," he continued. "I was caught. Things went wrong and I didn't get out quickly enough, and my uncle . . . It doesn't matter who killed the minister. We were all responsible. So we were all exiled."
"Including your father?" she asked.
He nodded.
"So he perished in the forest?"
"He hung himself shortly after we arrived. He . . . was a man given to extremes. Life was wonderful or life was hopeless. Once we were abandoned in the forest, he gave up."