Men emerge from the elderbrush we passed, six at least, faces wrapped in dark cloth, armor mismatched and painted with dull green pigment to break their shapes among leaves. Bandits, deserters, scouts from some faction too minor to declare itself properly, or hunters willing to sell captives to whoever pays fastest. Their weapons are real enough.
My false warning was pointed at the wrong threat. Vaedros pulls me behind a slab of stone while arrows strike the slope around us.
“You said wolf-sized,” he murmurs.
“You said competence.”
His mouth curves despite the danger. “Then let us demonstrate some.”
The first man calls from the brush. “Leave the packs and the woman, and you keep your throat.”
Vaedros looks at me. I see the calculation begin. Steel alone will cost too much. There are too many angles, too much open ground, too little cover for the beasts. He is capable with blades, better than I first believed, yet his true weapon has never been metal. I understand that now. His battlefield is attention.
He raises his voice, smooth and carrying. “My wife bruises easily, and I am sentimental regarding property claimed by vow.”
My head snaps toward him.Wife?He does not look at me, because looking would weaken the performance.
The bandit leader laughs. “Pretty vow. Poor shield.”
Vaedros lowers his voice for me alone. “Play along, troublesome prophet.”
“I should let them shoot you for that.”
“You would miss me by nightfall.”
Another arrow strikes the stone above us, showering grit into my hair.
I look through the thin strands of the present and let the future flicker, carefully this time, offering it only enough space to breathe. Three movements open. If Vaedros steps left, the archer above the ridge fires. If I run for the beast, the man with the hooked blade catches me. If we convince them I am worth more alive and close, they come within reach.
“They want captives,” I whisper. “Two left, three ahead, one above. The leader comes closer if he thinks I’m valuable.”
Vaedros’s eyes brighten with approval so sudden I feel it like a touch. Then his expression changes completely.
He rises from behind the stone with both hands visible, blade lowered, posture relaxed in the arrogant way of men who have never considered surrender a permanent condition. I stand with him because the future narrows when I do, because the bandits hesitate at the sight of us together, because his lie has made a shape and I can use it.
“My husband enjoys sounding richer than he is,” I call, letting irritation sharpen my voice. “Take the packs. Leave us the horse.”
The leader steps from the brush, broad-shouldered, scar across one brow, crossbow held low. “That accent doesn’t belong to a wife.”
Vaedros’s hand settles at my waist. Possessive enough to sell the lie. Careful enough to ask without asking. My pulse betrays me with humiliating enthusiasm.
“She was educated beyond her judgment,” Vaedros says. “A tragic flaw I am attempting to correct.”
I lean into him, smiling sweetly at the bandit while driving my elbow backward into Vaedros’s ribs just enough to punish him.
His fingers tighten at my waist.
The leader grins. “Noble runaway?”
“Complicated romance,” I say.
“Expensive romance,” Vaedros adds.
I see the leader reconsider. Greed shifts his stance. The archer above adjusts angle. The man with the hooked blade takes two steps closer.
A flash of future strikes: hooked blade forward, Vaedros catches wrist, my knife to thigh, archer fires when leader falls, horse bolts unless rope cut first.
“Above,” I murmur.