Rosethorn gave him the cup of tea that was steeping beside her. “This should help those aching muscles,” she explained.

As night fell, Briar drew the line of ponies and mules closer to their camp. Evvy gathered her pack with her extra gate stones and created the enclosure where all of them would sleep. At first, Parahan balked at the thought of sleeping as part of a pile with the others.

Briar waited until Rosethorn went off into the dark to explain about her lungs, and how she needed all the warmth they could give now that they were in colder lands. “We did it sometimes on our way to Gyongxe, when sleeping alone didn’t keep us warm enough. She’d start coughing otherwise,” he explained.

When she returned, and Parahan and Evvy had gone in separate directions for the last errands of the night, Briar had to cajole Rosethorn into sleeping at the center of the huddle that would include Evvy, the cats, Parahan, and himself. At first Rosethorn insisted on taking an outside position with Parahan.

The big man, overhearing as he returned, said flatly, “We need every one of us at their best in the morning, woman. You may sleep on the outside and freeze tomorrow night, if we’re alive and free.”

Rosethorn stared at Parahan for a long, worrisome moment, and then placed her bedroll on the ground. Parahan proceeded to bank the fire. Briar wondered if he ought to say he would pray for the man in the fight to come, or something of the sort. In the end, he simply put his own bedroll next to Rosethorn’s and crawled into it. Evvy chose Rosethorn’s free side and Parahan Briar’s. Rosethorn went to sprinkle her herb circle around the camp, including the ponies and mules. It was something she’d done several times on their way east: create a kind of magical curtain that hid them from any predator, human or animal, that might come by. Once the circle was finished, she murmured her spell over it, and returned to wriggle into her bedroll. Only then did the cats fit themselves into every comfortable spot that they could find.

Briar was drifting off when Parahan said, “Why don’t we take the border at night? If we muffle all our clanking things, we might just sneak past. They’ll expect us during the day. We could avoid a fight completely.”

Briar yawned. “We can’t do it.”

When Parahan spoke, he sounded peeved. “I may only be a simple soldier, not an educated nanshur, but I’m sure if you do it in small words, you can explain it to me in a way I can understand. Why should we not try the strategically far more sensible move of attempting the border crossing by night?”

Briar growled. He was tired and he was worried about the border just like everyone else. “We’re plant mages, oh strategist.”

“Stop it, you two,” Evvy complained.

“Plants require sunlight. Surely even simple soldiers know that,” Briar went on, ignoring Evvy. Parahan might be a prince, and a warrior, but he wasn’t going to bully them into trying something when Rosethorn was not at her best. He also didn’t need to know Rosethorn’s secrets.

It was Rosethorn, of course, who ruined it by telling the truth. “He’s only half lying, Parahan,” she said. “I don’t see as well in the dark as I used to. I was … ill, six years ago. It’s why I speak as I do, and why I have trouble catching my breath the higher we go, and why my night vision is limited.”

“She died,” Evvy said with relish. “Briar and his sisters went to the Deadlands and brought her back, only she left part of her speech and her breath and her sight there as a promise to the White Jade God that she would return.”

Parahan’s voice was shaky when he spoke again. “That’s a story, isn’t it?”

“It is not,” Rosethorn said. “I nearly died of the Blue Pox. We leave in the morning. Now go to sleep.”

That was the end of the night’s conversation. They settled between the banked fire and the picketed mules and ponies, warm with their blankets, cats, and one another. Their night was so undisturbed that Parahan’s only complaint in the morning was that Monster snored.

The road was empty. None of them was happy with that, though they found no other signs of trouble. Eagles and buzzards soared overhead searching for a meal. In the distance they saw a herd of goats moving on a looming hillside.

As the hours passed, the lands ahead on their side of the river began to flatten. By mid-morning they noticed distant fields off to their right and the kind of isolated barns used for sheltering herds and storing hay.

It was almost noon when they crested a rise in the road. Before them a small river had cut a little flat-bottomed valley to the north as it hurried to join the Snow Serpent on their left. A quarter of a mile away and to the north, a walled town stood on the sloping hills that shaped the western side of the valley. Near it were grain fields and herds of the large, shaggy cattle known as yaks.

Where the road and the smaller river met, there stood a guard- and tollhouse. It was built like the local dwellings, two stories tall and curving inward from ground to flat roof. The shutters were open on the narrow windows since it was a sunny day. Ivory plaster covered every chink in the walls. It was bigger than most of the houses and there was a watchtower on the roof. A couple of horses grazed in a fenced-in field at the side of the building. If this place was like others in this area, Briar figured, the stables would be on the ground floor.

One soldier in imperial livery stood by the barrier on the road. Four more lounged on benches on the side of the guardhouse. Briar squinted against the sunlight that shone into his eyes. A flag on the tower snapped in the wind. All he could tell was the color, a bright, imperial yellow. “Border crossing?” he guessed.