Chapter 102 What She Sounded Like

Chapter 102 What She Sounded Like

Elias

By midmorning, I had learned three things about Lyanna’s voice. She disliked using it before she had eaten, she sounded more Aelorian when she was annoyed, and I liked both facts more than I intended to admit.

The mountain path had narrowed since dawn, forcing us into single file where roots and loose stone crowded the slope. I walked ahead with the mare’s reins looped around one hand and tested the ground before letting Lyanna follow.

She had spoken very little since we left camp.

I stopped beside a fallen cedar.

“There’s a flatter stretch after this.”

Lyanna looked past me at the path and signed, You said that before.

“That section was flatter.”

Than a wall?

“Marginally.”

Her mouth tightened.

“This,” she rasped, “is not a road.”

“It was once.”

She stared at me.

Her Aelorian cadence became stronger when she was irritated, rounding words differently from the Drakovian speech I had known all my life. I had wondered before what her laugh might sound like, or what my name would sound like in her voice, but somehow I had never considered her accent.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“No.”

“You are.”

The effort made her wince.

I handed her the water flask.

“Drink.”

She glared at me but obeyed.

The mare crossed the cedar first. Lyanna followed more carefully, and when I offered my hand, she took it without the hesitation she had shown yesterday.

I noticed, though I kept that observation to myself.

We climbed for another hour with little conversation. Lyanna had always travelled easily in silence, but now she occasionally gave the things she noticed a voice.

A raven followed us along the branches until she muttered, “Greedy.”

I glanced up.

“He has excellent judgment.”

“He wants your bread.”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head.

Later, she stopped beside pale flowers growing through the rocks and crouched to inspect them.

“What is it?”

Feverwort.

“I know feverwort.”

She pointed at the flower and signed, Mountain cousin.

“That is not a name.”

Her eyes narrowed before she reluctantly said, “White feverwort.”

“You could have started with that.”

She muttered something.

I turned. “What was that?”

Her expression became suspiciously innocent.

“You said something.”

She signed, Nothing.

I laughed. “Terrible liar.”

The humour disappeared at once.

Lyanna’s shoulders tightened.

I regretted the words immediately.

“That was careless,” I said. “I meant the muttering.”

She watched me for a moment before nodding.

Then she signed, I said you talk too much.

She walked past me.

I followed, almost smiling.

By noon, the slope had grown steeper, and Lyanna’s pace began to change. Her steps shortened, and twice I saw her press one hand against her lower back.

The third time, I stopped.

She continued for several paces before turning.

“What?”

“How long?”

Her brows drew together.

I pointed toward her back.

She shrugged and signed, It is nothing.

I felt irritation rise.

“Sit.”

Her chin lifted.

I can walk.

“I can see that. How long has your back been hurting?”

She looked away.

“Lyanna.”

“Since morning.”

I stared at her.

We had been climbing for hours.

“You should have told me.”

“I could manage.”

Her voice frayed on the last word.

“That was not what I asked.”

She looked at me, and understanding entered her face.

“You thought I would stop.”

She nodded.

“Yes, I would have.”

Her gaze shifted toward the trail.

“You thought that would make you a problem.”

She said nothing.

I rubbed a hand over my face.

“We are not deciding for each other what information matters because the truth might be inconvenient.”

Her eyes returned to mine.

“If you hurt, tell me. If you are tired, tell me before I have to guess.”

Her hands moved slowly.

And you?

I paused.

Fair enough.

“If I think the soldiers are closer, I tell you. If I change our route because of something I find, I tell you why.”

She signed, If your shoulder worsens?

I almost objected.

Her expression stopped me.

“I will tell you.”

She studied me as though filing the promise away for later enforcement.

I pointed toward a flat stone beneath a pine.

“Sit.”

This time she obeyed.

I helped her lower herself and removed the pack from her shoulders before she could argue. Once she leaned against the tree, I crouched in front of her.

“Where does it hurt?”

She placed one hand low against her spine.

“Is it sharp?”

She shook her head.

“Constant?”

She nodded.

“Any cramping or pulling?”

Another shake.

“Dizziness?”

Her irritated expression returned.

That reassured me more than anything else.

I sat beside her.

We rested longer than she wanted. She kept glancing toward the trail, and I kept ignoring it.

Eventually she said, “Elias.”

I turned.

“I don’t want to slow us.”

“You will.”

Her face tightened.

I continued before she could misunderstand me.

“You are carrying a child through a mountain while people are hunting us. Of course you will slow us. That does not make you a problem.”

She looked at me.

“We adjust.”

After a moment, she signed, That simple?

“Not simple, but manageable.”

Something in her expression eased.

When we started again, Lyanna rode and I walked. She protested once. I ignored her.

That earned me another muttered comment.

“What did you say?”

She looked straight ahead.

“Nothing.”

I smiled.

By late afternoon, the trail flattened along a high ridge. Far below us, the road we had abandoned curved through the valley.

Lyanna studied it.

“Harder up here,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Safer?”

“For now.”

She nodded.

That was enough.

A few minutes later, I heard her humming.

The sound was so quiet that at first I mistook it for the wind. When I glanced back, she stopped.

I faced forward again.

After several steps, the melody returned.

It was uneven and rough from disuse, without words, but I found myself listening anyway.

Her throat gave out before long, and the humming stopped.

I did not ask what the song was.

I was beginning to understand that learning Lyanna did not require interrogating every new thing the moment she gave it to me.

By dusk, we found shelter beneath a rocky overhang.

I helped her down from the mare.

Her boots reached the ground, but her hand remained on my shoulder for a moment longer than necessary.

Neither of us moved away.

Then she said, “Elias.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

Her mouth curved slightly.

“Nothing.”

She turned toward the shelter before I could answer.

I watched her go.

Apparently, I was going to have to learn what that sounded like too.