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“Do you ever take your arm off?” she asked, matching his pace.

“Of course,” he said. “When I sleep.”

“Oh.” She paused and took in his appearance, wondering how he’d lost it. “I thought you never slept.”

He shot her a disarming smile. “I could say the same of you.”

She pointed at herself. “Riven.”

He gave no reply, only turned down a narrow, snow-covered path that led away from the stables.

“Where does this lead?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

They followed the trail downhill. The trees opened into a clearing where the river curved, half-frozen and sluggish beneath a sheet of ice. The sound of running water whispered beneath it, low and constant. A gazebo stood nearby, its wooden roof bowed beneath a heavy quilt of snow.

Lysander went straight to it, brushing snow from the stone bench before sitting. Idonea waited by the riverbank, tugging off one glove and dipping her fingers into the icy water. It burned with cold.

“Don’t fall in,” he called.

Idonea straightened and brushed snow from her skirt’s hem. “How many do you hope will join us?”

“That’s for your father to decide,” he said.

She moved towards the gazebo, her gaze catching on a lone oak nearby. Ancient, incongruous among the firs, its bark dark with frost. Something about it was wrong, too alive. She shook the thought away and sat beside him, careful to leave a space between them.

“The longer we delay, the higher the risk the daemons get what they want.” She left it unsaid that the longer they waited, the likelihood of finding Nellith unharmed, diminished.

He turned his head towards her. “We can’t rush this. Preparation keeps people alive.”

“I’m not under his command,” she said, jaw tightening.

“You’re under mine.”

Her eyes snapped to him. He only met her gaze, calm as ever.

“I gave you my word, Idonea.”

Her smile was brittle. “And your word bends with the chain of command?”

Something flickered in his expression, gone before she could name it. He shifted closer, not enough to touch, but close enough his warmth reached her.

Lance flew towards them and circled Lysander’s head. He gave three short hisses and shot back away.

“Should we follow him?” Lysander asked.

Lance darted in and around the river. “Ignore him. He’s making his opinions known.”

Lysander’s lips curved faintly. “Are you ever afraid of the Iaculus?”

“No,” she said. “He knows one of his own blood. He’d not harm me. He knows I’ll keep him safe.”

Lysander stood from the bench. “We should head back. Your father will expect you at the meal.”

“I’d rather freeze in the river.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to do that.” Lysander stepped towards her, offering his hand.