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I thought instinctively. A few minutes ago the guilty fear in my gut would have forced the whole story out like a confession. Now I didn’t trust this man enough to want to share the horrors of the last few hours.
    I settled for a half truth. “I tried to go for a walk,” I answered. “I got lost.”
    My host looked up, sea-foam eyes piercing. I braced myself, expecting to be accused of lying. Instead, he asked, “How old are you?”
    Mistress Jeshickah had said I looked younger than I was. A younger child would be more likely to get lost, right? Being younger could give me an excuse for a lot of silly slipups I might make. “Eleven,” I answered.
    “Hmm.” He turned back to the fire. “Were you on your way to the market?”
    “I don’t—I mean, yes, I was.” That was the way I was heading, anyway, though it wasn’t my actual goal. I didn’t want to tell him I’d been looking for Taro.
    Again, those eyes on me, intense … and then sparkling, as he chuckled and shook his head.
    “Truce,” he said, amusement still in his voice. “I’ll share my squirrel stew and stop asking questions if you stop pretending you know how to lie.”
    “I—I don’t know what—” I stammered. “I mean—” He quirked a brow, waiting for me to get my tongue untangled. Finally, I gave up on defending myself and asked, “What’s a squirrel?”
    “It’s—” This time he was the one who seemed speechless. I had meant to ask something benign, not something that was apparently shocking. “A small animal with a bushy tail,” he said at last. “The next time I see one, I’ll point it out.” Were squirrels common out here? Lady Brina cared more about gods and goddesses than bushy-tailed little animals, and she had never mentioned them. “Take a seat,” he urged, gesturing toward the tree trunk. “Dinner’s ready. I even have an extra bowl in my pack.”
    The pack in question was hanging from one of the tree branches. I didn’t know if it had been as invisible as the campsite was earlier, or if I just hadn’t been paying attention.
    My host handed me a tin bowl of stew and a clunky spoon, then filled a second bowl, folded his legs under himself, and sat on the snow near the fire. Since the snow wasn’t falling anymore, I pushed my hood back to get it out of the way as I ate what turned out to be a surprisingly tasty meal. Whatever “squirrel” was, it made good stew.
    When I asked for seconds, however, my host said, “Only if I get to ask another question.”
    I could always refuse to answer, if I needed to. “Okay.”
    “Are you a bloodwitch?”
    I recognized the word “witch,” but I didn’t know the rest of the term he used. “Am I a what?”
    “You’re a quetzal, right?” he asked. When I hesitated, he said, “I could tell you were a bird the first time I saw you, but I wasn’t paying much attention, so I figured a crow or a raven. The feathers give you away.” He gestured to the back of his neck, causing me to reach instinctively toward mine. I didn’t think about the feathers that grew at the nape of my neck often, because they didn’t get in my face like my hair did. I knew they were red and green like gemstones, though. Apparently they were visible by firelight.
    Since there was obviously no hiding it, and I didn’t know why I would need to, I admitted, “Yes, I’m a quetzal. But if one of us is a witch, I think it’s you.” I remembered the way the entire camp had seemed to materialize only when he put his hand on my shoulder.
    “Why does Brina have a quetzal?” he asked.
    I didn’t want to answer any more questions, and he had already said he wouldn’t ask. “I don’t need thirds,” I answered dryly, which made him laugh again.
    “Fine, fine,” he said. “I’ll help you home tomorrow, and accept that some secrets are in my best interests.”
    He had accused me of being a bad liar, but I suspected Malachi Obsidian was probably a very good liar. Calysta had said as much.