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learned to avoid things that drew her temper: mostly that meant that she kept to herself as much as possible. Her brother, being a loner himself, had respected that. They had often gone days without speaking at all.
    Tier, with his constant speech and teasing ways, was outside of her experience. She wasn’t in the habit of observing people; it hadn’t been a skill that she’d needed. But, if truth be told, after journeying with Tier only a few days, she knew more about him than she had most of the people she’d lived with all her life.
    He wasn’t one of those soldiers who talked of nothing but the battles he’d fought in. Tier shared funny stories about the life of a solder, but he didn’t talk about the fighting at all. Every morning he rose early and practiced with his sword—finding a quiet place away from her. She knew about the need for quiet and let him be while she did her own practice.
    When he wasn’t talking he was humming or singing, but he seldom talked of important things, and when he did he used far fewer words. He didn’t make her talk and didn’t seem uncomfortable with her silence. When they passed other people on the road, he smiled or talked as it came to him. Even with Seraph’s silent presence, a moment or two of Tier’s patter and the other people opened up. No wonder she found herselfliking him— everyone liked him. Isolated as most Ravens were kept, even within the clan, she’d never paid enough attention to anyone outside of her family to actually like them before.
    â€œWhat are you smiling at?” he asked as he finished his story. “That poor goatherd had to live with a wealthy man’s daughter for the rest of his life. Can you imagine a worse fate?”
    â€œTraveling with a man who talks all the time,” she replied, trying her hand at teasing.
    Thankfully, he grinned.
    Â 
    It was evening the first time Seraph laid eyes on Redern, a middling-size village carved into the eastern face of a steep-sided mountain that rose ponderously from the icy fury of the Silver River. The settling sun lent a red cast to the uniform grey stones of the buildings that zigzagged up from the road.
    Tier slowed to look, and Skew bumped him. He patted the horse’s head absently, then continued at his normal, brisk pace. The road they were on continued past the base of the mountain and then veered abruptly toward a narrow stone bridge that crossed the Silver at the foot of the village.
    â€œThe Silver is narrowest here,” he said. “There used to be a ferry, but a few generations ago the Sept ordered a bridge built.”
    Seraph thought he was going to begin another story, but he fell silent. He bypassed the bridge by taking a narrow track that continued along the river’s edge. A few donkeys and a couple of mules occupied a series of pens just a few dozen yards beyond the bridge.
    He found an empty pen and began to separate Skew from the cart. Seraph climbed down and helped him.
    A boy appeared out of one of the pens. “I’ll find some hay for ’em, sir,” he said briskly. “You can store the cart in the shelter in the far pen.” He took a better look at Skew and whistled, “Now that’s an odd one. Never seen a horse with so many colors—like he was supposed to be a bay and someone painted him with big white patches.”
    â€œHe’s Fahlarn bred,” said Tier. “Though most of them are bay or brown, I’ve seen a number of spotted horses.”
    â€œFahlarn?” said the boy, and he looked closer at Tier. “You’re a soldier then?”
    â€œWas,” agreed Tier as he led Skew into the pen. “Where did you say to put the cart?”
    The boy turned to look at the cart and his gaze touched Seraph and stuck there. “You’re Travelers?” The boy licked his lips nervously.
    â€œShe is,” said Tier closing the pen. “I’m