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reassure those hovering anxiously around them. “It’s the cold,” she improvised hastily. “You aren’t used to it. You—fainted.”
    With perfect timing, snow swept between them, the wind tugging at their clothes. Seru’s shiver reached her teeth and she sat with Aryl’s help. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
    A touch on her shoulder that wasn’t wind. Aryl. We have to move.
    â€œLet’s get you on your feet, Cousin.” Aryl acknowledged Gijs’ sending with a somber I know .
    Husni, Cetto’s Chosen, and Myris closed on Seru, chattering in anxious synchrony about the effects of such dreadful cold and how badly they felt, too. Seru, for her part, was unsettled by the attention of her elders; her cheeks flushed in spite of the cold.
    How could she not remember shouting? How could she sleep while climbing in this difficult place—and not fall?
    Only one thing was certain. It hadn’t been the cold.
    â€œDo you want me to stay—” Aryl began.
    â€œWe’ll take care of her,” promised Myris. Seru averted her eyes and started climbing with the others.
    Lip between her teeth, Aryl watched her go. Their only Parth. Their only Chooser. Seru was young and strong. She shouldn’t be the first to falter—shouldn’t falter at all during what was—what had been—easy travel for a Yena.
    She felt someone’s attention and glanced up. Through the haze of falling snowdrops, Ziba regarded her solemnly from the top of the rise, her hand tight in her mother’s. As the two turned to take their place in the line of exiles, the child twisted to look back. “What killed Sona, Aryl?” she called out, loud and frightened. “Is it going to kill us, too?”
    Taen’s head bent over her daughter’s. Reassurance, Aryl supposed, wishing she had some. Whether inspired from dream or something more, Seru’s shouts had shaken everyone’s confidence in this path. But they had no other option.
    Followed by Juo and the others, the two disappeared down the other side, leaving Aryl alone.
    Not entirely. Slowing down, Yena?
    Admiring the scenery. Aryl smiled. The snow made it impossible to see any distance. The ridge itself had vanished into bands of gray and white, along with the valley floor. Didn’t matter. With a flash of her inner sense, she knew exactly where Enris was: farther down the slope, but closer than before. He’d made up time while they’d stopped with Seru; possibly found a superior route.
    If the Tuana outpaced her on the flat, he’d be insufferable for days.
    She wiped drops from her face and climbed hurriedly after the others.
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    The storm eased to sullen misery for the rest of the afternoon. The snow became little more than an unpredictable nuisance, drops to splatter into an open eye or mouth, mounds to fill nooks and crannies, so already numb fingers must push into the cold wet stuff to find a sure hold. The wind fretted at them, poked through ill-fitting clothing, unerringly found whatever was damp.
    The Yena exiles maintained their pace. No one called for a rest; no place offered shelter if they had. Aryl followed the trail left by the others, the shape of a booted foot pressed into melting snow, the dark stain of soil where someone had yanked free yet another tuft of vegetation in hopes of a warm, evening fire. These were the only traces held by rock and loose pebbles. She noted that, as she noted everything she could about this place. They had to learn to survive here.
    They’d never last the journey to Rayna otherwise.
    Gaining the high ground, Aryl paused to survey her surroundings before the plunge into the shadow of the next ravine. There were fewer such gashes in the mountain ridge this far up the valley; unfortunately, each was deeper and more treacherous to climb than the last. Aryl wasn’t surprised to see those in the lead, already halfway up the other side, were