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Vaneshta—Vani—grinned widely. “That’s better.”

“How is Pyetar doing?” Iryana asked, peeking over to where Pyetar stood on the other side of the camp, looking at some papers.

Vaneshta had always respected him, been one of the first to defend him back when Iryana thought he was the worst of the brothers. It was comforting to know Pyetar had her on his side.

“Go ask him yourself. Don’t make me change my mind about you not being a coward.”

Her jaw dropped. “I’m not afraid to go talk to—”

“Then go.” Vaneshta pointed right at the general, her brow raised in challenge.

Iryana pulled her arm down quickly. “Fine.”

Glaring at Vaneshta, Iryana marched across the camp before she chickened out. Her friend just smirked at her.

Pyetar looked up as she approached, his eyes tracking her movement closely. Papers were strewn across the top of a stump as he sat before them on a fallen log.

She hesitated when she reached him, but it was too late to back out now. Iryana sat down on the log beside him. The camp was a quiet shuffle of tending to armor and weapons, playing cards and eating rations, but it felt like everyone was watching them. Iryana swallowed.

“How are you doing?” she asked, too nervous to think of anything better.

His brow raised. “I could be better. It’s difficult being near you, but having to keep my distance. At least I know you’re safe.”

Her heart flipped, and she offered him a quick smile before carefully smoothing it back out. “I can relate to that. I truthfully didn’t expect this mission to be so painfully tense. Perhaps I was naive to think everyone would be ready to work together this soon.”

“Hope isn’t naive, but we do have a fight ahead of us.” Pyetar pulled his cap off his head, running a hand through his short brown hair.

“I look forward to that victory.”

“As do I.” There was an implication in his tone that made her swallow.

Iryana looked around to find most of the camp had returned to their own activities, but a few pairs of eyes lingered on them. She ignored the whispering.

“Have you learned anything about Karvek’s forging?” she asked, looking at the papers he had been studying.

Pyetar shook his head, though he tensed. “I’m still going through his office and the records. Karvek’s shorthand was basically code, so it’s hard to figure out what his notes mean. My father’s old records aren’t much easier.”

“Ah.” She looked down in defeat. If they learned how Karvek managed his forging, maybe it would help her find a solution for her own magic.

Pyetar’s hand tightened around the edge of the trunk.

“There’s still a lot to go through. I’ll figure it out.”

She hoped so. Desperately hoped so.

“What do you remember about your brother after he was forged? Did he behave strangely in any way?”

“I was young,” Pyetar said, voice tight. “That was… eleven years ago? It wasn’t a great time for me. Is Levek excited about his forging?”

She blinked at the redirection. “Yeah, I think he’s ready.” When she opened her mouth to say something else, a whisper from nearby soldiers silenced her.

“Wonder what she wants now?” someone said, loud enough for her to pick up on.

“That’s less interesting than what she’s going to do to get it,” a chuckling voice mumbled back. “And whether we get to listen.”

Iryana’s eyes darted to Pyetar, and she saw the stiffening of his body and the fire burning in those blue eyes of his. She clamped her hand down on his thigh just as he started to rise.

“Don’t,” she pleaded quietly.