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“Two years ago, a patrol found an abandoned trade caravan north of the salt trenches.” Dreven rested his hands on the table, his expression grim. “There were three sets of clothing altered for human proportions, one pair of boots and that tag.”

“Bodies?”

“None.”

“Blood?”

“Sera tested it. Human.”

Kesta touched one finger to the sealed packet.

“Why didn't you tell me yesterday?”

Dreven’s expression tightened, though not defensively. “Because yesterday you had been awake less than a day, Lina was bleeding, Mira was dead, Red Basin had witnessed my claim, and I had no evidence that the old caravan had anything to do with your transport.”

“That’s a lot of reasons.”

“Yes.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

“Today.”

She searched his face.

He let her.

No stoic wall. No surrender either.

Just a man who had made a decision and was prepared to defend it.

Kesta glanced at the packet again. “I would have preferred to know sooner.”

“I know.”

She waited for an apology.

Dreven didn't give one.

After a moment he said, “And I would have preferred not to hand you two-year-old bloodstained clothing while you were deciding whether Ash Camp was going to kill you.”

Kesta opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Tavi made a tiny noise.

She looked at him.

All four of his hands were occupied with absolutely nothing.

Kesta turned back to Dreven. “Fine.”

His eyebrow rose.

“Do not look so pleased.”

“I am not.”