Forty Eight
Zaria laid Cillian down inside the tent with careful, practiced movements, easing him onto the thick blanket she had layered over the packed earth. She tucked the edges around him, shielding his small body from the night chill. He stirred once, a soft sound escaping his lips, then settled again, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that grounded her more than anything else ever had. Only once she was certain he was asleep did she straighten. “I hope I made the right choice trusting Alderic,” she said quietly. The words felt heavy as they left her mouth, as though giving them voice made the uncertainty more real. She glanced toward Zakai, who sat near the tent opening, sharpening his blade by the dim glow of the fire. The rasp of metal against stone was steady, contr
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