“Alexeika—”

“Let us walk,” she said firmly, and strode off into the darkness so that he was forced to hobble after her.

In a few minutes, when they were well-concealed among the trees and the darkness, she relented and came to a halt.

Uzfan came puffing up to her, and she felt sorry for taking her anger out on him.

“Surely this is private enough,” she said, listening to the quiet rustle of the tree canopies, the furtive rustle and scurry of night creatures. Tomorrow night it would be Alexeika’s turn to stand watch. The job was hard, of course, but what of it? Her father had taught her the warrior tricks for staying awake and alert. Dismissing that from her thoughts, she faced the old priest. “What is it you wish to say?”

“I dislike making accusations, and I have no proof other than my word,” Uzfan began.

Weariness made her impatient. “Your word has ever been enough for me. What is it?”

“I saw Draysinko in your tent today. He thought no one was looking, but I saw him. I wanted to warn you when you returned, but he was in the way.” The priest paused a moment, then lowered his voice even more. “I fear he means to do some mischief, child.”

She could say nothing at first. Her anger was like a vine, strangling her. He had been in her tent, her home. He had been fingering her clothing, her personal possessions. He had stolen from her. And she had sensed no guilt in him tonight as he capered about like a knave, thinking himself lordly enough to kiss her.  Draysinko, the coward and shirker, and now thief. He must indeed be mad.