Huntress by Malinda Lo

about it, though all my fellow guards praised me for what I had done. On the battlefield, they said, there is no time for anything but instinct. And yet, I can’t help but wonder if perhaps our instincts are sometimes wrong.”
    “Do you regret it?”
    Shae sighed and looked away. “How can I regret what I did, when it kept me alive?”

Chapter XIV

    T hat night, they camped on the side of the road for the first time. There would be no hostel for another two days’ journey. Taisin and Shae tended to the horses as usual, rubbing them down and feeding them. Taisin enjoyed the work; it reminded her of home. When she was a little girl, her father had given her the task of brushing down the farm horses at the end of the day, and she had loved being in the barn at twilight, the smell of hay and horses all around her. Those were things she had truly missed at the Academy: the warmth of animals, and the simple honesty of their energies.
    Focused on the horses, the feel of their muscles beneath her hands, she was startled when Kaede appeared by her side, a cup of tea in her hand. “Tali says supper will be ready soon,” Kaede said, offering her the warm drink. Kaede seemed more relaxed now than she had been earlier in the day; Taisin wondered what had soothed her.
    “Thank you,” Taisin said. She began to tuck the brush under her arm, but then Kaede held out her hand.
    “I’ll trade you,” Kaede said, smiling.
    The smile made Taisin’s cheeks burn. She was glad it was dark. “All right.” She handed the brush over in exchange for the tea. It smelled of barley, nutty and hot, and it tasted wonderful.
    “It’s the last of it. I didn’t want you to miss out.” Kaede tilted her head briefly at the campfire, where Con and Pol were sitting on their bedrolls, joking with Tali as he prepared whatever concoction they would be eating tonight.
    “What about Shae?” Taisin looked at the guard, who was working on the wagon horses several feet away.
    “I already brought her a cup.”
    “Oh.” Taisin raised the tea to her lips again, the steam wafting into her eyes. It reminded her of wintry nights at the Academy, curled up in her tiny room with her bed strewn with books. She felt a deep tug of homesickness inside her.
    “I wanted to tell you something.”
    “You did?” Taisin’s stomach fluttered. She often felt nervous around Kaede. It frustrated her, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She was doing everything she could, she told herself, to avoid the fate in her vision—but she was afraid she was losing that battle.
    “Yes.” Kaede took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I didn’t really understand, until today, even, what was at stake on this journey. Now I do. You were right, in Ento—we need to know what we’re dealing with, or as much as we can know. So I have to ask you: What did you see in your vision, Taisin? You haven’t told me—not exactly. But the way you look at me sometimes, I have to know: What did you see me doing?”
    Taisin clutched the battered metal teacup with both hands and swallowed. All she could think was that Kaede had caught her staring at her. She was mortified that she had been so obvious; she was terrified that she would have to tell her the whole truth.
    Kaede saw Taisin’s distress. Even in the dark, the way her shoulders had stiffened betrayed her. “Is it so bad?” Kaede’s own anxiety began to rise. “What did you see me do?”
    Taisin shook her head swiftly. “No—no, it’s not anything—you didn’t do anything awful. That’s not what I saw.”
    “Please. Please just tell me.”
    She knew she had to tell her something. “I saw you—and I—we were on a beach. An icy beach.” Her voice shook a little, remembering. “You stepped into a rowboat, and you rowed away. I saw you leaving.” She stopped, hoping that Kaede would ask for nothing more.
    “A rowboat?” Kaede was puzzled. “And I was leaving? That’s all?”
    “Yes,” Taisin said, and pressed