My frozen fingers struggle to tie tent poles together. I've put tents up before, but those were more sophisticated, with premade loops that stretched over pegs and metal poles that unbent and snapped together. Instead, unwieldy wooden rods and bulky strips of hide compose the building materials for the Traders' tents. As the sun drops behind the mountains and campfires wink to life around us—the Traders having long finished setting up their tents—I begin to wonder if I should have gotten my degree in architecture rather than vitaliti.

Eventually, a little boy no older than eight takes pity on us. His tiny hands whiz over knots before driving the stakes into the ground by stomping on them. Brushing his shock of blond hair out of his eyes, he turns and asks Sean something.

Sean frowns, but before he can respond, a woman's voice calls out. The boy's head snaps behind him. A woman with white-blonde hair and a baby on her hip waves the little boy over. His shoulders sag, but he glances back at Sean.

Sean rolls his eyes and flips him a one-cent stone-mark. The boy runs off, brandishing his mark to the blonde woman like he found a hidden treasure chest.

Sean ducks into the tent, and I follow him into its warmth. After digging for the blanket in my satchel, I sit, soft fabric wrapped around my arms. "What was that about?" I ask Sean.

"With the kid?"

I nod.

He strips his wet coat off in favor of the dry blanket in his leather bag. "Told me he'd set our tent up for us every night if we paid him a cent each time."

I eye him, a confused smile making my words light. "Then why did you act upset?"

He scowls as he pulls his shoes off. "Because we just got shown up by a child."

I laugh, leaning back onto the ground. Despite my exhaustion—or maybe because of it—I'm strangely giddy.

Sean watches me, eyebrows drawn together as though trying to decide if I've lost it. His mild befuddlement just makes me laugh harder, but it's cut short by someone calling Sean's name outside the tent. The giggles fade into hiccups of breath as Sean opens the tent flap.

A man with curly brown hair, ruddy cheeks, and a snowfox pelt hanging around his shoulders shifts nervously in the opening. His eyes flick to me, and the already red tone of his face deepens.

Oddly embarrassed, I sit, combing my fingers through my hair, and the man's gaze hurriedly moves away. He clasps a fist to his chest, dipping his head in some sort of greeting to Sean. Head still down, he extends his other hand, proffering a string of stone beads coiled in his palm.

An exchange passes between them, and Sean takes the string. The man makes the strange gesture again and starts to leave. He pauses before Sean closes the tent flap, though, and hesitantly says something else. They talk a second longer, the man's feet shifting more as they speak, his fingers playing nervously with the fox's fur. Eventually, Sean raises a hand in parting, and the man, looking relieved, walks off.

Sean considers the beads in his hand, letting the tent flap drop closed.

"That was strange," I remark.

He glances at me. "Yeah." Kneeling, he hooks the string to his backpack.

"Care to explain?" I scoot closer to study the beads. Foreign designs carved in tiny and intricate strokes swirl through each one.

Sean tugs his bag closer to him, digging for something inside. "They seem to think I'm a magic-man or some such."

I look at him askew. "Because you just radiate mystery and power." I roll my eyes. "So, what, they not only buy into some sort of supernatural hogwash but think you have it? How dumb are these people?"

He shrugs. "I've seen it happen before. Some topsider tries to peddle a bit of below-ground tech to a Trader, and they get greedy, curious, and nervous all at the same time."

"So you're saying when you gave them the glowmoss compass, they thought it was—"

"Some sort of relic? Yeah. Our visitor was a messenger from the Ufir. Apparently, the beads are a peace offering so I don't curse him for striking me. I accepted." He smirks. "It was rather magnanimous of me."

"You're so full of it." For someone who all but regressed into a walking corpse before, he's oddly casual about it now.

He doesn't bother replying, finally pulling out the notebook he must have been looking for. After lighting his lamp, he settles his presswrite into his lap.

"So that was it? He dropped by a string of beads in hopes you wouldn't rain down your non-existent magical fury and left?"

"No. He also politely requested we stay in our tent tonight."

I draw my necklace out, playing with the chain. "Why?"

His head's down, focused on his typing. "Apparently they're having some sort of tribe meeting. No outsiders."

"Hold on. They're having a secret meeting and your plan is to kindly do as asked and stay in?"

"Where it's quiet and warm? Yes, it sounded like quite a good plan to me." His fingers tap dance over the keys.

"You ever think the fact that they don't want us there is exactly the reason we should go?"

"You ever think to keep your nose in your own business?"

I snatch his presswrite.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Sean, listen." I force him to meet my eyes, my voice earnest. "Whatever they're talking about tonight could be important, especially since we're more or less at their mercy—aside from whatever weird privilege your supposed powers give you."

"No matter what they say at their meeting, Riveirre, it's not as though you can do anything about it. We might as well stay in here and out of their way." He pries the presswrite from my grip.

"Are you serious?"

He ignores me, tapping resolutely at the keys. Each unconcerned peck adds to my irritation. Frustrated fingers run through my waves of black hair before pulling it into a tighter bun. He didn't even bother thinking the situation over. I never thought Sean Rahkifellar would be so devoted to holing himself up in ignorance.

Knowledge is power. My mother's favorite saying. And ignorance is a weapon waiting to be used against you.

I stand, letting my blanket fall to the ground. "If you're not going to go listen to them, I'll at least go watch."

"What?" His typing peters out, his attention fixed on me. "You can't even understand them!"

"Some information is better than none. You can come with me if you like, but either way, I'm going."

I barely pull the flap back, peeking outside. Other tents spread out around, but in this area, all's quiet. Everyone has either gone to their bed or to the meeting.

A hand grabs my elbow, pulling me back inside. I yank from Sean's grasp. "Let go of me! What? Are you afraid your little 'slave' is going to get you into trouble?"

"As though you haven't already!"

Drawing back, I say, "I gave a jacket to a girl in rags, Sean, not—"

"You caused a whole cart to go over the mountainside!" His hands spread out wide. "You killed one of their pack animals!"

I shake my head, angry. "Don't put all this on me. I didn't notice you standing up for yourself."

"Their Ufir's twice my size!"

"So is that it, then? You're scared? That's fine. You just stay cozy in here. I'll go make sure they're not getting ready to roast us on a spit or anything." I push out of the tent.

"Riveirre," Sean growls.

As I ghost through the night's shadows, his heavy steps tromp behind me. A strange mix of annoyance and relief surges through me. Just by listening to his footfalls, I can tell he's terrible at sneaking, but at least I'm not alone. Plus, with him along to translate, we have a better chance at getting some useful information.

He catches up as I pause in the shadow of a tent. I grab his sleeve to keep him from bumbling ahead. "Can you be any louder?" I hiss. "The goal is to avoid the dead wood and loose stones."

He flushes, angry.

My fingers drop their grip. "Just step where I step. Okay?"

I move off, darting between tents and keeping away from the scattered campfires. Most of the camp seems abandoned, though.

Voices rise in the distance, and I follow them. Once I figure I'm close enough to see—but hopefully far enough away that no one will see me—I peek around a tent's edge.

About thirty feet away, a group of at least fifty gathers. Most of them are men, but a handful of women are present as well, a few children scattered throughout. A sparking fire highlights the group's anxious expressions. In the center, commanding everyone's attention, stands the Ufir.