Maren Goldweaver's Arc

Chapter 32 of 42

They walked two days through pine country without trouble. Delia kept pace and kept quiet. She held the file against her chest at every rest stop and slept with it under her arm. Once, on the second morning, Maren woke and found Delia sitting up at the edge of the coals, watching her. Delia did not look away. She did not move for the file either. She just watched, and Maren understood the walk was the only thing holding. They reached Vera's camp at midday. Sentries waved them through. The big tent stood at the center, canvas patched in three colors. Miller pulled the flap back. Topper went in first. Maren followed with Delia at her shoulder. Delia stopped one step inside. The file slipped an inch in her arms. Her eyes went wide behind the cracked lens. "Mom?" Vera stood at the map table. Her hand closed on the edge of it. She did not speak. Her eyes filled, and she did not blink the water back. Delia's face changed. The shock burned off fast. What came under it was older and harder. She looked at Maren. She looked at Topper. She looked at the scarred woman across the tent who had not come for her in years. "You knew," Delia said. "I knew a name," Maren said. "Not this." "You knew enough." No one moved. Kato was not in the tent. Gisela was not in the tent. Two rebels at the far wall looked at their boots. "Give me a moment with my daughter," Vera said. Miller touched Maren's elbow. Topper was already backing toward the flap. They stepped out into the sun. The flap fell shut behind them. Miller led her to their tent without speaking. Inside, Maren caught his hand and turned it over. The knuckles were split from the boarding house, scabbed and reopened by the walk. She sat him on the cot and wet a rag from the water skin. She cleaned each knuckle. He watched her face the whole time. She watched his. The deal had held. Delia was here. The file was there. Vera had what she asked for, and Maren had bought another day. "Maren," Miller said. She looked up. "If she—" The flap tore open. Gisela came through at a run and put her arms around Maren's neck hard enough to knock her back against Miller's knee. She smelled like wood smoke and horse. She was crying without sound. "You came back," Gisela said. Maren held her. Over Gisela's shoulder, through the gap in the flap, she saw the big tent across the yard. No shouting came from it. Only the low sound of a voice she could not make out, and another voice answering. Whatever Vera and Delia were to each other, it was Maren who had dragged it into the open. And now it was Vera's price to name.