Damien figured they managed fifteen miles before the sun dropped so low in the sky that they had to stop and make camp. The roads this close to the capital had little snow to bother them, the tread of hundreds of horses and wagons having stomped it down to nothing. Damien appreciated that almost as much as he appreciated the invisible soul force pad he’d conjured between him and his mare. Lane couldn’t see it and what she didn’t know about she couldn’t yell at him for.

She led them off the road into a caravan cutout, a little open patch where travelers could make camp. The clearing could accommodate ten wagons and fifty people, so the two of them and their three animals made little impression.

Six inches of fresh snow covered the ground. No one had used this cutout for a week or two at least. The ring of stone surrounding the fire pit looked like a circle of miniature snowmen.

“Do you want to tend the horses or clear off a spot for us to sleep and start a fire?” Lane asked.

“I’m good with either.” It surprised him that she’d bothered to ask what he wanted instead of just giving him his marching orders.

“I’ll take the horses.”

Lane dismounted and he joined her, passing his reins over. She led the animals to a small clump of pasture pine at the edge of the cutout. Damien kicked around through the snow like he was using his feet to clear it off. Beside him an invisible broom ten times the size of a normal one brushed the ground clear in a couple of minutes.

Damien left the now-clear campsite and went to join Lane by the trees. Maybe he could find some dry branches to get a fire going. When he arrived she had the horses unsaddled and was busy rubbing his mare down. She looked up as he approached; she must have heard him tromping through the snow.

“What?” She sounded mad. The woman sure carried a lot of anger.

Damien held his hands up in surrender. “I’m just looking for firewood. Unless you’d rather eat a cold dinner and freeze tonight.”

She mumbled something and went back to rubbing his mare.

“What?”

Lane looked back up. “I said, I’m sorry. I’m not really mad at you, I’m mad at Mom for assigning a sorcerer as my bodyguard. She knows I don’t like being around people like you.”

Damien chuckled and kicked through the snow, looking for fallen branches. He picked up a few and when he straightened Lane stood three feet away, hands on hips. “What’s so damn funny?”

“You. You and everyone else. They all want to define me by my soul force. Dad’s disappointed because I’m a sorcerer and not a warlord. Most of the other sorcerers don’t want anything to do with me because of how dense my soul force is. And it’s the only reason your mother took me on as an apprentice, despite knowing nothing else about me. There’s more to me than my power, you know.”

Now it was Lane’s turn to laugh. “I have the exact opposite problem. People judge me by my lack of power. My whole life I’ve been held up to the example of my mother and been found wanting. Now you come along. Yeah, I know all about the demon and the dragon and every other thing you’ve done in your short career. You’re everything I was meant to be.”

Damien collected some more sticks. “Don’t be jealous of my power. All it does is separate me from everyone. Aside from my sister and a few friends, no one will look at me as anything but a threat or tool. If that’s the life you’re pining for, you’re welcome to it.”