Free Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) by Lindsay Buroker Page A

his comrades without realizing she knew his code.
    “No, not long,” Mahliki said. “I know we’re not in Mangdoria yet. Just wanted to pick up a couple of samples on the way. And to use the sylvan lavatory. As much as I’m impressed by the way you men can water the bushes out the door while we’re in motion, I’m not that talented.”
    Basilard glanced at Ashara, a hint of pink flushing his cheeks. He quickly signed something else.
    “Basilard says, ‘Thank you for coming along, Ashara. Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?’ He also asks that I not mention the peripatetic peeing to my father, especially the part where Maldynado and Jomrik don’t always remember to tell me to turn my back. Though maybe that message was for me and not for you. I’m not a practiced translator.”
    Basilard dropped his face into his hand.
    Ashara told herself to ignore the conversation—she didn’t want to be drawn into casually chatting with these people—but her humor was piqued and she couldn’t resist asking, “You have a sign for peripatetic?” Ashara had come across the word in a textbook talking about traveling business owners, or she wouldn’t have known it at all. She wasn’t quite sure about using it in relation to urination, but what did she know? Maybe it was part of a Turgonian saying.
    Basilard shook his head and signed something else.
    “He’s lost his original translator,” Mahliki explained, “and laments that Maldynado and I like to augment his words.” She winked and took a core sample from another tree.
    Ashara caught herself tempted to ask what had happened to the translator and scowled at herself. She was not going to learn about these people’s personal lives. Not trusting herself, she walked away. She caught a faintly wounded expression on Basilard’s face and a twinge of guilt prodded her. She had ignored his question. She pushed the feeling aside. She wasn’t out here to make friends.
    She spotted a milshiar plant carpeting the base of a boulder and took the opportunity to slice off a few leaves. If she crushed the dried leaves using her mortar and pestle, they could be a useful component in her healing salves. She had brought a jar of salve with her, along with some of her potions, but if these people figured out she was here to spy, she might need more than she had.
    Near the milshiar , she spotted a salmonberry bush and plucked a few berries. Might as well gather food and herbs while she waited. She kept her eyes open and glanced back a few times to make sure Mahliki was still working. More than once, she caught Basilard gazing in her direction. Despite the scars, he had a pleasant face and didn’t seem the judgmental sort, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him paying that much attention to her. Those who talked little tended to observe much. She didn’t want to be observed.
    “Ready,” Mahliki called.
    Ashara took her gathered leaves and berries and headed back to the highway. Before she reached it, an uneasy feeling came over her, one of being watched. This time, it wasn’t Basilard. He, Mahliki, and the others were all ahead of her. The feeling of someone watching came from behind. She gazed back into the trees, searching for movement or something out of the ordinary, but did not see anything. She almost reached out to touch a tree again, wanting to use the eyes of the forest instead of relying on her own, but the group was waiting on her. Basilard and Maldynado were both looking in her direction. She doubted the Turgonians would recognize magic, as they would call it, being used, but she couldn’t make assumptions about Basilard. Mangdorians had priests and shamans, not unlike the Kendorians had.
    “Not enough leaves in your hair?” Maldynado asked.
    “What?” Ashara started to lift a hand to her head, but she was using both of them to cup her berries and herbs—that would teach her to leave the lorry without her gathering pouch. Besides, she didn’t care