He let go of Ylana; surged to his feet.
The girl rose, slim and straight beside him. "Yes, Jarl—?"
Jarl laughed, deep in his throat. Suddenly hunger and fatigue and pain were nothing. He saw only his dreams, his goal. "I'll get to Legat, Ylana! By all the gods of the void, I swear it!"
Her words came, swift and eager: "And I'll go with you—"
"No, Ylana—"
"Yes!" Fists clenched, face tight with strain again, she stepped back from him. "I've earned the right, Jarl! You can't leave me!"
For a long, long moment, he looked deep into her eyes. There were so many things to see there—courage, and anguish; fierce loyalty, determination, pain.
She hurled words at him—commanding and entreating: "You'll need me, Jarl! You can't find Legat's ship without me. It's close—it and the Knife. We can reach them by the time it dawns, if we go together—"
Still Jarl stared into her eyes, unspeaking.
She broke off. Her hand came up, swept back the rippling golden hair. Her throat was a smooth-carved ivory column, her face a lovely mirror of the things that shone deep in her eyes.