“Fascinating,” said Athos, looking around at the bleak grey landscape that was the wind-lashed island of Finisterra. “I did not realise there was actually a more depressing corner of this planet than the county of La Fere. But here we are. And look, there’s snow.”
Dana was pretty sure it wasn’t the snow that had him looking so wary and tense, but she knew better than to say so out loud. Athos had been quiet and remarkably sober for most of their journey, which was not as comforting as it should have been.
“This is just a mopping up job,” said Porthos. “What are you so afraid of?”
Athos gave her a chilly expression. “Everything,” he said succinctly.