Mireille, standing beside Lira, looked pale. Her hands clutched the straps of her pack tightly, and her eyes darted between the Empress and Lucas. "My Lady," she said hesitantly, "how long will it take to reach the upper ridge?"
The old guide answered before the Empress could. "If the weather favors us, six days. If not…" His voice trailed off as he glanced toward the dark ridge hidden behind mist. "We'll see how long the mountain allows us."
Lucas stepped forward slightly, his boots sinking deep into the snow. "Then we move fast," he said. "The longer we linger, the more dangerous it becomes."
The Empress turned her head slightly in his direction. "Impatience is not bravery, Xavier," she said, her tone edged but calm. "Do not mistake one for the other."
Lucas held her gaze through the haze of snow. "And hesitation is not wisdom either," he replied quietly.