“Innocent?” he asks, keeping an enormous raptor at bay with the tip of his sword.
“They’re only animals, loyal to the one who’s fed and magicked them. They don’t know any better.” I snatch the torch from his hand and hurl it into the pool, plunging the woods back into darkness.
“What did you do that for!”
“It will make it harder for them to follow us.”
“It’ll also make it harder to find our way back to the camp!” Niklaas growls, sounding like the kinsman of the birds grumbling all around us.
“I can use my staff to keep to the path.” I reach for him in the dark, finding his chest with my fingers and following his arm down to grasp his hand. His palm swallows mine, making me feel absurdly small, a fact I immediately resent.
“Come on. Let me lead you.” I give his arm a tug. Thankfully, after a moment of resistance, he allows me to guide him away from the spring.
I tap the stones in front of us, using my staff to find the easiest route to the large boulder where Niklaas and I drop hands to climb over before linking up again on the other side. Behind us, much croaking and hissing and flapping of wings ensues, but none of the birds seem inclined to follow us just yet. Vultures don’t care for flying at night. Hopefully that will buy Niklaas and me some time.
“What the devil happened back there?” Niklaas asks as I find the path and aim us back toward the petrified forest. “Did they all come down from the trees at once, or—”
“I don’t know. I think I … fell asleep,” I mumble.
“You think you—”
“I fell asleep!” I snap, cheeks burning. “And when I woke up there they were.”
“You could have drowned,” Niklaas says in his big brother tone, the one that reminds me of Janin when she chides me for forgetting that even a fairy-gifted human body has its limitations.
“I know,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
“You could have been killed. Killed by your own bath before you—”
“I know! It was foolish. It won’t happen again.” I debate dropping his meaty paw and letting him find his own way back in the dark.
“It will be a miracle if I manage to keep you alive. Flaming ridiculous,” Niklaas scolds, but the way he squeezes my hand makes it clear his temper is coming from a place of concern, and I feel bad for snapping.
“Thank you for coming to help me,” I say softly.
Niklaas acknowledges my gratitude with a grunt. “I can’t see a damned thing! Are we even walking in the right direction?”
“We are. We’ll be back to the horses in a few minutes.” I pick up my pace, relying on memory and the shadowy outlines of obstacles along the path as much as my staff. I have a good eye for ground and rarely forget a trail once I’ve traveled it. “There should be enough moonlight in the clearing to saddle Alama and gather our things.”
“We can’t ride now. The path to the grasslands is too steep to travel at night.”
“We have no choice,” I say. “An ogre battalion could be on their way. Ekeeta can communicate what her creatures see to her Captains of the Guard.”
“More magic?”
“No, it—” I break off when my staff finds an obstacle in the trail. “We’ve reached the fallen log. About three hands in front of you.” I climb over and wait for Niklaas to do the same before hurrying on. “It’s not magic. Ogres of the same clan have a telepathic connection. That’s why Ekeeta chooses her captains from her closest family members.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“That’s how she organized the takeover of Mercar,” I say, my palm beginning to sweat. Niklaas’s hand isn’t only large, it’s as warm as a fresh coal. “Her family’s telepathic connection let her know the moment her kinsman killed my father on the west road, and her cousin waiting off the coast know exactly when the king’s guard entered the chapel to pray for their prince. The ogre fleet attacked during the vigil. The only guards on duty were the ones Ekeeta had bribed into her service. The city fell within hours.”
“So you don’t believe your father was killed by bandits, then?”
“Does anyone?”
“No. Not even my father, though he’d never admit it.” Niklaas drops my hand as we reach the clearing, where a small campfire burns and the moonlight has turned Alama’s white mane to shining silver. “Put out the fire and conceal it as best you can. I’ll saddle Alama.”
I do as he says, hesitating only a moment to let the fire warm my fingers before scattering the burning sticks and stamping them out. I shiver as the wind rushes through my clothes, raising gooseflesh on the damp skin beneath.
It seems I’ll be starting a ride in wet britches again, but at least they aren’t as wet as they were this morning, and Button and I have had a couple of hours’ rest. I just hope a few hours will be enough to keep the horses going. The farther we get from our current location, the better.
“Can you find the trail we were on earlier alone?” Niklaas asks when I join him by the horses.
“I can,” I say, wondering if, now that the danger is real, Niklaas has changed his mind about staying with me.
Something inside me cringes with disappointment, but I should have known better than to place my trust in an arrogant prince I’ve known less than a day.
“Good.” Niklaas presses Button’s bridle into my hands. “We should split up. Give the ogres two trails, and divide their forces. You take the road, and I’ll take the steep path to the grasslands. I’ve ridden it before, and Alama knows the way. It would be more dangerous for you and Button.”
I nod, ashamed for my thoughts a moment before. “Which way should I go?”
“Ride hard back the way we came. When you reach the stream where we watered the horses, give Button a drink and let her walk through the water for half a field or so. If they have dogs, that should throw them off your trail. Then start through the forest toward the low road,” he says, lacing his hands together and forming a step I use to climb onto Button’s back.
“There’s a trail near there,” he continues, “but if you can’t find it, Button should be able to pick the easiest way through the wood. When you reach the main road, head east until you reach an abandoned gristmill. About a field past, there’s a grove of scorched birches that burned in a fire. Hide there and wait for me until first light.”
He swings onto Alama’s back and reaches into his saddlebag, pulling out something I can’t see clearly in the moonlight. “If I don’t join you by then, keep going on the low road. Choose the southerly branch for the first two forks before you turn north.” He reaches out, dropping a bag full of coins into my palm. “Take my purse and—”
“No, I’ll wait in the grove until you arrive.” I shove the purse back into his hands. “It’s smart to give them two trails, but we’ll want to join up again as soon as possible. We’ll both be safer.”
“I agree,” Niklaas says. “But I’m not sure if I’ll make it to the bottom in time to lead the ogres north without being caught. Alama isn’t rested, and those torches are moving fast.”
“Torches?”
“Down in the valley, coming from the north.” Niklaas pulls Alama a few steps to the right, giving me my first clear glimpse of the world below the clearing. There, still far enough away for their torches to resemble matchsticks decorating a harvest cake, a group of riders at least forty strong makes quick progress across the valley.
Ogres. Coming for us on their range horses, the ones they’ve bred tall and fierce and perfectly suited for their abnormally long riders.
The hairs at the back of my neck stand on end and my hands squeeze the reins hard enough to make my knuckles crack. They’re coming. The monsters who’ve taken everything from my family, whom I’ve feared my entire life, are close enough to hear the hoofbeats of their horses echoing through the valley.
“I’ll try to lead them away and then double back and meet you in the grove,” Niklaas says. “But if I’m captured, I—”
“You won’t be captured, you’ll be killed,” I say. “I’ll take the steep trail.”
“No,” Niklaas says, his tone as stubborn as my own.
“Yes,” I insist. “I’m lighter and riding a bigger horse. Button and I will make it down to the grasslands faster and—”
“And be in greater danger, no matter how fast you ride.” He captures Button’s bridle in his fist and holds tight. “You’re the one we have to protect. I don’t matter.”
“You do matter,” I say, horrified by the thought of him risking himself for me, though I know he’s right.
I can’t be captured. If I don’t retain my freedom and find some way to liberate my brother, it could mean the end of everyone, including Niklaas. But that doesn’t mean he should take this risk. Using him to get what I want is one thing; letting him sacrifice his life for mine is quite another.
“Come with me. Please,” I beg. “We can find somewhere farther down the road to split up. Someplace safer.”
“No. Two riders are easier to track than one, and it’s—”
“Please.” I wrap my fingers around his arm, knowing the muscles there won’t do a thing to protect him from ogre arrows, arrows poisoned with the monsters’ own tainted blood. “I don’t want you to die for me.”
He sighs, but even in the dim light I can see the softening in his expression. “All right,” he says. “We’ll stay together as far as the low road.”
“Thank you.” I release his arm after a grateful squeeze.
“You obviously need a keeper,” he says. “It’s probably best if we stay together.”
I bite my tongue, knowing better than to argue with someone who’s given me my way.
“Come on,” he says, nudging Alama forward. “If we’re lucky, the ogres will take the steep trail instead of coming up through the woods and we’ll have a nice head start.”
Niklaas clucks his tongue and Alama takes off toward the ridge road at a trot, with Button close behind. I give Button his head—knowing he can see much better than I can—and concentrate on staying low over his back, avoiding being swatted by the branches that smother this portion of the trail.
I stroke his neck and tell him how grateful I am that he’s ready to ride again after such a long day. He whinnies his appreciation and, by the time we reach the ridge, seems ready for more adventure, breaking into a canter to catch up with Alama.
He’s a wonderful horse, much more amiable than Spirit, my horse back home. But Spirit is the offspring of a mainland horse and a wild island pony and has the feral, stormy blood of everything on the island of Malai, the Fey paradise hidden in the shadow of larger volcanic islands off the southern coast of Norvere. Everything on Malai—from the animals to the ancient fairy plants to the Fey who call the island home—is wild.
I know that’s why I’ve grown up as untamed as I have. Back home, I’d think nothing of falling asleep near a jungle waterfall and waking up when it suited me—fairy wards protect the island from observation by the ogre queen, and there are no enemies or predators to worry about aside from a few scuttlebugs as big as my hand—but I’m not back home. I have to make smarter choices, and allowances for things like exhaustion. I’ll be no good to Jor if I run myself into the ground. There is still time before autumn creeps in. At least three weeks, maybe more, and it’s better to use the time I have wisely than to rush and make foolish mistakes.
“We’ll both have a long rest as soon as we’re safe,” I whisper to Button, who pricks his ears back at me but doesn’t slow down.
We ride for another half hour through the silver night, the cool light of the moon transforming the road into a more magical place than it was during the day. With the constellations spinning dreamily overhead and dew-kissed spiderwebs glistening amidst the leaves, it’s almost impossible to believe that a battalion of ogres is pursuing us.
It seems even more unlikely that we’ll meet anyone on the road, but not forty minutes into our ride I hear hoofbeats from down the ridge.
“Niklaas, wait!” I call out.
Niklaas pulls Alama to a stop, and I rein Button in beside her, pulling my staff from its sling. “Do you hear that?”
He nods but doesn’t speak, his entire body tensed with listening.
“More ogres?” I ask, too anxious to keep still.
Niklaas waits another moment before shaking his head. “Not enough riders to be ogres; moving too fast to be innocent travelers.”
“Boughtswords.” I curse beneath my breath.
“That would be my guess.” He turns Alama toward the woods to the left of the road. “Follow me and keep moving. If they get too close, I’ll send you ahead. If we’re separated, go to the grove.”
I follow him into the forest. There is no trail to follow, only a steep decline and loose dirt where the plants of the forest floor have begun to lose the battle against the eroding hillside. Button hesitates, but I urge him on with a squeeze of my thighs, praying to all the gods my mother warned me not to believe in that our luck improves. If one of the horses falter or we meet more enemies on the low road, we’ll be killed or captured for certain and I will never be able to thank Niklaas for his help.
Or to insist he find another princess to dream about. I may admire his spirit—when he isn’t driving me mad with frustration—but I will never be his girl.
I will never be anyone’s girl but my own.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NIKLAAS
The darkness beneath the trees is alive with dangers—low limbs, hidden rocks, horse-crippling holes in the ground—and those are only the things I’m certain are there. There could be other perils as well, unseen enemies lurking in the night. I’m not sure how many breeds of carrion-eating creatures there are, but even three or four is too many.
The forest could literally be crawling with Ekeeta’s spies.
I can’t get the damned buzzards out of my mind, the way they crowded around Ror like Reformers at a witch hunt, ready to tear the thing they fear to shreds. It was unnatural. And those cursed things could be following us, flying overhead, keeping Ror in their mistress’s sight, leading the ogres straight to our location.
We have to reach the low road. We have to make it to the next fork beyond the mill before riders—ogre or mercenary—block our way.
“Faster,” I hiss, knowing Ror will hear me. He heard the riders approaching from down the ridge road before I did, he must hear that we’ve acquired a tail.
It’s only a horse or two, but a horse or two with a skilled archer in the saddle is all that’s required to put an end to us both. And only a horse or two behind could mean the rest of the Boughtswords are taking an easier path, aiming to be ready if the archers fail and we’re spit out onto the road.
At least he isn’t alone. I urge Alama to pick up her pace, though the tension in her neck leaves no doubt she thinks we’re going plenty fast already. The only luck we’ve had is that we stayed together. At least if we have to fight, it will be two against ten or twenty.
Or forty or fifty, if the ogres take the low road, instead of the more direct route to the petrified forest.
“Come on, girl, come on,” I murmur. Alama hits even ground and pours on a burst of speed, flowing like water over the obstacles in our path—leaping a fallen tree, crashing into a stream on the other side, and pushing on without a moment’s hesitation, her sides heaving beneath my calves.
I stay low and hold on tight, grateful for my saddle, fearing any second I’ll hear Ror lose his seat behind me. It’s too dark for a ride like this one. I can’t see what’s coming in order to prepare for it. Only the barest moonlight penetrates the foliage, and the ground is shrouded in darkness. Alama’s abrupt shifts in direction come out of nowhere. I have only a split second between feeling her muscles tense and the instant she springs into the air to prepare myself for her jumps.
By the time we reach the base of the ridge, I’ve nearly fallen more than once, but when we hit even ground, I no longer hear riders behind us. On the
flats, Alama opens up, charging toward the low road as if she understands how much every moment matters. It’s only then—with my horse devouring ground like a racing dog drugged on Elsbeth’s Rose—that I relax for the whisper of a second.
A whisper is all it takes.
Alama darts to the left and I fly to the right. She shrieks as I leave the saddle; I hit the ground before I can make a sound, shoulder slamming into the dirt before I go rolling across sticks and stones. Something jagged rips through my shirt and blood runs from torn flesh near my hip, but I know instantly that the wound isn’t bad. I’ll survive, so long as I’m not run over before I get back on my feet.
Ror is close behind. If his horse doesn’t see me, I could take a hoof to the head and die before I set eyes on Aurora, three weeks before my birthday, the gods’ punishment for attempting to change my fate.
With a groan muffled by my startled ribs, I draw my knees to my chest, rolling over until my forehead is pressed into the dirt. I do my best to walk my feet beneath me, but I’m not even halfway there when hoofbeats rattle the ground. I try to call out, but my cry emerges as a croak I know Ror can’t have heard.
I’m squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my jaw, bracing for impact and praying the beast will stomp me someplace survivable, when Button slows and the horse lets out a deeper version of Alama’s startled whinny.
A moment later Ror is beside me. “Niklaas!” He grabs me beneath the armpits and heaves me upright, summoning another gravelly cry from my throat as my spine protests the sudden movement. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“F-fine.” The word becomes a cough as my chest releases the breath it was holding captive.
“I thought you’d been shot. I thought—”
“Get Alama,” I say, struggling to stand. “Before she runs off.”
“She’s stopped up ahead.” Ror shoves his shoulder under my arm, helping me stagger to my feet before reaching back to grab Button’s reins. “She’s too sweet on you to run off.”
I look up, searching the dark wood ahead. I hear Alama’s swift breath but can’t make out so much as her shadow. “You can see her?”