Forest of Firelight

by Shari L. Tapscott

  I shift until I’m sitting next to her on the straw, shoulder-to-shoulder. “I’m not a good person. I’ve done things…things I’m ashamed of. And when I’m with you, I feel the weight of those trespasses. They suffocate me.”

  She turns her head, studying me.

  “I don’t deserve to be here with you, but I can’t seem to help myself. Eventually, you’re going to learn what kind of person I am, and I fear that day more than any other.”

  “There are two types of men,” Amalia says softly. “The man who has done wrong but feels no remorse, and the one who has done wrong but feels the crushing weight of it and longs for forgiveness. Tell me, Rhys, which man do I fear?”

  I meet her eyes, understanding what she’s saying—but she doesn’t know what I’ve done.

  “Don’t put your hope in me, princess. I will disappoint you.”

  “You are human—I expect no less. But promise me something now.”

  I turn until I’m facing her. “If it’s in my power.”

  “Go on your errand—leave if you must and for reasons you won’t tell me.” She leans forward. “But return to me.”

  I close my eyes, an arrow piercing my heart. Of all the dangers Amalia has stumbled upon, I am by far the worst. And I am the only one I cannot protect her from.

  “I promise.”

  26

  I could have reached Shale by now, but the small village at the pass was never my destination. I find my men camped on a ridge about an hour from the road, just as we planned. Two cairns have been built ahead of me—five flat stones stacked atop each other, standing side-by-side. Our sign.

  Two archers stand on guard to greet me, waiting for me to fully come into view. A warning arrow flies, piercing the dirt near my path. My borrowed horse prances nervously.

  “That’s a warm welcome,” I call to them, pushing back my hood.

  “Rhys!” Tryndon hollers, appearing from behind a boulder like a marmot. “What are you doing here?”

  “Volunteering for target practice, apparently.”

  One by one, my men reveal themselves, moving forward to greet me.

  There are seven of us total, including myself: Tryndon, Cabe, Lewis, Aeron, Morgan, and Braith.

  Cabe and Braith—brothers—are my cousins, and the rest are close friends. I trust these men with my life.

  “Couldn’t stay away, could you, Captain?” Tryndon says.

  Braith, a man roughly the size of a bear and equally as hairy, snorts. “Is that what we’re to call you now?”

  I shake my head, rolling my eyes. The men lead me into their camp. Most of the snow has melted, leaving a muddy mess, but some still lingers under the trees. The gray sky promises we may see more before morning.

  A fire burns in a ring of rocks. Several logs have been stripped of their limbs and placed haphazardly around the pit. Something bubbles in a pot. It’s either a questionable variety of soup or laundry—it’s impossible to discern by scent.

  I hand my horse to Cabe. He’s the youngest of the bunch at sixteen. I adamantly refused to bring him, but he followed us across the Chasm like a puppy.

  “What did you do with Amalia?” Tryndon asks.

  I step up to the fire, warming my hands. “She’s still in Bayshore.”

  My brother settles against a nearby boulder, crossing his arms. “She let you leave?”

  “I didn’t give her a choice.”

  Several of the men laugh and jeer, but I ignore them.

  “We hear things are ahead of schedule,” says Lewis, getting to the point, ever the serious one of the bunch. “You’ve already managed to procure a spot by the princess’s side.”

  I nod, reluctant to speak of Amalia, though she’s my purpose for the visit—my purpose for being in this wretched kingdom at all.

  “In the morning, I’m going back to meet her,” I say. “The day after tomorrow, she, Gage, and I will travel the main road to Shale. There is no reason to stage the attack.”

  “Tryndon has already told us,” Braith says. “Why are you here? Did you miss us, captain?”

  I ignore the ribbing. “Rumor has it that bandits hide along the pass.”

  “Scared?” Aeron asks, sitting on a log and picking up a stick he was whittling.

  “I don’t want to meet any unnecessary trouble.”

  “There’s a group of thieves not far from here,” Lewis says. “They’ve been hassling travelers, but they seem mostly harmless. Most know they’re there, and they pay their toll without question.”

  “How large is their group?”

  Lewis thinks about it, stroking his blond beard. “Twenty men?”

  I swear under my breath. “If even one of them recognizes Amalia…”

  “We know where they usually gather. We could lay in wait, attack if they attempt to cause you any trouble,” Braith offers.

  “Twenty men,” I muse, wondering if we should ambush them tonight and be done with it. “That’s almost three-to-one odds, in their favor.”

  Morgan, who’s been silent up to this point, looks up from his task of sharpening his sword and grins. “Sounds like a good time.”

  I turn to Lewis. “You know where they’re camped? You could take me?”

  He nods. “You want to scout them out?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Any chance you’ll start a fight?” Morgan asks.

  “There’s always a chance.”

  He goes back to running the wet stone along his blade. “I’m game.”

  “How many do you count?” I whisper to Tryndon.

  We’re crouched on the cold ground, just above the bandits’ camp. A sharp rock jabs into my stomach, and my toes are frozen. Small snowflakes fall from dense clouds, but they melt as soon as they reach the ground.

  “Twenty-two.”

  “That’s what I got as well,” I tell him, frustrated. I’d wonder why the guards haven’t dealt with a group this large…but the two uniforms sharing ale with the bandits answers that question.

  The guards are in on it. Or at least, a few of them are.

  “What do you think?” Morgan jokes at a whisper. “Can we take them?”

  It’s only the four of us—Tryndon, Lewis, Morgan, and me. I chuckle under my breath, but my amusement up and dies as soon as I see another man exit one of the makeshift leather tents.

  Tryndon spots the pawnbroker at the same time, and he lets out a hiss.

  “Friend of yours?” Lewis asks.

  “Finally joining the party,” one of the men sneers at Rupert, holding up a jug, already plastered. “Thought you might be thinking you were too high and mighty now that you’ve been hanging around royalty and all.”

  “Shut up, Sid, you’re drunk,” Rupert says, kicking the man’s boot.

  “When’s the princess comin’ this way?” another man asks. “We’ve been waiting for days.”

  I curse again, and too loudly, making Lewis flinch.

  Rupert shakes his head and takes a seat next to the fire. “It will be soon.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” the second man continues. “If the prince is willing to pay us so handsomely to shake up his sister—”

  “The prince?” Tryndon whispers. “How is that possible when Braeton—”

  “Keir,” I say, my temperature rising so quickly, I no longer notice the cold.

  When Tryndon tries to speak again, I wave my hand to shush him, desperate to hear the rest of the conversation.

  “—If he’s willing to pay that much gold for us to give her a few scares, imagine how much the king would pay to get her back.”

  Rupert turns to the man at his side and barks out a laugh. “You want to kidnap the princess?”

  “Hey,” Lewis says, touching my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  My hand is wrapped around the hilt of my sword, and every muscle in my body is tensed and ready to fight.

  “We’re outnumbered, remember?” he says.

  I nod, forcing myself to pull my hand from my
weapon and listen. Apparently, Amalia’s younger brother hired the men to trail the princess and cause trouble. That’s why Rupert cornered her in Talton, and it’s also the reason the rope came free on the dinghy and she nearly went into the ocean.

  Now they’re waiting for her, ready to ambush when she passes. It’s much like my original plan, but their motivation is far different.

  My men were going to feign an attack so I could rush in and save the princess—it was supposed to be our first meeting. The plan was she and Gage would be so grateful, they’d welcome me by her side.

  Obviously, I’ve made a mess of that—or expedited the process. However you want to look at it.

  Why would Keir want to scare Amalia, though? Unless…he was hoping she’d run home with her tail between her legs.

  That’s it then, isn’t it?

  The young prince wants her crown.

  27

  “Are you all right?” Kent asks, looking up from my hand.

  We’re in the doctor’s room, this time alone. Technically, Gage is here, but he stepped into the hall for a moment to speak with the innkeeper, leaving the door open.

  “Rhys is supposed to be back soon,” I tell him. “I suppose I’m nervous he might have found trouble and will be delayed.”

  Kent smiles reassuringly. “He seems like the sort who can take care of himself.”

  “That’s true,” I murmur.

  After the doctor finishes examining my hand, he wraps it in a new cloth. “There you are. All finished.”

  I’m about to thank him when someone clears his throat from the open door. I turn, unable to hide my relief. “You’re back!”

  Rhys leans a shoulder against the doorframe and nods. From the small smile he wears, I wonder how long he’s been there.

  I turn back to Kent and hold up my bandaged hand. “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” he says, rising with me. “It seems to be healing well, but please, tell me if you need anything.”

  Rhys follows me down the hall. I would drag him into his room to ask how his ride went, but Gage is nearby, likely paying closer attention than I would like.

  “We’ll have to talk here,” I say quietly, keeping an eye out for Lestra. “How did it go? Did you encounter any bandits?”

  A strange look crosses his face, but he shakes his head. “I did not, but the word in Shale is that there’s a large group camped about an hour before the pass. Most people pay their toll and continue on without incident.”

  I frown. “Surely Saulette’s guards will put a stop to this.”

  “Most likely,” he hedges. “But I believe it would be wise to avoid the pass altogether. We can follow the coast, stay in the smaller villages. We’ll head north after we clear the mountains.”

  “The outfitter said the coast is not easy to travel. That could add a week to our trip, maybe two.”

  Rhys nods.

  “We can’t just pay their toll?”

  He glances down the hall and then looks back. Lowering his voice, he says, “I don’t think it’s wise when you are…who you are.”

  I sigh, leaning against the wall. “I’m so tired of these little villages—of staying at these inns. We have a house in Saulette, privacy. I fear the more I linger in the open like this, the chance of my being discovered only increases.”

  Rhys searches my eyes. “Please, Amalia. Heed my warning. I promise it’s not an idle one.”

  “All right,” I say on a sigh. “We’ll follow the coast—but I don’t have to like it.”

  He smiles. “Understood.”

  “Good news,” Gage says, walking into the stable.

  Our horses arrived, and we’re making plans to leave tomorrow.

  “What?” I ask him.

  “The bandits Rhys spoke of have been apprehended. Kent and Lestra’s men just arrived with their carriage, and they said all of Shale was abuzz with the news.”

  “How many men?” Rhys asks, stepping up next to me.

  Tryndon, too, is with us. Rhys said he met his brother in Shale, and they returned together.

  “They didn’t say, though it sounded like a large group, just as you said you’d heard about.”

  Rhys frowns. “There’s no way to know if it was the same group.”

  I glance between my cousin and Rhys. “What should we do?”

  “I think it would still be safer to travel along the coast,” Rhys says. Tryndon nods in agreement.

  Gage frowns. “I see no reason to extend this leg of our trip, and who knows what kind of establishments we’ll find in the small fishing villages—they might not even have an inn. Since the problem has been dealt with, I believe it’s best to take the main road through the mountains.”

  And now they’re both staring at me, waiting for me to decide—to choose a side.

  “Oh.” I take a step back, not liking the position they’ve put me in. I trust Rhys’s judgment, but if the bandits have been apprehended…

  “You figure it out between you,” I say, turning away.

  Rhys isn’t pleased, but I don’t think Gage can tell. You must watch the man very closely to see the shifts in his moods, and no one watches Rhys as closely as I.

  I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

  The mountain air is cold but refreshing, and the sunshine is welcome. The day is warmer than I expected. Water melts from the patches of snow that linger in the shadowed areas of the forest, creating tiny streams that connect and make rivulets in the road.

  I want to push my hood back, but Rhys forbids it…and I can at least listen to this one small thing he requests.

  Kent left with Ember yesterday, promising he’d watch over her until we arrive in Shale. I miss her happy presence. She would have loved the mountains.

  A few birds flit between the conifers, chirping merrily. I don’t recognize the mountain-dwellers. Their feathers are vibrant blue, brighter than the sky, and their chests are rosy. I commit them to memory, wondering if I can sketch them later. I’m not much of an artist, but it might be nice to have a picture to add to Braeton’s.

  We stop midday for a meal of dried meat and the flatbread they favored in the Bayshore, but we don’t loiter for long. Both Rhys and Tryndon are on edge. The brothers continuously scan the road and our surroundings.

  It’s making me nervous.

  “How far are we from Shale?” Rhys asks Tryndon, just loud enough I overhear.

  “About an hour.”

  “Keep your eyes open.”

  I clench the reins in my fist, nervous. Now they have me watching the rocks and trees beside the trail, waiting for someone to leap out at us.

  We ride for a bit longer, and then my horse comes to a stop, shaking her head as if she senses something. I’m just opening my mouth to ask if anyone sees anything when several men appear from their hiding places, swords in hand. One holds a bow, nocked and ready to shoot.

  Rhys is at my side in an instant. “Don’t let them see your face,” he breathes.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Gage says, holding his horse back. She too shifts nervously, picking up on the tense situation.

  “I’ve heard a rumor that you accept a toll,” Rhys says calmly, like he confronts highwaymen every day. “We will pay and be on our way.”

  “Not this time,” the man at the front, likely the leader of their group, says. “We want the girl.”

  Ice trickles down my spine, but I keep my head down, as instructed.

  “She’s not a bargaining chip,” Rhys says.

  “We could just shoot her if you’d prefer it,” the man says, and he nods toward the archer.

  The man immediately moves his aim to me.

  “You don’t want to do that.” Rhys’s voice is still calm, but there’s a hardness behind it.

  “I don’t?” the leader says with a laugh. “Why is that?”

  “Because I have archers trained on you and each of your men.”

  The man tips back his head and laughs. “That’s quite the bluff.�
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  “Shoot him,” Rhys says.

  Out of nowhere, an arrow slices through the sky, into the man’s chest. He stumbles to the ground, his eyes huge. I stifle a scream, terrified if I move, I’ll be next.

  “Lower the bow,” Rhys commands the archer.

  Instead, the archer moves his aim to Rhys. “I’ll shoot him,” he yells to the trees. “Show yourselves if you don’t want him to die.”

  Without warning, another arrow flies, taking out the archer. Before he falls, he releases his own arrow.

  “RHYS!” I yell as my guardian falls to the ground.

  And then it’s pandemonium. Gage and Tryndon leap from their horses, their swords already drawn. More men appear from the forest, weapons in hand.

  Rhys is already rising, ripping the arrow from his shoulder with a growl and drawing his own sword.

  Someone grabs me from behind, yanking me from my horse and dragging me toward the forest. I struggle against the bandit, hitting him and kicking. I’m not sure I’m accomplishing much, but I’m certainly making it difficult for him to drag me off.

  He changes his grip on me, foolishly putting my mouth next to his exposed neck. I bite him, and he howls, nearly dropping me.

  “Vicious she-cat,” he growls. “I’ll teach you some manners.”

  Yanking me back, he backhands me across the face. My vision temporarily blurs, but I keep fighting, terrified of what will happen if we slip into those trees.

  Just before we reach the forest’s edge, the man is yanked away. Rhys is behind me, pulling the bandit close as if giving him an embrace. At least, that’s the way it looks until I notice the point of Rhys’s sword protruding from the man’s back.

  Rhys then pushes the man away, tossing him to the ground.

  “Are you all right?” the huntsman asks, grasping me roughly by the shoulders, looking me over.

  “You’re bleeding,” I say dumbly, staring at his shoulder. The arrow pierced his thick leather doublet, and blood stains the jagged hole.

  Rhys glances down and grunts like an arrow wound is nothing but a bee sting. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”