They’ve trapped me, but this Lilith trapped them. And now apparently his entire kingdom is suffering while he sits in this castle, just letting it happen.
I tear another hunk of bread from the loaf.
This time, I hesitate with it halfway to my mouth.
Freya and her children stood shivering in the snow, thin as rails. Evalyn and Coale and young Bastian clearly struggled to make do with what they had, despite the fact that it’s the middle of winter.
I look around this kitchen with new eyes. At the shelves overflowing with food that no one is eating.
Then I shove the bowl away and go back to my room to fetch a satchel.
This time, it’s easy to find the trail through the woods.
I considered taking a different horse, but Will pricked his ears at me and looked eager to go out again. The saddlebags are double loaded with bread, meats, and pastries on one side, and tightly wrapped bundles of vegetables and hard cheeses on the other. I’m wearing a cloak and two sweaters, and I found gloves and a quarter sheet for the buckskin in the stable.
No one stops me.
Then again, I don’t ask for permission.
When warm sunshine gives way to snow-coated trees, I brace myself for frigid air, but this afternoon’s winter weather seems more temperate. Wind does not weave through the trees, and instead the sun beats down, causing a constant drip-drip-drip around us.
Just when I begin to worry I might be heading off course, I come upon the remains of Freya’s home. The building is burned to the ground, leaving a blackened stone chimney to stand sentry over a pile of charred lumber and ash. The bodies are gone; buried in the snow or burned in the fire. I’m not checking.
A hill looms ahead, and I remember that from there, it’s a straight shot to the inn. I’ll be able to see the entire road. I spur Will into a gallop and we sprint up the hill.
A horse-drawn wagon is coming up the other side.
“Whoa!” yells a man. “Whoa!” Two cream-colored draft horses shy and prance sideways. Slush and mud spray everywhere.
I wrench the reins to the side, trying to avoid a direct collision. The buckskin slips in the slush and nearly dumps me. The wagon gives a creak and a groan and nearly topples, but the man cracks a whip and the horses quickly yank it straight.
It doesn’t help his cargo. Several crates spill out of the back, falling into the wet snow with a splat.
Will champs at the bit and tosses his head, but I keep a tight hold on the reins. “I’m sorry,” I call. “I didn’t see you.”
“You’re sorry?” the man growls. He loops the reins around a hook and jumps down from the wagon, his boots splashing in the mud. The hood of his cloak falls back, revealing him to be middle-aged with olive skin and dark hair. Shadows cling to his eyes and pool in his cheeks.
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I grip the hilt of my dagger under my cloak in case this goes south, but he doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he storms around to the back of the wagon to stare at the fallen crates.
He swears under his breath, then reaches out to grab one.
It must be weighted poorly, because when he tries to drag it into the back of the wagon, he can’t get it over the rail. The crate clumsily slips out of his hand and crashes into the slush again. He swears again and this time it’s not under his breath.
As soon as I start to wonder why he’s not using both hands, his cloak spills back and I realize he’s missing his left arm.
I slide off Will’s back and go to the man’s side. “Here. I’ll help you.”
He ignores me and struggles to maneuver it over the railing. Again, it crashes into the mud. The wood cracks and breaks open at the corner.
“Silver hell,” he snaps.
I can appreciate that he wants to do it himself, but I’m kind of done with prideful men. I throw the cloak back over my shoulders and move forward to pick up the other one.
It’s heavier than I’m ready for. I can’t believe he’s getting these off the ground one-handed. I stumble in the mud and almost drop it myself.
But the man catches the other side, and together, we heave it over the side of the wagon, then go back for the others.
When we’re done, mud clings to our boots, and we’re both winded. I fight to straighten the cloak.
The man swipes a forearm across his brow. “I suppose you think I owe you thanks, girl. You’re not getting it. I’ll lose a few coins for the damage—” He stops short as his eyes fall on the royal lion-and-rose insignia that’s settling into place over my chest. He blinks and takes a step back. The irritation falls out of his voice, replaced with a bit of wonder. “You are—I did not—”
“I really am sorry,” I say. “I don’t expect thanks. But if you wouldn’t mind me using the back of your wagon to get on my horse—”
“Of course.” He scrambles ahead of me to catch Will’s bridle. “Allow me, my lady.”
I grab hold of the wagon and pull myself onto the ledge. It’s not as precarious as clinging to the trellis, but it’s still a feat of strength and balance, and I always doubt my body. It takes my contracted muscles a moment to ease back into the saddle, but if he notices, the man says nothing.
Rhen was so confident as he flipped a silver coin to the innkeeper’s son, and I wish I could do the same thing now. I have no coins to offer.
But then I remember the saddlebags. “Are you hungry?” I say. “I have plenty of food.”
He frowns and shakes his head quickly. “I cannot take food from a lady traveling alone.”
“I’m not traveling far.” I unbuckle a saddlebag and pull out some meat pies wrapped in a stretch of cheesecloth. They’re still warm. “Here.”
He looks dumbfounded, but he takes them, pulling them close to his body. “Thank you.”
I pick up the reins. “You’re welcome.”
He takes a step closer. “Forgive me.” He hesitates. “I should apologize. I did not expect a lady of the court to be traveling without protection.”
“I don’t need protection,” I say.
A man’s voice calls from behind me. “Are you certain, my lady?”
I whirl in the saddle—but I recognize his voice now. Rhen. And Grey. Their expressions give away nothing. No anger. No humor.
“Did you think we would not come after you?” Rhen says.
I force my expression to stay equally neutral. “You said I wasn’t your prisoner.”
The man with the wagon looks utterly astonished. He glances between me and the men. “Your Highness,” he says, his voice reverential. He drops to a knee right there in the slush.
“Rise,” says Rhen. His voice is low and controlled, which I’m beginning to learn is a better clue to his mood. He’s more heavily armed than last night. A sword hangs at his hip, and a full quiver of arrows is strapped to the saddle near his knee. Under the cloak, his entire chest is covered in leather, with buckles at his waist, the lion-and-rose insignia embossed in gold over his heart.
He was handsome yesterday, but that was nothing on this. All he’s missing is a crown.
Then again, that might make me forget that he’s got an ulterior motive in coming after me. I hate that my heart flutters, just a little, sending warmth to my cheeks. “Do you have another one of those coins?” I say. “One of this man’s crates broke when I ran into him.”
Rhen’s eyebrows go up, but he sighs and nudges his horse forward.
The man shoves himself to his feet and shakes his head fiercely. “No—no, my lady.” He holds up the wrapped meat pies. “The food is more than enough.”
Rhen pulls coins from a pouch on his belt anyway and extends his hand. His forearms are covered by metal-and-leather cuffs, laced all the way to his elbow. “Will two silvers cover the damage?”
The man swallows. He looks at the coins held between Rhen’s fingers, but does not reach for them. “You have my thanks, but there was little damage.”
“For your trouble, then,” says Rhen.
“With all due
respect … I cannot accept that.” He glances between Rhen and Grey again, then to me. He looks like he wants to pinch himself. “I take half a year’s time to earn that amount, Your Highness.” He pauses. “I would be thought a liar or a thief.”
“Why?” I say.
The guy looks like he wishes he could just climb back on his wagon and ride off. “No one has seen the royal family in years.” He looks away and there’s shame in his expression. “I can barely find work as a porter. No one would believe I came by such coins honestly.”
Grey rides forward and pulls a small bag from a pouch at his waist. “Here. Twenty-five coppers. Can you spend that?”
The man blinks. “Yes—but—”
Grey tosses him the bag.
The man’s hand is occupied with the food, and I’m worried the coins are going to sail right into the mud, but he’s more agile than I expect. He snatches the pouch out of the air with the same hand that’s holding the food.
He offers a clumsy bow. “You have my thanks. Your Highness. My lady.” Then he backs away to climb into his wagon.
He’s barely seated before he’s clucking to his horses, driving them down the hill.
I wish I could follow right behind him. The weight of Rhen’s gaze is almost painful. His expression is full of disapproval and his tone matches. “The longer I know you, the less I see your acts as those of bravery. Did you forget the attack from last night?”
“Did you forget your people are suffering?”
His jaw tightens. “You speak of things you do not know.”
“I think I’ve seen enough.”
His expression darkens like thunderclouds rolling over a summer sky. He says nothing.
Grey speaks into the silence. “You mentioned that you are not a prisoner. Does that mean this is not an attempt to escape?”
“Of course not.” I pat a saddlebag. “I’m bringing food to Freya and her kids.”
“You’re bringing food,” Rhen echoes. “To the inn.”
“It seemed like they were already short and we dumped five more people on them.”
He looks incredulous. “But why would you not ask?”
I draw back and stare at him. “Ask? Are you kidding me? When you’ve got a kitchen full of food that’s going to be replaced every day—”
“You misunderstand.” He puts a hand up. “Why would you not ask for assistance?”
Oh.
“I didn’t think you’d do it,” I say quietly.
He stares back at me. I wonder if he’s going to ask why.
Looking at his expression, at the trace of resignation that flickers in his eyes, I don’t think he needs to.
“Very well,” he says finally. He turns his horse away.
“You’re letting me go?” I might fall off this horse in shock.
“I’m escorting you to the inn,” he says, as if I was too stupid to figure it out. “Unless you have changed your mind?”
I sigh and turn my horse to follow.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
RHEN
I’m used to loneliness. Despair. Sorrow. Disappointment.
I’m not used to fear, at least not this kind. I have never met someone so reckless.
She is not the first girl to run, or to fear me, or to question my motives. She is the first girl to force me into situations requiring armor and weaponry.
We walk in silence, Grey riding behind, waiting at the crest of the hill as we descend into the valley. Her words keep piercing me. Did you forget your people are suffering?
“I did not forget,” I say to her.
It’s been a while since we’ve spoken, but she needs no clarification. “Well, you don’t do much to fix the situation.”
“One day in Emberfall, and you know so much about my failures. I suppose you believe you are doing a good thing, visiting a mercy on suffering people?”
Her eyes are icy, but I can tell that she does think this.
I shake my head. “Even if we empty the castle of food at every meal, every single day, it would not feed all of my subjects.”
Her voice is quiet. “It would feed some of them, Rhen.”
“Yes, but not all.” I look over at her. “How would you choose?”
Frustration is painted all over her face. “Why would I have to choose?”
“Why would you not? The people of Emberfall fear Ironrose. They believe a monstrous creature sleeps on the ramparts, waiting for an opportunity to destroy them if they approach. My people will not willingly come to me. And even if I were to hire a wagon to take everything I have, how would you determine the most needful?”
“I—”
“And before you answer that,” I press on, “what would you say to those for whom you could not provide? Imagine we arrive at the inn, and there are half a dozen more guests. What you’ve packed into your saddlebags will not feed them all. What will you say then?”
“I’ll go back and get more.”
Silver hell, she is so stubborn. “Say you were to visit every day with a bounty of food. Word would spread. People would line up. There would be small skirmishes among the people, gradually riots would form—”
“I think you’ve made your point.”
“Fighting would ensue, and with no enforcers to quell the violence—”
“Okay, I get it!” Her cheeks are red, her breathing quick. “I don’t care. I’m still bringing them something. It’s better than nothing.”
“Is it?” I say. “Are you certain, my lady?” I reach out to grab her reins and pull both our horses to a halt.
She whips her head around to glare at me, tussling for control of the reins. Her eyes are hot with anger. “Let me go.”
I keep my voice even. “You know I do not mind honesty and civil discourse. I would hope I have made that clear. But I will not tolerate bald-faced disrespect.”
“But it’s acceptable to disrespect me?”
Her horse—my horse, in truth, though she seems to have no hesitation in claiming him for her own—tosses his head and stomps in the slush, but I keep a tight hold on the reins. Her skill at firing me up and beating me down is truly admirable.
“I have asked you to examine the ramifications of your actions,” I say tightly. “If you see that as disrespect, you are mistaken.”
“Fine.” She looks away.
I draw a short breath. “There are reasons I have confined myself to the castle for so long. If you force me to interact with my people, you must be aware of what that means for—”
“No one is forcing you to do anything. Now let me go.”
I take a moment to gather my mettle, then cast my gaze to the sky. Of course my final chance would be a girl determined to undermine me and create new obstacles at every turn. Every step forward seems destined to end in two steps back.
“Now, Rhen. I’m not one of your subjects. You’re not my prince.”
My voice is very low. “I may not be your prince, but you are in my kingdom. Not your own.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“You have no comprehension of the tenuous control I have here. You have no consideration for what I have done to provide for the safety of my kingdom.” My jaw is tight, lending ice to coat my words. There was a time when this tone in my voice meant people would scurry. The same tone in my father’s voice meant people would die. Yet she stares at me defiantly, and it takes every ounce of self-control for me to keep my voice level. “You speak to me with contempt and disregard, as though I do not feel the weight of what my people endure. You speak as though you rule over me. I will remind you of our roles here.”
“What, kidnapper and kidnappee?”
I raise my eyebrows. “You wish those to be our roles? Fine.” I turn my head. “Commander!”
“What are you doing? Rhen, let me go.” She tries to pry my hand off the reins. She must be digging her heels in, because Ironwill dances at the end of the reins and fights my grip. “Let me go—”
“My lord.” Grey’s horse
skids to a stop beside Harper, spraying slush and blowing steam in the air.
“Return Lady Harper to the castle. Bind her if necessary. Lock her in—”
“No!” She pulls the dagger. Aims for my wrist.
Grey’s sword appears at the bend of her elbow. He’s got hold of her cloak, pulling her back and away from me.
She’s frozen, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear and fury.
I should feel remorse, but instead I feel satisfaction. Finally something gets through to her. “He’ll take your arm off if I order it.” I glance at the dagger in her hand. “I drew no weapon on you, my lady.”
“The reins.” Her voice grows tight, almost choked, and I wonder what kind of pressure Grey is putting on her neck. “I was going to cut the reins.”
“Ah.” I glance at him. “Release her.”
Grey obeys. She slides the dagger back into its sheath, then gives the cloak a jerk to right it. Her breath still shakes and tears glitter on her eyelashes.
Now I feel remorse.
She doesn’t look at me. “I just want to go to the inn.” Her cheeks are pink. She swallows and her voice is quiet. “I don’t—I don’t want to play games. I just wanted to help them.” With that, she glances up and a spark of her usual fire reenters her tone. “Do you understand that?”
Her words lodge in my thoughts, tangling with Grey’s near-admonition over the card game. I do nothing without careful thought regarding the impact. He was right: I do plan my moves out far in advance.
Maybe she’s right, too.
I look at Grey. “Escort her to the inn. I will follow in a moment.”
Grey’s eyebrows go up. “My lord—”
“Go. Make sure she does not go astray again.”
Harper jerks the reins out of my hand. Without a word, she gives the buckskin a solid kick, then canters down the hill. Grey follows without hesitation.
A Curse So Dark and Lonely Page 11