by Dawn Cook
My eyes went to the water swirling about my shins, shamed for how I had treated her. Bringing my head up, I gave her a weak, comrade-in-arms smile. Her pinched face melted into relief as I nodded and sloshed to the rock beside her. Silently I sat down and arranged myself, finding the stone only marginally more bearable on my bare feet than the cold water. I looked at my toes, then shifted my dress to cover them, thinking they looked ugly.
“Do you want our name?” she stammered in a rush. “We can’t both be Contessa. And since no one but you has the right to call me by my first name, you may as well have it . . .”
I looked past her fear and worry to the simple woman beneath. The tips of her fair hair had slipped into the water to make her look guileless. She utterly lacked the polish and sophistication of the people I grew up with, her emotions—good and bad—shining like stars in winter. If I didn’t help her, she would be eaten alive. “You can be Contessa,” I said. “Unless I’m in trouble, everyone calls me Tess or—um—Princess.” My gaze dropped.
She shifted uncomfortably. “What were they like? Our parents?” she asked hesitantly.
Our parents? I mused. I really didn’t want to talk about it, but I knew I’d be asking the same thing. “Father was nice,” I said, my eyes on the opposite shore. “He was losing his hair, but it used to be black. Blacker than Kavenlow’s. He was loud in the morning, deliberately shouting for everything, waking me and anyone else sleeping beyond the sunrise.” I was surprised to find a faint smile coming over me. “Mother was very stern,” I continued. “But if she said no, I could usually get what I wanted from Father . . . eventually.”
It felt odd, referring to them like that: Mother, not my mother; Father, not the king. “She taught me how to sew,” I said, warming to the task. “She would never miss our appointments where we would talk as we sewed or collected flower seeds for next year.”
“Appointments?” The princess looked shocked. Perhaps even appalled.
I shifted my shoulders. “She was very busy. Both of them were. But I never felt as if I couldn’t interrupt them if it was important.”
Contessa grimaced as she realized the tips of her hair were wet. Taking them in hand, she tried to pinch the water out. “Appointments,” she said, her eyes on her pale fingers.
“Have you known Thadd long?” I asked, thinking it was my turn.
The anxious expression she wore eased, and it was with a flash of worry that I recognized the same look my father had for my mother. She loved him. It would make things difficult, but by no accounts insurmountable with discretion, something I imagined they both utterly lacked. “I grew up with him,” she said softly.
My eyes widened. “In the convent?”
The princess flashed me a smile to make her a vision of my mother. No, our mother. “His father sculpted the saints and angels,” she said. “When his father was on the grounds we played together.”
“I grew up with a girl named Heather.” I pulled a leaf from an overhanging branch and shredded it. The pieces fell to the current and scattered. “You’ll like her. She can make daisy chains and steal an entire pie from the kitchen without getting caught.” I sent a silent prayer that she be all right. “And the guards are nice,” I said, sending a second prayer for them.
Her attention jerked up from the leaf I had thrown in. “Guards?”
I smiled to ease her thoughts. She was wary enough of the palace. The least I could do would be to try to make it less forbidding. “Yes. They have to do everything you say, you know. Once, I had one stand below my window and catch me when I jumped out.”
“No!” she cried, clearly shocked.
I bobbed my head, grinning. “Three stories down. I broke his arm. It was the autumn star shower, and I wanted to get past the smoke from the city to see it. My—our parents wouldn’t allow it, even when I sulked for two days. Kavenlow was furious. He wouldn’t take me out to buy anything for two weeks. It was terrible.”
The princess silently took that in. “Is the city large?” she blurted. “I’ve seen Brenton.”
I tore another leaf and tossed it into the current, realizing how sheltered a life she had led. “It’s ever so much larger than Brenton. And it doesn’t smell like fish.” I wrinkled my nose.
“How much bigger?” she asked, looking frightened but anxious to not show it.
“Lots,” I said, starting to enjoy myself. “You could get lost in the streets there are so many, but you’ll never be alone, so don’t worry. Some of the buildings have three stories. There are several liveries, bunches of inns, and two markets, one by the docks and the other up in the high streets. We have twelve docks in the harbor. One is reserved for the palace. I’ve been down there with Kavenlow. And the markets are open until sundown every day but Lastday. On festivals, they stay open all night.”
She was silent, her eyes on the bubbles trailing from her rock. “I went to a festival once,” she finally said. “I’d dearly love to know how to dance.”
I turned in surprise. “You don’t know how?”
“The nuns were very reserved.”
And probably boring, I thought. “Oh. Well, Kavenlow can show you. He taught me.”
Much to my surprise, she shook her head. “No,” she said, and when I didn’t say anything, she added, “What if he laughed at me?”
I felt a pang of sympathy. “I can show you,” I offered, not knowing why I did.
Spots of color appeared on her cheeks. She was the image of our mother, and grief stabbed into me. I couldn’t help but feel my dark skin and narrow hips were wrong compared to her. I pushed the ugly thought away.
“You’ll teach me?” she asked, clearly relieved.
I nodded, refusing to feel sorry for myself that she looked like Mother and I didn’t. “I can teach you a little, and when you think you know enough, Kavenlow can teach you the rest. He’s better than I am.”
She smiled, and I found I didn’t mind that she looked like an angel. “All right,” she said, eyes eager. “And I can teach you a crochet pattern Thadd’s grandmother taught me. It’s a secret.”
I froze, cringing inside. “Oh . . . how wonderful,” I lied.
A twig snapped behind us, and I twisted, my dart tube to my lips. My heart pounded hard enough to make my head hurt. But it was Thadd, and my held breath exploded from me in a relieved rush. “Will you people stop creeping up on me!” I shouted, trying to burn away the flush of angst. “One of you is going to end up convulsing on the ground!”
Thadd’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. His broad shoulders hunched. “Contessa?” he said in a slow, country drawl. “You should come back to the fire.”
Head bobbing, she dried her feet with her white underskirt.
“You don’t have to do what he says, you know,” I said, surprised to find I didn’t like him lording over her.
She smiled lopsidedly to make her look simple. “I know.” My eyes widened as she leaned across the narrow band of water between us and gave me a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t think it’s going to be as bad as I had feared.”
My mouth hung open as she stood and hopped from rock to rock to the shore. Thadd extended a hand to help her onto the bank. He gave me a jealous look as she leaned comfortably against him to slip on her stockings and boots. I didn’t know what to think. I had been ready to hate her from this lifetime and into the next, and here I was starting to like her.
“Are you coming, Tess?” she asked as she straightened. Thadd stood beside her, his squat bulk just besting her petite height. “We can wait if you aren’t done with your wash.”
Her question caught me off guard. I was safe enough, but if I didn’t go back, Kavenlow would come looking for me with a lecture. “No. I’m coming.” I stood and gathered my wet skirt up, lurching across the rocks to shore. Putting my back against a tree, I brushed the dirt off my feet and struggled to put my boots on without stockings.
Thadd took Contessa’s elbow and started to lead her away before I had finished
. “Why are you being nice to her?” he said in a too-loud whisper. “She tried to pull out your hair.”
I flushed, my chagrin not abating even when the princess said, “I deserved it after what I said. And I like her. Leave her alone.”
His shoulders tensed, and he held a branch out of her way. “You can’t trust her,” he said, his low voice carrying better than he knew. “She could have killed you.”
“Thadd,” she said, the new sharpness of her voice bringing my head up. “She’s my sister. She’s all I have left of my kin. And I don’t want to talk about it!”
I blinked, taken aback at how quickly she had gone from pliant friend to angry fishwife in three heartbeats. Giving him an irate look, Contessa tugged from his grasp and stormed away. A cry of frustration slipped from her when she caught her skirt on a stick. Thadd scowled at me as if their argument was my fault, then hastened to catch up. “Contessa . . .” he pleaded. “Please. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I smoothed my brow and started after them, wondering if turning Contessa into a proper princess might be harder than I thought. Their short exchange had the sound of an old pattern.
“Thadd?” I heard the princess say loudly from up ahead. It sounded as if she had gotten over her temper already. “Thadd!” she shrieked.
My head came up. There was a blur of a brown horse running through the woods. A black-cloaked rider was on it. Jeck! “Contessa!” I shouted, panicking. “Get down!”
She didn’t. Thadd was weaving on his feet. He had been darted.
Jeck thundered down upon them. Jolted into motion, I ran.
Jeck picked the princess up and flung her shrieking over his horse’s shoulders. Thadd fell as his support was ripped away. I stumbled onto the path, then flung myself back into the scrub as Jeck wheeled the animal into a two-legged turn right before me. He gave me a wild grin as his horse screamed. Tuck answered.
I scrambled for my dart pipe. Heart pounding, I aimed for the horse. Either I missed or one dart wasn’t enough to affect the heavy animal. His gray cloak furling, Jeck put his heels to his horse and bolted down the path in a wild cadence of hooves.
I stared across the open space at Kavenlow. For a heartbeat, our eyes locked.
Kavenlow lunged for Pitch. “Watch them, Tess!” he exclaimed as he swung onto the horse and shouted Pitch into a wild run. The thumping rhythm of hoofbeats faded to nothing.
My astonished gaze fell on Duncan. He was sitting dumbfounded by the fire, not having had time to even rise to his feet.
“Angel’s Spit!” he swore, throwing a pot of water across the camp to slam clanking into the wagon and send Tuck shying. “I’ve lost another princess. The same way as the first!”
Thadd was clenched into a ball, still conscious under Jeck’s weaker darts. I crawled to him and felt his pulse. It was strong and steady. His eyes were closed, and his face was lined in agony. “Oh God. No, no, no,” he moaned. “I lost her. I’m going to die. She’ll be all alone.”
“You aren’t going to die,” I said harshly, remembering his mistrustful words. “And we’ll get her back.” I turned to Duncan. “Help me get him in the wagon.” I pulled at Thadd. “Get up!” I said, trying to drag him. “It will wear off. Get up, you lout! If you love her, get up!” Where is the rain? It ought to be raining.
Thadd lurched to his knees, doubled over in pain. Duncan took his other arm, and together we lifted the short but hard-muscled man into a staggering walk.
“Wagon!” I gasped, struggling to keep him from falling on me.
“Chu, Tess,” Duncan muttered. “You might be nicer. Those darts hurt.”
“I know,” I said belligerently, surprised that Kavenlow’s blurring of Duncan’s thoughts hadn’t taken. But my anger slipped into a grudging empathy as I helped Duncan move Thadd to the wagon. Jeck’s darts held half the venom I used. Goat Boy probably wouldn’t even pass out.
Thadd collapsed heavily into the wagon’s bed beside the long box. “Harness the horse,” I said tersely as Thadd groaned, his thick shoulders hunched and trembling.
Duncan jumped from the wagon. I listened with half my attention as he coddled the frightened draft animal into position. Jeck’s old horse nickered in recognition, and I spun.
I loosed a dart, my hand covering my mouth when I hit Kavenlow. “Be careful with those,” he said in annoyance, plucking the bone needle from his shoulder and frowning.
“Kavenlow, I’m sorry!” I cried, embarrassed.
Scowling, he nudged Pitch closer and handed me my dart back. He glanced at Thadd. “Is he going to be all right?”
I nodded, then scooted across the hay-strewn wagon and back to the ground. I wildly threw everything that wasn’t packed in beside Thadd. It’s my fault. I should have been with her. I should have been closer.
Kavenlow dismounted and tied Pitch to the back of the wagon. He levered himself up on the bench and slapped the reins. I joined him, gripping the bench as we rattled and bounced back onto the trail. Duncan mounted Tuck and paced in front of us down the path. The flighty gray arched his neck and pranced as if on parade.
“He must have been watching us for hours,” Kavenlow said tersely. “Perhaps as early as last night. I thought we’d have more time.”
My stomach clenched, and I felt ill. “It’s my fault. I should have walked her back to camp,” I whispered, and Kavenlow gave me a grunt and a sideways look.
“Your fault? No.” I said nothing, and Kavenlow’s frown deepened. “Leave it be, Tess,” he said. “Jeck made a move. Now we counter it. We’re going to the palace; he’s going to the palace. It doesn’t matter whose company she arrives in. Garrett won’t harm her.”
“He might marry her,” I said, realizing I had worsened the tear in my top skirt. I glanced behind me at Thadd. His eyes were unfocused, but he seemed to be gripped more by remorse than pain.
“Not until he can prove to the people that she is the real princess,” Kavenlow said. “He can’t pass her off as you. The people know you, especially the merchants.” He made a short, mirthless laugh. “This is the middle game, Tess, not the end. It’s not over.”
His voice held an eager, intent tone, and I watched him chew his lower lip as we jostled down the path at too fast a gait. A familiar light was in his eyes. It was the same I had seen when we stayed up late to finish a game of thieves and kings. Though worried, a tension that had been building in me since yesterday began to unravel into a steady anticipation.
Jeck had taken Contessa, but that didn’t mean we would let him keep her.
Twenty-six
Kavenlow pulled the draft horse to a stop where the trail branched. I leaned past him to see the hoofprints pressed deep in the soft earth. From atop Tuck, Duncan came to a halt. I looked from the tracks to Kavenlow. “He went straight,” I said. “He’s still carrying her.”
A frown creased Kavenlow’s forehead, and he ran a hand across his trim, graying beard. “If I remember, there’s a river ahead. I’d be willing to wager the crossing is too difficult for a wagon the way Captain Jeck took. That’s why the two paths. See?” He pointed straight ahead. “It tapers down to little more than a horse path that way. I think we should go left, but I don’t want to diverge from Captain Jeck unless we have to.”
I glanced behind me to Thadd sitting miserably in the wagon’s bed beside the long box. He had quickly recovered, his squat bulk throwing off Jeck’s weaker venom faster than I would have imagined possible. But he had yet to banish his depression. I felt bad, as nothing was his fault. Duncan had repeatedly told him so, but Thadd might not believe it until Contessa said the same. Even then, I didn’t think he would.
“Duncan,” Kavenlow continued. “Go see if the water is too high for a wagon crossing.”
“Let’s leave the wagon,” I complained. “We’ve enough horses to follow on horseback.”
It was the third time today I had suggested it, and Kavenlow grimaced. “Duncan?” he prompted. The cheat grinned at my impatience from under his grimy
hat. Pulling Tuck’s head up, he gave his flanks a smart kick. The flighty horse bolted down the thin trail. I would have liked to follow him. The slow pace the wagon had reduced us to had me almost frantic.
We had been steadily falling behind Jeck. Kavenlow wouldn’t leave the wagon and its heavy load. Thadd’s statue couldn’t be that good. He wasn’t much older than I was.
The draft horse’s ears pricked, and I wasn’t surprised when Duncan and Tuck slid back around the corner faster than they had left. “He’s at the river!” he said as he reined up. “Captain Jeck is on the other side sitting on his horse waiting for us. I think he wants to talk.”
My heart jumped into my throat. Jeck was waiting.
Thadd lurched upright in a clatter of noise. “Contessa! Did you see her?” he exclaimed.
Duncan shook his head, and a severe determination came over Thadd’s square face. Bare feet sliding in the bed of the wagon, he pushed a spot for himself between Kavenlow and me on the bench. Snatching the reins from Kavenlow, he clicked at the horse. The sedate animal flicked an ear and rocked into motion.
“This is what I was waiting for,” Kavenlow said, peering at me from around Thadd as we rattled forward. “It’s a game, Tess. One where the pieces don’t always do what you want.”
I grasped the bench as the pace grew fast. “He has Contessa. What else does he need?”
The river wasn’t far ahead, and Thadd kept us to a fast clip. The edges of the wagon began scraping the encroaching branches with an alarming amount of noise. I wondered how we were going to get back to the main trail if we couldn’t cross here. Thadd’s pace was substantially faster than Kavenlow’s, and I started to feel queasy as we rocked and lurched along.
I heard the river before seeing it. My first glimpse of it did nothing to instill any confidence. It stretched before us, a rumbling icy tumble of water running high with snowmelt. It would be foolish to cross here if there was an easier way upstream.