by David Estes
“I say you’re madder than a man trapped in a nymph’s locket.” But she didn’t reach up to remove his hand. In fact, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes, sighing slightly.
A rustle snapped them apart and Gareth stepped into the clearing. He frowned, his eyes darting back and forth between them, seeming to notice their close proximity. “What’d I miss?” he asked, seeming to sense the sudden awkwardness his presence had created.
“Just Roan being a nutter again,” Gwen said, but Roan caught the quick wink she offered in his direction.
“Aye. I bear the foolmark, what can I say?” Roan said.
Gareth’s eyes narrowed further, as if he wasn’t buying it, but then they widened and he clapped his hands. “Right. Let’s move while there’s still sunlight.”
He turned his back and marched off. Roan stood, and then offered a hand to Gwen. She reached up, pausing a moment before grasping his hand. With a hard yank, she pulled him down, using the momentum to gain her own feet. She grinned down at him. “This doesn’t change anything,” she said. “I’m still the strong one.” With that, she took off after Gareth.
Roan laughed. He couldn’t argue with that, nor did he want to. Still, despite her words, Gwen’s hand brushed against his as he caught up to her.
A week later, when they finally emerged from the Tangle, travel-weary and hungry, Roan felt like a hood had been torn off of his head. After living in the confines of the shadowy forest for so long, everything was brighter, more vibrant, and larger. Empty rolling hills of brown grass pocked with occasional rock outcroppings stretched from horizon to horizon.
They hadn’t seen any sign of man or bear as they travelled through the forest.
“We veered too far north at some point,” Gwen pointed out, nodding to the Mournful Mountains, which were far closer than they expected them to be.
“I’ll give you three guesses as to why,” Roan said. “But you’ll only need one.”
“Damn nymph and her tricks,” Gareth said, but there was little emotion behind his remark. Despite the time they spent together in Felicity’s locket, Gareth had been unusually quiet ever since their argument about the bear. Several times Roan had tried to get him to open up again, to no avail. On the other hand, he and Gwen spoke every day, sometimes of the past, sometimes of their hopes for the future, sometimes meaningless quips and banter. It didn’t matter what they talked about—her company was enough for Roan, something he never thought he’d say after her harsh treatment of him from the moment she met him.
Yet still he felt slightly empty inside, because of Gareth’s silence.
“At least we can navigate now,” Gwen said. “The mountain range goes straight west, all the way to the Bay of Bounty.”
Roan thought back to the maps of the west his guardian had made him study in his youth. There was only one major western stronghold before they reached Knight’s End. “If we follow the mountains, we’ll reach Bethany.”
“We should avoid Bethany,” Gwendolyn said. “If they realize we have an Ironclad, they will imprison the lot of us.”
“Nay,” Gareth said, staring at the mountains. There was a distant look in his eyes, like he was seeing something else. Some memory. “We should take the easiest route. Head south to the Western Road. There are inns along the track. Places to rest our heads and get a warm meal.”
“Too conspicuous,” Gwen said, trading a look with Roan. Roan shrugged back. He had no idea what their friend was thinking right now. “We’ll travel overland.”
“No,” Gareth said sharply. He spoke through his teeth, his jaw set tightly.
Gwen frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but Roan stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Let me try, he mouthed. He approached Gareth slowly, trying to catch his eye. The prince merely looked around him, past him. “Oi,” Roan said. “Oi!” He grabbed his shoulder, jostling him.
Gareth’s eyes snapped to his. “Take your hand off me unless you want a repeat of the nymph’s locket.”
The look in his friend’s eyes was different than anything he’d ever seen. He couldn’t define it exactly. It wasn’t anger, no, something else entirely. “You mean when you punched me and I almost strangled you to death? When you asked me to finish you off?”
At first, Gareth’s shoulders tensed and he looked as if he might actually hit Roan again, but then the fight fell away from him, the distant look returning.
“What is the matter?” Roan asked.
Gareth rubbed his eyes and yawned, though Roan could tell it was an act. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m just weary. I’m only saying we could all use a good sleep and a bowlful of something half-edible.”
“We don’t have the coin,” Gwen cut in. “And what we have, we may need as bribes when we reach Knight’s End.”
“I have plenty of coin,” Gareth said. His grin returned, though it didn’t feel natural to Roan. It was a mask, and it reminded him of the mask Gareth was wearing when he’d first met him, back when he thought the eldest Ironclad son was naught but an arrogant prince. “I robbed the war chest before I snuck away. Grian is probably cursing my name as we speak.”
“Still,” Gwen said, “between my eyes and hair and your namesake, we will attract too much unwanted attention.”
But Gareth was on a roll now, not to be denied. “You will plait your hair and wear a scarf that shadows your eyes. And I will call myself…Montoya!”
Roan snorted. “What kind of name is that?”
“I dunno. I just came up with it.”
Gwen didn’t seem pleased with any of it, but Roan was determined to keep the peace. Plus, the thought of a warm bed and food wasn’t the worst idea in the world right now. “How about a compromise? Instead of traveling due south, we head southwest overland, cutting off part of the distance we have left, until we hit the Western Road. Then we take the road west all the way to Knight’s End.”
Gwen sighed, but the fight had left her. “Fine. But we do not stop in any of the small villages, is that understood? We stop in Restor and Restor alone.”
Gareth smiled, and for a moment—just a moment—he was the man Roan knew him to be. As they began walking, the smile faded, and Roan saw a stranger once more.
Twenty-Six
The Northern Kingdom, south of Castle Hill
Annise Gäric
Annise swore the clouds had descended from the sky and melded with the ground, and now she was floating on them. Hiding her smile was no small feat, and yet she knew she had to, for it was not queenly to smile after the massacre the day before.
She couldn’t help it. Waking up in Tarin’s arms, warm and safe, kissing his lips first, before saying good morning, holding his muscled body against hers, helping him don his armor…
She could get used to mornings like this one.
I can’t, she thought. Like Tarin had said the day before, every moment was precious, because every moment could be their last. I can’t lose you. I can’t. I would rather die.
The thought startled her, and, subconsciously, she stopped walking. It was the first time she’d ever thought something like that about anyone, even Arch. Is it true? Would she rather die than live life without Tarin?
“My queen?” Tarin said, his voice low and gruff. She remembered the way he’d growled the night before, and the memory sent lightning up her spine.
“Yes, I…” She forced a smile back onto her lips, a smile that only a moment ago had come far too easily. “We need to encourage the soldiers.”
“Queen?”
“After we begin our march, you will accompany me along the train.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“What about me?” Sir Dietrich asked, striding up.
“What about you?” Annise said.
“Your command?”
“Have you made water this morning?”
Dietrich grimaced. “Aye, but I’ve just drunk a full flagon.”
“Strong flow,” Zelda reminded her. She was buttering a scone using he
r finger as a knife.
Annise eyed the sword sheathed in Sir Dietrich’s hip scabbard. How could a man as talented with the sword as this knight be such a fool sometimes? “You’ll ride with the first cavalry. You’ll lead them. You’ll not leave their side until we make camp.”
“Yes, Your Highness, but what if I need to—”
“You’ll water your britches.”
Zelda laughed around a large bite of scone.
“It’s too cold, they’ll freeze solid!”
Zelda laughed louder, spitting out crumbs.
“Then we’ll refer to you as Sir Ice Trousers,” Annise said. Letting a smile curl the corners of her mouth, she turned on her heel and went to see if her horse was ready. Dietrich was far too easy a target, but that didn’t take away any of the pleasure.
They’d left the forest well behind them, and were once again on the hard-packed road that would take them all the way to Castle Hill. Lazy snowflakes swirled through a white sky, though most never seemed to reach the ground. Annise, in a show of strength and fearlessness, had begun the march with her foreriders—most of whom were newly promoted foot soldiers replacing those killed by the stone monster. It had been Tarin’s idea, which pleased her greatly. He does not coddle me. Not anymore.
Now, they pulled back from the front to carry out her “ride of encouragement,” as she was calling it. They started with the cavalry. Annise offered small talk to those she knew, and made introductions to those she didn’t. She commended the first cavalry on their valor during the previous day’s battle, and even managed to bite her tongue when several witty quips at Sir Dietrich’s expense came to mind—it wouldn’t do to undermine their commanding officer. Tarin mostly stayed silent, his eyes roving the lands on either side of the road, searching for enemies. And yet his presence alone was enough to bring Annise great comfort.
Next, they passed through the lines of foot soldiers. Considering the horrors many of them had witnessed not half a day earlier, they were in good spirits, laughing as Annise offered jokes, and smiling when she complimented them.
Annise felt something she never thought she’d feel, something her brother Archer had felt his whole life: adoration. These people actually believed in her. No, she realized, it goes further than that. They will die for me if necessary, just as the first cavalry had been willing to do.
The weight of that responsibility pressed on her shoulders. But I can bear it, she thought. She’d always wondered why she hadn’t been born petite, like her mother, why she was forced to endure endless mockery from insecure lordlings. Perhaps this was why. Perhaps she was destined to need broad shoulders and a strong back to bear the trust of her people.
When they were alone, in between companies, Tarin said, “A coin for your thoughts?”
She smiled. “I’d rather have a kiss.”
“Later,” he said. “But those are free, my queen.”
“Well, my thoughts are my own, at least for now.”
“As you wish.” Based on the twinkle in his dark eyes, however, she suspected he knew her mind as well as she did. Maybe better.
“Tarin,” she said. “Where did you go yesterday? After the day was won?” Last night, she hadn’t wanted to spoil the mood by broaching this topic, but now she felt she needed to. If her paramour knew her mind, she must know his.
“Walking,” Tarin said gruffly.
“It spoke to you?” She knew she didn’t need to specify who it was. Tarin called it the monster inside of him, but Annise hated using that word to refer to anything having to do with him.
“It always speaks to me.”
“Even now?”
“Even now.”
He’d never told her that. She thought it was only during battle. “I didn’t know that.”
“I never told you.”
“Why are you telling me now? Is it because of what we did last night?” The thought should’ve made her blush, but it didn’t. Nothing she did with Tarin ever felt embarrassing.
His gaze rested on her for a moment, almost thoughtful. “No. I don’t want any secrets between us ever again.”
“Oh. Thank you?” She suddenly felt bad for not sharing her own thoughts with him.
He chuckled. “I’m sorry I disappeared like that yesterday. I’m sorry for what I am.”
“A good man? Honorable? A hero? You have nothing to be sorry for. You never asked for any of this.”
“Still, I hate that I have to leave your side when you need me the most.”
“Why do you have to? You are so strong, Tarin. I know you are stronger than…whatever is inside you.”
He shook his head. “I wish it were that simple. But I will not risk harm coming to you.”
She stopped her horse. “You would never hurt me,” she said.
He stopped a few paces ahead, but didn’t look back. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.” There wasn’t anger in his tone, just resignation. Sadness.
She moved forward until she was close enough to rest a hand on his shoulder, though she had to reach up to do so. He flinched slightly, and that hurt her more than any of his words. “Tarin…Tarin.” Finally, he looked at her. “Stay with me. We are stronger together. I believe that.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m trying.” Suddenly his words from the night before, about not wasting the precious moments they had together, seemed different. More like a goodbye than anything else.
Frozen hell, when did I get so needy? Annise thought. She brushed away the thought, because Tarin wasn’t some childhood infatuation.
“Fair enough,” Annise said. “Let’s continue.”
The next group they came to were not soldiers, though some soldiers moved amongst them. They were tradesmen and tradeswomen. If the soldiers were the heart of the army, these were the lifeblood pumping through its veins. Even as the train moved forward, they worked, sitting on broad carts pulled by horses. There were leather workers and blacksmiths, seamstresses and cooks. One cart was piled high with boots requiring resoling, while another was a mess of shirts and britches needing mending. Annise stopped at each, complimenting the quality of their work, thanking them for their service to the crown, promising them each a permanent position once they retook Castle Hill.
They reached a blacksmith cart. Though it was too dangerous to set up a mobile forge, the blacksmiths were still keeping busy, hammering out dents in armor, polishing weapons and helmets, designing new weapons on long scrolls of parchment held down by rocks.
Annise peered over the shoulder of a rare female blacksmith, who was adding details with an inked quill to the design of a weapon. “It’s beautiful,” Annise said.
The woman looked back, surprised. Her level of concentration had been so complete she hadn’t noticed their approach. A hammer dangled from a loop in her belt. With black hair cut boy-short, intense gray eyes and a small, angular face, she was an attractive woman, Annise noticed, though she was perhaps a few years older than she. The other thing she noticed was the strength in the lines of her arms, no doubt from countless swings of her hammer against anvil.
“Thank you…Your Highness. I’m sorry, I didn’t expect such auspicious company.”
“This weapon…” Annise said, motioning toward the parchment. The design showed a spiked ball attached to a chain with a leather grip. “I know of one similar, but larger.”
“Larger? It would take a powerful man to wield such a weapon.”
“Yes. In fact, the knight who wields it is just here.”
Tarin approached, but Annise was watching the blacksmith woman, whose mouth fell open. “Frozen hell,” she said. “It cannot be.”
Annise lifted an eyebrow. “Cannot be what? What is your name?”
“Fay.” It was not the woman who answered, but Tarin.
“I thought you were dead!” the woman—Fay—exclaimed. She rose to her feet, balancing on the unsteady cart.
“Not just yet,” Tarin said.
Annise’s eyes danced between them, trying
to figure something out. The obvious answer came to her. “Fay designed the Morningstar,” she said.
“Yes,” Fay said proudly. “He’s the only man I ever met who could actually lift it and swing it with enough force to do any damage.”
Annise laughed at that. “Aye. I saw him nearly win a tourney using it.”
“Nearly?” Fay said. “You mean he was defeated?”
“Hard to believe, I know. But it just so happens we have the best swordsman in the realm commanding the first cavalry. Sir Dietrich. He emerged the victor.”
“Ah. I’ve heard of him. But still. I watched Choose win a dozen tourneys. When I was with him, he never lost.”
With him? What exactly did that mean? “Choose? His name is Tarin.”
“Oh,” she said. “He told us to call him Choose.”
“I have had many names,” Tarin said, interrupting, but now I go by the one my mother gave me—Tarin.”
“Well,” Fay said, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Tarin.”
“Did you design his armor as well?” Annise guessed.
“Yes. And I’m glad to see the big guy has kept it in good nick. Though it’s looking a bit small these days. Once we make camp, I can work on the fit.”
So it’s not just my imagination…he is getting larger.
“He rarely takes it off,” Annise said. “Even to sleep. Though last night…”
“You mean he’s still self-conscious about his affliction?” Fay asked.
Annise was taken aback. This woman knew what he looked like beneath the armor? “Of course you would know,” she said. “You fitted his armor.”
Fay laughed. “I wouldn’t say I know. He never let me see him. But I saw enough.”
Annise breathed easier. She liked this woman. Her quick tongue, her skill with the hammer, the strength in her body. And if she hadn’t seen what Tarin really looked like, there had been nothing between them worth worrying about.
“Enough about me,” Tarin said, sounding uncomfortable. “Where have you been all these years?”
“Around,” Fay said.