Daring Hearts: Fearless Fourteen Boxed Set

by Box Set

  Though short, her hair was so soft. “Got it,” he said, his voice husky.

  Matka stood suddenly and brushed the dust off her clothes, then worked at the knot still binding the rope to her chest. “How much farther?”

  Otec forced himself to look away. What was he doing? She was a Highwoman, leaving in just three days. “Before nightfall.” He untied the rope from the tree with vigor and was grateful when she managed to untie the rope at her chest.

  Keeping far back, she peered over the edge. “Um . . . how are we going to get back down?”

  “Down is always easier than up.” He stepped around her and headed up the mountain at an angle. “If we move fast, we’ll make it before nightfall.”

  Chapter 6

  Otec knew the waterfall was close when the vegetation began to change. Ferns trimmed in autumn gold and russet crammed themselves between the roots of the massive trees. Moss clung to every tree and rock. The air turned heavy and smelled of minerals.

  Finally, he and Matka crossed the swift-running river and walked alongside it. More than once, Otec stopped to help her over a slippery spot or up a short cliff blocking their way. It was slow going, as she insisted on stopping to inspect and gather leaves. At one point, she sat down and hugged her knees to her chest, wonder on her face.

  Otec glanced back to see the valley spread out before them—sharp hills that jutted up against rugged mountains blanketed in primeval forest. Eventually that forest was eaten up by glaciers and gray rock.

  Realizing Matka was itching to draw the scene, he said, “The view is better by the waterfall.” She grudgingly moved on.

  Eventually, they could see the waterfall, plunging down into a rocky pool. The river widened as they approached the small, deep pool at the base, the water so clear they could see every detail of the mossy rocks at the bottom.

  Otec found his favorite spot between a pair of larch trees. The ground felt soft and springy with a thick layer of larch needles, and the trees themselves would be a good wind block. He cleared the ground so he could start a fire, then looked up to find Matka already surrounded by a variety of plants. She was busily sketching each one in minute detail.

  “Can you find me the plant with the flower you were telling me about?” she asked.

  “I think so.”

  She didn’t seem to hear Otec’s reply as her charcoal-darkened fingers flew over the vellum. He watched her, feeling a kinship with another person who transformed something mundane into something beautiful.

  After setting up the kindling for the fire, he went to the waterfall and found the plant. He brought it back for Matka, who took it eagerly and flipped the leaves over in her hands. She broke the stem with a pop, sniffing the juices. Then she licked them. Her face fell. “This isn’t it.”

  Otec shifted from one foot to another. “I’m sorry we didn’t find the plant you wanted.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as a smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “Let’s just say I’m not as eager as my . . . employer. I have many more samples to take back with me. I haven’t seen any of these in the lowlands.”

  He couldn’t believe how changed this girl was from a couple of days ago. She just needed to get away from Jore and that eerie owl. Otec headed out to lay his snares in front of a few promising-looking warrens.

  When he came back, Matka was surrounded by parchment held down by rocks. On each piece were two sketches, one of the overall plant, another a highly detailed version of the leaves. In between these sketches were bundles of leaves held together with a bit of twine. But she wasn’t looking at any of them. Her gaze shifted between the verdant valley bedecked in crimson and yellow, the white-capped purple mountains in the distance, and the vellum upon which she was sketching them.

  Otec stepped closer to her, careful not to disturb her drawings.

  “Do you see it?” she asked softly. “The way the setting sun and the dark mountain create a jagged line of shadow and light. The way the light streams into the valley in wide beams. When I first started drawing, there was so much color I could see its opposite any time I closed my eyes. But then those colors—emerald, crimson, purple, yellow—all of them shift to black as the shadows grow deeper.”

  At the longing and sadness in her voice, Otec realized his mother was right. There was something soft beneath Matka’s hard exterior. He crouched beside her. “What is it?”

  She stayed quiet for several seconds, and he thought she wouldn’t tell him. That her hard shell would spring back up, blocking her off as surely as if she’d erected walls around herself. But then her shoulders sagged. “I do not want to go back.”

  He carefully moved a few of her drawings, marveling at how real she’d made them look. “Back to Svassheim?” He figured the less he said, the more she might.

  “Back home.”

  Needing something to do with his hands, Otec took out the small piece of wood he’d been working on and began carving. “Neither do I.”

  Matka gave a little gasp. “What? Why wouldn’t you want to be among the Shyle? They are the most generous people I have ever met.”

  He wished he hadn’t said anything. “The clans place value on women who create life and the men who protect it. And my family is the best of all of them. The strongest, the fastest, the brightest.” He sighed. “And then there’s me.”

  She seemed to consider that for a moment. “You’re wrong.” She let out a long breath. “All my life, I’ve been taught that my people are better, stronger, faster. And that gave us the right to take from others, to force them to become like us.”

  Otec frowned. He hadn’t known the highmen were like that.

  “But I have spent two years among . . . different people. And they are not crude and ignorant.” Matka dropped her voice. “And neither are you.”

  “I guess you don’t have to.”

  She met his gaze. “Have to what?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, no one is forcing you to go home. You speak Clannish remarkably well. Send Jore back with your notes, and let someone else finish the book. Stay here.” Otec’s voice rose with conviction. He liked the idea of her staying—this woman who was so strong, and yet so broken.

  “It’s not that easy,” she replied, staring at one of her drawings.

  “Why?”

  She pursed her lips. “There are things you don’t know, Otec.”

  Matka must have some kind of past, he decided. He’d finished carving the shape; now it was time to add the details. “Mother would let you stay. You could have a life here. But whether you want it bad enough to sacrifice whatever it is that’s holding you back, that’s your choice.”

  He turned to find Matka watching him carving with a burning intensity in her gaze. “What are you doing?”

  His ears flared red again. He hadn’t wanted her to see, not yet. “It’s nothing.”

  But her quick fingers snatched the carving from his hand. She gasped softly. “It’s the elice blossom.” She turned it over in her hands. “You even got the square stem right!”

  “It’s not finished yet,” Otec mumbled.

  It was as if she hadn’t heard him. “The proportions are perfect. And it’s so delicate. When did you start this?”

  His heart warmed with pride. “Yesterday.”

  “But you only saw my drawing once.”

  “I notice details. Always have.” He reached into his pocket and took out her drawing of Shyleholm, sorry it was a little crumpled. He held toward her out without meeting her gaze. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

  She grasped it without touching him. “You can look upon your home every day. Why take this?”

  “Because in every stroke and smudge, you were there.” He forced himself to meet her gaze.

  She watched him, her expression open and intense. A profound longing swept over her face. She glance at his lips. That was all it took. He cradled her soft cheek in his hand, a little embarrassed because of his rough skin. And before he could talk him
self out of it, he pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and full, and to his surprise, she kissed him back, taking his face in her hands. His fingers combed through her dark hair. She shuddered and pulled back, confusion warring with something else in her dark eyes.

  “You don’t know me,” she said.

  Why was she hurting so much, and who had hurt her? Otec felt a protectiveness well up inside him. He would help her if he could. “What are you running from, Matka?”

  Her breath hitched in her throat and she spoke so softly he could barely hear. “No matter how fast or how far, it follows me.”

  He remembered what Holla had said, about the darkness shadowing Matka. “What does?”

  Pursing her lips, she shook her head. “I can’t.”

  Yes, she definitely had a past, he thought. “Where you’re going is more important than where you’ve been.”

  Matka blinked at him and said wistfully, “Are you sure about that?”

  Otec didn’t understand how someone could be so many opposing things without it tearing her up from the inside out. Perhaps it was. “I’m sure.”

  Chapter 7

  “Otec,” a voice said softly. He sniffed and rolled over, hoping whoever it was would go away. But a hand shook his arm. “The light is about to hit it—you have to see.” He sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes.

  Matka sat near him. She was wrapped up in her furs and crouched protectively over her vellum as her charcoal scratched across the board. She kept glancing at the waterfall in the predawn light, passion enveloping her face as snow dusted her hair.

  Otec immediately panicked. Getting caught in a snowstorm this high in the mountains was dangerous. He glanced up to gauge how bad the storm might be, but the sky was clear.

  Sitting up straighter let the cold into the pocket of air he’d created in his furs. He shivered and turned toward the waterfall. It wasn’t snowing. The mist from the waterfall was freezing in the air, stacking on the ground in delicate flakes like pressed flowers. The sunlight shifted down the mountain, lighting the sky with a thousand sparks before touching the waterfall, turning it a pale pink. The trees and ground glittered as though they were covered by diamond dust.

  Frost grew slantways out of the ground like jagged, geometric leaves. Otec actually tried to pick up a piece the size of his palm, but it shattered in his grip.

  “All my life and all my travels, I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as this,” Matka said. She turned toward him. “I wish I could capture the way it makes me feel so I could look at it and feel this again.”

  The frost glimmered in her hair, and her cheeks were flushed with cold. Otec realized he wanted to capture the moment as well—but not the waterfall or the diamond frost. He would capture her wonder and excitement. He reached out to touch the shape of her face, letting his fingers memorize the hollows and planes. “Stay, and I’ll bring you back every year.”

  She really smiled then. And without the hard mask she wore, she was beautiful. “I think—I think I will.” She turned to look out over the valley. “If your mother . . .” she trailed off, her voice going hoarse, “Otec.”

  “Hmm?” he said, wondering if she’d allow him to kiss her again.

  “Otec!” And this time, he heard an undercurrent of fear. Instinctively, he grabbed his bow, looking around for bears or wolves. “What?”

  But Matka only pointed to the valley, her face filled with horror. He followed her gesture and didn’t understand what he was seeing at first. It seemed the stars had fallen from the sky to land on his village, still in the shadow cast by the far mountains. But then Otec stood and saw, and his world crashed down upon him. Shyleholm was burning. Not just a single house and barn, but dozens.

  “What?” he managed dumbly.

  “No. This cannot be.” Matka scrambled to her pack and pulled a contraption out of a case. It was a cylinder that lengthened when she pulled on it. She peered through it and her grip tightened. “The village has been attacked.”

  “What?” Otec couldn’t seem to get his mind to work properly. It was like a gear that kept missing the cog.

  Fists clenched at her sides, Matka stared up at the sky. “So many betrayals.” She turned back to him. Gone was the vulnerable girl. This woman wore the face of a warrior, and he realized he did not know her at all. “Otec, your village has been attacked by Idarans.”

  “Raiders,” he gasped. But it couldn’t be Raiders—they couldn’t have made it this far inland.

  “Yes, Raiders,” Matka responded, anger building in her voice.

  His breathing came fast and shallow. “How could you know that?”

  “I saw it in the telescope.”

  He snatched the telescope from her grip. “No! It’s probably just a barn that’s caught a couple of houses on fire.” Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.

  He peered through the telescope. Everything appeared closer. It took him a minute to find his village, but when he did, his breath caught. Buildings were burning. His villagers were running. Screaming. Dying. But by the Balance, some were fighting, too.

  “Hurry, Otec. We must go for help,” Matka said from where she knelt, packing her bedroll. His brain finally woke up. He realized all the men in the village—the protectors—were gone. His brothers and sisters were alone down there. And his mother. And his aunts and uncles and cousins. And his friends.

  He rushed to his pack and shoved everything inside. “You’re going to have to keep up. I can’t slow down for you.”

  “How far to the nearest village?”

  Otec ignored her question. “If we hurry, we can reach Shyleholm by midday.”

  He swung his bedroll over his shoulder, took his bow in his free hand, and started off at a jog. Matka was right behind him. “Shyleholm . . . Otec, you can’t go there. It’s already lost. You have to reach the next village and rouse your clanmen.”

  He didn’t bother to slow. “My family isn’t in Argonholm.”

  She snatched his arm. “If you go down there, you’ll die with them.”

  He whirled, jerking his arm free, and barely stopped himself from shoving her. “They are not dead,” he said, his voice hard. “Don’t you dare say they are dead.”

  “No, I didn’t—”

  He turned and broke into a full-on run, not caring if she kept up or not. He didn’t stop until he reached the cliff.

  Matka came panting up as he secured the rope around a tree. “Listen to me, Otec. If you want to help your family, you need allies. You can’t just go barreling into the midst of the Idaran army. The Raiders take slaves. You’ll need help to free them.”

  She had a point. “After I’m down, pull the rope up and come down yourself,” he said. “You go on to Argonholm. Tell them what you saw.” He tied the rope around his chest and started down.

  “I don’t know the way,” Matka yelled from above him.

  “Head southwest!” he shouted back at her.

  “Even if I don’t get lost, it will take me twice as long without a guide,” she called once he’d reached the bottom and was busily untying the rope from his chest. “Otec, going for help is the best chance you’ll have at saving them!”

  He paused, actually letting her words sink in. And he knew she was right. He was too late to stop what was happening—by now, it was already over. He thought of Holla, her hands on his face. His mother, watching him leave. The weight of his two brothers as they wrapped around his legs. The rest of his sisters. Storm, pregnant. By the Balance, they could already be dead.

  When Matka stepped down beside him, he was crouched low, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes in a useless attempt to block out the images of his family running and screaming for their lives. He couldn’t help them. Couldn’t do one thing to stop it.

  Matka rested a firm hand on his shoulder. “Otec?” But he could barely breathe from the horror rolling through him. “Otec, where do you want to go?” He looked up sharply, prepared to snap at her for throwing his words back in h
is face, but her expression wasn’t cruel. Just determined.

  “I know tactics, Otec. I will help you save your family, though it will cost me everything. But you have to trust me—just long enough for me to get you to Argonholm.”

  He didn’t understand, and he wasn’t going to take the time to figure her cryptic words out.

  “What’s the fastest way to Argonholm?” She pointed at the glacier-topped peaks far above him. “Can we go over the mountain?”

  He rose to his feet, ignoring the cramps in his calves. “No one has ever made it all the way over before.”

  “We have to get to Argonholm, convince them the Raiders will be coming there next. Then send for your father at the coast.”

  Otec’s father. Yes, his father would know what to do—how to save the clan. And just like that, Otec had a purpose. He glanced around, getting his bearings. “This way.”

  He trotted downhill. Matka kept up without complaint as the morning sun melted the frost and took the sharp bite from the air. Going down was faster than up, but it wore on his legs until they trembled with every step. Matka tried to get him to stop and drink—even take a mouthful of food. But he ignored her, pressing down the mountain until his legs gave out on him. He tried to stand again, but he shook so badly he couldn’t.

  Matka shoved him down onto his backside. “You’re desert sick.” She held out the water skin. “Small sips.”

  “Desert sick?” Otec panted as he took a drink.

  She plopped down beside him. “Your body is shutting down because it’s overheated and thirsty.” She pulled off her boots and dumped out a few rocks. He noticed her socks were bloody. “Trust me, I know a few things about running in the heat,” she said.

  “But there aren’t any deserts in Svassheim,” Otec pointed out.

  She grabbed his water skin and took a long drink. “How do you know? You’ve never been there.”

  “I’ve seen maps. Talked to sailors at the spring clan feast.” He shrugged, this wasn’t important. Not now. He pushed himself up and tested his balance. He could stand, but he still felt wobbly.