by C. K. Brooke
But it was unclear whether he addressed Jon or Dainy.
DAMON DuBERRE, HEAD OF JORDINIAN Intelligence, paced his study. It had been too long since he’d heard from Visidair, and he was beginning to fear the worst. Who were these men in Gatspierre’s search party to survive Quixheto’s chemically-induced fire, and now, apparently, his top spy? DuBerre had checked with his messengers that morning, and again in the evening before retiring, but still, no word from Visidair.
He was growing impatient. Quixheto had failed twice, and Visidair appeared to be having a hell of a time. Action must be taken, and soon, before the remaining fugitives found the girl. It was time to take matters into his own hands.
Quietly, he entered his drawing room and packed his case. When he descended the stairs to the foyer, he ordered the bellhop to summon his coach.
The old man appeared taken aback. “At this hour, sir?”
“Urgent business,” replied DuBerre.
The bellhop obeyed his command, and soon the horse-drawn carriage rolled around the circular drive. DuBerre slid in, tucking his valise between his shoes.
“Where to, Comrade DuBerre?” asked the coach, a younger fellow with a bit of a common brogue.
DuBerre smoothed the knees of his trousers. “Omar Village, Häffstrom.”
“Häffstrom? But that’ll take days!”
“Then make haste,” said DuBerre icily.
THEY RESTED IN AN OPEN field amidst cricket calls and fireflies, whose green glow reminded Macmillan of Dainy’s eyes. When they awoke next morning, they spied the lady bandit some distance behind them.
“We know you’re out there,” Macmillan called out to her. “No use continuing to hide.”
Not wanting to waste time, they headed up the road, another day in the plains. Toward the height of the morning, they stopped at a stream to wash and drink when there came a rustling of weeds, and a figure emerged.
Narrow and slender she stood, with lithe, angular limbs and a sheet of hair so dark it shone violet. She watched them with oblong, equally violet eyes. Her lips were thin and spread across her face, although she was unsmiling. She was dressed in men’s garments, from the cap on her head to the pointy boots at her toes.
Cosmith, who had been splashing water into his face, glanced up and groaned.
Bos stared at the woman, and she surveyed him with apparent interest. “Well, big man?” she purred at last. “Like what you see?”
The giant’s complexion reddened.
“What do you want?” barked Cosmith.
“As you might recall, comrade,” the bandida said the word bitingly, slinking toward them in a rather feline manner, “I was an original member of this search party, too. And seeing as you all seem to be quite chummy, I thought I could have in on your little pact.”
“There is no pact,” Macmillan informed her. “We are still competing.”
She raised an eyebrow, looking surprised. “And yet you continue on together? Why ever for?”
“Because we are friends,” came Dainy’s taut voice.
The two women faced each other, and Macmillan couldn’t help but notice how different they were.
The bandida’s eyes glowed. “Are you Duchess Eludaine?” she breathed excitedly. Dainy frowned, but the woman grinned, holding her gaze. “Friends, eh?” She inched closer. “May I be your friend, too, my lady?”
“As I recall,” said Dainy, lifting her chin, “yesterday, you held a knife to my throat. Why would I wish to become your friend?”
Macmillan privately cheered her nerve.
“Her Royal Highness must understand that I’m but a lowly beggar, merely trying to make ends meet.” The bandida simpered. “I’ve not two pieces of silver to rub together.”
“Well, I’m just a lowly innkeeper from Heppestoni,” retorted Dainy, her voice admirably firm. “When I need to make ends meet, I sever my hair and sell it. I’ve never resorted to stealing.”
The woman shrugged. “Then perhaps you have never been desperate enough.”
“Enough,” intervened Cosmith. “We know your true intentions. Now go away, before we shall be forced to bear our weapons against you.”
Bos glowered at him. “I bear no weapon against any woman.”
The bandida gave the giant an appreciative glance. “The big man is a gentleman. Take note from him, Cosmith, you may learn a thing or two.”
“All due respect, miss,” said Macmillan, and she swiftly turned to him. “But this competition already is quite crowded, between Jon and me.”
“Oh?” She jerked her head toward Bos. “And what of…?”
“Bos is not competing,” explained Macmillan. “He only participates out of loyalty to the empire.”
She grinned coyly at the giant. “My family and I were royalists, too.” She held out a hand. “Seluna Campagna,” she introduced herself, the name rolling from her tongue as lithe and smooth as she. “You may call me Selu.”
“Boslon Visigoth,” he replied, taking her hand.
“Oh, for all things decent, Bos, you’re not fool enough to fall for this act, are you?” implored Cosmith.
“I believe I can be of help to your noble cause,” proclaimed Selu, and Cosmith snorted. “A portion of gold from the champion, in exchange for my services, is all I ask.”
“How can you help us?” Macmillan asked skeptically.
Her violet eyes danced. “Surely, once we cross into Häffstrom, you’d like a swifter journey, yes?” She nodded encouragingly. “I can get you to Omar Village in half the time.”
“How?” asked Dainy.
“Horses,” replied Selu simply.
The duchess was unfazed. “Horses,” she repeated.
“Dear child, do you not realize how expensive those creatures are?” Selu laughed. “Listen, if you folks wish to spend weeks on foot, be my guests. But I know a man who owes me a favor. He can give us steeds to carry us to our destination in mere days.”
Cosmith and Macmillan watched one another, weighing her offer.
“But what do a few days matter?” Dainy demanded of them. “You found me! She doesn’t deserve any gold for it.”
“Quixheto is still on the loose and hunting us,” whispered Macmillan.
“As I’ve said, the sooner to Häffstrom, the better,” Cosmith murmured.
“How much gold do you seek?” Macmillan asked the bandida, even as Dainy heaved a sigh.
Selu shrugged. “Oh, I know not,” she drawled, batting her lashes at him. “Why not wait until the prize has been awarded, and then decide upon a fair amount from there?”
“Yes, so long as it is indeed fair,” warned Cosmith, re-buttoning his vest.
“I’m glad to have you among our ranks, Ms. Campagna,” came Bos’s deep voice, and Macmillan could’ve laughed at his doe-like gaze. Bos went on. “The road is no place for a lone lady.”
Macmillan felt fairly sure that this Selu person could take care of herself, and had been managing quite ably without them. But she grinned, apparently charmed by the giant, and took hold of his enormous arm.
COSMITH DID NOT LIKE TRAVELING with the woman, Selu, at all. He didn’t trust her.
He couldn’t quite recall what he’d ever found appealing about her, if anything. She was rather gaunt and catty, with barely any shape to her, and a hard disposition. Nothing like….
Cosmith stopped himself. He wasn’t comparing other women to the duchess of Jordinia now, was he?
He grimaced as they jutted past another endless field on the outskirts of some new Bainherd village. It would not do to hold any woman in special esteem. For that would be to form attachments he could not afford to keep. As a child, had he not been awfully fond of his mother? And then look what the uncaring woman had done.
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Dainy. Her hair was lengthening now, hugging at the inward curve
of her jaw. He had always noticed how uncommonly short she wore her hair, but had never thought to wonder why. From what she had told Selu, he’d been surprised to learn that Dainy had shorn it to sell it, in order to help her foster family’s finances.
Cosmith felt oddly humbled by her quiet sacrifice, her gentle abnegation of vanity. He wondered what the rest of her hair had looked like, to what lengths it once fell, and how it might feel running between his fingers, should she ever grow it out again.
Stop, he ordered himself. The girl was only a means to an end. As were all women, in some capacity. And yet, he had to ask himself, if that was how he really felt, then why did her inexplicably cool behavior toward him lately seem to cut him so?
The man vacated his thoughts. He came to realize Macmillan walking alongside him.
“I do declare,” the lad elbowed him, “it appears Bos is sweet on your bandida.”
“She is not my bandida,” said Cosmith irately, although he peeked over his shoulder. Bos and Selu took their time a stone’s throw away, as if sharing a simple promenade with no destination in particular. “Uy,” he groaned.
Macmillan laughed. “They’ve been like that all day. Have you not noticed?”
Cosmith shrugged.
“You’ve been uncommonly quiet, Jon.”
Uncomfortable with the observation, Cosmith pressed his lips into a smirk. “I’m merely plotting how best to defeat you, Macmillan.”
The young man did not acknowledge this. “Dainy has been silent, too.” They glanced covertly at the girl walking solo behind them. “I think she’s still distraught over Pascale.”
Cosmith felt sorry, he truly did. He knew what it was like to lose somebody. But Dainy was of age, and would be able to look after herself. Besides, she had an uncle she was about to meet, and three new friends to care for her now.
He clenched his jaw. He had not just considered himself the duchess’s friend.
And he had not just confessed that he cared for her.
THE SUN BLAZED OVERHEAD, SLOWLY making its descent behind the desolate prairie. The Bainherd Plains were almost as deserted as the Knights’ Forest in those parts, with endless fields stretching ahead for miles.
Although their party was now five, Dainy could scarcely recall having felt more alone. She could only think of how desperately she longed to return to her aunts in Beili, how deeply she missed the salty ocean, the fresh lull of the sea, the chattering of gulls….
“You doing all right back here?” Mac greeted her kindly.
Dainy attempted a smile for him. “Just a bit homesick,” she admitted, watching her feet in their lovely black shoes from Jon. Without them, she didn’t know how she would have made it that far. Although, he’d been rather caring to design those slippers for her out of the leather tarp, that first morning in the Knights’ Forest.
With a strange murmuring in her chest, Dainy contemplated the way Jon had examined her feet with concern. Her breath caught as she recalled the brush of his fingers against her ankles when he had gently folded over the fabric, securing it around her foot with care.
Surely, if Jon were such a bad man, with nary a thought for anyone but himself, he would not have done something so simple and kind for her, would he?
The days blended together as they continued, passing the occasional village or farm, but mostly just sliding along the backdrop of the never-ending sea of tall, yellow meadows.
“The plains are rather plain, indeed,” remarked Jon wryly as the sun descended upon them again.
“I thank you in advance, Selu,” said Mac, sounding tired, “for the promise of horses.”
“Speaking of which, we are almost to Häffstrom,” replied Selu at Bos’s side. The two had spent yet another day holding hands.
Dainy could hardly comprehend that they were approaching her uncle’s country of exile at last. Could they really have traveled so far?
“In a few more days, someone is about to become a very wealthy man.” Selu wiggled her eyebrows playfully at Mac and Jon.
“Yes, so long as you don’t rob them,” Jon snapped.
THEY ROSE WITH THE DAWN, and Cosmith paid their passage into Häffstrom. A hillier landscape sprouted before them as they no longer journeyed along the level plains, thankfully finished with Bainherd’s flatland monotony.
Selu led the way west, en route to the elderly horse trader whom she claimed could help them. She’d apparently done him a favor in the past, rescuing his horses from a would-be thief, and the man had promised her a favor in return.
Macmillan waited at the bottom of the stoop with the others as she climbed the steps to an old white cabin and knocked on the door.
After a delay, it opened, revealing a snowy-haired man. He smiled, a few of his teeth missing, as he appeared to recognize her.
Selu grinned. “Is it a good day to redeem my favor? My friends and I are in need of some horses.”
Unexpectedly, his face fell. “Sorry. But unless you’ve steeds to trade, I cannot spare mine.”
“But,” she frowned, “you promised to help me when the need arose. I need to borrow five of your horses.”
“I currently have but seven,” said the man. “I cannot give you all but two. They’re my sole means of livelihood.”
“Four horses?” Her brow furrowed.
He shook his head.
“Three horses?” begged Selu. “Can you not spare just three? I promise to return them in a moon’s time, and with interest.”
The old man sighed, rubbing his brow as though already regretting his decision. “All right. Select three.”
Macmillan was mildly surprised when Selu beckoned Dainy. So far, the women had seemed none too fond of each other.
“Come,” she invited her. “The duchess should have her pick.”
Dainy eyed her warily. But, after a glance at the lovely animals in their stalls, she relented, following the bandida to the stables. “I’ve never ridden a horse before,” Macmillan heard her confess.
They returned with a docile gray, a regal-looking chestnut, and a strong black stallion, which still looked fairly unbroken.
“So,” said Selu, “who’s sharing with whom?”
Dainy stroked the black stallion’s muzzle. It was clear which horse she’d be electing to ride. “What’s his name?” she inquired of the trader.
“Spitfire,” answered the old man. “The gray is Folly Silver, and the chestnut is Storm.”
Bos and Selu steered Folly Silver and Storm by the reins. Macmillan watched uneasily as Cosmith lingered behind, awaiting Dainy as she led the black horse past the paddocks in the trader’s yard.
“Spitfire,” she repeated. The magnificent stallion snorted eagerly. “I like that.”
“Goes hand-in-hand with firecracker,” Cosmith murmured to her, and a significant look passed between them. Cosmith grinned, the duchess flushed, and they walked side by side. Macmillan had no notion of what the interaction meant. But he didn’t like it.
Making up his mind, he leapt to Dainy’s side, taking her hand. “We can share Spitfire together,” he offered.
“Nonsense,” Cosmith dismissed him. “An experienced rider must accompany her.”
Macmillan felt the heat climbing up his neck. “And you know so much about riding, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Dainy will ride with me. You can ride with Selu,” said Cosmith disdainfully, shooing Macmillan aside.
Macmillan was not having any of that. “I think not, Cosmith. For how do we know you’ll not try to take off with Dainy, leaving the rest of us in the dust?”
Cosmith looked him square in the face. “I hadn’t thought of that, Mac.” He grinned. “But now that you mention it, it’s not such a bad idea.”
Macmillan opened his mouth to retort, but Dainy placed a hand on his forearm. “He’s only joking, Mac,” she
assured him. But she then backed away, returning to Cosmith’s side. “Perhaps you’ll have your own steed,” she added. “I’m sure Selu and Bos will be riding together.”
“With the utmost regret,” lamented Bos, “I’m too big to share a horse.”
“Never worry.” Selu grinned. “I’ll ride with Her Highness. You boys,” she pointed between Macmillan and Cosmith, “can share.”
Cosmith grabbed Dainy’s hand. The girl stumbled back, glancing up at him in surprise as he wrapped a protective arm around her. Macmillan fumed. “Like hell you’re riding with Dainy. You’re the one who intends to ride off with her.”
“Try me,” Selu challenged him.
“Sorry, lass, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” Cosmith hugged Dainy to himself more tightly, and Macmillan frowned to see that the girl appeared almost pleased.
“Macmillan rides with the duchess,” announced Bos at last, giving Selu a significant look. It was clear, then, that the giant had filled her in, informing her that the goal was to help Macmillan, and not Cosmith, win the contest.
Macmillan relaxed.
“Fine,” Selu spat. “But I am sitting behind you, Cosmith, not you behind me. For I’ll be damned should I have to feel you enthused against my backside.”
Cosmith laughed bitterly, examining his fingernails. “Don’t flatter yourself, darling; I am not that desperate.”
Dainy looked mortified. “But I prefer to ride with Jon,” she asserted, blushing. “Mac and I are both…inexperienced riders.”
Bos spoke to her calmly. “It is simple, Eludaine. Just knock your heels to go, and pull back on the reins to stop. You and Macmillan will do just fine.” He selected Storm for himself and swung one long leg over the creature’s side, mounting with ease.
The man flexed his colossal back, finding equilibrium, and gave the reins a jiggle. His horse circled the others. “Mount your horses, then. Let us tarry no longer.”
Cosmith and Selu glared at one another, until the man heaved a sigh and mounted the dapple gray, sliding forward to make room behind him.