He took the shirt. Tom grinned, his teeth brilliant and white. "Thank you, my heartless one."
Isi's grunt could not be said to be a reply. He slipped out of the tent, worrying the soft fabric of the shirt between his palms. Perhaps he should look for Marian, after all. If anyone could convince Tom to change course from his usual follies, it had to be his oldest sister. She didn't like Isi very much, but perhaps he could convince her.
As he was making his way across the camp, two Mheztil navigators took notice of him and called out. One was called Atl, a cousin of his old master's family. The other Isi didn't know, and by the grasping look on his face, he did not care to.
He did not want to know what they wanted with him. Those Mheztil who did not entirely shun him generally wanted to fight, instead. Whatever the case, drink had been flowing down the line all day, and the navigators were clearly ready for something more amusing than pre-Skellan ruins. So Isi turned and fled. He'd wait until they forgot about him to try and approach the princess again.
He could have gotten Walter or Sol or Emery to back him, could have stood up to them easily. Instead he slipped into the darker parts of the forest, off the proscribed path.
It had been many, many years since he had known a place like this. Ancient, primeval, all towering trees and pitted, scarred groundcover. Mheztil were, by nature, men of plains and plateaus. They would not follow far. Indeed, he heard them stumbling around before loudly declaring the pursuit of traitors to be a waste of time, then retreating from their search. Isi stayed in the woods, listening to the calls of birds and the rustling of the wind through the trees.
He avoided going back to camp as long as possible. Tom would be annoyed that he missed dinner, but Tom would probably forgive him. Anyway, there was always another day for singing nationalist songs and wearing impolitic jewelry.
The camp was still—as still as any expedition of scores of men could get—and the moon high and bright when Isi finally ventured to return. And that was how he saw her, sneaking out of her palatial tent.
She was dressed in a Skellan boy's straight tunic and trousers, hair all caught up in a cap, but he knew.
Princess Marian.
Slipping off to meet a lover, perhaps?
Or something much more sinister?
He owes me this much, he remembered her saying. Curiosity overcame his judgment once more.
Isi followed at a distance as she snuck out of camp, tracing the trail back south before switching off to an overgrown path. There were no markers that Isi could identify, but she walked confidently, as if she knew exactly where she was going.
She stopped abruptly, so unexpectedly that Isi had to crouch to avoid her notice as she turned. She was looking for something, but, it seemed, not for him. Her hands scrambled blindly around the base of a dead ash, and she made a hum of satisfaction as she pulled something free—a letter, a message of some kind.
Then, "Who's there?"
Chastened, Isi was just about to reveal himself when Atl and his tall companion stepped out from the west. Had Isi been mistaken when he thought they had gone back to camp? Had they been waiting here all this time specifically for her, or were they simply seizing the opportunity of her presence?
"Little princess," Atl said, a threatening curl to his voice. "Itzcoatl would not like to see you out here all alone."
"I am not alone."
"Of course you are," the other man said. "And so… scandalously attired. Tell us, what is in that note that could not be sent to you properly in Skelhome?"
"My correspondence does not concern you, nor your master."
"Sneaking out to find shadowy messages hidden in the woods? Of course that concerns him. That is not proper behavior for a Mheztil wife."
"Good thing we are not in Mheztil, and that I am hardly his wife."
"Perhaps we should ask him what he thinks of this scene, eh?"
Princess Marian thrust her jaw forward. "Perhaps you should, at that. What will he think of laborers approaching me unchaperoned, I wonder?"
There was a world of class difference between laborers and navigators, of course. She knew that they were navigators from the earbobs they wore to show it. The insult was obvious and calculated. And if she wanted a reaction, she got one.
Atl snarled and grabbed for her, knocking her cap askew. She slipped out of his reach, still remarkably calm. And that was the last Isi saw, because he was on the men, tearing Atl away from the princess and pushing himself bodily between her and the Mheztil.
"I was wondering when you would show yourself," she muttered.
Isi turned to her, incredulous. "Wait, you—"
"Knife!" she shouted suddenly, and Isi ducked and rolled, striking at one of the assailant's legs. The man fell backward with a thud, and then the other was on Isi. He tried to take a deep breath in the midst of his exertion. Center himself.
This was what he had trained to do. This was what he was good for.
Kicks, blows, power, and intention behind every strike. It took seconds, little more. Atl ended up in a heap, bloodied but still breathing. The other one, who'd dared to pull a blade, was not so fortunate. Isi turned the weapon on him, dispatched him quickly. He still didn't even know the man's name.
As Isi bent to retrieve the bloodied knife, he glanced up at Princess Marian's shocked face.
"You weren't supposed to kill him," she hissed.
"What?"
"Didn't Itzcoatl tell you—"
"My lady, I have never spoken a word to your husband in my life. What do you presume I was supposed to do, here?"
She turned, if possible, paler. "Shit."
"What's going on?"
"Run," Marian commanded. "Run, now."
She tore ahead of him, rushing through the woods with certain steps. He felt like a cretin crashing behind her. He assumed that she would go to rouse the king or her husband. Instead, she skidded to a halt at the picket line and began un-staking a roan gelding.
"What are you doing?" Isi sputtered, reaching her.
"Running. Get your horse, if she's got a gallop in her, or take another one."
Isi froze, trying to process all that had happened in the past few minutes. Marian rolled her eyes. "Horse. Now. Or do you want those Mheztil bastards to hang you?"
The incongruity of hearing a cuss fall from her aristocratic lips jolted him from his reverie. He ran for Peaseblossom, trying to calculate how far they could get before a search party followed.
No. That was madness. They couldn't run; they had to go to the king.
"Your father—" he tried.
"Won't listen. Stay or come, but make your choice."
She was up and ready to run. Isi paused for only a second longer.
No matter that he didn't know where they were going, or why. He was pledged to Tom. That held over to Tom's sister, as well. It was down to him to protect her—at the very least keep her from breaking her neck in the dark. He'd try to talk sense into her when he could and get her back to camp, but until then, it was his duty to keep her safe and whole.
*~*~*
They thundered south, back to the King's Highway, which led straight to Skelhome. Isi assumed that was where they were headed, and breathed a sigh of relief. He could work with Skelhome.
But then Marian turned west.
He reined up beside her, forcing her to slow her poor, beleaguered horse. "All right, your highness. It's time you tell me what this is all about."
"I need to get a message to Tempare. I was not anticipating that those Mheztil would catch me at it. Thank you for handling them."
"You need to get a message to Tempare." There were couriers whose entire job was travelling back and forth from that port city delivering mail across Skel. She might have sent anyone.
"That is what I just said."
"You."
"Yes, me."
"Not one of your servants. Not a guard. Not—not Tom, for Four's sake. You."
"Are you dim? I always thought that
was a role you played to deceive your masters."
He ignored the barb. "You were expecting, perhaps, that you could just slip away and no one would notice that you were gone?"
"Of course not." She coughed theatrically. "Travel is known to disagree with me. I've come down quite ill. My maids are all in on the deception."
"Then why not send one of the maids!"
"Because, Sir Cur, this is a message that I must carry myself."
Dogs, again. Why did every insult have to come down to dogs? Isi quite liked dogs; they were kind, and companionable, and easy to be alone with. The most demented or damaged of feral hounds could be redeemed with a gentle word, a gentle touch, a piece of meat. Dogs were loyal and brave. And yet when she called him cur, when Skellans called Mheztil the dogs of the west, when Mheztil called Skellans godless mutts, it all sounded so vile.
He sighed, trying to reign in his exasperation. "Why were you picking up a secret message in the woods that only you can possibly carry to Tempare? Who sent it to you?"
"I can't tell you that."
"My lady—"
"I can't tell you because I don't know. I thought Itzcoatl had put it there. He was supposed to be… but then those awful navigators… and now I'm all in a muddle. We've made a great go of things. With you gone, they'll think you've kidnapped me, or worse."
"Tom will never believe that."
"Tom has no influence over my father, and you know it, no matter how hard he's trying to play the dutiful son on this trip. Our only choice now is to get to Tempare before they discover us."
That was hardly the case. "You can explain what happened to the king and unravel this entire mess."
"Explain how you left a knife sticking in a Mheztil navigator during a tour that was supposed to reinforce the treaties, and how I came to be carrying seditious messages?"
His throat felt dry. "How seditious?"
"Never you mind, Sir Cur. But think. When that navigator you left living wakes up, who knows what story he'll try to tell? If you're lucky, my father will only banish you. If you're unlucky, Percy Gelhorn will try to make an example of you, and disgrace Tom in the bargain. Have a care for him, if not for your own neck."
"I don't like this. We look guilty if we run."
"We are guilty, and turning back won't help us now. Get me to where I am going. And stop talking so much; I need to think. I thought you were supposed to be the quiet one, anyway."
Despite himself, Isi smiled. "Sir Emery's the Silent Knight. I'm the Heartless."
She sighed expansively. "Just my luck."
*~*~*
There had been no time for provisioning, and there was no question of stopping to requisition supplies from some poor landholder. They were three days' ride, perhaps two if they pushed, from Tempare, and they needed water more than food, though Isi's plaintive stomach thought food would be very nice indeed.
Fortunately, he had an idea for acquiring both.
The Shallow, Skel's principal river, ran alongside the King's Highway in an almost parallel curve. They should not risk travelling the open highway, but if they deviated from their current track for a quarter mile or so, they would hit a branching stream. Water, fish, and, if he was remembering his geography correctly, a little ridge that would shield them from view on three sides and allow for a little bit of a rest. It was heading towards midday, and neither of them had slept the night before.
Marian frowned when he suggested this, but eventually gave way. For the sake of the horses, she said.
"Do you know how to build a fire?" he asked her as he led the beasts to water and let them drink their fill. "I'm going to catch us some dinner."
"With what, pray tell?"
He handed her his flint and gestured to the brush. "Small tinder and dry grass. We don't want to leave a large mark of our presence, but we can't have it going out with the first gust of wind, either."
"Not that, you dullard. I know how to set a fire. What are you going to catch fish with? Your bare hands?"
He executed a sort-of bow, the kind of thing Sol or Walter would do to show that they were boasting. "I am still Maupe, last I checked."
"And the Maupe are known for their bare-handed fishing?"
He chucked off his boots, luxuriating in the warm grass against his bare skin. "I don't remember, exactly. But I know how to do it, at least."
It wasn't as easy as he tried to make it sound. But it was a good distraction from thinking about… everything. The fact that he had killed a man, and it might be viewed as cold murder instead of defense. The fact that he had somehow absconded with a princess, right under the noses of her husband and father and brother. The fact that he had not turned to his brothers-in-arms when he should have done. The fact that the princess was hoarding some huge secret, and it might prove a danger to everything he thought he stood for.
Those were not thoughts he particularly cared to dwell on, just at the moment.
Splish. He hooked a hold on one fat chub, tossed it far up the bank. Marian skittered back, losing her usual air of self-possession. "What do I do? Do I club it?"
"Leave it be. It will go quickly." He turned his attention back to the water, and in short order, two more followed the first. Reckoning that would be enough to share, he clambered out and grabbed his boots.
Princess Marian had a tidy blaze going. Impressed, Isi settled down and began to clean their dinner.
"Does Tom know you can do that?" she asked him.
"Does Tom know you can build fires and tramp around in men's clothing?"
She snorted, quite un-princess-like. "Please. You think I spent all these years without picking up some tricks from the Derry bastard? I know how she gets in and out of the palace in his castoff clothes."
He was surprised to hear her even mention Anne. She loathed Anne. And why wouldn't she? It must have seemed that the unexpected bastard had taken away any wisps of her father's love for her that had ever existed.
Even Isi was baffled by that family, and among the Mheztil he had seen his share of dysfunction.
"You know," he said as they ate, "I always pictured you and your sisters up in the turrets. Sewing and practicing delicate arias and that sort of thing. Are all of you secretly radicals?"
"I had a lot of time to learn things, growing up. A lot of time, waiting around for my husband to come. I certainly have all the expected accomplishments, but I was not content to rest there. So I picked up other tricks."
"Like language."
"Yes, like language. A woman must learn her husband's mother tongue, you know. My mother had to learn Skellan; her mother before her had to learn Neydelese. That is the way things are when you're born to be a bargaining chip."
"We should turn back. Whatever problem you are running from, your father will protect you. It doesn't matter what might happen to me."
"Oh, Sir Cur. You don't know anything about my father at all, and you are not very convincing."
"Your highness, those men tried to assault you."
"And you prevented that. Quite admirably. Don't worry. Whatever happens, I'll be sure Tom knows of that. He will not drop you on my account."
"I'm not worried about what Tom thinks."
Marian only smiled, as if she knew him for a liar.
*~*~*
The lack of any sign of pursuit was eerie. Odd enough that Isi was starting to wonder what other forces might be in play. Had someone sent the king's party off on a different trail?
If so, how? And why?
He had always had trouble keeping political maneuverings straight. He did not care who benefited from the treaties, he did not care who sat on the throne of Skel or the Sun Dais of Mheztil. He thought he should try to figure out what was in Marian's letter, to be able to inform Tom, at least, of what she was up to, but he did not know how to breach the subject. Every time he tried, the questions closed up in his throat.
So they resumed their ride in silence, until the sun bled out over the horizon, and Isi insisted that th
ey stop. Neither of them had slept for a day and a night and a day. They should not spend another night stumbling around in the dark.
Of course, they did not have bedrolls, or even cloaks. At least Isi had Tom's shirt, but the knightly thing to do was to offer it to Princess Marian as a pillow and so in the end, all that was left for him was the hard ground. It did not promise to be a comfortable rest.
It became considerably less comfortable when Isi woke to find the princess curled around him, chin to chest. Startled, he yelped and scuttled away. She lurched awake, mumbling vague, incoherent phrases.
She must have curled up against him instinctively in her sleep. Isi couldn't imagine her showing such vulnerability under normal circumstances.
That didn't make it any easier for him to breathe.
"What's going on?" she finally dragged out. "What's happened?"
Isi took a deep drag of air. "I apologize. You startled me."
"Startle—"
"I do not like to be touched."
She blinked, apparently reconstructing their positions in her mind. "Oh," she said, shortly, and Isi hoped that would be all. But of course it was not.
"Is it… is it because you were a slave?"
She whispered the word, as if to speak it aloud gave it power. So many Skellans did.
The people of Skel had once been slaves themselves, legend said, of the cruel masters of Old Neydel. They did not take kindly to the institution. Yet their righteous revulsion had always seemed self-serving to Isi. After all, it did not prevent them from treating with the Mheztil in the end, despite the fact that the Mheztil would never give up their own slaves.
Isi sighed and rubbed at the crust in his eyes. "No. It is because I am a person who does not like to be touched."
She laughed then, a bizarre, bitter sound. Isi scowled. "I'll thank you not to mock me, princess."
"I'm— I'm not. Believe me, I'm not. It's only— I only—"
"Calm down. What is it?"
"I can't help but wonder. Doesn't anyone from your cesspool of an Empire want to fuck me?"
The panic. Hot and cold, racing for dominance over every inch of his skin. She would know, she would see, no matter what he told her now. She would know that he was empty of all desire. And then Tom would know, and Tom would see, and Emery and Walter and Sol and everyone he'd ever cared about. And they would not say anything, perhaps, they might never be as gauche as that, but they would know, and look at him differently, because no matter what he did, he would never be a proper Skellan man if he could not even manage to be a proper human person like all the rest.
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