by Erin Beaty
“I like it, too,” he assured her. “It has meaning.” She colored a deeper shade of pink, but he pretended not to notice, focusing down the road. “Sounds like your parents were well-matched. Is that what made you choose your apprenticeship?”
“No, I kind of fell into it. My parents matched themselves. She was a fletcher’s daughter.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “As a fowler his father sold feathers to her father for arrow making.”
“Close. Father was raised in an orphanage and never knew his parents. He sold the feathers as an apprentice.” A dreamy smile lit her face. “He would ration what he had to sell, so he could visit almost every day.”
He found it impossible to look away from her. “He must’ve had a rough childhood, with no parents.”
Sage shook her head. “Actually, the convent inspired his love of learning. Had he been raised outside it, he might never have been so well-schooled. He also had more choice in his apprenticeship, as he wasn’t born into one. When he was thirteen, he saw Mother for the first time, and since the fletcher already had an assistant, Father chose the next closest thing. Nine years later, they ran off together.”
“Nine years?” he said. “That’s a lot of dedication.”
“Says the career soldier,” she retorted cheerfully before growing serious again. “They might’ve married sooner if her parents had approved. They were so horrible, Father refused to send me to them after she died. So I stayed with him, always traveling.”
“What happened to him?”
“There was a bad fever in late summer. He nursed me through it before taking ill, so for a long time I blamed myself. When he looked at me near the end, he called me Astelyn. He thought I was Mother.” She stared at a point between her mount’s ears. “In a way I’m glad, because it gave him comfort.”
Everything she’d had in life, gone at twelve. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“True, but I’m sorry I made you relive it for my own curiosity.”
“No, you were right before.” She exhaled and closed her eyes. “I feel much better having drained the wound. Most of the bitterness is finally gone. Maybe now it can properly heal.”
She shook herself a little and looked at him brightly. “So tell me about your scar.”
Her shift threw him off. “My what?”
“Your scar.” She pointed above his left eye. “How did you get it? Looks recent.”
“Oh, this,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Kicked by a deer that wasn’t as dead as I’d thought.”
“Liar.” Her cheerful tone contained a trace of warning.
He supposed there was no real harm in telling her. “A collision with a Kimisar pike last month. But I do have a scar over here from a deer, like I said.” He pointed to a spot over his ear. “I was thirteen.”
She refused to be diverted. “You’ve been in many battles, then?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ve been with the army since I was nine. They were more like skirmishes than battles, though. Things are tense with Kimisara, but it’s not all-out war.” Yet, he added to himself.
They rode in silence for a stretch, but he knew what she was thinking.
“Yes,” he said abruptly.
She jumped. “What?”
“You want to know if I’ve killed anyone. The answer is yes. Quite a few actually.”
“Oh.”
“The first was the hardest.” He couldn’t understand his compulsion to tell her, but neither could he resist it. “Well, it wasn’t hard at the time, considering he was trying to kill me, but the way I felt after was a bit of a shock. It takes something away from you that you can never get back.” He swallowed. He remembered everything—the screaming, the smell of blood and fear, the feel of the other man’s flesh yielding, the light fading from his eyes. “I was fifteen. I used a spear.”
Pity shadowed Sage’s face. “So it’s gotten easier?”
He nodded. “On good days I tell myself it’s easier because I’m more skilled or they would’ve killed me if I’d let them, I’m avenging friends, or that it’s justified some other way. On bad days…” He stared down the road, unable to recall the face of the last man he’d killed, though it was barely weeks ago. How many other faces had he forgotten?
“You think it’s because you enjoy it,” she finished. “That you’re a monster.”
He met her eyes, terrified she saw him that way. “Yes.”
Her smile was soft, reassuring. “You’re not.”
“How do you know that?” That she’d read him so well gave him hope she was right.
“Because you still worry about it.”
38
THE THIRD MORNING of riding followed the comfortable pattern of the past two. Sage learned more about page and squire training, and Charlie told her about his grandparents who lived in Aristel. Ash’s mother also came from the far east, but he said nothing other than she’d recently married.
For her part, Sage talked about catching young birds and training them with her father. When Charlie wasn’t with them, she entertained Ash with stories of spying on suitors and how she and Darnessa figured out what men wanted in a wife.
“I would’ve expected your uncle to send you to Mistress Rodelle to find a husband, not to work for her,” he commented.
“He tried last fall,” she said. “He set up the interview and told me about it after. I was furious.”
He grinned. “So you sabotaged it?”
She didn’t answer right away. “No, I tried for my aunt’s sake, since she tried so hard for me.”
“Tried?” Ash said, drawing his brows down. “You say that like it was futile.”
“It was. I ruined everything in a matter of minutes. Darnessa provoked me, but I certainly didn’t display any maturity.”
“You sound like you wish it’d gone better.”
Sage puffed out her cheeks and slowly released the air before replying. “Yes and no. I could never be happy pretending to be something I’m not. I just wish being myself didn’t cause so much trouble. Uncle William and I never got along, but he took care of me when I was at my very worst, and I owed him my best effort. And my best effort was awful.” She smiled ruefully. “It’s one thing to not want to get married. It’s quite another to find out no one would ever want to marry you.”
Ash raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
“Do you know Darnessa hired me because I would compare unfavorably to other women? That men would choose girls she wanted for them when given a choice between them and me?” She hadn’t thought of it in those terms since the first time. Why did it bother her now?
“That I find hard to believe.”
“It’s not difficult if you know what a man likes. Too many are distracted by looks and don’t see incompatibility of spirit.” Ash didn’t look convinced, so she tried to explain. “Say a man prefers quieter girls of delicate build and blond hair, but what he needs is a more outgoing girl who will counter his antisocial tendencies. The one Darnessa wants to match him with is taller than he’d like, not very thin, and has brownish hair. So I color my hair darker, put on high shoes, and wear a dress that … fills me out a lot. When we meet, I chatter a lot and the other girl holds her tongue. Compared to me, she’s closer to what he likes, and he picks her.”
Sage left out how Darnessa called her a natural at doing exactly what made people uncomfortable.
“So you trick men into choosing what you want?” Ash sounded disgusted.
“I thought it was like that at first, but a good matchmaker gives people what they need. Most people focus on what they want. And we don’t do that all the time. Some men just need to feel they’re in control.” Sage screwed up her face. “It’s challenging and satisfying to create a match that grows into love, but I don’t think I can do this forever. Someday I’ll find Darnessa a new apprentice and try to find a job teaching. I’m just too young right now.”
Hi
s expression became unreadable. “If the process works so well, why won’t you use it yourself now and have Darnessa match you?”
“Because I’d rather make a mistake than yield my destiny to someone else.” She smiled crookedly at him. “And believe me, I’m damn good at making mistakes.”
Ash turned his face away, but she could see his own smile. “I can relate to that,” he said. Suddenly he squinted at a line of smoke to the southeast. With a tug of the reins, he pulled his horse off the road. Without thinking, Sage followed him, letting the other riders pass them by.
“What is it?” she asked, stomach fluttering, but he looked excited rather than worried.
He twisted around in the saddle. Casseck was nowhere to be seen—he must be patrolling away from the road. Ash made a few hand signals at the captain several yards behind them. Quinn shrugged and made a motion. Go ahead.
Ash looked back to Sage. “Want to see the fruit of your idea?” He leaned toward her and whispered, “If you can keep up.” He kicked his horse and cantered ahead of her.
Frowning, she urged Shadow, the mare she’d ridden for the past two days, forward. Ash gestured for Charlie to follow, which he did with an eager grin. As they passed the dogs at the head of the caravan, Ash whistled to one, and it dropped in beside them.
They rode in silence for nearly an hour. Ash was alert to their surroundings and kept his crossbow ready and sword handy. Even Charlie had grabbed a spear, which made Sage uneasy, thinking of the first man Ash had killed. She felt helpless, though she wouldn’t have been able to handle a weapon if she had one, but Ash wouldn’t have brought her or Charlie along if he expected trouble.
After a few miles, they turned right onto a wide trail for another quarter hour. When the dog went bounding ahead out of sight, Ash halted his horse. “What is it?” she whispered, drawing up beside him.
He beamed at her like a delighted child. “Wait.”
They turned back to the trees and, after a few minutes, Sage began studying Ash from the corner of her eye. In profile his nose was straight but slightly hooked, and his mouth twisted up a bit, hinting at the sense of humor he often buried. He sat straight in the saddle, with a natural grace and confidence she hadn’t seen when he drove the wagon, though now she understood why. Sage knew him well enough to tell he was relaxed, but his head tilted and turned minutely in reaction to the forest noises while his eyes remained unfocused. Seeing with your ears, Father used to call it.
The sword at his side was plain but elegant—and deadly, no doubt, if he used it with the same grace and efficiency he had in everything else he did. She wondered if the king knew what a fine son he had. It was a shame his birth excluded him from an official place in the royal household. Was that why he had joined the army?
Sage glanced up to his face again and realized he was watching her. They were spared the awkwardness of talking by the return of the dog. As it trotted closer, she saw two small animals hanging from its mouth. Ash jerked his head at Charlie, and the boy dismounted and went to meet the hound, which dropped the animals in front of him. Charlie knelt and patted the dog and gave it a treat from his pocket, then pulled a scrap of paper from a hidden slit on the collar. Giving the dog one more scratch behind its ears, he stood and picked up what she could now see were a pair of fat rabbits.
He brought both to Ash and grinned up at Sage. Now she understood. The dogs exchanged messages with scouts farther out. Like her father, they probably used whistles that animals could hear but humans could not.
Ash set the rabbits over the pommel of his saddle and read the message before addressing Charlie. “You can mount up; I don’t need to send anything back. He’s probably already another half mile away.” Ash tucked the note in his jacket, and Sage tried not to feel hurt he didn’t show her what it said.
She could see Ash sympathized, but he had his orders. He held up the rabbits by the twine connecting them. “Do you fancy rabbit stew tonight? No onions.”
Something caught her eye, and she reached for one animal’s hind leg. “Caught with a snare,” she said, pointing to a spot of fur that had rubbed off. Sage bent the leg experimentally. “This morning.”
“Very good, Fowler.” He said her name like it was a compliment. “Notice anything else?”
Sage studied one of the rabbits, trying to discern what wasn’t quite right. She leaned closer and squeezed its middle. “Gutted already.” Frowning, she squeezed harder, then pulled it into her lap. Her fingers found a slit cut in its belly, and she reached inside.
Ash smiled as she pulled out a glass container filled with water and sealed with a wax plug. “Our scout went back to the sick town and got us a gift.”
Sage looked up in awe. “A weapon in a bottle.”
39
IT TOOK LESS than an hour for them to get back to the road and the caravan. Casseck had returned from his patrol and now glared at Ash, who met his gaze without blinking. They eyed each other from several yards apart while Sage watched from her seat on Shadow, feeling uncomfortable. Finally, Casseck rode forward and past Ash to address her.
“My lady,” he said. “Please don’t go off like that again. Carter is so cavalier about his own safety, he neglects that of others. Captain Quinn would never forgive himself if something happened to you.”
Ash kicked his horse and trotted back to speak with Quinn.
“I’m sorry,” Sage said. “I didn’t realize it was dangerous.” She looked up at Casseck with feigned innocence. “Maybe if you told me more about our situation, I could act with prudence. Sir.”
Casseck closed his eyes briefly, like he was praying for patience. “Mistress Sage, riding in the woods isn’t helpful to us. You should observe the places we can’t patrol.”
“What, like banquets and dances and wedding plans?” she said sarcastically.
He looked at her steadily. “Yes.”
She wrinkled her brow. “How could that be helpful?”
“Not all battles are fought in the field, my lady. Duke D’Amiran is an ambitious man, and tongues are looser around wine and pretty ladies.”
“You called me Sage. You already know I’m not a lady,” she accused him. Dammit, Ash, do you have to tell them everything?
Casseck smiled a little. “Then we’re lucky you can play both. Servants like to talk, too.” He dipped his head and urged his horse forward and away.
Ash rejoined her after reporting to the captain, but she didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t force conversation, though she felt him watching her sideways. As they neared their next stop, they came over a rise, and he pointed out the mountain peaks now visible on the eastern horizon. He knew she’d looked forward to seeing them for days, but she barely acknowledged the sight. When they rode into the estate, he stayed near her as they dismounted and walked to the stables.
“I would never put you in danger, Sage,” he said quietly as he helped her take down her saddle.
She glanced up. There was a worry crease between his dark brows. “I know.”
“What did Casseck say to you? You’ve barely spoken since we came back.” He settled the saddle on a rail and took his mare’s lead to pull her around behind Sage.
She turned around from brushing Shadow. Her eyes swept over their surroundings, but no one paid them any mind as they went about tending their own mounts. “Lieutenant Casseck asked me to keep my eyes and ears open when we get to Tegann. He said the duke is ambitious.”
Ash scowled. “For someone so angry about the nondanger I put you in today, Casseck is quick to put you in harm’s way himself.”
“But if we’re already in danger,” she whispered, “what difference does it make? Especially if I can help?”
He stepped closer, forcing her to tilt her head higher to see his now-anxious expression. “I just … I got you into this. He should butt out.”
Ash looked down on her as he had the night she confessed her name, like she was the only thing in the world—except this time there was no tray between them. Sa
ge found her eyes drawn to his mouth, to the three short whiskers near the corner he must have missed in shaving this morning. She pulled her lips in to wet them with her tongue, anticipating … something.
Without warning Shadow stepped sideways, roughly knocking her against him. Ash caught her in his arms and looked up behind her, annoyance on his face. The top of Captain Quinn’s dark head appeared over the horse’s back. “Sorry about that, Carter,” he said. “My sword clipped her accidentally.”
“No harm, sir.” Ash set Sage back on her feet, withdrawing his support as soon as she was upright, touching her as little as possible.
Straightening her like a vase on a shelf.
Face burning, she grabbed Shadow’s reins and fled.
40
CAPTAIN HUZAR REGARDED Duke D’Amiran with a stony expression, his back to the fireplace of the Great Hall. His forearms flexed, and the duke noticed how the inked designs flowed into one another when Huzar’s arms were crossed as they were now. He considered tattoos vulgar, but these had a sort of scrolling poetry to them.
“My sources say our men are sent through the south pass with no prince,” Huzar said. “Why is this?”
The duke smothered a grimace. He’d have to find these spies and eliminate them. Or employ them himself—they were incredibly swift. With a cheerful smile, he gestured for the Kimisar soldier to join him at the table, which was laid with enough food for ten men, though he dined alone. “You should eat something, my friend. I know you’re hungry, waiting out there.”
Huzar ignored the invitation. “I will eat when my people can eat.”
D’Amiran sat back in his ornate wooden chair and wiped his fingers on a linen napkin. “The truth of the matter is, I’ve discovered Prince Robert is on his way here, with the escort.”
“And you did not tell us.”
“I’m telling you now. I didn’t want you inspired to take him sooner than we’d planned.” He sipped his wine without taking his eyes off Huzar.