by Megan Derr
"Where exactly each clan's primary village is located isn't public record," Charlaine said, shifting the papers a bit closer to the fire to better read. "The point Mark indicated is her best approximation based on what information she could gather, but it shouldn't be too far off…" He set the papers aside with a long sigh. "Let's face it, we'll be lucky if we don't get caught at some point. Myra's party may not have come this far yet, but it's a safe bet Iron Moon has been informed we're here, and it's not hard to figure out our goal. How in the world we're going to fight off an entire clan of professional killers, I don't know, but I guess we'll sort that problem out once we're faced with it. For now, let's get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long, hot, frustrating day of slogging through a muggy forest, or whatever they call this, with targets on our backs."
Jac grimaced and tucked the map away. She checked on her still-damp clothes, then set out her bedroll and stretched out. "I miss sleeping in a good bed even more than I miss good food."
"I miss a good bath," Charlaine said from the opposite side of the fire as he arranged his weapons, carefully stowed his boots so nothing could crawl in them during the night, and settled onto his own bed. "I miss good, strong coffee being available whenever I want it."
"Served by friendly cooks always happy to give you extra cream and a bit of a flirt?" Jac grinned when he shot her a look. "What? I'm not the only person in the palace who's noticed how good-looking you are, especially that ass. Every soldier and half the staff in the palace have been vying for your affections for years." She burst into giggles at the mortified look on his face and would bet his skin had darkened too. "You cannot be surprised people find you attractive."
"People find I'm best out of sight because usually I bring bad news or other trouble with me," Charlaine said. "I'm nowhere near as feared as Lord Lesto or Commander Jader, but people don't generally smile when they see me either, even now that I've taken what most see as a demotion. Do people really talk—"
"About your ass? Yes." Jac grinned as he buried his face in his hands. "I wouldn't have guessed you for the shy one."
He lifted his head and cast her a look. "I definitely knew you were the bratty one."
Jac's grin widened.
"And I'm not shy, simply private," Charlaine added. "I know both the military and the High Court think it's normal to discuss everyone's private life loudly and with plenty of opinions, but I prefer to keep as much of my life to myself as possible."
"Ha! You're Lord Kamir's bodyguard; you don't have a private life anymore." Jac started to comment he'd have even less of one once the court caught wind of their relationship—threesomes were seldom seen outside of dame and sire arrangements, which were most often temporary—then remembered they probably weren't going to be at court anymore. Whatever Charlaine said about Allen defending her, there was only so much even the High Consort could do about such flagrant disobedience, especially when it was his personal bodyguard behaving so.
Even if Allen did protect her, she couldn't remain nice and cozy in Harkenesten while Charlaine and Myra were forced to leave.
Pantheon, she still couldn't believe she and Charlaine were considering such a thing. Outside of parts of Gearth and the Islands, and the rare dame or sire that remained with the couple they'd been hired to assist, the practice was uncommon. She had maybe three friends throughout the whole military who had multiple partners. She never thought she'd number among them. Jac had always considered herself lucky to hang onto anyone for longer than a week. Being a Dragon, and then Allen's bodyguard, did not leave much time for romance.
Then she'd become enamored of Myra, and the idea of looking at anyone else had slipped completely away.
Now here she was fervently hoping Myra would like their madcap idea as much as she and Charlaine did, because the more she thought of leaving any one of them out instead of being three, the more she hated it. Three sounded as right as it did crazy.
"Sleep well," she said around a yawn.
All she got in reply was a soft snore.
Smiling, Jac closed her eyes and let exhaustion finally have her.
*~*~*
She woke to darkness and a prickling at her neck. Listened sharply, careful to keep her breathing unchanged—and sat up and spun around in one smooth move, coming to one knee and driving the knife that had still been strapped to her thigh deep into the gut of the man who'd been poised over her. Jac knocked him off his feet, pulled another knife and pressed it to his throat. "Who are you?"
The man said something in Soltorish and Jac swore softly.
His eyes shifted, and Jac threw herself out of the way just in time—then watched as the new assailant collapsed, a dagger in his back, Charlaine standing over him.
Jac finished off the man with her knife in his gut and rose just as four more figures slunk out of the dark. "Who are you?"
One of the men stepped forward and pushed away his hood and cowl. "You are the ones in our territory, little Harken bird. Tell me who you are."
"None of your concern. We're passing through. Our business is with Iron Moon."
The man looked amused. "So the rumors are true: Iron Moon went too far this time. You're the imperial warbirds trying to rescue your little friend. Is it true Lady Eliza murdered her own father and faked her own death and became secretary of that arrogant High King?"
"I have no idea who Lady Eliza is," Jac snapped.
"Myra," Charlaine said, voice colder than Jac had ever heard him, every bit the severe, contained Second Lieutenant of Fathoms Deep he'd once been. Hearing him like that, Jac could appreciate why he'd been so surprised anyone admired his ass. "His name is Myra, and if the way you're treating him is any indication of the way his family treated him, it's no wonder he killed his father. I always forget how backward in their thinking the Triumvirate is."
"Harken birds have no business telling us we're backward, not with your history," the man replied.
"Says a man who murders for money," Jac snapped. "Why are you here?"
"Because you're in our territory uninvited, and there's enough trouble in the wind, we did not need more. There is also the fact you killed two of my men."
Charlaine replied, "Don't try to sneak up on two well-trained Harken mercenaries."
"Or send better men," Jac added.
The man shrugged. "You have until dawn to get out of our territory, or I will hunt you down and kill you myself, and trust me, little warbirds, you won't see me until you're bleeding out and helpless." In the next moment, he and the three shadowy figures around him faded off.
Jac started packing because the words had not struck her as bragging, and even she wasn't so cocky and reckless she'd challenge a professional assassin on his own turf.
Charlaine did the same nearby, yanking his dagger from the man he'd killed and cleaning it quickly before sliding it back into its sheath. "So much for a good night's rest."
"At least we're alive to complain about it," Jac said, stuffing her mostly dry clothes in her bag, attaching her bedroll to the bottom, and swinging it on her shoulder. She put out the remains of the fire and made certain they would stay out, took several swallows of water in an effort to get rid of the exhaustion that was crashing back over her now the excitement was over, and followed Charlaine out of the clearing.
Throughout their hike, she could feel eyes, leaving her shoulders so tense it spilled into her neck and up into her temples, resulting in a headache that wasn't helping anything.
But as the sky began to turn the barest shade of gray, the feeling of being watched faded off, and Jac couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh, cry, or collapse.
Charlaine made the decision for them by dropping down in front of a massive tree and sprawling like his limbs had turned into noodles. Jac did the same, though she sprawled across the ground with Charlaine's thigh for a pillow.
"May I safely assume we get to live a few more hours?" Jac asked through panting breaths, every part of her body hot and aching, and really, if she w
as going to be this sore and tired, it should be for fun reasons, damn it. "Myra had better shower us with gratitude when we get back to Harken."
Charlaine gave a tired chuckle as he looked down at her, one hand carding through her hair. "I'm certain he'll be happy to give you whatever you want, as often as you want." He winked.
Jac waggled her eyebrows. "What if I want to watch? Frequently."
"Stop being a brat."
"Never." Energy spent, Jac closed her eyes and focused on ignoring all her aches and pains and how badly she wanted a bath, a bed, and a good meal, and she wasn't particular about the order. "So where are we?"
"Close to the stream we'll need to follow, a little less than two days of walking to reach the pond, another day or so to reach the location where hopefully the village is."
Jac groaned. "No, I don't want to do anymore walking. I miss traveling with obscenely rich people who make things like horses and carriages magically appear."
"I don't think you could get a carriage, or even a horse, through this dense forest. That word doesn't feel right, even though everyone keeps using it, even Lady Mark. I can't think of the Soltorish word, though. Something that begins with a 'j' like sound. Anyway, I think the best way to travel is by foot, unfortunately. At least we're well-equipped to do so. Without Mark's assistance, we'd be a lot worse off. Get up so we can make camp."
Whining and groaning, Jac nevertheless rolled to her feet and helped him set up camp, greedily devouring the travel bread, dried fruit and meat he tossed her way.
"I'll take first watch," Charlaine said.
Jac started to argue, but what was the point? They were both exhausted. Who went first or second hardly mattered. Instead, she nodded, told him to be careful, and bedded down.
*~*~*
She was shaken awake sometime later, whimpering into her pillow before finally sitting up. Charlaine pushed a cup of fragrant tea into her hands, then stumbled over to his bedroll, not even bothering to take his boots off first. Before she'd taken two sips of tea, he was snoring.
Smiling faintly, Jac finished the tea as quickly as she could manage, given it was still steaming, then fixed herself some more and pulled out food, devouring rice balls filled with salted fish and wrapped in seaweed.
Once she was finished and everything was clean, she sat on her bedroll and pulled out her knives to clean and sharpen, one ear always attuned to the forest surrounding them, listening for strange noises or suspicious silences.
But the insects hummed and sang and buzzed uninterrupted, and every now and then she could hear the rustle of wings or the slide and rustle of creatures moving through the dense trees and scrub. The movement above her proved to be a snake that, had it held still, could have easily been mistaken for a vine.
Jac tracked it, picking up one of her knives—and threw as it reached a tree, the blade landing right at the join of head and body, smoothly cutting the snake in two. Standing, she crossed over to yank her knife free of the tree and finish the job of removing the head.
Once that was done, she carried the body back to the fire and quickly turned it into breakfast.
A few hours later, as the day went from hot to melting, Charlaine woke. "What smells so good?"
"Snake. Don't ask me what kind, but it's definitely edible."
"That's the only important part." He happily took the cooked snake she handed over, along with tea and more rice balls. "Didn't know you could cook too."
"Any fool can stick meat on a fire."
"That's not true," Charlaine said, expression somewhere between a laugh and grimace.
Thinking of the many burned horrors she'd choked down over the years, Jac could only concede the point with a grunt.
A short time later they were back on their feet, moving slowly and keeping to shade, which wasn't hard in the dense, tangled forest, but also didn't really help much. By the time they stopped to rest and eat, Jac wanted only to strip down, find the nearest body of cold water and remain there indefinitely.
Instead, she managed to catch a few fish from a small pool and quickly made dinner. After making short work of their meager meal, they bedded down and fell immediately asleep, too exhausted even for the precaution of taking turns on watch.
*~*~*
The smell of coffee woke her, but in the next breath she recalled they hadn't brought coffee along. Jac jerked to her feet, knives out. Nearby, Charlaine rolled to his feet and drew his sword.
A man chuckled softly from where he was cooking over the fire. "It's true what they say—if you want to attract a Harken bird, put out coffee. Sit, sit. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance, a certain ambassador's daughter? That aside, Dark Tide has no quarrel with you, and plenty of quarrel with our neighbors, which makes us…not enemies, hmm? I do not care for your coffee, and I promise I did not lug it out here as some last meal for you. Strange tradition, that. Who cares if a man sentenced to die gets to eat something pleasant first? Just kill him. You birds are so strange."
Jac grumbled. "Professional killers don't get to call me strange."
The man laughed softly and poured them cups of coffee.
If they'd been anywhere but in the middle of enemy territory in a tenuously not-hostile meeting with an unknown assassin, Jac would have moaned, the coffee was so good. She looked again at their uninvited guest. He resembled Myra in slenderness, skin tone and that ridiculously long hair, though his was twisted and bound, a few strands falling to frame his face. He was handsome, leaning toward pretty, wearing mottled clothes that would make it hard to see him in the dense foliage.
"What do you want?" Charlaine asked, ignoring his own coffee, sword still out and within easy reach.
"My name is Harold, and I am not, in fact, an assassin." His mouth curved into a faintly-sour smile. "My eyesight isn't good enough, and Dark Tide doesn't really do that anymore. I'm merely a scout. Whatever that information is worth, you have it. I am here to escort you to Iron Moon territory."
"Why would you do that?"
"As I said, we have a friend in common, and my clan has a quarrel with Iron Moon." Harold's smile turned sly. "Anything that causes them grief is a gain for Dark Tide. Whatever is going to happen because of the foolish decisions and mistakes made by the Seven and Iron Moon, Dark Tide has no intention of being destroyed and swept away in the aftermath. We prefer to adapt and improvise. Eat."
Since the coffee didn't seem to be poisoned, Jac gladly took the dish he offered and tore quickly through the contents. Beside her, Charlaine worked through his own breakfast with far less enthusiasm. When they'd finished, he said, "So you plan to take us to their territory and…what exactly? Leave? Help us?"
"Direct interference on my part is a violation of clan treaty, and I do not dare do that," Harold replied. "It would do more harm than good, though if the tides ever turn…" He grinned fleetingly. "Rest assured I will happily break treaties."
Jac wanted to punch him in his frustratingly handsome face, but that was the crankiness talking. "We've been doing well enough without an escort."
"Have you? Because you took twice as long to reach this point as was necessary. City maps, I'm guessing. Never as good as trusting a local."
"Trusting anyone from the clans to guide us honestly is a bit like trusting a scorpion not to sting," Charlaine said.
Harold's sly smile reappeared. "I do not know that word. Scor-pi-on." He touched his tongue to his top lip. "But I take the meaning. We have spiders and snakes that are similar. There is one snake, we call it a chaser because if you anger it, the snake will chase you through the jungle until it bites you or loses you—and rarely does it lose track of its prey."
"Jungle, that's the word I couldn't think of," Charlaine muttered. "I can't wait to be home again."
"We can't wait for you Harken birds to be home again too. But I sense we'll be seeing a great deal more of Harken in the future. Shall we clear camp and head out?"
Jac cast him a look but didn't bother arguing, only obeyed. Some people
were worth arguing with; others were not. If he got too unbearable she'd stab him.
Settling her pack, she turned—and stopped, staring at the beautiful short bow he carried. It was a composite reflex bow, old and well-cared for. She reflexively ran a finger over the thumb ring she always wore. "I want one."
Harold grinned.
Charlaine shot her a disgusted look. "I'm offended you're looking at that bow the same way you looked at me on the boat."
"Fuck her better," Harold said.
"Shut up," Charlaine snapped as Jac burst out laughing.
"May I?" she asked.
"Stop making nice with the creepy not-an-assassin," Charlaine hissed.
Harold just smirked more and handed over his bow.
"What's the draw?" Jac asked.
"Hmm…I'm afraid I do not know the way to say it in Harken. We would say, my draw is match weight."
Jac beamed. "Match weight is two stone draw in Harken. Not bad."
Harold looked offended, and Charlaine laughed so loudly birds startled and flew crankily off.
"My draw is what you'd call match one."
Harold looked even more offended, and Charlaine laughed even harder.
Jac rolled her eyes and handed back Harold's bow. "Shall we get moving?"
Casting each other looks, Charlaine and Harold nevertheless obeyed, Harold moving forward to overtake the lead.
As much as it pained Jac to admit it, traveling through the jungle was much easier with Harold taking the lead. For one, he had the right equipment to slice through the dense undergrowth, and he knew what to look out for. A trip she suspected would have taken her and Charlaine all day, they completed in at least half that time, and they weren't nearly as exhausted when they stopped for a midday meal.
"We should reach the territory border by nightfall," Harold said as he deftly prepared the two small birds he'd killed earlier in the day. Once they were plucked and butchered, Charlaine somehow took over and soon had them roasting on an improvised spit. If Harold minded being relieved of cooking duties, it didn't show.