“They’re meant to scare. You never know when you’ll cross one.” Cohen’s low tone is apologetic.
“They serve their purpose well, then. We best not get caught.” I shiver despite the day’s heat. Covering my nose to stop myself from heaving, I drop my forehead against Cohen’s back.
He digs his heels into Siron, urging him to a run, water splashing against our legs, till we’ve crossed the border. And then farther. We don’t slow until we’re a good distance into Shaerdan. We pass a giant tree with a trunk so thick, Cohen and I couldn’t wrap our arms around it if we were fingertip to fingertip.
I thought I’d feel different once we entered Shaerdan. That I might notice a strangeness in the forest. This is a country of black magic, after all. But a few hours past the border, nothing stands out as unusual.
The only noticeable change is my increased worry. We’re traitors. And now I have firsthand knowledge of what my punishment will be, should they catch us.
“We shouldn’t slow down yet.” My comment is muffled by Cohen’s back.
“We’re clear, Britt.”
“They could still follow us.” The grotesque bodies fill my mind. As well as thoughts of the Archtraitor. My father hunted him for twenty years on order from the king. I’ve no doubt the captain would chase our hides for that many years, if not more, to ensure justice was served.
Celize is a ten-day trek past the border. We plan on taking six, seven days at most. The first few days are an arduous ride over rocky trails and dense brush. Which is why I’m not prepared when Siron starts down a steep ravine. Cohen leans back and his body mashes against mine, the heat of his back instantly seeping into my front. It’s impossible not to notice the way his muscles flex and relax against me as he moves.
I tell myself not to get comfortable. Not to fall back into our old patterns. He’ll only leave again.
“Are you all right?” Cohen glances over his shoulder. “Need a break?”
I catch myself about to suck in a deep breath of Cohen’s scent. “Ah, no. I’m fine.” Good thing he cannot see me blush.
Cohen tugs on the reins and Siron stops.
“Why are we stopping?” The sun sits low in the sky, but there’s still enough light to travel.
He glances to the side, eyes raking the landscape as though he’s taken notice of something, but then turns to me with a carefree smile. “You were squirming like there’s a bug in your drawers.”
“I was not.”
He shrugs, a simple up-and-down of his shoulders that mocks my comment. “Now’s a good time to stop. Siron’s been carrying us for three days, and he needs the break. So I say we’re done for today.”
“We should go on foot, then.”
“Only a sliver of the moon’s gonna rise tonight. It’ll get dark fast. We need to use this time to survey the area.” Cohen gives me his usual unreadable look. “And we crossed a stream not far back. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to wash up before night falls.”
My gaze briefly drops to the sweat mark on his shirt and then to his full lips framed by rugged facial hair. The sight does something strange and liquidy to my insides. “I’ll, um, find the stream.”
“Take your time,” he says with a soft chuckle.
Does he need a break from my incessant staring? Oh, I’m such a fool. I hurry toward the water.
The undergrowth is thicker here than in Malam, covered in crawling vines and ferns and tiny yellow and purple flowers. I leave rock markers along my way until reaching the stream, which is more of a small river, wide and deep enough for bathing.
I fill the waterskins and drink till full. In the pool’s reflection, the grime caked on my face and neck makes my pale skin look brown as bark. After peeling off my clothes and sinking into the cool water, I use the sand from the streambed to scrub away the grime.
It’s a relief to be clean once again. The water is a needed reprieve from the long, torturous hours with Cohen. I thought seeing him again would ease the ache inside. Oh no. Having him so close only makes me think of how I’d love to curl into his arms once more.
Cohen lived with Papa and me in the winters, returning to his home in the south of Malam each year for spring planting. There he led an entirely separate life, tending to his parents’ farm alongside his brother, Finn, and sister, Imogen. His family was the reason he worked tirelessly, apprenticing for Papa. He wanted to give them a better life.
I cannot fault him for his selflessness. Still, I cannot forget that I don’t fit in his plan.
When the time came, he chose a life without me. I’d do well to remember that.
Halfway back to the campsite, a tiny pin of anxiety pricks my chest. It’s nothing, really, and yet it stops me in my tracks. I press my hand to my chest, over the seed of unease, sprouting roots that twist and tangle around my lungs and tighten.
I’m suddenly certain of one thing:
Cohen’s in danger.
Chapter
12
I TAKE OFF RUNNING, SPRINTING DOWN THE GAME trail cut between ferns and clovers as the clang of metal echoes through the trees.
Cohen and Leif are sword to sword. Tomas is on the ground, unconscious, bloody, but not dead—a fact only obvious by the rise and fall of his torso. I don’t know what’s more surprising, that they’ve found us, the king’s two best bounty hunters, or that Leif and Cohen appear evenly matched.
And strangely, I’m frightened for both.
The scene is madness, swords clashing as I hide behind the trees, scanning for Omar. When he’s nowhere to be found, I quietly circle the area. And still find nothing. Siron is missing as well and, with him, my bow.
“Where is she?” Leif’s fierce tone freezes me in place. It sounds foreign, coming from the gentle giant of a man I’ve come to know. I press myself against a tree trunk and peer around.
Leif advances on Cohen.
Cohen swings his sword in a tight circle that hooks Leif’s and sends it back over his shoulder. “Back down, Leif. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Where is Britta?”
“Enough,” Cohen snarls. “She’s not here. Yield. I’ve no qualms killing you.”
Leif never mentioned they had a history. Granted, my purpose on this trip wasn’t to make friends with the guard.
The fight continues, weapons clash and cross and swing, until Cohen has the upper hand. Cohen’s eyes are flat and angry in a way I’ve never witnessed. Leif grunts when Cohen’s sword slices a clean line through the arm of his shirt. Blood darkens the bold blue material of Leif’s Shaerdanian commoner clothing, turning my guts inside out. Bludger.
“Stop!” I jump from hiding.
Cohen’s chin jerks in my direction. His eyes go dark and flat. He seems furious with me. It’s no more than the span of a heartbeat before Cohen’s attention returns to Leif, but Leif uses the moment to his advantage and puts space between their swords. I might feel a touch bad for distracting Cohen, if I weren’t relieved for Leif.
The point of Leif’s sword holds steady as his attention volleys from me to Cohen. Then back to me. “Britta?” Uncertainty turns the corners of his mouth down.
I’d assumed Captain Omar and the guards deduced my loyalty had switched. I start to explain when my name, sharp as an arrowhead from Cohen’s mouth, stops me.
Leif’s eyes narrow. It’s like viewing cogs click into place as confusion clears and dawning sets in. “You’ve joined with him. Your father’s murderer?”
I shake my head, worried he’ll think me to be the worst kind of traitor. “No. That’s not how it is.” Cohen mutters something, but I ignore him. “He’s innocent. Lord Jamis was wrong.”
Leif guffaws in his funny way, but it’s tinged with disappointment. “He’s lying.” His hand clenches around the hilt of his sword, forearm straining. “He’ll say anything to get what he wants.”
This isn’t the place, nor is this the time, to explain to Leif how I know Cohen is innocent, but I cannot leave it alone. “Someone ma
de it look like Cohen did it. Planted evidence to make him look guilty.”
“Britta, please. Don’t be fooled by him.” Leif reaches out his free hand and then lowers it, and then raises it once more. It’s an awkward arm dance, like he’s not quite sure how to coax me to him.
“If you go with him, you’ll be breaking orders from Lord Jamis,” Leif says, gentler now, pleading. Hearing his concern knots my insides.
Tomas moans.
Leif’s attention diverts to the injured lump of a guard. “If you do this, I’ll have to come after you with force.”
Leif’s been kind to me when there was no cause for it. In spite of my crime. In spite of who I am.
“I know,” I tell him sadly. “But I need to find the real murderer.”
His face is pained.
During our exchange, Cohen has slipped away from me and maneuvered close to Leif. Without warning, he slams the pommel of his sword against the back of Leif’s head and the guard crumples.
“Cohen!” I gasp, and then scramble to Leif’s side to roll him off his back. Before I can set his body right, Cohen’s hand seizes my arm. “Let’s go,” he commands.
“Stop, Cohen. He could choke on his own vomit. I’m just setting him right.”
“Why are you pitying him? Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not . . . I just . . . It’s not pity,” I stammer, unsure of myself. “He was kind to me when he didn’t have to be. He’s my—my friend. And he doesn’t deserve to die.”
“I didn’t realize you two were friends.” Cohen’s face pinches in a sullen expression. He stands there for a beat, his flattened hazel eyes switching between Leif and me. I’m tempted to think he’s jealous. But he’d never be. Not over me.
He sighs, sheathes his sword, and leans down to help me roll Leif on his side. Once we have the guard situated, Cohen walks away. He thrusts his fingers into his mouth and blows out a sharp whistle. Moments later, Siron appears. After we’re both seated and heading for the stream to disguise our trail, Cohen falls into a brooding silence.
“Why are you upset with me?” I ask a safe distance away from the guards.
He twists around in the saddle, his mouth a thin, tight line. “You waltzed into the clearing and announced to the king’s guard that you’re working with me. I’m not upset. I’m furious.”
That was to the point. Clearly not jealous.
I cringe and then glare at him. It may not have been wise to show myself to the guards, but his response grates. “I didn’t want to absolve you of my father’s murder only to have you arrested for another. Perhaps you should consider your own recklessness.”
“You didn’t have to run in to save me. Or Leif. I wasn’t going to kill the bludger. Now you’ve sealed your fate.”
True, he might not have meant his threat; however, intentions can change in an instant.
Cohen faces forward and prods Siron to go faster, until trees are whipping past us and the spring water is splattering our legs.
The sliver of a moon provides no light to navigate through the forest as we forge westward despite the late hour. Without Siron we’d be useless in the night’s pitch-black. There aren’t many horses like Siron, with his ability to see perfectly in the dark.
Travel jostles our bodies until we’re bruised from banging into each other—it’s impossible to prepare for a dip you cannot see. When we reach a spread in the trees, Cohen takes a moment to check our direction from the star patterns in the sky.
His caution tells me he’s as concerned as I am. From my time spent with the guards, I know Tomas is worthless at tracking, but Leif’s skills are passable, and the captain is highly skilled. We need to make the most of traveling tonight.
When we get to Celize, we won’t have much time, if any, to track down Enat and Papa’s murderer. I wish I knew why Papa was after her. Hunting her down isn’t much different from galloping through the night, blind to the perils ahead. For all we know, Enat could be the killer.
If only Papa had left information, even the smallest clue. I always thought Papa held no secrets from me. How wrong I was.
“You’re right. I was reckless.” Cohen’s voice interrupts my line of thinking. “Earlier in the day I noticed the tracks of three horses, and I guessed it was the guards. I decided to follow them to see where they were headed.”
His admission stuns me.
“I sent you to the river so I could assess their strengths and weaknesses,” he admits. “But when I overheard Leif mention Omar was gone gathering supplies, I seized the opportunity.”
“We could’ve slipped past them, and they’d be none the wiser.” My pitch rises with incredulity. “Only, you decided it would be best to pick a fight?”
“Thought I’d do a little damage and slow them down.”
My hands are fists around the back edge of the saddle to keep me from pummeling him, while he doesn’t move a muscle. Just sits there, calmly telling me he thrust us into the guards’ reach, like we’re two farmers discussing a troublesome cow’s teat. “Of all the risky things you’ve ever done, this one”—my breath lances out—“this one could win a gold ribbon at the Midsummer’s Tide fair.”
“Yeah, Britt. It was foolish.” He groans, the sound brimming with pain as if someone’s punched him in the gut. “At the time it seemed like a good idea.”
A good idea would’ve been Cohen telling me he’d spotted tracks, instead of making a brash decision. Back when he apprenticed for Papa, he was always bent on doing what he thought was best without asking for my input. Of course the bludger hasn’t changed.
I forge on, my frustration spilling out, a barrel of ale with a broken spigot. “A good idea, like the time you insisted we take the extra buck meat to market. You didn’t believe me when I said no one would trade with me.”
He straightens in the saddle.
“Or the time you went after that wild boar with only your dagger? The healer had to sew up your arm.”
“Point taken. I can be brash,” he says. “I should’ve mentioned the guards’ tracks. It was just a shock to see they were so close.” Cohen twists to look over his shoulder at me, the moonlight shifting over his brown hair, painting his dark locks blue.
I snort, more irritated with my detour in attention than his excuse, but decide to let the matter go. It cannot be undone.
“That time we went to market with the meat,” he says a short while later, voice reflective, “I was thinking of you. You never liked the clothes Saul gave you, and I thought . . .” He clears his throat. The sound snares me, holds me in its trap, transforming me into immobile, breathless prey. “Thought you’d like something new. Something you could pick out. Something special.”
His words are water, dousing the fire of my irritation. Regardless of the warnings I’ve given myself, his confession makes me long for the past. Why didn’t he tell me this before? That’s the question I want to ask, but instead I say, “What will we do now that they know we’re ahead of them?”
“We’ve got to use the small lead to our advantage. Gain some distance.”
“You don’t know the captain. I’ve never met a more devoted criminal hunter. If anything, you surely lit a fire under Captain Omar.”
“I know the captain just fine,” he says with a heavy sigh, which tells me he agrees with my last comment.
We travel in the darkness, falling into silence, leaving time for me to think about his admission of wanting something nicer for me.
After a stretch, Cohen pulls a cap from his pack and hands it to me. “I should’ve given this to you a couple days ago when you changed tunics. It worked well enough when you were traveling with Omar.”
I hold the cap in my hands.
Cohen twists even more in the saddle until his face is a hand’s distance from mine. Silvery moonbeams caress his strong jaw and straight nose. Mesmerized by the colorless shadows and highlights on his face, I don’t notice his hand until he brushes a hair from my cheek. His touch sends a jolt of
surprise through me.
“Your hair shines too much,” he whispers. “It reflects the moon. Right now you’re a moving torch for anyone to see.” His hand wraps over my hand holding the cap. “You should wear it.”
A tingle spreads beneath my skin until my entire body feels more alive than it’s ever been. No compliment’s been spoken, and yet here I am soaking in his words like a steamed bath. I swallow a smile, place the cap on my head, and shove my shining hair into hiding.
Chapter
13
W E STOP A FEW HOURS BEFORE DAWN.
Cohen offers to take the first watch. He dismounts and then reaches up to help me off. I let him because exhaustion hit me hours ago and his strong hands around my waist are comforting.
“We should both sleep, since neither one of us has rested much in days,” I tell him. Leif and Tomas were unconscious when we left. Even if they tracked us, night has fallen, hiding any prints we made before we took to the stream.
“I’m not going to take any chances. I’ll keep watch while you rest.”
It’s clear from the determination in his tone there’s no arguing with him. Cohen has never been one to let his mistakes go. He’ll do what he must to make things right.
A yawn splits my lips open. “Suit yourself. Wake me in a couple hours.”
As I move to make a bed of the pillowy ferns at the base of the trees, Cohen rifles through the satchel of food and pulls out a lone sweet roll, the last of Molly’s treats.
“Want to share this?” He drops down in front of me, sitting with his back to a tree trunk. We’re close enough that the starlight shows the definition of his features but leaves most of his face in shadows.
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