Chapter
25
THE NEXT MORNING I’M WARM AND BLISSFULLY comfortable until I peel my eyes open and find myself curled into Cohen. Inwardly, I groan, frustrated to find us so close again and angered because his embrace feels so good. Boil him!
I remain still, working out a way to extract myself with minimal humiliation as dawn crawls across the forest floor, grayish light slipping between the shadows of the trees.
Cohen stirs. Yawns, but doesn’t wake.
Slowly, I shift out of his hold until I’m an arm span away. A breath sifts between his lips. I study the thick lashes on his cheek to check that he’s still asleep, and then I turn away, unable to suffer the sight of him because it slams me with a slicing dose of rejection.
Cohen didn’t say anything I hadn’t already planned on saying. Even if he didn’t think kissing me was a mistake, what would I have done? After this ordeal is over, he’ll return to his family or continue bounty hunting, and I’ll go home. He was made for greatness, to be an esteemed man in Brentyn, to one day have a beautiful wife and family, to be accepted at court. Even if the high lord gives me Papa’s land and cottage, I’ll always be the daughter of a Shaerdanian. I cannot change who I am.
Cohen and I could never be right for each other. No matter what my heart wants, our partnership is inevitably going to disband. It would be a mistake to let myself think other-wise.
I lie down and shut my eyes, hoping for a few more minutes of rest to settle my thoughts before we start the day.
“Britt,” Cohen is saying moments later, or what feels like only seconds. “Wake up.”
I push my eyelids open to discover the sun is higher in the sky than before, the gray light and shadows pushed back by the day’s brightness. A yawn slips out as I stretch, hardly believing I slept.
“Time to go.” Cohen stands up and tugs his bag over his shoulder. He gives me a look that screams impatience, like he’s irritated with me or something.
I grumble, lurching to my feet. “Give me a moment.”
He doesn’t say anything more as I dig into my satchel for a water skin. After swishing out the stale taste in my mouth, I take a long drink and then splash the remaining water on my face. My morning cleanup is just about finished when the forest comes alive with the flapping of hundreds of birds. A flock lifts up and out of the green tops, sweeping overhead and continuing southward, away from Celize.
Cohen and I share a look, his sharp eyes mirroring my sudden alertness.
Any awkwardness between us is forgotten as we fall back into our old natures, prepared to defend. My dagger is unsheathed and in my hand, my bow and quiver slung across my back. Cohen’s fingers rest on the hilt of his sword. He appears casual, though he’s anything but relaxed. I know him well enough to know he’s as ready as a nocked arrow. I take the first step, moving toward Siron, when Cohen’s hand flicks out, palm to me.
“Stay,” he mouths.
Then he continues stealthily toward the origin of the birds’ movement.
I stare at his back, angry and irritated he doesn’t grasp that we’re in this together. If he thinks I’m going to stay here and wait for him, he’s sorely mistaken. Let the fool think he can manage on his own. I keep him in my sights as I follow. We haven’t gone far when I hear a low rumble echoing from the east. Cohen stops a dozen paces ahead of me, having heard the noise as well. Whatever is making the racket is far enough away; we’re in no immediate danger.
It’s then that Cohen turns around and notices me. His eyes blaze and then taper into dark beads as he crosses the space between us in a blink.
He moves so close, I’m tempted to step back so I don’t fall over, but his mouth lowers to my ear. “I asked you to stay.”
The ache, stirred by his nearness, gets shoved into a neat little box. Then I slam the lid on it. “You didn’t ask anything.”
His breath against my skin is tormenting. “I’m sorry. Will you please stay?” His voice is barely more than a sliver of sound. When I don’t respond, he changes his approach. “I can go alone and stay out of sight. It’s safer that way.”
It isn’t safer for us to split up, not when there’s a bounty on our heads and the entire town could be on our trail. When will he accept we’re better off watching each other’s backs? I put my hand on the center of his chest and push him back. Cohen’s pulse hammers beneath my palm while his face is stone-like. I’m certain he’s about to argue, but surprisingly he nods his agreement, and then turns and continues toward the rumble in the distance while I walk alongside him.
As we travel toward the road, clanks and grunts and whacks fill the air. We scale the trees beside the road, about a quarter league from the city, to discover the source.
More than a hundred soldiers in brown and blue uniforms move eastward along the packed dirt and rock route. Shaerdan’s emblem, a blue and gold bird, whips around a flagpole, carried by men covered in partial chain mail. I wonder if they’ll make the two-week trek to the border in that garb. It won’t be easy. Some soldiers, polished and clean, travel on horseback, while others tend carts and march. The men, some with faces younger than mine, pass by, and I find myself wondering how many will suffer in this pointless war.
Wagons filled with armor and weapons, food and tents, pass one after another. The last three wagons are loaded with pieces of wood and metal, tied together in a way that resembles a giant insect. Catapults. In my lifetime, war has never come between our countries, and so I’ve never seen the damage a catapult can cause. Even so, I don’t doubt it will be destruction on a grand scale.
Dust kicks up in the wake of the soldiers, swelling to a massive cloud, an apparition following the men until they’re specks on the horizon. Papa risked his life to break the Spiriter’s bind. Which means his death will be for nothing if there’s war.
The soldiers are no more than an afterthought when Cohen nudges my arm and starts back toward camp.
I started this journey in part for my land, but mostly to avenge Papa. He was all I had, and I cannot accept that he was simply erased from this world for nothing. No, he died for a reason. I realize now, if I’m truly going to avenge his death, discovering the murderer isn’t enough.
Cohen and I return to Celize to monitor the guards. If they decide to head back to Malam, we’ll want to follow them once we find Papa’s murderer. We’ll be able to stick to the main roads. It would take a week off of travel.
“The guards have seen you dress as a boy,” he says, and then plucks a bonnet from a clothesline on the outskirts of town. “If you wear the dress Enat gave you and put this on to cover your hair, they’ll walk right past you.”
Cohen moves into my space to put the bonnet on my head. He takes his time tying a bow beneath my chin.
I rush to look at my reflection in the window of the next cottage to hide the way my heart leaps.
“They’ll still see my braid.” I spin around when he approaches. “My hair is too white not to notice.”
“Your hair isn’t white. In the sun, it looks lighter, but it’s definitely blond, pale blond. Either way, the bonnet will cover some and you can rub a mud and berry mix on your braid to darken the color.”
I roll my neck, refusing to think of his observation. It means nothing more than he noticed my hair is blond. Pale blond. When we find a shaded corner, I pull Enat’s dress from my bag and change. Cohen stands a few paces off, guarding my location. I crouch to pick up some mud and mix it with the berries Cohen had picked up. After making a thin paste, I work it through the part of my hair that shows. Once I’m ready, I tap him on the shoulder.
He turns around and his brows rise. “You—you look fine.”
While I changed outfits, Cohen rubbed dirt on his. I stifle a smile. “What will your disguise be? Pig farmer?”
“I’m a beggar.” He pulls a frayed cap from his satchel, places it on his head, and then bows forward, morphing his entire posture.
“The point of a disguise is to look different than you
usually do.”
“Amusing,” he deadpans.
Like the night before, we split up, this time planning to meet at noon outside the stone church at the south end of town.
I head toward the guards’ inn to chat up the housemaid. Walking in plain sight is disconcerting. I have to keep reminding myself to stop fidgeting with the dress. To take smaller steps. To smile instead of scowling. I’d give anything to trade the bonnet for a bow and arrow.
I’m a block away from the inn when Captain Omar and Tomas appear ahead.
I suck in a sliver of oxygen. I try to judge the amount of time till they reach me—two minutes at most—while scanning the road for a hiding place. There are no outlets, not enough people on the street to hide in a crowd, and no open doors. Reaching for one that may be locked would draw attention.
Up ahead, a flower cart sits on the east side of the road. It’s not quite half the distance between them and me. I head there, eyes down. I try to act interested in the flowers as the guards approach.
When they pass, I say a silent thanks.
“Anything for the lady?” the vendor says.
I shake my head, not wanting to speak aloud, since the guards aren’t far enough away. The vendor purses his lips and turns to another customer. When the guards are out of sight, I continue to the inn.
The housemaid is in the kitchen. She looks up, alerted by my footsteps. Her hands pause on the pot she was scrubbing. “Need a room?”
In my best Shaerdanian accent, I say, “No. My mum runs the tailor shop down the way. I was wondering if you had any customers who need mending done.”
“Hmm, don’t think so.”
I hold back a frown, though somewhat irritated she’s not falling into my trap. “Oh, Mum thought you had a full house.” I try again. “You’re certain nobody needs some mending in the next day or so?”
“Not this week. We haven’t had much business, what with everyone called off to fight. We do have some soldiers staying here while they’re awaiting an assignment from the chief judge. They haven’t made a peep about needing a seamstress.”
“Some soldiers were headed east earlier this morning. Are they part of that group?” I hope the comment fishes the answers I’m looking for.
Her eyes go round. “Oh, you saw men leaving already? Oh my. Perhaps the soldiers will be leaving soon, then.”
If she only knew the guards weren’t soldiers from Shaerdan. “I’ll tell my mum you had no tailoring that needed to be done.”
“Will you stop by again?” She’s friendly in a way girls have never treated me. It almost makes me want to linger. “Perhaps we’ll have more work for you in the winter months.”
A door opens and closes in the inn before heavy footsteps fall on the wood floor. Through the opening that separates the kitchen from the dining room, Leif’s reddish hair is distinguishable. He stops at the table and places a bag on top. Dress or no dress, I’ve no doubt he’ll recognize me if he notices me. Not wanting to risk speaking, I shrug in answer to her question and then move toward the kitchen’s back door.
“What did you say your name was?” she asks, before I’m clear.
I shove my clammy hands into my dress pockets and silently plead for Leif to be gone. I slowly twist to face her so only my profile is visible to the dining area. I don’t dare look in Leif’s direction to see if he’s still there. This way, he won’t be able to see my entire face. By the gods, my accent better be believable enough.
“My name’s Essa.” It’s all I could come up with on the spot and immediately regret as my response pricks through me. It’s too close to Enat.
Waving once more at the maid to end the conversation, I force my feet through the doorway. My muscles are screaming to run, flight instinct taking over, though I don’t risk making any quick movements.
“Wait.”
Twenty steps are all I’ve taken before Leif calls out behind me.
I could run for it, except the chase would draw too much attention. Pleading is an option, not that it did any good the last time.
My hands are in knots as I find myself praying that he won’t realize it’s me, that this costume will be enough. If my nerves weren’t wound so tight, I’d laugh at myself. It’s hard to believe I’m this girl, clean-faced, wearing a dress and a bonnet, and pleading with the gods like some fool.
Twisting slightly, I drop my chin so the bonnet shades my face. “Yes, sir?”
“The girl said you work for the tailor.”
I nod.
“I’m looking for a woman named Enat. She frequent your shop?”
I shake my head, itching to run. Relax. Focus is a weapon as much as your bow. “No, sir. I don’t know her.” I keep my accent true to Shaerdan.
He doesn’t answer, nor does he leave.
The moment stretches for excruciating ages, and my lungs burn from the breath I’m holding. He must know it’s me. Panic fires through me, lighting a blaze in my feet till they’re shifting and ready to run.
“Thank you, miss,” he says finally.
Shocked and relieved, I resist the urge to glance back as I hurry away.
Only when ten blocks are between us do I slip into an alley, check to see I’m alone, and then suck in deep breaths. Crescent marks of blood bubble to the surface of my palms where my nails dug deep.
That was too close.
Chapter
26
AN OLD CHURCH RESTS ON THE EDGE OF THE cliff at the south end of town. Cohen meets me in the cloisters, and then, before either of us speaks, he has me follow him into the garden. When we’re tucked behind a row of towering hedges near the cliff face, with only a short-stacked wall separating us from the edge where violent waves crash below, he’s ready to talk.
“It’s better here.” Cohen’s mouth is at my ear because it’s too loud to hear him otherwise. The longing to press closer to him twists me up inside. I want to punch myself for even considering it.
“Delmar said the Archtraitor’s agreed to meet at Enat’s home in the morning.”
Millner’s possession of a charm to enter the tree cave speaks of Enat’s trust of the man.
“He said Millner wasn’t surprised that Enat wanted to speak with him,” Cohen says. Up till now the hunt for Papa’s murderer felt like we were chipping away at a glacier. What a relief it is to know we’re on the verge of an answer. “Millner knew we were in town.”
“How?”
“The guards have been talking to everyone.” The warmth of his breath cascades over my ear, clashing with the brisk wind from the ocean. I suppress a shudder and try not to focus on how our proximity makes me feel. I consider mentioning the run-in with Leif and decide against it. Leif didn’t recognize me, so it’s inconsequential.
“Delmar also mentioned that Omar and his men are leaving town tomorrow.”
Cohen moves back so I have a view of his face. He doesn’t look pleased about the development. He glances toward the horizon, where whitecaps line the deep blue ocean. “Omar isn’t the type to go on a wild-goose chase. He likes to lay a trap. You told Omar you wanted to prove I’m innocent. So Omar knows you’ll return to Malam. That’s where he’ll wait.”
I watch the seagulls fighting against the wind as they make their way closer to the cliff. I feel like I’m one of them, fighting against my position in life, fighting against the solitude, and now fighting for my freedom.
The breeze whips my hair across my face as I strain to hear him over the crash and boom against the cliff below. “I thought you’d be happy to hear they’re leaving.”
“He isn’t headed to Malam just to wait us out.” Cohen’s tone sounds dark, if not a touch troubled. “That army we passed this morning was headed east. There’s a rumor that the chief judge has declared war, whether King Aodren is ready or not. He’s even sent word down to the Akarians in the southlands, asking to join forces.”
“I thought only barbarians lived in the Akaria Desert. Why would the chief judge look to them for help?”
The grave set to Cohen’s features tells of his thoughts. “Barbarians don’t fight fair. The chief judge must be betting on that. Regardless, the guards are headed back because the war is definitely starting sooner than we realized.”
Cohen holds my gaze for a moment and then looks over my shoulder, but not before a rare glimpse of emotion passes over his hazel irises. A hint of fear.
We’re careful as we leave Celize, moving fast to erase our tracks until we reach Siron in the woods. Cohen runs his hands down the beast’s mane and shoulders, once, twice, three times before turning to me. It seems like he has something on his mind.
The horse blows out a breath and moves before I reach his side, leaving his owner and me face-to-face.
“Do you think the war could really be stopped?” I ask, thinking about the letters to Enat and all that Papa risked.
His boot digs the dirt. “Possibly.”
I fist my hands in the long folds of Enat’s blue dress. “I’ve been thinking about it,” I confess. “I want to finish what my father started.” Papa died trying to break the bind on the king to stop the war, and it feels like my duty to see it through. After all, I’ve come this far.
Cohen drags in a long breath and looks up to the sky, exposing his neck. “It’s too dangerous.”
I almost laugh at him but manage to stop myself when I realize he’s serious. Danger or not, doesn’t he realize this is the best way to save his brother and the thousands of other young men being sent to their deaths?
I’ve no clue what’s going through his head. It’s one thing to return to Malam to prove Cohen’s innocence. It’s another to find a way to free the king and convince him to end the war. It cannot be done alone.
“Now that the army is moving, we have to act fast,” I say encouragingly. “We should plan to return to Malam within the week.”
“We don’t have that much time.” He turns away and clicks for Siron, but the suddenly stubborn horse won’t come over. “If Omar and his men are already headed back to Malam, there must be some truth to the rumor. War could start as early as the chief judge’s letter reaches the front. My guess is Omar will try to beat the declaration party to warn Malam troops.”
Ever the Hunted Page 18