Ever the Hunted

by Erin Summerill

  “Cohen, it’s me, Bernard.” The guard jerks against the arrows, breaking them.

  “Bernard! You found my tracks,” he says.

  “You left tracks?” I’m stunned I didn’t notice. I cannot afford to miss anything out here.

  He turns back, tilting his head to the side. “Yes.”

  “You didn’t tell me how friendly the bounty hunter’s daughter is.” Bernard smirks as he saunters closer. I lift my bow and draw another arrow. I’m down to my last three. The two I wasted on Bernard are useless because he destroyed them in the effort to free himself. He sees me pulling the arrow to the bow and pauses.

  “Dangerous words for almost having had my arrow in your back,” I tell him. “Perhaps instead of jesting, you should just get to business.”

  “Britt,” Cohen warns.

  My nostrils flare in irritation. I lower my bow and slide the arrow back into the quiver. Bernard’s eyes fix on my position as though he’s waiting for me to leave. I remain planted on the forest floor, my refusal to be in the dark anymore. I’m relieved when Cohen shakes his head at Bernard.

  The guard’s mouth twists like he’s swallowed a tub of pickles. “Fine. There isn’t much I have to report. Rumor has reached the front that Shaerdan has sent a declaration of war. With or without the king’s response, they’re going to attack. Your brother’s unit has been called to go to Meridian.”

  “When?” Cohen’s voice is shy of a whisper.

  “They left at sunrise,” says Bernard.

  “I don’t understand.” Cohen shakes his head, his face darkening. His hands grip his hair, pulling it at odd angles. “Why? Why’d they send them out?”

  I cross the distance to him and put my hand on his arm, hoping the contact will ease his distress somehow.

  “They’ll be surrounded,” Cohen says, horror lining his words. “Shaerdan has set up camp in Meridian. The bulk of their army is there. Why would the king send such young and green soldiers there?”

  Bernard’s expression twists in compassion. His hands stray to the new hole in the arm of his jacket. “I’m sorry, Cohen. I don’t know why they’re going. Word is they’re meant to be part of the first strike. That’s why I came to tell you.”

  I’m new to warfare, but I understand enough to know first strike isn’t promising. Not for a boy of fourteen. The border town of Fennit was littered with tents and campfires and weaponry. Moving a massive group doesn’t seem feasible. Unless the entire group isn’t headed to Meridian.

  “How many were sent?” I ask.

  Bernard stops playing with the two arrow marks, and his eyes cut to Cohen. “Er, I been told it was only his unit. Two dozen men in all.”

  I don’t notice Enat’s approach until she’s standing beside me. “Those men are going to Meridian to lay down their lives. They’ll be a bump in the road to the Shaerdanian army. It’s a shame.”

  Cohen remains silent.

  There is no way to break the bind on the king as well as save Cohen’s brother. Not when his brother is marching to his death. Time is up.

  Leif said, No one’s strong alone. We need each other.

  I bite the inside of my lip, considering a new plan. If Cohen continues into Brentyn with me, there’s a good chance Finn will die. Cohen wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let that happen.

  It will be a struggle to continue without him but not impossible.

  “You should go.” My voice shreds through the padded sounds of the woods.

  Cohen blinks out of his stupor and stares at me, emotions uncharacteristically clouding his face. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re hours from the border. You have enough time to get to Finn if you go now. Who will save Finn if you don’t?” He shakes his head, but I won’t let him talk. “You gave your word to your mother.”

  “I gave my word to you as well.” His words are spoken like a growl. His eyes flash ready with an argument. Can he not see there is no way to help us both? If he won’t choose, I’ll do it for him.

  “Listen to me.” My fingers whiten around my bow. “Enat and I will go on to Brentyn. I’ll disguise myself in the dress and bonnet like in Celize so no one will recognize me. When we get to the castle, Enat can help me discern where the guards are. Then together, we’ll find our way to the king.” It may not be entirely sound, but it’s the best plan I have.

  Cohen sweeps his head side to side so chunks of sable and molasses-brown hair fall across his brow. “No. No way. There are too many risks. You cannot go into the castle blindly. You’ll get caught.”

  I set my bow and arrow down and cross through sage bushes to reach him. “I have Enat. Finn needs you. If you don’t help him and he dies, you won’t be able to let that pain go. I know you, Cohen. You are loyal and true. You would never forgive yourself.” I take in a great gulp of cool mountain air to steady my rapidly beating heart. “If you live the rest of your life blaming yourself for Finn’s death, we won’t ever be happy together. And . . . and.” My voice is small. “I want that. I want to be happy with you.”

  He drops his chin to the top of my head. “I want that too. But what if this doesn’t work?”

  “It will work.” I rest my hands on his chest. “It has to.”

  Cohen steps away from me. Now that we’re no longer touching, I can see how ravaged his face looks, smudges lingering beneath his eyes and worry lines creasing his brow. “I cannot leave you.”

  If only the consequences of his choices weren’t so devastating.

  What I don’t tell Cohen is how scared I am to watch him go. He left me once and didn’t return. But this decision isn’t about me. It’s about his family needing him. “You cannot leave Finn out there alone,” I say.

  Cohen slams his hand into the nearest trunk. “I know.” His shoulders slump. “I know, Britt,” he repeats, quieter, subdued. Cohen looks off into the distance, pain and indecision flickering across his face like the dance of a flame over darkness. Out of the trees, Siron slips between us, a black cape covering his owner.

  “How will you cross the border?” Cohen’s voice is so quiet, I can barely hear him behind his big horse. “The guards—”

  “I am the only watchman in this section of the woods right now,” Bernard interrupts. “I’ve adjusted the other men’s schedules so no one is to come near my post for hours. If they travel quickly, they’ll be fine getting into Malam.”

  If what he says is true, our only obstacle now will be traveling from the border to the castle. I’m grateful to Bernard for his help.

  “Enat and I will be careful,” I tell Bernard.

  With a hand on Siron’s neck, Cohen moves so he can see me. His face is anguish and worry and anger. He sighs, and the sound nearly breaks me because I know he’ll leave. And I want him to go. But fear reminds me that any goodbye may be our last.

  Cohen will come back.

  It won’t be like last time.

  He’ll return to me.

  “This isn’t goodbye,” he says, as if he can read the niggling doubt in my thoughts. “I’ll find Finn and then I’ll meet you before you reach the castle. Promise, Dove. In three days’ time, meet me at our tree in the Evers.”

  Hope floats inside me. Everything will be fine.

  “Three days,” I confirm. “And you’ll come back to me.”

  He releases Siron and crosses the distance between us, clutching me to his muscular frame. My arms circle his waist while his wrap my shoulders in warmth. “I will always come back to you.” His nose presses into my hair as he plants a soft kiss on my temple. “Trust me, Dove.”

  It doesn’t take long for the men to load up. It’s much quicker than I anticipate.

  What seems like only moments later, Cohen is riding away on Siron.

  I wave and then turn my head so he cannot see the emotion in my eyes or the errant tears that trace my cheeks. Cohen said he will return, and I believe him. I do.

  We ride hard for two days to put space between the border and us, only slowing wh
en the climb from the lowlands steepens. Frost covers the leaves on the forest floor and the white-capped mountains in the distance. We’re lucky the snow hasn’t covered this pass.

  “You love that boy,” Enat says from where she sits behind me as we both ride Aspen into Malam. It’s a statement and not a question, but I find myself nodding.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “I’m glad. He’s a good man and good for you. When this is all over, you should marry him.”

  I smile, enjoying the daydream sparked by her comment.

  A hundred birds whoosh out of the nearby trees and flap away in a massive cloud of black wings. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Aspen whinnies and canters backwards, fear turning her haunches rigid.

  “Hush,” I whisper soothingly as I pat her neck while scanning the forest for the source of the birds’ movement.

  And then I hear it—​not so far away, a rhythmic pounding vibrates the forest—​horses. Two, possibly more.

  Enat grips my waist. “We have company. Let’s go.”

  Digging my heels into Aspen’s side, I urge the horse into a sprint, skirting the origin of the birds’ flight. The forest flies past, gravel and dead leaves spattering outward in the urgency of our plight. Enat curses, and in my periphery a shadow breaks from the trees, matching our frantic pace.

  Tomas appears to the south.

  “Stop!” Captain Omar’s command thunders over the pounding of hooves around us.

  We cannot be caught. The captain, Papa’s murderer, will surely not let us live to see the high lord. Enat hunkers down, lowering her head to my back, and commands Aspen to go faster.

  Behind the captain, Leif breaks out of the trees. Three against two aren’t terrible odds. I push Aspen as fast as a Southland horse.

  Captain Omar cuts northward. “Stop now!” he yells. “Or I’ll spare the hanging and slice you through now.”

  His threat is terrifying because it’s true. Every word.

  “Keep going,” Enat says, though stopping isn’t even a consideration. She twists in the saddle, pulling her bow over her head, and—​

  I feel the thwack before I see the arrow embedded in Aspen’s neck.

  The horse screams, rearing back so quickly that Enat and I tumble to the forest floor. I shake off the blow and scramble to my feet. Aspen advances a few steps, flailing her head side to side as she lets out a horrible cry.

  I rush to Enat’s side to pull her up when I see her bow is snapped in two, the pieces sticking awkwardly out of a low shrub. Scattered along the ground among the crush of fallen leaves are two arrows.

  My arrows!

  I reach for my quiver and notice my bow is missing.

  I scramble through the leaves, grabbing up arrows while searching. The guards surround us, with the captain being the first to dismount.

  Where is my bow?

  Aspen has fallen a dozen paces away, and though she’s not dead yet, her blood loss is a pool of black, staining the rocks and dirt. My bow! It’s attached to the saddle.

  “I should kill you here and now,” Captain Omar says. He’s behind me. The other two guards are at the sides of the clearing.

  “Go now!” Enat yells.

  I bolt forward, arms pumping, to move me faster to my weapon. Vaguely, I catch the shouts of the other men, but my focus blocks out the details of their words. A ring of steel echoes behind me just as my fingers find purchase on my bow.

  I spin back to face the guards with an arrow notched, feathers softly brushing my fingertips. Only, the scene doesn’t make sense.

  Omar’s bow is pointed in my direction, though his attention is on Tomas. The weasel guard has his sword drawn against Enat. Everything seems to slow like it did the night of the rainstorm. Leif rushes in my direction. For a split second, my attention diverts to him—​and that’s when I hear the cut.

  Blade against skin. A short gurgling gasp.

  “NO!” I rage, the scene slamming into me in regular time. My arrow is slicing the distance before I even realize what’s been done, flying true to nail Tomas between his shoulders. For the first time in my life, I’ve aimed and shot at a man to take his life. The guard tips to the side and falls next to Enat, who is somehow still standing.

  Her eyes roll, showing an unnatural amount of white. A terrible bubbling echoes out of her throat. I sprint to her side, not caring what the other men in the forest are yelling, and wrap my arms around her body to lower her to the ground. I cover her neck with my hand, pressing, frantically trying to focus on her remaining energy.

  It’s not too late. It’s not.

  Her energy whispers beneath my hand, ripples on an otherwise still mountain lake, fading fast. I pinch my eyes shut, demanding the panic to settle so I can focus as I start to push my energy into her. Just like after the lightning storm.

  The touch of her hand on mine . . . oh mercy. Her bloody, bloody hand has me snapping my eyes wide open. “No,” she mouths.

  And I know what she’s telling me, but I cannot—​no, I will not—​accept the command. “No,” she mouths again, fainter this time. “Find . . .” A gurgle. “Her . . .”

  I don’t understand what she’s saying. Find her? Perhaps the Spiriter? Maybe it’s the madness of pain that’s causing her to speak nonsense.

  “Let me do this,” I plead. My eyes sting. My throat aches. “I can make everything right. You were never supposed to get hurt. I—​I never wanted anything to happen to you.”

  Enat has moments left. My voice breaks as hot tears run down my nose and stain her beautiful wrinkled cheeks.

  “Please. Please let me help you.”

  The tiniest movement of her head shows her disagreement.

  “No, Enat!” A sob crawls out of my chest. “You’re all I have left.”

  Her free hand lifts, ever so slowly, swaying until landing on my face. It’s a miracle she can move at all. Her energy is but the last clinging seed on a cottony dandelion. I want to tell her not to move. To hold still. But her lips part, and I can see she’s trying to say something, so I am motionless for the both of us, my heart blackening and breaking and crumbling inside me.

  Pain and regret swell in her cerulean eyes.

  Her lips make a weak movement. “Love . . . you.”

  “I love you,” I say, frantic for her to hear me as a final breath escapes and her stained hand falls to the ground.

  “No!” A keening, high-pitched and tormented, resonates from deep within me as I clutch her body to mine. The color of her skin turns ashen, and her lips pale to white. The life force that once made her vibrant is gone, and in my arms is the husk of my grandmother.

  “No, no, no, no . . .”

  Captain Omar’s bow lies at his side as he watches us. Red, red, red, covers me because of him. I hate him. He took my father’s life and has now assisted in stealing Enat’s. The anger and pain inside me morph into something blackish and terrible that makes me want to slay more than just one man today.

  I seize Enat’s sword and lurch to my feet in the blink of an eye.

  “You murderer!” I scream at him as I rush to attack.

  Pain explodes in the back of my head, and then I’m tripping forward with the weight of the sword. Lights dim and the leaf-littered ground rushes upward.

  The ground is rocking, and I think I’m going to be sick. The blackness spins and twirls me around mercilessly. I roll to my side and vomit.

  “Rest,” someone says.

  “Clean her up,” another orders.

  Voices echo like they’re spoken through a pane of glass. I’m too exhausted to care. I let the darkness steal me away.

  Chapter

  37

  WHEN I WAKE, MY FACE IS PRESSED against a cold stone floor, and a thick stench of piss and dung assaults my nose. Ah, the dungeon. I gag and then groan, as there’s nothing left inside to retch. Couldn’t they have simply killed me?

  A dull pain pounds in my skull as I push off the ground and sit upright. I reach back, gingerly
touching hair matted with blood.

  I’ve no recollection of how I got here or why my body aches like a horse has trampled it. All I remember is Enat and then nothing.

  In the weak dungeon light, I stare down at my soiled clothes. Dried blood—​Enat’s blood. Her death replays in my mind, and grief floods out of me in sobs that rack my entire body.

  I only just found Enat. Just discovered she’s my grandmother. Two weeks ago I stood in her home and argued about going on this trip. It doesn’t seem fair that she’s gone. She only came to Malam because I asked. How foolish of me to think I could save the king. Or stop a war. That I could finish my father’s work. Or help Finn. How could I have been so arrogant?

  Ignoring a bowl of food that’s been placed beside me, I grab the cup of water and sip it down over my ravaged throat. I cinch my ruined shirt tight to my body and hug my knees, welcoming the solitude of the dungeon.

  Someone’s touching me, putting cool pressure on my forehead. I thrash awake to find Leif crouched in front of me, holding a bucket of water and a rag. The sight of his uniform hits me with an unbidden vision of Tomas swinging a sword at Enat. I flinch and scramble back against the stone floor to the dank corner.

  “Britta, I’m sorry about . . . about what happened,” he says mutedly. “It wasn’t my intention. I was following orders, and if I’d known . . .” He drops his chin. “I would have done something, Britta. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t care a whit about his intentions. “How long—?”

  “A day is all. You slept for most of it.” I wasn’t going to ask how long I’ve been here. I meant to ask how long before they hang me.

  He holds a cup for me to take.

  “We’re alone,” he says while I drink. I glance up in question. “The dungeon master is a friend. He’s allowed us a moment to talk.”

  I’m sitting in this rotting hell waiting for my name to be called so they can march me out to the yard and hang me. What’s left to talk about? I ignore him.

  Leif looks over his shoulder, then back to me. “Do not give up,” he says pleadingly.

  “You should leave,” I croak over a gritty throat.