Land of Fury, page 13
I sling my bow and quiver over my shoulders, their heft settling into a familiar press against my back. The weight of them, I realize, is comforting.
Before long, our horses fall into step beside one another, and we ride on as dawn turns to a gray morning. Though cloud cover sets in, it doesn’t snow, and I silently thank luck or fate for our good fortune.
Soon, the cool morning turns to a windy afternoon, and after resting a few more times, afternoon finally gives way to evening.
How Karra could know the way so well after all the years she’s been with me is not only surprising, but also gives me immense comfort. I could not have done all of this on my own. I could survive in the snow, perhaps, but I would not know my way through the country well enough to keep myself out of trouble. Too much snow covers the ground, and some markers on the lesser used paths aren’t visible.
Finally, Karra allows our horses to slow, and we make our way into the trees. There is no path or trade road. We are simply traipsing through the forest with no sign of a village at all. I’m about to ask her if she’s certain she knows where we are when rooftops appear, just over a snowbank.
As the village comes into view, I pull Lightning to a stop, stricken. “This is Woodvale?” I ask, glancing at Karra.
She halts her horse a few paces ahead. “It was.” Her voice is so quiet I barely hear it through the crunch of Lightning’s steps as we draw closer. His ears and eyes shift around, taking in our unfamiliar surroundings.
“But it burned to nothing,” I rasp, trying to process what I’m seeing. The wind howls through the hollow windows and gaping doorways, through the collapsed roofs and around crumbled stone. In the dying light of day, the place is haunting. A husk of shadows and splintered edges.
I don’t know if Karra expected it to be bustling with villagers, but it is abandoned. Only some structures are even standing, and snow covers most of what’s left.
She nudges her paint onward, her gaze fixed on the desolate sight as the packhorse trails behind her. Karra doesn’t peer around at the remains of what used to be, not like me. She’s focused on what looks like an old barn up ahead. It’s one of the few buildings left standing, half of it marked by flames.
Karra was expecting this, I realize. She knew Woodvale would be abandoned. It’s why she didn’t worry someone would recognize me—it’s why she brought me here.
“This was your village,” I whisper.
She dismounts her horse. “We will rest here for a few hours,” she says. “And leave before dawn.”
Though I have an urge to check the dark corners for hidden dangers, nothing here has been disturbed in quite some time. There are no tracks in the snow—no wagon marks or footprints to show anyone remembers the village is back here at all. It’s safe, just as Karra knew it would be.
I dismount with Lightning’s reins clutched in my hand. “Come on, boy,” I murmur, and Karra leads the other two horses into the barn. Her steps are hesitant, like the memories weigh heavier than she expected, and I know bringing me here has cost her significantly.
Not wanting to disturb her thoughts, I echo her movements, allowing her the time she needs to take it all in again.
We tie the horses up in a corner of the barn, away from the harshest drafts, and remove their saddles. When we’re finished, I offer them another ration of grain, to tide them over for the night.
“Can you build a fire, my lady?” Karra asks me, peering over her horse’s back as she sets the last of his tack to the side.
“Yes.” I nod, happy I can help with that, at least. “But are you not worried someone will see the smoke and find us?”
“It is dark,” Karra says, shaking her head. “The smoke will be difficult to see. Besides, we have little choice if we want to last the night.”
I’d considered the same thing, so I don’t argue. Freezing to death is only one of many risks in choosing this path, and if that is at least one thing we can prevent, so be it. “I will get a fire going, then,” I promise, rummaging for the fire starter in our supplies.
Karra pulls her cloak tighter around her. “There is a creek just over the hill,” she says, taking the waterskins and a pick to break the ice if the stream is frozen over. “I will return shortly.” Karra stops, tucking the supplies under one arm. She lifts my bow, leaning against Lightning’s saddle, with the other and hands it to me. “Keep this close, Your Highness.” Her eyes meet mine in the night shadows. “The queen’s men are not all that stalk these woods.” Then she disappears into the night.
20
THORA
After the horses are fed and watered, and the fire is flickering in the rundown barn, Karra and I finally sit to rest, exhausted from so much riding. Or maybe it’s the taut tension of bracing myself for an impending capture and the unwanted future I fear I’ll be returned to. Or simply weariness from all that’s happened in the past few days.
“I never knew snow could be so comfortable,” Karra says, nestling into the furs and pine needles we’re huddled on. “Compared to my saddle, at least.”
I smile in agreement, glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. I pull my cloak tighter around me, happy the brunt of the wind, howling beyond the splintered walls, is only a draft in here, even if it is still cold and menacing.
“The fire makes it all worth it,” I admit, and Karra nods, taking a sip of the hot tea she made us. The scent of evergreen fills my nostrils, and my eyes flit shut as I take a drink of mine as well. I savor the way it warms my insides, humming my contentment. For the briefest of moments, I forget the ever-present knot in the pit of my stomach, tightening each time I remember we’re on the run. I can’t believe we’ve made it this far, but with the heat of the flames against my nose and cheeks, I am too exhausted to worry about tomorrow.
The horses rustle as a vicious draft howls through the barn, and they huddle closer together to stay warm.
“If all goes well,” Karra whispers, “we should have another roof over our heads tomorrow night.”
“That would be welcome, indeed,” I admit, but as reassuring as her knowledge of Norseland is, I know far too little of what comes next to feel any true comfort. “How long is the journey?” I ask, meeting Karra’s gaze. “Talon Bay is nearly the opposite side of the country. It must be days away.”
“According to maps, perhaps, my lady. But they can be deceiving.” She takes another sip of her tea. “There is more than one way to Talon Bay. But you are correct, we have a way to go yet—about a week of riding. It is a long journey we are cutting in half by riding our horses nearly ragged. Otherwise, it would take us many more days than that.”
We are quiet for a while as I sit with that statement. The fire is warm against my face, despite the chill in the air, but my thoughts are less welcoming. I don’t want to risk the horses, but I fear what happens to us if we don’t.
Somberness ekes its way into the companionable quiet. I refuse to dwell on how horrible this might end, though. I’ve made my decision to run, and there is no going back now, no matter the danger or the cost. Instead, I try to imagine life away from this place. Life that, if I’m honest, could be far worse than Norseland, but even so, I’m less terrified of it.
“What do you really know about the ship?” I glance at Karra. “If you are taking me, you must know for certain it is real. You must know someone who has—”
“I know no one who has left on the ship, my lady. But people do not whisper hopeful, dangerous things, if such stories are not true.” She takes another sip of her tea, turning her cup around in her hands. “There is one woman in Winterwood whose cousin left on the ship last season—a forge worker from Northhelm. He was one of many indentured to the chieftain before Harald. They gave her cousin the choice to leave with them or stay, and he left with a few of the others.”
“How does she know he left? Or that he was not forced to go? He could be dead or . . .” I hate to think it could be worse, but the more I see what my mother has done to this kingdom, the more I wonder if there are worse fates than death.
As Karra leans closer to the fire, I notice the shadows of exhaustion under her eyes. She holds her palms to the warmth of the flames. “From what the woman says, they gave everyone in the workhouse the same opportunity. Some stayed behind to find their families. And because they were too old or ill to travel.”
“Then, it is their whispers that spread—their stories.”
Karra nods. “Their messages of hope.”
I stare into the flames, comforted by the fact that it’s not a slave ship, at least. That it could actually sail somewhere better than this place. “What if the ship is gone when we arrive?” I whisper. “What if it has already left?”
Karra pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as if she isn’t sure what to say. “Everything will work itself out, my lady. We have come this far. We must have faith in the gods.”
I nod, because I have no other option than to trust that this will work. But while my mind drifts to possible futures, I think Karra’s thoughts linger here, in this place of fire and ash.
She takes a final sip from her copper cup, her gaze shifting around the barn, remembering.
“What happened here, Karra?” My voice is soft against the droning wind. “Is this my mother’s doing?”
Karra’s tired eyes meet mine. “The queen’s men came when I was fifteen and raided and burned the village.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Why?”
“Does it matter?” she asks curtly, immediately averting her gaze. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” She blows out a breath and rakes her fingers through her windblown hair. “It is not your fault.”
“But it is my family’s fault.”
“We cannot choose our family, Your Highness—”
“Please,” I say, desperate to cut ties with who I was. “You must call me something else. I am not a princess, not anymore.”
Karra smiles to herself and stares into her cup. “As you wish, my lady.”
“I guess that will have to do for now. But eventually, you will need to call me something else.” It’s only then I realize not even my name will do. But that is tomorrow’s problem.
I clear my throat. “Your village,” I start again. “I want to understand what reason my mother would have to do something like this. Unless . . .” I look at her. “Was your family part of a rebellion?” That my mother would allow Karra to work in the castle, let alone still breathe if that were true, makes me think it’s something else.
“Many of the people in my village did not trust the queen. That part is true. Blood Riders were pillaging surrounding villages, burning them to the ground. The queen’s warlords were no better, taking more than their share, leaving us with little to live on. Crops are scant as it is—unless you work the land for one of Abbess Blanca’s churches or monasteries. But even then—” Karra mutters crossly.
I know the abbess is as greedy as she is horrible, so I am not surprised her followers are well cared for, while pagans are neglected.
“There was unrest, of course,” Karra continues, “but there was no talk of rebellion—we were only a hundred farmers and blacksmiths. What damage could we have done?” She practically hisses the words. “Even questioning the queen is punishable by death, it would seem.”
I think back to that day I watched Winterwood Village burning. The day Zander broke my heart, even if I hadn’t realized it then. All of it serves as a reminder that my mother only cares about power, that she will use me however she can to keep it, and I cannot go back to that fetid place.
“I know it helps nothing,” I whisper. “But I truly am sorry. I wish things were different—that my mother was different. You have no idea how much.”
Karra’s mouth presses into a thin, thoughtful line. “I think I do, my lady. Thank you.”
We say nothing more and fall into a stillness that seems to hum with sadness—for her and the loss of her life before. And me, for the mother that I never had, and the darkness I’ll forever be tied to in this place.
“How is it,” I start, giving voice to another niggling question. I give Karra a sidelong look. “How is it you came to the castle if my mother thought you were part of a rebellion? Though I am undoubtedly glad she let you live, I am also . . . shocked.”
Karra’s gaze shifts from me to the pot of warm water, as if more memories reflect there. I can almost see them replaying—painful recollections that hint at darker facets I will never learn about her—and I yearn to know what they are.
“One of your mother’s men took pity on me,” she finally says.
“What?” Instantly, I think of Gorm, who always had a soft spot for children, which Karra would’ve been. But he’s been gone so long, I can’t recall if she arrived before or after he died.
“It is late, my lady. We have a long day of riding ahead. You should sleep.” Karra nods to the flames. “I will tend to the fire.”
“But you are exhausted. You should sleep as well.”
Karra nods. “I will, but I will watch over you for a while first. It will make me feel better.”
Though I want to argue, I am too tired. “Wake me in a bit,” I tell her. It’s not a request. “Then I will keep watch until morning.”
Karra dips her chin, if a bit reluctantly, and nestles deeper into her cloak. “Rest well, my lady.”
I don’t recall my reply, only my eyes drooping as I fall into sleep.
21
THORA
When I wake, night is just barely brightening to morning. The wind is biting cold against my exposed cheeks. The fire has died out to only glowing embers, and Karra is asleep. She never woke me, but I can’t hold it against her; I feel like I might actually be able to face a new day of nonstop riding now that I’ve slept a few hours.
There is still time before full dawn, and knowing Karra stayed up most of the night to watch over me, I let her rest a little while longer. I, on the other hand, could use some mint or a pine needle to chew on and clear the taste of sleep from my mouth. And begrudgingly, I stare at the slush tumbling in through the doorway. Something cold on my face will chase the remnants of sleep away.
As I unfurl from beneath my fur cloak and climb to my feet, Lightning lifts his head from the horse huddle. Walking into the doorway, I step out into a pristine area of snow, scoop a little into my glove, and press it to my face. Chills rake over my body, but I welcome it, spurring my senses back to life as I fling the remnants off my hands.
Huffing through the cold shock of it, I blink at the white morning. It still hasn’t snowed, and I’m not sure if I’m grateful, since it will make travel easier, or if it increases my anxiety to see there is no fresh layer to hide our tracks.
As I wipe the excess snow from my face with my woolen dress sleeve, I survey the village in new light. Despite the battered buildings around me, the world glistens, and if this weren’t such a dangerous trip, I would say there was the promise of a beautiful day.
Movement catches my eye near some rubble. A white rabbit with black shadows around his eyes hops unhurriedly through the snow, sniffing for food among the stone ruins of an old chimney.
I smile, wondering if I might be lucky enough to catch a meal as it hops into the frozen woods.
I’m not sure why the servants around the castle fascinated me so much as a child, but they did, and the butcher was one of them. I might not have found his skills so remarkable had Zander not taken an interest in them, but Zander did, and it was one of only a few things we did together before everything changed. I was never allowed to butcher anything myself, of course, but I’ve seen it done a hundred times, and excitement thrums through me, realizing today could be the day to change that.
With light footsteps, I hurry to our pile of things and strap my quiver to my back, grab my bow, then creep out of the barn again. As I move through the brisk, open air, it stirs the last of my senses awake, and I stalk the rabbit as deftly as I can. We weave between collapsed buildings at the edge of the village, half covered in snow.
Having learned long ago that patience is not a virtue I often possess, but key when hunting, I take my time and wait for the rabbit to stop long enough to get a good shot. As he hops onward, I follow, and the thicker the trees become, the higher the sun rises until only woods surround me.
Peering around, I realize the village is far from sight, and if I can’t see Karra, she can’t see me, and she’s likely panicking to find me.
With a disparaging look, as the rabbit disappears under a boulder a few dozen paces ahead, I turn in defeat and freeze.
Muttering male voices, somewhere in the trees between me and the village, meet my ears. So does the crunch of steel-plated boots, making my pulse lurch to a gallop.
Guards?
I crouch behind the boulder and wait for them to come into view. It’s only a matter of time before I’m discovered—my footprints lead straight to me. My mind reels with desperation. I am not ready to go back. I am not ready to give up—to be found out. Not when we’ve come so far already. Not when my freedom might only be a week of riding away, and all that waits in the opposite direction is a lifetime of torment.
A glint in the morning light catches my eye, and squinting, I make out a silver pendant that clasps the men’s cloaks around their shoulders. A silver hawk. Dread drops like a cannonball in the pit of my stomach. They are not my mother’s men, but Harald’s.
I loathe to imagine how he will punish and torment me for running away, and I would rather die here and now than go back with them—with him.
“There,” one man mutters, and he crouches a hundred steps away to study my footprints. I shrink lower behind the boulder, worried they might spot me.
“Looks like the princess is chasing bunnies,” one of them chortles.
