Contender, page 5
“We should go south,” I interrupted bluntly, wondering why I hadn’t said it before. “Trina will be heading south, she’s most likely already waiting for me.”
She would think this plan is insane.
“All the soldiers are mustering in the south,” he replied, “and those looking for us will be coming from that direction. We must not try to go around or slip through their ranks—it would be suicide. We must outpace them. The sea lies to the west, and the easier trails run east. We must not do what is easy,” he concluded soundly. “We must do what is smart.”
I blinked at him in astonishment, too off-balanced to immediately locate my rage. He sounded like a boy at lessons, reciting verses and proverbs. It would have been a highly irritating trait in other people, but it grounded him somehow, providing an inexplicable calm.
He’s still crazy.
“Let me be clear,” I began slowly, turning to face him straight on. “You wish to outrun the entire royal army, by taking a trail that leads straight into the northern peaks before the coming of winter.” I paused a lengthy moment, staring into his eyes. “You claim this is a smart decision.”
I might have had a fraction of his schooling, but I felt quite certain we had different ways of defining the word. At the very least, we’d received a very different kind of education.
“Trina is going south,” I repeated, before he could say anything. A flicker of panic stirred in the pit of my stomach, like I should have remembered yesterday in the storm. “She will be looking for me along the coast, Erik. I cannot head in the opposite direction. We’ve already gone too—”
“Your aunt wishes you to live, yes?” he asked curtly, turning to face me. The sun perched upon his shoulder, glaring accusingly. “She already sacrificed much to make that happen; near everything,” he added suddenly, “since my uncle discovered your stash of gold. The entire royal army stands between you, and yet—you would go tearing through and lead them right to her?”
It was perhaps the only thing he might have said to stop me. Not that she wasn’t there waiting, not that it was too dangerous to turn back. But that it might be dangerous for her.
Even if we made it, our trail would lead to her door.
“So, I won’t...” I paused, unable to say it, “I won’t see her again. We are making this decision now, and I won’t...” My breath hitched and the words overwhelmed me; a deep ache began throbbing deep in my chest. “That time in the tower...it was the last.”
His face softened and he took a compulsive step towards me. The whole of the valley was framed behind him, and the wind was stirring, fluttering the ivory braids over his arms.
“It was not the last,” he said gently, though in hindsight, he couldn’t have actually meant it. I had been a fool to think we’d find each other; he’d never expected as much. “We are only at the beginning of this story, you and I. Much has happened already, I would not have thought possible before riding down through these mountains. Each new day brings something more. Do not lose faith, you will see her again. Stranger things have happened. The rest is in the hands of the gods.”
A little smile, which had been thawing through the ice on my face, faded just as quickly as it had come. If only he hadn’t said that last part. The gods...didn’t like me so much, as of late.
“What is it?” he asked, seeing my sudden change in expression.
I bowed my head quickly, trying to mask it with a tight smile.
“The gods,” I repeated quietly, “have no time for the prayers of a witch.”
He flinched at the word, almost so slight as to escape notice. But he didn’t break my gaze; he took a step even closer, tilting his head to catch my eye.
“What about a fine lord, such as myself?”
* * *
“You’re lucky I didn’t push you down the mountain.”
The sparkling glow of the windswept sun had vanished; it was now beating punishingly overhead. We’d done our best to ignore it, clinging to gratitude that it was there at all, and we weren’t caught in the grip of another wretched storm. But the heat was terrible, and the glare was even worse. It reflected off the stone beneath our fingers, sending up painful splinters of light.
Erik glanced up at me, a few paces down the slope. “You honestly think you could have managed?” he quipped, pointing silently to a grip beside my left hand. We’d been shuffling at first, down the slope that sided the mountain. But the ridge had grown so steep, it had turned into an unfortunate climb. “I saw you nearly fall off that log earlier. I can’t imagine you could give anyone a shove without falling down yourself.”
My boot slipped and dislodged a shower of pebbles. I pretended this was intentional. “A fine lord,” I muttered under my breath, still smarting with it.
The truth was, the better I got to know him, the less dignified I saw Erik really was. Not that there was anything lacking, the man was exemplary in every way. From the regal curve of his brow, to the inherent grace with which he moved, right down to the way he swung a sword. The king had been right, when he’d chosen his successor. The man was a bannerman through and through.
He was also seventeen years old. He was also playful.
After lagging behind long enough to lose sight of him, he pelted me with pinecones. When I’d paused uncertainly over a clutch of mushrooms, wondering if they were safe to eat, he’d taken a single bite then collapsed in theatric convulsions at my feet. It was utterly exasperating, yet strangely endearing at the same time. As the sun rose higher and my rolled ankle began to ache in protest, he halved our speed without question and started singing sea shanties under his breath.
I observed each new peculiarity with a hidden smile, watching as the distance from the village made things easier, and one layer peeled back after the next. Not even during the time we spent together at the festival had he been so free with me. Perhaps he’d found it impossible whilst anywhere in the vicinity of the settlement. Sunshine or not, his uncle’s shadow stretched far.
And speaking of...
“So how did you know the soldiers would be drilling?” I asked abruptly, grinning when his foot slipped uncharacteristically on the trail. It wasn’t often that I was able to surprise him. Most of the time, he delighted in it being the other way around. “You said they would be patrolling south.”
He’d said that, but it hadn’t happened. When we’d burst through the door of the tower, they were right there in front of us, filling the courtyard to brimming, shields and blades and shouts.
“The soldiers,” he repeated, though he’d heard me perfectly well. “You don’t think it a bad portent, to speak of them so close to the settlement. If you raise your voice a little louder, you could simply ask them yourself.”
A clever diversion. And yet—
“You never answered my question,” I replied evenly. “They could not tell me what is in your own head. And if we’re parsing omens and portents, you are traveling with a known witch.”
After so many years guarding the secret, it was still utterly bizarre to say the word out loud. I don’t think I could have managed it if it weren’t equally entertaining to see the way it rattled him.
Again, his foot slipped. He flashed an upwards glance at my face.
“Careful,” he muttered, cheeks flaming, “it’s slippery.”
As are you.
I didn’t ask the question again, I merely waited. Most people would have taken it as a blessing and continued the climb in silence, but already I knew, he wasn’t one to let things hang between us. Those expectant silences rifled him nearly as much as myself. A few seconds passed, then he let out a quiet sigh, nearly lost beneath the sounds of the windswept valley.
“My uncle told me of the soldiers,” he finally replied, looking as though it cost him a great deal to do so. Only now, did I understand why. “He’d been discussing the troop movements with the king, wanting lately to be kept apprised of such things. There were many who knew it,” he added compulsively, keeping his eyes on the slope and away from mine.
Despite all the time we’d been given and the long stretches of silence, there were certain subjects we’d taken great care to avoid—his uncle being chief among them. Not since that night in the tower had I told him plain: the man had attempted to kill him. The horse had not spooked by accident, there had been a knife. The entire reason we were in the forest, was because of his uncle.
His uncle, and the king’s good wishes.
If we avoided mention of his uncle, there hadn’t been a single whisper about the king. Not the man’s late-night visit and subsequent passing of my sentence. And certainly not his clandestine visit to the bannermen’s villa, where he’d spoken with Erik and practically offered him a crown.
Of course, I wasn’t technically supposed to know about that last part. If anyone had been watching, I hadn’t even been there. I’d been hidden in the branches of a courtyard apple tree.
...watching through the eyes of a hawk.
The frankness of the memory startled me, almost as much as the slight jump I felt in my skin every time someone said the word witch. My pulse spiked and my eyes rose without thinking to the cloudless sky, half-expecting to see the massive bird following us, even then.
How is such a thing possible? I asked myself, gripping onto the side of the mountain as we lowered ourselves slowly down. Perhaps a better question: How is it possible I’ve scarcely thought of it since? It seemed the worst sign of all—if my late-night sublimation into the consciousness of a bird bore such little impact. I’d spent more time fretting over my twisted ankle, or counting the seconds until the pyre. How could the world have shaken so dramatically, that had been swept under the rug?
I shook my head a little, clinging to the damp earth. Like a distant echo, my grandmother’s kindly voice resounded through my mind—the same phrase she was so found of using.
Don’t ask questions, if you’re not ready to hear the answer.
I asked another instead.
“So why do you think it changed?” I cast a swift glance over my shoulder, to where he was standing on a ledge just below. The earth was slick from the rain, and he’d needed to jump the last several feet. I was hovering above the same drop. “The soldiers, why was their schedule changed?”
He didn’t know, we’d discussed it already. But while his answers were short, I learned much more in the subtle changings of his face. For all his strength and bravery, the man had very little skill with hiding his emotions. He wore each one like a banner, waving from his sleeve.
There was a chance he knew this, because he refused to look at me. Instead, he opened his arms wide, waiting—I realized, for me to release the ledge and drop inside. I considered this for a split second, then decided against it. Then I thought of the pinecones, and dropped into the air.
A silent gasp caught in my throat, but he was holding me a second later. Our eyes met for the briefest of moments before he set my feet lightly upon the ground.
“That is one of many questions I have myself,” he answered softly. Strangely enough, it actually looked like he wanted to something more, but he held himself back. “Come,” he murmured instead, glancing towards the valley. “We have nearly reached the river.”
* * *
Ironically enough, we had reached the river before. Many times. It was the same current of water that spanned the length of our entire kingdom, splintering every so often into the numerous streams and creeks we’d forded so many times before. It was different every time; the size of the banks and the swell of the waves, but every part of it was connected.
Connected, and very cold.
I came to an involuntary pause as we reached the swollen shore, making the foolish mistake of bending down and dipping my fingers into the water. It was beyond a mere chill, it was borderline freezing—the tumbling waters having trickled down the icy mountains in the first thaw of spring.
People used it for fishing, or perhaps even sailing—as there were several smaller crafts that traveled occasionally between villages. Under no circumstance would someone attempt a swim.
“Must we?” I breathed, watching as he began unstrapping the laces of his boots. It was too wide to simply throw them across, he’d need to carry them to the other side. “Again?”
He flashed me a look, but said nothing.
It had been an unspoken rule since we’d left the settlement: whatever water happened to lay in our path, we could cross. While it might have been a chore, and a dangerous one at that, it was also a necessity. There weren’t just men traveling behind us, but trained hounds. Any chance we had to mask our scent, was a chance worth seizing. Even if it meant risking hypothermia along the way.
“Why so glum?” he teased, secretly dreading the task himself. “It can’t be as bad as that first time. The water is much calmer here, and”—he dipped his fingers as well—“it’s almost warm.”
My eyes lifted to his own. “You are a terrible liar.”
He chuckled quietly, having heard such things since he was a child. Instead of continuing to undress, he crossed back to where I was standing, surprising me once again by tucking back my hair.
“Imagine how talented I will become, traveling in the company of a dread witch,” he replied brightly. The word shook him too, every time, but he was determined to face it. “I will be casting spells and haunting graves before long. The river will be the least of my problems.”
In spite of my dearest efforts, my face cracked into a smile. It was infuriating how he was able to do that. I could imagine his governess thrashing him, then embracing him at the same time.
“Haunting graves, huh?” I quipped, taking a step closer to the water. The air seemed to get colder the nearer I drew; little shards of ice were tangled in the reeds along the surface. “Can you imagine anything drearier? You’d just drift there, day after day, watching the weeds grow.”
He laughed again, a much cheerier sound than mine. “You are hardly a good spokesperson,” he remarked. “It’s enough to make one hesitate to embrace the dark craft at all. But you needn’t worry about the river,” he added more seriously, lifting his gaze to mine. “I will be there beside you, just as before.”
I flushed a little and looked away, remembering all too well.
When the pair of us had sprinted away from the settlement, racing into the trees with the high wall at our backs, I’d been in a panic. A blind, mindless panic—one that had nearly tripled as we’d run straight into a company of guards. I’d had nothing left by the time we reached the river, nothing but a babbling explanation of how I couldn’t swim, and my mother had drowned. Truth be told, I was in such a state it would have been understandable if he’d been forced to merely leave me.
Of course, he hadn’t. He’d taken my hand, just as he was reaching now.
“I’ve got you,” he’d whispered, holding me close to his chest.
I’d felt the warmth of his body, as my cheek pressed against it. I’d heard the frantic pounding of his heart, the only thing that betrayed his endless calm. The second I’d caught my breath, he eased us into the water. First to the ankles, then to the knees. Then a sudden shock as the ground vanished entirely and there was nothing but the rushing current beneath our feet.
Of course, that was when the panic had come back again.
“Perhaps this time,” he continued lightly, “you might keep your hands to yourself.”
I flushed again, unable to keep from laughing as the image flashed back to me. He must have thought it would be rather simple, like carrying a sack of grain across the water. Dead weight, of course, and occasionally sobbing. But nothing that might hinder him more. Of course, we’d both been rather unprepared for my feline reaction to the water. No sooner had it closed around me, than I was clawing frantically to get on top of him—anything to escape those rushing waves.
It was entirely possible, I’d never live down the shame of it.
It was entirely possible, I’d ripped out several chunks of his hair.
“I could try,” I sniffed delicately, “if it matters that much to you.” My eyes drifted longingly down the shoreline. “Or we could simply keep to our own side...”
He flashed a grin I deemed unforgivable, and reached without thinking for my cloak. For his cloak, I kept reminding myself, though it seemed to have completely left his own mind. Instead of taking it back, he merely unclasped the familiar brooch, planning to carry it along with his boots. It wasn’t until that moment, I remembered the small changes I’d made to my wardrobe.
His eyebrows shot skyward as his lips parted in quiet surprise.
“You, uh...you have made some adjustments.”
I stared blankly a split second, then glanced down in surprise to see a great deal more of my flesh than I was used to. Considering the meager tools I had at my disposal, I believed the clothes had held up rather well, granted I looked as if I should be employed at the nearest brothel.
I didn’t flush this time, his cheeks were red enough for the both of us. Instead, I merely twirled what remained of my long skirt, feeling the cold breeze gust up the slit in the side.
“Women’s clothes are not practical,” I answered frankly, forbidding myself from even the slightest of shivers. “This was the only way I could move in the forest without falling down.”
I paused here, allowing space for a joke. If he’d been more himself, it would have come almost immediately. By now, I could imagine the exact tone of his voice, light and full of mischief, inquiring whether I believed I had not fallen down regardless, many times before.
He didn’t say a word, merely looked at the ground and nodded.
Modesty? From a bannerman?
“See, if you’d become king—you might have changed all that,” I added practically, relishing the way his face went blank in absolute surprise. “It could have been your first priority.”
For a few seconds, he was completely unable to speak. I didn’t think he even thought to try.
Then he grabbed my wrist, dragging me towards the water with a hidden scowl.
“Just try to stop yourself from drowning me before we reach the other side...”
