CHAPTER 10
Helena
Another week or two, and she would be gone.
Helena flexed her arm, then carefully rolled her shoulder. It was feeling much better. She could probably even use a bow now, but the shot would be weak and might re-injure her shoulder.
But according to Marielle’s physician, she would be fine in another week or two.
She had a pouch of money that her cousin had foolishly given her, the use of a horse that she might feel guilty about stealing, and the bow she planned to “borrow” from her aunt and uncle picked out. All she needed was full health.
“It looks like a storm is coming in,” Marielle mused. She was leaning against a window in the sitting room, peering out at the dark sky. “I wonder if it will simply rain, or if we’re in for a snowstorm? We get them in November sometimes; they’re usually bad when we do.”
Helena picked up the book she’d been pretending to read and gave her cousin a non-committal hum.
She’d exhausted the manor’s supply of history books containing the adventures of ages past, and now she was reading about Old Amitian.
She liked the subject, but her forced inactivity was making her restless.
She pulled the book closer. Marielle couldn’t know how desperate she was for a little adventure of her own; her cousin might start watching her more closely, and that would complicate her escape to Castellia.
“I think I’ll take a walk before the weather hits,” Marielle said casually. Pushing off the windowsill, she strolled toward the door. “I’ll see you at supper, all right?”
The dissertation on Old Amitian hit the settee with a soft thump. “I’ll join you,” Helena said, trying to hide her eagerness. “I just need to grab my cloak. Meet you at the front door?”
“Oh…” Her cousin’s eyebrows pulled together as she looked back. “Um…are you sure? With your shoulder—”
“Walking won’t hurt me,” Helena replied, rolling her eyes. Striding past, she tossed out, “Talk like that, and you’ll make me think you don’t want me to come.”
If Marielle answered, Helena didn’t hear it. She rushed down the hall to her room, grabbed her cloak from its hook near the door, and spared only a moment to verify that her leather gloves were in the pockets. A walk in the chilly autumn air would calm her restlessness.
Only another week or two. But this time, she would choose a more sensible way to reinvent herself than joining an outlaw.
After a few minutes of waiting at the front door, Helena set off on her own.
The grounds of Marielle’s country home differed from those Helena was used to.
Due to the rocky terrain and high altitude, it lacked the traditional gardens from her home.
Instead, gravel paths led between dirt beds with short, bare bushes and patches that held beautiful wildflowers during the warmer months.
The occasional tree provided shade when its branches were full of leaves, adding variation to the garden’s height since it lacked the hedge mazes she seemed to find everywhere else.
She wandered for a while, gradually drawing closer to the thicker trees beyond the cleared area. The wilder land drew her in, promising adventure if she would only explore its unknown depths.
Never one to resist potential excitement, she left the tamed gardens and ventured into the woods. How different could they be from the ones she’d grown up with at Reineggburg?
The sounds of the forest surrounded her as she meandered between the trees.
It soothed her need to explore. As the peace of the woods settled into her soul, her steps slowed until she was drifting slowly along with her eyes closed, face lifted to the network of branches over her head as she trailed her hand over the passing trunks.
“—missed you—been?”
The voice was faint, but it drew Helena’s attention immediately. Who else was wandering through the Dracovich de Bouclier lands?
She changed direction, veering toward the conversation with careful steps.
Soon, the voices grew clearer, but she still couldn’t see the speakers.
When she realized that one sounded like her cousin, her curiosity blossomed further.
Maybe Marielle had a forbidden love, and her walk was to meet with him?
“I’m sorry, Cap. I promised I wouldn’t say more than that. But believe me, I’m in no danger from Margit.”
Cap? Was that a nickname?
Helena eased behind a tree, making her way more slowly to ensure she stayed hidden.
“Did she tell—”
“Yes, she explained why she was injured when she arrived.” Marielle sounded a little irritated. “And for the record, she wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“Looked to me like she was trying to hurt him.” A third voice, this one deeper.
Helena froze. Surely—surely Marielle wasn’t meeting with whom Helena thought she was.
Dropping into a crouch, she carefully leaned her head around the thick trunk until she could see her cousin with two cloaked individuals: one tall, one quite short. The shorter one’s hood was thrown back, and his mouth was pulled up in a grin.
The taller man kept his hood up, but the edges of a brown beard poked past it.
Le Capuchon and one of his minions.
She quickly ducked behind her tree, placing a hand on her chest as she willed her heart to slow down. That certainly explained Marielle’s reaction when Helena first arrived.
A plan began to form in her mind, but she forced herself to take careful steps as she slipped away. She couldn’t use it if they caught her.
Once she was out of hearing, she switched to a jog.
Marcel the footman gave her a funny look when she came bursting through the front door of the manor, but she ignored him, racing down the hall to her room.
An extra dress, the dried food she’d been stashing for an easier escape.
A blanket in case she was caught outside overnight; too bad she didn’t have a tent.
She picked up the packet of money, then stowed it back in the nightstand. It would be one more thing for Le Capuchon to steal if he caught her.
Helena threw her satchel over her head and hurried to a side door that opened on the tiny training area.
Reducing her pace to a relaxed stroll, she waltzed past a pair of sparring guards and examined the archery equipment.
A quiver of arrows, the best bow. She strung it, grimacing at the force it exerted on her left shoulder.
Then she disappeared back into the forest.
There were a few worrisome moments when she wasn’t sure if she was retracing her route correctly, and then another when the meeting spot was too quiet.
But when she poked her head around a tree, Le Capuchon stood where she had left him.
He was alone, wariness in his very posture, from the tight lines of his shoulder to his slowly rotating head.
Then he took a step and turned in her direction.
Helena flattened herself against the tree before he saw her.
She itched to confront him while he was alone, but she would never beat him in a draw. Not with her shoulder. Better to stick to her original plan and find his lair so the authorities could handle it.
After a few minutes, footsteps approached from the other side of her quarry. Marielle spoke, her voice worried. “Are you sure you should leave now? I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
“We’ll be fine,” Le Capuchon assured her. “I’d rather face off against a storm than the General’s men.”
“Who won’t show up if the storm is so bad you can’t flee when we see them,” Marielle pointed out. “And here, you would be warm. The same can’t be said of bivouacking on the mountainside.”
“If we don’t show up, my sister will come looking for us,” the deeper voice said cheerfully.
“We might be safe from the General’s men, but not your people.” Le Capuchon. “We can’t trust that none of them would turn me in. And even if they don’t, your guest might.”
Oh, she absolutely would.
Someone sighed, and then Marielle said, “If I can’t convince you, then you should be on your way. I don’t want the storm to catch you because I kept you longer than necessary.”
“Take care, Marielle.” Leaves crunched, and Helena heard the soft rustle of fabric. “We’ll come back when we can.”
“Be careful. Jean, you keep a close eye on his back, all right?”
“You can be sure I will,” the deep voice answered warmly. “If not for Amitié, then for you.”
Footsteps finally moved deeper into the woods, but Helena didn’t hear any going the other way. She waited a minute before cautiously poking her head out.
Marielle stood alone, gazing after the men. Wiping her eyes, she slowly turned and trudged back toward the manor.
After forcing herself to wait another minute, Helena abandoned her shelter and hurried after Le Capuchon and his friend.
Her father’s strictures had kept her from learning to track in her youth, but she had joined several hunts since her curse broke.
She wasn’t a skilled tracker, but she had some basic knowledge.
Unfortunately, the men she was pursuing knew how to move in the woods. She soon had to admit that if she couldn’t see them, she was going to lose them.
The trick would be keeping them in sight while staying hidden herself.
Once she caught up to them, it became clear that they weren’t watching for tails. Given Le Capuchon’s earlier vigilance and their illegal habits, this surprised her. But she wasn’t about to complain.
When the sun dipped below the mountains, the men pulled off their packs and started setting up a tent. The light diminished swiftly, dying away to nothing before they tied the final support strings.
A cold breeze fluttered the hood of Helena’s cloak. She wrapped it more tightly around herself and crouched down, pressing her back against the solid trunk behind her. It blocked the breeze, but it couldn’t block the chill that seeped through her cloak now that she wasn’t moving.
Helena pulled her blanket and extra dress out of her satchel, moving slowly so as not to draw attention. Then she pulled out some dried fruit to nibble on for supper.