CHAPTER 17
Helena
Their new camp had a beautiful view. Le Capuchon kept to forested parts of the mountains to better hide their home, but the trees were thin enough here to see the valley below.
Helena stood outside her tent, watching the sun as it peeked over the horizon. It cast an array of reds and oranges across the clouds, filling her heart with its majesty. She’d missed sunrises while wandering through the middle of the mountain range.
Below her, the side of the mountain stretched out. To her left, she could see a rocky outcropping, its gray stone tinged pink in the morning light. It was barren of trees, but the leftover snow glittered.
“If you’re up, you may as well be busy.”
Allowing herself a small smile, Helena turned to face her tent mate. “Good morning, Rouge. Sleep well?”
“No such thing,” the redhead grumbled. She brushed some loose hairs from her face and scowled at the sun. “If mornings were meant to be enjoyed, they wouldn’t start until noon.”
Smirking, Helena set her cane on the ground and began hobbling along next to Rouge. “You sound like a pampered noblewoman. But you know how to cook, so you can’t be.”
“Of course not,” Rouge scoffed. She matched Helena’s slower pace as they crossed to the camp’s center. “I trained as a kitchen assistant, the same as my mother before me.”
“Doesn’t that require early mornings?”
“Unfortunately.”
Shaking her head, Helena sat on a log that Tucker and his friends had hauled into camp the previous evening.
Rouge lowered their food supplies from the branches overhead, then wordlessly handed Helena the jar of yeast, a tub of lard, and the small packet of salt.
After setting the bag of flour on the table, she grabbed their bucket and stomped off to the nearby stream.
As others in the camp began to stir, Helena mixed the simple dough Rouge had taught her. She eyed the table as she worked. Had someone else left it here and she hadn’t noticed the night before?
The planks looked more grown than hewn. She’d only seen round ears in the camp, but many were always hidden in hair or under hats.
While Helena worked, Rouge started the fire, then laid some of Helena’s dough on a thin sheet of metal over the fire.
Some of it would be left to rise for bread later, but they needed something to eat for breakfast. Helena hadn’t eaten the flatbread or the peasant loaf before Le Capuchon rescued her, but she found both satisfactory.
“That smells delicious, ladies.” Stepping over the log, Adrien claimed the seat next to Helena. “Good morning, Margit. How is your ankle?”
Helena formed another ball of dough and passed it to Rouge, wishing the process didn’t require bare fingers. But the sticky dough would ruin her gloves. “Bearable. Le Capuchon kept it from hitting the ground yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, I saw that,” Adrien grinned. He paused to give Alanna a one-armed hug as she sat next to him. “That was quite the tumble. Very fortunate that Cap has such quick reflexes.”
A little heat blossomed across Helena’s cheeks. She had only wanted to remove Le Capuchon’s hood, not end up in his arms again. But she had, and everyone in the camp had seen it.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, excellent reflexes.”
“That’s enough for now, Margit,” Rouge cut in. “You can take a break and warm your hands.”
Relieved, Helena quickly dunked her fingers in the small bowl of water for cleaning. The frigid liquid sent little stabs of pain through her fingers while she quickly rinsed off the dough. She wiped her hands dry on her cloak and then stuffed them inside her gloves.
“They warm faster if you put your fists under your arms,” Tucker commented, demonstrating with his own balled hands. “Without the gloves, though.”
She jerked her gloves back off and stuffed her fists in her armpits.
The change was immediate, the warmth of her body soaking through into her chilled hands.
“Why don’t we do this inside a tent?” she asked, clamping her arms tighter against her sides.
“It’s still cold, but it would be a little bit warmer than out here. ”
“We tried that. But since we don’t have an extra tent, I used my own.” Rouge shook her head grimly. “When I failed to clean up every last bit of a spill, it attracted wild animals. Better cold hands than that.”
Helena shivered at the thought. “I think I would agree.”
Rouge handed out the pieces of bread as they finished cooking. Helena nibbled on hers, listening to the conversations around the circle. She still received angry looks from Laurent, but the rest of the group was adjusting to her presence.
Two faces didn’t appear at breakfast. No one else commented on the absence, so neither did Helena. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression after her mishap the day before.
The day passed slowly, but Helena appreciated the opportunity to gaze across the valley, picking out homesteads and looking for houses built among the trees on the mountain slopes.
It lessened the boredom of her chores, and she basked in the different beauty from her homeland.
Even Reineggburg and Flussendorf, with their rocky hills, were nothing to the mountains of Amitié.
“Those are the lands belonging to Lord Raoul’s family,” Tucker said from behind her.
Turning from the view, Helena squinted up at the teenager. “What?”
He gestured down the mountain. “Down there. You were admiring it, and I thought you’d like to know.”
She nodded her thanks, although she had no use for the information.
Instead of leaving, he set one foot on the log next to her and leaned on his knee. “You must be one of the few ladies immune to his charms.” Tucker chuckled. “To hear Cap speak, Lord Raoul has only to smile at a woman and she’s his. I wouldn’t know; I’ve never met him myself.”
“Neither have I,” Helena replied, furrowing her brow. “I’ve never been to Amitié before.”
“Yes, but he almost always travels with Princess Daphne,” Alanna quietly chimed in. She looked up from the sock she was darning. “If you’re friends with Marielle, surely you’ve met her cousins?”
A thread of nerves wound its way through Helena’s chest. Papa had only allowed family and the Daric royals to visit her at Reineggburg. So while she had met Marielle, she hadn’t met Marielle’s other royal cousins. But should she have, if she had met Marielle under normal circumstances?
“Just the Ralnoran ones,” she hedged. “I was never available for a visit when her Amitian ones came along.”
“That’s too bad; I hear Princess Daphne is really nice.” Alanna smiled shyly. “And she loves her daggers. You’d get along.”
Helena blinked at her. “I don’t know a thing about daggers.”
“But you claim to be really good with your bow. She would appreciate your dedication.” Alanna ducked her head. “Or so I would imagine.”
Helena focused on her work, fumbling her way through stitching a tear in someone’s shirt. Rouge had expected Helena to know how to sew, considering how fond of needlework most noblewomen were. Yet another way that Helena didn’t fit into the world she came from.
“Come to think of it, I remember Marielle mentioning something about Princess Daphne and Raoul,” she said after a minute. She’d been too busy plotting her escape to mind royal gossip. But someone else had mentioned those names together.
“I should think so!” Alanna replied, her face brightening. “Papa and I heard the news a couple weeks ago; I’m sure Marielle has been full of it.”
“News?”
The younger girl’s eyes glowed. “About the betrothal! Lord Raoul finally convinced her!”
Mouth dropping open, Helena stared wide-eyed at Alanna. How had she missed that? “My c—Marielle is betrothed?”
“Not Marielle, silly; Princess Daphne.” Alanna laughed, but she gave Helena a strange look. “That seems like a funny misunderstanding if you’ve been staying with her.”
Aware of her mistake, Helena blew a hair out of her face and pretended to concentrate on her chore. Thankfully, Tucker saved her from a reply. “I heard her brothers made a bet about whether she’d marry him.” He winked at Helena. “Prince Raphael lost, so he’ll have to pay up now.”
“Tucker, isn’t there something you should be doing?” Alanna said. Her voice was more biting than Helena had heard before.
“A bet?” Helena echoed, wrinkling her nose. “And the whole kingdom knows about it? I would punch my brother if he did that.” Not that she could imagine who he would make one with. Tobias was one of the men vying for her hand. The only other person who came to mind was Michael, and he...
She shoved the thought aside. She didn’t want to think about Michael now. Or ever.
“It’s not kingdom-wide knowledge. I have my sources.” Tucker looked smug as he made his pronouncement.
“And who would that be?” Helena looked him over skeptically. “You don’t seem like the type of person with which royalty would keep company.”
“Tucker,” Alanna hissed.
“Oh, I’m not.” He grinned unrepentantly, ignoring Alanna’s glare. “I was a street urchin until Cap rescued me. But Rouge worked in the castle kitchens, and Jean-haut is one of the king’s foresters. They—”
“Tucker!”
Finally recognizing her frustration, he turned to her. “What? Margit would have found out someday. And it’s not like General Valentin will catch us if he finds out they’re here.”
Sighing, Alanna shook her head as she tied off her thread. “They have family in Laurier, Tucker. Use your head.” She glanced over at Helena. “Not that I distrust you, Margit. But I care for everyone here. I don’t want them getting hurt because someone has a loose tongue.”
“I don’t want them hurt either,” Helena hurried to assure her. And she didn’t; she had no quarrel with any of them, even the ones like Laurent who still thought she shouldn’t be there.
Her bow weighed heavily against her back. Even Le Capuchon. She might have come here with plans to betray his location to the authorities, but she was no longer sure that she could.
She put on a teasing smile. “Now I’m curious. What will losing the bet cost Prince Raphael?”