Chapter 8
As the land began its slow slope upward, the dry spring heat that had poured sweat down their backs yesterday gave way to a cool breeze, refreshing against clammy brows and through damp hair.
It was a clear day, the sky a bright, washed-out blue bowl overhead, and so the drakes, at Amelia’s direction, led their party up into the foothills on foot.
Despite having four legs, they walked nothing like horses, and the whole affair was a lumbering, graceless effort that involved long tails whipping back and forth through the underbrush, snapping off twigs and branches with sharp, black-powder cracks.
They tucked their wings in close, and occasionally one would stretch its neck up tall to peer at the surrounding landscape.
Amelia had grown so used to viewing their march from Alpha’s back that she felt blindfolded here amidst the grime and debris of the road.
She shaded her eyes with her hand, but could see nothing but rock, scrubby pine trees, and the great, glittering black shapes of the dragons up ahead, wreathed in fine red dust.
A crackling of dry needles signaled a wolf’s arrival. Shadow still didn’t like them, but he’d grown accustomed to their presence, and his only response to Leif’s sudden appearance on the road beside them was the flickering of an ear and a disapproving snort.
What was truly startling was the way Amelia recognized that it was Leif, and not some other member of the pack.
He was gray instead of blond as he was in human form, but it was a very pale gray tipped with gold, his mottled patches very light.
He was also the largest of the wolves, and his eyes, when he tipped them up to her, tongue lolling, were the same, human bright blue that regarded her with shrewd assessment when he walked on two legs.
“Anything?” she asked.
She still wasn’t accustomed to the shifting process.
It seemed as though it was her vision, rather than Leif himself, that blurred and spun.
Leif lurched forward, shuddered, there was a sense of his fur melting into smoke, and then he was a strapping Northern man once more, hair in tight, neat braids, bare arms gleaming with sweat.
Was it her imagination, or were the gold bands he wore around his biceps getting tighter by the day?
“Nothing,” he said, his voice rough. He always sounded as though he was halfway growling when he first shifted. He cleared his throat and added, “We found evidence of a fresh kill a half-mile that way. A deer. Killed by humans, because they left the offal.”
Amelia had learned not to ask questions like you didn’t eat any of that, did you? Instead, she tipped her head back to see that the sun was halfway toward the horizon. “Gather your pack,” she said. “It’s time to make camp.”
He nodded, and stepped off the road and back into the trees.
The party moved off the road and into the forest, such as it was.
The command tent went up on a small, flat place beside a drake-sized boulder, and the rest of the men spread out up and down the slope, setting down packs and bedrolls and breaking into hard tack and catching catnaps before nightfall.
The horses didn’t like it in the trees, hooves sliding on a carpet of fallen pine needles, their snorts and whickers echoing off the trunks and rocks. Amelia unsaddled Shadow herself and affixed a feed bag of oats to his halter before making her careful way up to the tent.
Before she could lift the flap and enter, Reggie exited. He caught her elbow and steered her away.
Amelia slipped on felled needles and would have fallen if not for Reggie’s grip. Even so, she said, “What are you doing? Let go of me.”
He ignored her, and guided her around a cluster of three narrow, grown-together trees. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked, when they were squared off from one another.
“I’m not the one grabbing people and dragging them about,” she shot back. “What’s wrong with you?”
His gaze roved her face, narrowing, scrutinizing. “You looked ill this morning. Quite ill. And you were still abed after sunrise.”
“Is it not possible for a person to be exhausted amidst all of this?” She gestured to the makeshift camp around them.
“This was not mere exhaustion. You looked terrified.”
Again, she gestured to their surroundings.
His gaze narrowed another fraction. “You’re not with child, are you?”
“Gods, no. Why would you ask such a thing? Whose child would it even be?”
“Aren’t you and the prince—”
“No.” She felt her face heat, traitorously. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve not lain with anyone since Mal.”
“Oh.” His expression turned sheepish, or as sheepish as he was capable.
“Not all of us use war to collect the favors of men,” she said, to get even, and plucked at the ratty brown neckerchief tied around his throat.
He batted her hand away, and smoothed the bit of old wool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shot back. “I was tired. It happens. Are we done with this ridiculous line of questioning?” She moved to step around him, and he captured her arm again, spinning them around so their positions were reversed.
“Amelia, if you’re distracted—”
“I’m not,” she said, firmly. She jerked her arm loose. “If it’s distractions that worry you, concentrate on your own fear, because I don’t have any.”
He didn’t try to stop her a second time when she stalked off, and she immediately felt sorry for what she’d said. If anyone had a right to fear, it was Reggie. But she couldn’t afford to show a moment’s weakness or doubt now.
~*~
The evening seemed to stretch for days, and then, suddenly, the moon was rising above the tree line, and twilight settled like smoke between the tree trunks.
Connor had never looked more like an outlaw born to the wilderness than he did standing outside the tent, sword and bow slung over his back, a shuttered lantern dangling from one gloved hand. “Give us an hour,” he said, “and then take to the sky, whether or not you’ve seen our signal.”
Amelia nodded.
Beside Connor, Reggie pulled his hood and then his neckerchief up, so that only his eyes were visible. They glittered in the darkness, accusatory when they rested on Amelia.
Connor lifted a hand, and his Strangers fell in behind him like wraiths. Together, both lords and their band of wild outlaws threaded their way through the trees, and finally were gone from sight.
When they were gone, Leda sidled in close and whispered, “Do you think he’s watching?” She didn’t need to clarify who she meant.
“I have no idea,” Amelia answered truthfully, and that was why her skin was beset by fine tremors.
When she turned her head, Leda’s expression was grave, plain to read despite the darkness. “Safe travels, my lady.”
“Safe keeping,” Amelia said in return, touched her friend’s shoulder, and then went to ready Alpha.
~*~
In less than two hours, disaster struck.