Chapter 54
Chapter
Fifty-Four
I’m crouched on all fours, coughing up my lungs on the bank of a shallow river. I have no idea how far down the water carried us, but I hear no báshounds crashing through the forest. We are safe. For now.
Aowen thumps my back a few times, then slumps down against a wet rock. The cut on her cheek looks nearly healed already. So are the cuts on my hands. I could get used to this quick, magical healing.
I hack a gob of spit into the dirt—so ladylike—then crawl over to Aowen and sit beside her. We’re both wheezing, thinking through our next move. To the east, the horizon pinkens, dawn less than an hour away.
Vesper nuzzles into my lap and begins peeling the remaining sap from my hands, anything the river didn’t wash away. It’s soothing, her tiny fingers picking across my palms.
“How the fuck did that bastard find us first?” Aowen snarls.
“Maybe the smoke Vesper saw was from his group after all?”
Vesper tilts her face up, devastated and apologetic, and Aowen softens. “Not your fault. We all made the decision to head in that direction.”
“Did you see where that cloaked figure went? Torvil snuck in a third player,” I grumble.
Aowen nods down to Vesper. “Asshole stole my strategy.”
We settle back against the rock, and Aowen uses a spot of moonlight to conjure us some more nuts and berries. The river burbles in the background, and the night is warm. It’s peaceful here, in a way.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” I ask Aowen. “Where I come from, duchesses are raised on more parlor-appropriate skills. Like needlepoint and passive-aggressive compliments.”
Aowen laughs. “Not a duchess, remember? I insisted my parents allow me to receive fight training alongside Desmond. There are women knights among the celestial ranks, of course. Not many. When I finally accepted that I would never be a leader like Des, I thought maybe I might like to be a knight. My parents were reluctant at first, but I persuaded them.”
“How?”
“I refused to bathe until they relented. By the end of the third week, even I was disgusted with myself.” Aowen snickers.
It’s nice to have a quiet moment, even in the midst of all this, to focus on something other than despair and destruction.
“How do you think the others are faring?” I ask quietly.
“Well, if I know Des at all, he’s probably losing his mind at Lachlan for allowing you two to dissolve the diamrhán.
But the plan was always to get to highest ground, somewhere where he’d have the best view of the valley and could send Andraste out to hunt for you while Sabre and his knight kept watch. ”
“Yes, you’d mentioned that. That you and Sabre had made plans together.” I say it as suggestively as I possibly can. Because I intend to milk this brief respite for all its worth. And I have not teased her about him nearly enough.
“He’s …” she starts before shaking her head. “The more time I spend with him, the less I think marrying him is a terrible idea.” She exhales, long and loud. “In fact, I’m starting to think it’s maybe the best idea Desmond’s ever had.”
She turns her face up to the sky, and I suddenly understand the meaning of the phrase stars in her eyes.
“Sabre is so different than I expected. He’s gruff, of course.
A bit rough around the edges. But his compassion is boundless.
He doesn’t believe it, but he would be a wonderful king.
Though if you try to claim him, I will break your legs. ”
I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Have you two …”
She pops a berry into her mouth. “Haven’t even kissed.” A shy smile. “We’re, um, waiting until we’re married. If we’re married, of course.”
I fold an arm around her shoulder in a half hug. “I’m very happy for you, Wen.”
“Pah,” she huffs, though she doesn’t pull away nor look at me funny for using Lachlan’s nickname for her. “None of that sentimental crap.”
“You’re the most powerful woman I know. I’ll forgive if love has made you a little squishy.”
“Not sure it’s love yet, am I?” She drags her fingers through the fallen leaves at her side.
“Last week he took off his shirt while we were painting in the west wing, and I swear I lost all motor function. Spent the entire afternoon cataloging the freckles on his shoulders. His freckles, Charlotte. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Not a damn thing.” I sigh, leaning my head against hers. My eyelids are heavy, and my body is melting into the mud.
A short nap couldn’t hurt, could it? We’ll need to restore our energy for whatever comes next.
I’m asleep before I can even ask Aowen whether it’s a good idea.
I’m awoken by something rustling through the trees across the river.
The sun blazes down on us. It’s mid-afternoon. How long did Aowen let me sleep?
The hangdog look on her face as she pulls me up and behind a birch tells me she may have met a similar fate. I scan the site for Vesper, but she’s nowhere to be found. Perhaps she was keeping watch at least?
I peer around the birch, trying to get a look at who’s found us. My hands tremble against the rough bark, my frantic pulse throbbing between my ears.
“Who is it?” I whisper, shaking off the fog of sleep. “Did they see us?”
“I mean you no harm, Majesty!” a male voice calls out, and when I peer around the birch, Timothy Hopnell is awkwardly splashing through the shallow water, hands still tied. “I wanted to—”
“Are you daft?” Aowen hisses, stalking toward him. “Or are you trying to draw out every hunter in the Eldergrove?”
She pulls out her thorn, but there’s no need. Timothy crashes to his knees before her, bound hands raised.
“I have information for Miss Fitzroy,” he begs. “It’s extremely important. Please lower your weapon.”
“No, I don’t think I will, thanks.” She digs the tip of the thorn into the soft space beneath his jaw. “You have two minutes. Speak.”
“Right.” Timothy’s pupils are wide and his hair disheveled. His glasses are gone; it’s a wonder he found us at all. “I was framed. I didn’t … I am not your attempted assassin.”
“Why should I believe you?” I bite out.
“Would I be here prostrating myself before you if I was lying?”
Aowen pushes the thorn in harder, nearly breaking skin.
“It’s a possibility,” I say. “Perhaps you’ve made a deal with one of the dukes. To find me so they’ll spare your life? Sounds like something Torvil would—”
“It was him,” Timothy blubbers.
“Him, what?”
“Torvil. He was the one who tried to poison you during the Harvest Ball.
“Duke áine himself.”