Chapter 6
Mistel
Dash it! Why did all Mistel’s choices cause ruin?
She raced after Cole, trying to track him in the maze of tents, unable to fathom what she’d done wrong now.
To be fair, though, what had she really expected?
That shy, soft-spoken Cole Tanniyn would take one look at her, grin that boyish grin of his, and say, “Mistel, thank Arman you’re here,” and kiss her until her toes curled?
Well, maybe she had. Maybe, in some distant, hazy corner of her mind, she’d imagined Cole grabbing her around the waist and twirling her in circles while he declared his joy over seeing her again.
Then they’d sing together—one of the songs they’d written for the king—and the entire army would applaud their amazing talent.
She could totally fix this, whatever she had done.
She passed by a group of men eating something meaty. Her stomach growled and she paused. Just…maybe she’d eat a little something first.
Up ahead, she caught sight of Cole helping Kurtz collapse a tent. Food would have to wait. She approached the edge of their space slowly and stopped where she’d be out of the way.
“Any news?” she asked.
Cole shot her an unreadable look, then went back to his work. “On three,” he said. “One, two, three.”
In unison, Cole and Kurtz heaved the tent fabric above their heads, then walked toward each other. Cole took the corners while Kurtz grabbed the middle and drew it back. They quickly folded the tent into a small square, which Cole rolled and tied with a length of hemp rope.
Mistel shivered in the silence, certain something horrible had happened in their meeting. Was Cole upset that he had to arrest her? Or upset because he had to let her stay?
By the time they’d packed the rest of their campsite, she had lost her patience. “Well, Stoneface? Are you just going to ignore me?”
Cole’s brow wrinkled. “Stoneface?”
“You’re saying nothing,” Mistel said. “And I can’t guess anything from that blank look on your face.”
“I’ll carry these to the wagon.” Kurtz tucked the tent under his arm and carried the two bedrolls away, leaving them alone.
Cole folded his arms and looked at her—finally. He sighed as if she were the biggest burden he’d ever encountered. “You can stay,” he said. “For now.”
She squealed and ran toward him.
He held out his palm, stopping her. “There are some rules. First, you must stay in your disguise until we reach Tsaftown. There you will be known as my cousin.”
She smirked. “Kissing cousins?”
He arched his brow. “No. Cousins was your idea, so don’t forget, all right?”
She suppressed the urge to cackle madly at her delight over getting to stay. Remaining in disguise meant no dresses or side saddle, but at least she no longer had to lurk alone in the woods.
“Second,” he said, “you can’t say anything to anyone about the king sending us here.
As far as everyone knows, Lord Livna included, Kurtz and I have decided to leave the king’s service and go our own way.
Kurtz had a falling out with the king—nothing you know the particulars of—and after the war, I just want a simple life making music.
We’re all going to try and make a go of it as musicians in Tsaftown, where Kurtz is from. ”
She knew it. They were spies. Spies! A thrill coursed through her, too wild to fully contain. She bounced on her toes, pressing her lips together to stifle a squeal, and clapped lightly, the sound merely a whisper.
Cole’s lips twitched, and she could see him fighting the urge to smile. Oh, she would weasel right back into his heart in no time. Just wait.
“Third, once we reach Tsaftown, you will have a female companion of Prince Oren’s choosing.”
“Prince Oren?” Mistel clapped again. The king’s uncle had made plans for her. How thrilling. But what had he said? A companion? She sobered at the realization that the men had discussed her in relation to propriety. She had never once considered how following Cole might tarnish her reputation.
“Good idea,” she said. “Thank you.” Cole’s arms were still crossed, like he was a bowstring ready to snap. Any hint of laughter long gone. “You seem upset.”
He swallowed and looked off across the snowy prairie. “I saw you watching Jeffrey. He’s a far better musician than me, and I’ve been worried we might not be hired to play anywhere with him in town.”
The tightness faded from Mistel’s stomach. Thank Arman. Cole wasn’t angry with her. He was jealous of Jeffrey. That she could handle. “We don’t have to be the best to play at some seedy alehouse,” she said. “I doubt Jeffrey would even want to play at such a place.”
Cole’s brows shot up his forehead. “Because he’s too good?”
“Oh, Cole.” She sidled up, pried apart his crossed arms, then took hold of his hands. “You’re a brilliant musician. We’ll get plenty of work, I promise you.”
Cole swallowed as his hazel eyes searched hers. “As long as you don’t leave us and start singing with Jeffrey.”
“I would never.” She slid her hand over his cheek, and the feel of his scruffy face sent a thrill through her stomach. She raised onto her tiptoes and had barely brushed her lips against his when his hand clamped around her wrist and he pushed her back, scowling.
“None of that, cousin,” he said. “Kissing me won’t help you keep your disguise.”
“Hmm, I suppose not.” She walked away, then winked at him over her shoulder. “Until Tsaftown, then.”