Chapter Nine
“W e can’t just steal it!”
Crouching in the brittle shrubbery at the edge of the forest in the first gray light before dawn, Jem eyed the distance to the well, which sat outside a cottage that in turn appeared to be on the outskirts of a village.
Cador whispered, “We have no coin or anything to trade aside from Dybri or our meager food, and we need both. It’s safer to stay out of sight, and we require water. The well is right there.”
“Yes, but if water is running low, we must compensate them.”
“With what?”
“Er… I often pick flowers for the old women in the village near the castle.”
Cador motioned behind them. “Go on then. Hope whoever lives there favors twigs and dead leaves.”
He had a point. At least they didn’t taste smoke in the air this morning, and Jem prayed this meant the wildfires were under control and all would be well.
He shifted on his haunches, wincing. After two days on Dybri, pushing forward as fast as possible without riding her ragged and staying off the road at Cador’s insistence, he ached.
“There was barely a muddy stream for Dybri to drink from,” Cador said. “We need water. Before they wake. I’ve no wish for a fight.”
Just then, a plump woman with a toddler on her hip emerged from the cottage, trudging toward the well. Cador muttered, “Too late,” and crept back in the scrub.
Yet perhaps this was just the chance Jem needed. He hesitated, watching the woman. They were deep into Neuvella now. She was one of his loyal subjects. Well, hopefully loyal? This hadn’t been his plan, but should he not be bold? Be brave?
Suddenly he had the perfect chance to get home faster and without being stuck depending on Cador. Without having their bodies pressed together for hours on end. Without being at his mercy, though admittedly Cador had done nothing suspicious…
“What are you doing?” Cador hissed from behind him.
Why did he hesitate? He owed Cador nothing!
What would Morvoren do?
Jem sprang forward, spitting in his dirty palm and trying to tamp down his unruly curls. Cador grunted in clear frustration, but Jem limped as quickly as he could across the clearing, ignoring the lingering pain in his foot. “Pardon me!” he called.
Shrieking, the woman spun from the crank she turned to haul up the well’s bucket. At her feet, the young child had flopped onto their stomach and now jerked with a cry. The woman bent to snatch them into her arms.
“Stop right there!”
Jem dutifully stopped, holding out his hands beseechingly. “I apologize for startling you. I’m Prince Jowan. I need your help.”
She stared at him. Her eyebrows lifted almost to the edge of the kerchief she wore, pale hair escaping here and there. “Prince Jowan?”
“Yes. May I have some water? And if you can fetch the village guard. I need help returning to the castle, and—” Again, he hesitated.
Cador would be gone on Dybri soon if he hadn’t left already.
Surely they could chase him down and take him into custody.
This was the logical course for Jem to take.
They were likely only a day’s ride or less from the castle.
She sneered. “There’s nothing for you here. Get out!”
“Please. As I told you, I’m Prince Jowan. We need water and—”
“Thief!” Her shout could have woken the dead, and apparently roused her husband, who tripped out of the cottage shirtless, tugging up his trousers. “Thief!” she repeated. A bell rang somewhere, a heavy gong-gong-gong of iron.
The guard would be coming, at least. Jem knew he had to look a state in his filthy, torn clerical robe and bare feet. He tried a smile. “There’s no danger, I swear it. I’m Prince Jowan. I won’t harm you.”
The man now held an ax, his bushy eyebrows meeting. “Prince Jowan, is it? And I’m the queen herself.”
“But I am. Really!” He took a step back, unease growing. His impetuous choice had perhaps been imprudent rather than brave.
Other sleepy, angry-looking villagers arrived. With more axes. Jem backed away. “I’m sorry. There’s no need to—I understand I don’t look myself at the moment.” Of course, since he’d rarely left the comfort of the castle, they wouldn’t know what he looked like at all.
Cursing himself, Morvoren, and the gods, he raised his hands beseechingly. “Please believe me.”
The kerchiefed woman frowned. “What kind of marriage brand is that? You’re no cleric if you’re married. Not that I believe you’re a cleric anyway.”
“I’m not!” His heart leapt. “You see my brand! It’s the boar tusks of Ergh! Because I was forced to marry the chieftain’s son! Surely you heard about that!”
The angry expressions faltered slightly, the villagers clearly dubious. Was Cador still in the bushes? Was he listening? No, he’d undoubtedly fled, and Jem should send the guard after him.
“My mother the queen is in danger from Ergh’s chieftain, Kenver. I must return to the castle. My traitorous husband is in these woods, and you must seize him.”
There. It was done.
His pulse raced, gorge rising. This was what he’d promised himself he’d do, so why did he desperately wish he could snatch back the words? And why were the villagers still sneering at him and coming closer with their axes? He stumbled back.
“Oh, yes, Prince Jowan , we’ll do your bidding!” a man said.
“Right away, your grace!”
Laughing, they surrounded him, rough hands grabbing and dragging Jem off his feet. Horrified, he kicked and wanted to scream, only pathetic little squeaks and cries escaping his raw throat. “Please!”
“It’s an original tale, I’ll give you that, boy.”
“The prince won’t be back until the Feast of the Blood Moon after harvest.”
“No, I’m back early!” Jem struggled fruitlessly. “Stop!” He imagined any moment a sack would be thrust over his head and—
A low roar that might have been an angry, charging boar rumbled, and Jem crashed to the hard-packed earth on his back, the air knocking out of his lungs. There were shouts and movement all around, and he blinked in disbelief at Cador brawling with the villagers, his tattered robe flying up.
Why hadn’t Cador fled when he’d had the chance? When he’d heard Jem’s plea to seize him? Here he was, fighting them off. Should Jem be glad of it? Or frightened of Cador’s growls? He could only watch, gasping shallowly.
There were too many villagers, and Cador finally raised his hands in surrender in the face of the ax blades. They shoved him down by Jem, and Jem pushed himself up so they knelt together.
He motioned to Cador. “He’s the barbarian! My husband! Look at our brands. We’ve returned early. I assure you.”
The people laughed. “Oh, he assures us!” a woman said. “In that case, let ’em go so they can steal from the next innocent village they come across.”
“Let the queen’s magistrate deal with these bandits. Bad enough to thieve, but pretending to be Prince Jowan? Or clerics? Shameless.”
How could Jem blame these innocent people for thinking barefoot, bedraggled strangers in cleric robes—yet who were clearly not clerics—were up to no good. “Will you take us to the castle, then?” he asked, relieved that the answer was yes.
It was clearly meant to be a harsh punishment, but at least he’d be home soon. They’d certainly know him at the castle. Cador was stonily silent beside him, not even glancing at Jem.
When a harassed-looking woman arrived driving what was apparently an enclosed prison wagon pulled by several horses, Jem cringed at the thought of getting inside.
Not that he had a vote at this point. At least the locals had fetched Dybri, and their jailer tied their horse to the wagon’s rear before ordering them into what was little more than a box.
Jaw clenched so hard it looked like it would snap, Cador obeyed, stooping to get through the door at the back of the wagon.
His shoulders barely fit through. Jem followed.
There were two tiny, barred windows on either side of the wagon above hard benches.
Wrist and leg irons waited, and his stomach lurched.
He hesitated in the small door. “A messenger went ahead. I’m Prince Jowan. The queen really is expecting us.”
The woman snorted and shoved him inside. Jem caught himself on Cador’s knees, strong hands steadying him. Sitting across from each other, they allowed the woman to shackle them.
Cador spread his long legs, his knees jammed into Jem’s bench. Legs primly together in the space between Cador’s, Jem concentrated on breathing as steadily as he could as he was confined. At least there was a short chain between their wrists and ankles that allowed for a bit of movement.
The woman dumped the sack Tamsyn had given them, which now only held their empty wine skins and a remaining crust of stale bread. Holding the empty sack, she turned to Jem.
“No! Please!” His plea was almost a cry, and he shrank back against the hard wall, already struggling to breathe at the thought of the rough fabric over his head suffocating him.
Cador and the jailer stared at him. She frowned, but said nothing as she leaned in and tugged Jem’s shackles, then Cador’s. She dropped the sack on the bench and slammed the door shut with a thud. A key scraped the lock.
Eyes on his own clenched fists, Jem could feel Cador watching him. Probably thinking how weak and pitiful I am.
Though Cador’s calm question held only concern. “Are you well?”
“Of course! I’m fine.” He rattled the chain between his wrists. “All things considered. At least poor Dybri won’t have to carry us the rest of the way.”
“Mmm.”
Silence stretched out, Jem keeping his eyes on his clasped hands. He wanted to scratch his scalp but could only reach if he bent his head low, and Cador would surely find it odd. Not that he should care what Cador thought.
Still, he wanted to keep this strange habit hidden. His skin crawled, the wagon stiflingly hot. Barely any air came in the tiny windows as they lurched onto the road. Cador was still silent, and finally Jem had to look.