Chapter Nine #2
Cador watched him steadily, his expression too bland. Too impassive. Jem swallowed hard. Their jailer had at least let them drink water from their cupped hands before loading them into the wagon. His tongue still felt too thick. Cador’s gaze had him fidgeting.
When he could take it no longer Jem asked, “What?”
“Why did you say your mother was in danger from Tas?”
Because she is. “I wanted them to help me. They are loyal to their queen.”
“Mmm. And you would have them capture me? You’d have me alone in this box while you rode in one of your fancy carriages?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” He’d intended the words harshly. Accusingly. Yet they sounded more like a plea. He cringed, fixing his gaze on the wagon’s thick door.
After a silence, Cador spoke. “When Bryok…”
Jem winced, looking anywhere else but at Cador as the wagon jounced over a rut. “I’m fine,” he mumbled.
“What did they do?”
Squirming, Jem wished he could be anywhere else but discussing this. Well, almost anywhere. He only realized he’d reached up to scratch at his scalp when the shackles dug into his wrists with a jolt. He whipped his hands back to his lap.
“Jem…”
“I said I’m fine!” He stared at the dusty, stained floorboards and tried not to think overmuch about the origin of said stains.
“What did they do?”
It was somehow worse that Cador asked gently, not demanding an answer. They had hours to go until they reached the castle. If Cador wouldn’t drop it, then fine . It was nothing.
“They put a sack over my head. I could barely breathe. I couldn’t see. I… I don’t wish to repeat the experience.”
“Who?” Cador demanded through gritted teeth.
“I’m not sure. Whoever met Austol after he convinced me to go with him instead of Jory. I should have known better. But I didn’t trust Jory.” He snapped his jaw shut. He was prattling, trying not to remember the suffocating cloth knotted so very tightly around his neck.
“I’ll find out who hurt you.”
“ You hurt me.” As the cart jostled them violently from side-to-side, Jem thwacked the back of his head. He tried again to reach up, iron biting his wrists. A burst of panic erupted, and he tamped it down.
“I know. I’m sorry. I deserve your scorn.”
“You do. We can agree on that.”
As much as Jem was dying to get home, there would be so much to tell his mother.
He’d have to deal with Cador and his father, and now he’d recklessly let Cador hear him tell the villagers the chieftain was a threat.
He’d told them to seize Cador himself. Would he suspect now that Jem planned to have them thrown in the dungeon? He wasn’t a stupid man.
Yet he’d stayed and tried to help Jem when he could have run. Perhaps that was why he’d vowed to find his abductors. Putting on a show—trying to get Jem to trust him. There was no telling. All Jem could be certain of was that soon he’d be home, and everything would be better.
He fidgeted, a salty drip of sweat stinging his eye. “This feels like an oven.”
“You’ve been longing for the warmth since you left Onan.”
He gave Cador a sour look. “Warmth and sunshine, yes. Not this!” He yanked one of his chains, rubbing at his wrist. Panic bubbled up, and he jerked his feet, metal biting into his ankles. His breath came shallow and fast, nightmare images filling his mind. He was trapped.
“Imagine it’s one of your stories.”
“What? What are you talking about?” He was shouting, his heart hammering, and though no one touched him he swore he could feel merciless hands gripping him.
Cador leaned forward, his voice low. “Pretend you’re the hero in one of your books. Instead of Morvoren, imagine yourself the hero. Let’s see—you’ll be a virtuous prince, of course. What shall your name be?”
Wincing as the creaking wagon rocked over another bump, Jem stared at Cador suspiciously.
What was he talking about? What kind of trick was this?
He wasn’t trying to touch, his hands hanging loosely where he leaned forward.
Jem’s body was rigid, flooded with terror even though he knew it didn’t make sense.
Blood rushed in his ears amid his harsh gasps for air.
“Hmm. What’s the name of Morvoren’s merman lover?”
Panting, Jem stared at Cador.
“Haco? No, that wasn’t it. Zennor? Pawly?”
“Clemo.” Jem’s own voice sounded far away.
“Of course! Clemo. Remind me how he and Morvoren met?”
Before Jem really knew what he was doing, he was recounting the tale. “Of course she thought he was a villain.”
“Naturally. How did he win her over?”
“Feats of bravery.”
Jem went on, answering Cador’s questions for how long he wasn’t sure. Slumping back against the side of the wagon, Jem breathed deeply. He was covered in sweat, but at least he didn’t feel as though his heart would burst from his chest.
“Shall we call you Clemo then? Clemo the beautiful prince, the star of your own fantastical tales of adventure. Hmm. It’s not quite right. Kitto, perhaps?”
It was as good a name as any, and different enough from his own. Perhaps he should object to the beautiful part, but didn’t. “Kitto,” he echoed. “The prince of… Where shall I reign?”
“Where indeed.” Cador looked thoughtful, grimacing as the wagon hit another rut. “The frozen land of…Rew. It’s even farther away than Ergh. On the very edges of the world.”
“Where even the gods fear to tread. Yet I’ve been captured.”
“An innocent. Chained up. With…” He lifted an eyebrow and motioned to himself.
It was a silly game to play—and he shouldn’t be playing at anything with Cador—but Jem couldn’t resist the distraction. “Uh, a woodsman.”
“A marauding woodsman?” Cador’s blue eyes gleamed. He clearly remembered Jem recounting his fantasies of an intruder in his bedroom binding him and having his wicked way.
Jem should have stopped the game right there, but Cador wasn’t taunting. They’d shared so many intimacies, and now they were stuck together in the stinking, miserable cart for gods knew how long. At least it would pass the time.
For someone who didn’t read much, Cador also seemed to enjoy stretching his imagination. Perhaps that was Jem’s influence? It shouldn’t please him, yet it did.
Jem nodded. “A marauding woodsman. Dastardly and fierce.”
“But Kitto will surprise him. He’ll turn the tables.”
“Oh, yes.”
They both grunted as the wagon hit another hole.
It swayed and bumped constantly now, the road apparently in desperate need of repair.
At least his heart beat normally again, his breath calm.
Yet now Cador winced, his face flushing, sweat damp on his face.
They rocked, and he groaned under his breath.
“Are—” Jem was about to say “you,” but paused. “Is the marauding woodsman unwell?”
Cador seemed about to deny it, but pressed his fingers to his wrist. “It’s like being at sea.”
He couldn’t deny it pleased him that Cador used the treatment Jem had taught him. “Shouldn’t the woodsman be used to motion like this from riding? Surely he rides through the forest on his trusty steed as he… marauds .”
“Yes, but riding a horse isn’t like this.” He inhaled sharply as they swayed violently. “It’s his one weakness.”
Jem thought about giving the woodsman a name, but somehow it fit that he was anonymous and mysterious. “Perhaps he just wants Kitto’s sympathy.”
“Ah, perhaps.” Cador raised an eyebrow. “He’s dastardly, after all. And Kitto is so kindhearted.”
As the wagon jerked and bounced, they slid around, knees bumping. “Where does the woodsman come from? Presumably nowhere near the sea.”
Cador grimaced. “Definitely not. He’s from the deepest, darkest forest of Rew.” He kept his fingers to his wrist, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
“Too bad he’s not a merman. I don’t think they ever get ill.”
“Not ever?”
“Well, there was one time. It was a poison, and Morvoren was beside herself with worry.” He recounted the story, enjoying the retelling himself perhaps as much as Cador relished the distraction.
Eventually the road smoothed out, and Cador’s nausea seemed to abate.
They dozed in silence but for the wagon’s rumble and the horses’ hoofbeats and whinnies.
Soon, Jem would finally be home. There was still so much to worry about—to say the least—but he clung to that comfort and his lone certainty.
He was never leaving Neuvella again.