13. Harlow #2
My bodyguard has already mounted his horse and is sitting tall, waiting to depart.
“That’s an awfully personal question,” I say.
“It’s a necessary one, I’m afraid. I’m bringing him into my home,” Henry says .
I frown. “No, he doesn’t.”
Henry’s lips twitch. “It’s a comfort to know you’re such a terrible liar, lovely.”
I can’t tell if he knows I’m lying for real or if he’s bluffing to get me to confess.
I open my mouth to argue until I realize he’s led me to his enormous gelding.
Henry looks me over with a scowl on his face. “You aren’t dressed warmly enough.”
“These are the warmest clothes I have.” My riding pants are shearling-lined, and aside from the layered undershirt and two sweaters, my cloak is made of heavy plum-colored wool and lined with fur.
I could barely make it out of the house before I was sweating.
“If I add any more layers, I won’t be able to ride. ”
He laughs as if I’m joking and pats the midnight-black horse. “You’re not riding.”
I cross my arms. “Then how do you suppose I’ll get there?”
He shakes his head. “I meant you’re not riding alone. You’ll be riding with me. You’re not a strong enough rider to be on your own. Not when you’ve never left the city walls.”
I stare at him with as much contempt as I can manage.
“The terrain is dangerous and unpredictable, Harlow. I’m sure you’re an excellent rider, but riding for sport inside the safety of these walls is different than riding for your life from a horde of Drained. I have a responsibility to keep you safe.”
I’m mad at myself for leaving. I’m furious at myself for staying this long. Most of all, I’m angry at myself for being so afraid to run away when I’ve spent my life wishing for the chance. I want to fight. I want to hurt someone. I want to turn my pain into someone else’s.
“Trust me, lovely,” Henry says, his tone unforgivably placating. “I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s the only way to do this safely. More than just your well-being depends on it.”
I glance toward the gates, and Henry takes a step closer.
His hand comes to my hip, his mouth hovering next to my ear.
“I know you look out there and see freedom. You think that it’s daylight and nothing can get to you—but a mile into the forest, the canopy is thick and we will have to ride very hard.
You may not want to hear it, but I won’t put your ego over your safety. ”
I blow out a resigned breath.
He slaps a hand on my ass. “Now get on the fucking horse, like a good little wife.”
I want to slap him back, but his antics have caught everyone’s attention, and Kellan’s warning is fresh in my mind.
Bryce winks at me from atop his mount. Carter is grinning beside him on a giant black gelding.
Henry boosts me onto his gelding and climbs up behind me.
The leather creaks below me as I try to shift away from him, but he wraps a hand around my waist and pulls me back against his body.
“It’ll be an easier ride if you just relax,” he says, his breath ghosting over my ear. “Besides, the last time you were pressed against me, you seemed to like it just fine.”
“Asshole,” I grumble.
He chuckles as he raises a hand to signal the gatekeeper.
The gears grind and the large metal gate swings outward. The second they’re open, Carter and Bryce lead the group into the wild.
For most of my life, I have seen the Drained Wood through windows, in misty glimpses from the top of the wall, or through the slats of the gates that lead to the outside world. Now I’m going to venture into it.
The moment I cross over the threshold into the rest of the world feels like the first moment I’ve ever drawn a full breath. The scent of moss and damp, leafy pulp mixed with fresh pines mingles into a welcoming aroma.
I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I draw in gasping breaths. My chest has unclenched for what feels like the first time in my life, and my eyes burn with tears.
I was not expecting such a visceral reaction. I squeeze my eyes closed, praying to the Divine that Henry won’t notice.
“Take it easy, lovely. You’ll be back soon,” he murmurs, his voice low so that no one else will hear.
I try to master myself, but the dam has burst and humiliating tears stream down my face. I draw in another deep breath, and it’s as if the air is moving everything that’s been trapped in my body out all at once.
“I’m not upset,” I manage .
“Could have fooled me,” he says, slowing our horse and handing me a handkerchief.
“I’m not upset about leaving,” I say.
I don’t know how to express what I am. It feels something like relief. Like I’m finally out of my family’s control, even if I’m still doing their bidding.
“We can go faster now. I’m fine,” I whisper, conscious of the people riding with us and the Drained that could be lurking somewhere within the hollows of the forest.
I have no intention of telling Henry how trapped I’ve felt or that this mission is the most freedom I’ve ever been granted.
I’ve lived a lifetime under the weight of my family’s expectations—and the fear of not meeting them—and for the first time, they won’t have an easy way to keep tabs on me for weeks.
“We’ll go a little faster now and then slow down once we’re farther from the gates,” Henry says softly. “I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset. I think I’m relieved.” The admission slips out.
Henry’s body tenses behind me for a moment, the horse slowing a bit more as if sensing his surprise, but then he relaxes and we speed up again.
I wish we could go slower. The trees whip by and I can’t drink it all in fast enough. There aren’t flowers with it being so close to winter, but I bet it’s gorgeous in the summer, green and lush and full of colors I’ve never seen.
“There tend to be more of them gathered by the city gates.” Henry’s voice is barely audible above the wind and the pounding of horse hooves. “We’ll slow down by mid-morning.”
When he said that the canopy is thick enough that the Drained lurk in the shadows, I’d assumed he only said it to inspire my cooperation, but the speed we’re traveling at and the wary glances of our traveling party suggest otherwise.
The morning is a blur of greens and browns and wispy white mist that is thickest at the low points of the forest. We only slow once to give the horses a quick rest by a stream just off the main trail, and we don’t linger long.
Henry is quiet, contemplative, not that I expect him to have anything to say to me. I know what I am to him because it’s the same thing he is to me—a burden I bear out of duty.
I’ve barely finished eating the light lunch before Henry is boosting me back on his horse and we’re off again. I knew it would be a long day since we need to reach the fort by dusk, but my hips ache from the long ride.
As we ride, I consider how they kept the rebuilt fort a secret for so long. It’s possible they had a glamourist who could cast an illusion and hide it all this time, but that would be a very skilled practitioner wielding a very strong blessing.
I wonder if the few tradesmen who traveled to town in recent years skipped it or knew that it was still alive with activity and kept their secrets. The more I learn, the less certain I am of who can be trusted, especially with how eager Henry was to learn about Rochelli.
Our group continues through the forest, Bryce and Carter leading the way with a contingent of four guards. Henry’s parents ride in front of us, and Gaven and three more guards follow behind us. Everyone else is engaged in quiet conversation, less tense than they were at the start of the journey.
“Feeling better?” Henry asks.
I bristle. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He leans down so his lips graze my ear as he speaks. “I’m talking about how you were crying earlier.”
I grind my teeth. “I have terrible allergies, but I’ve acclimated.”
He chuckles, and his arm tightens around my waist as if to taunt me.
Fine . Two can play at that game.
I subtly arch my back, pressing my ass into him.
“Harlow,” he hisses. His tone is low, warning.
“You say my name like I’m a thing you’re cursed with.”
He makes a sound between a laugh and a hum of agreement. “Divine deliver me—that I may survive such a curse.”
“If they’re merciful, you won’t,” I say.
We ride in silence for a few moments, until the question that’s been crammed in my mouth finally slips out.
“Is it safe for me at Mountain Haven?”
His hand flattens against my stomach. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I’m trying to ask what it’s like. ”
“Well, it’s not wild like you think,” Henry says. “We follow meticulous rules because that’s the only way to survive. Now, I know this will grate against your very nature, lovely, but there’s an expectation that as my wife, you’ll listen to me.”
I straighten in my seat, and he chuckles.
“Yes, I thought that might be your response, but you’ll find that strength is prized above all else there, which means that in order to stay in charge, I must appear strong and my wife needs to appear both strong and obedient.
” He leans closer. “And before you take a swing at me, note that I said appear obedient. What you do in the privacy of our rooms is your business, but the easiest way to get killed at Mountain Haven is to belong to no one—and I don’t mean in a possessive way, though that’s part of it.
I mean if they think you’re on your own, they will pick you off.
While I have the support from most thanks to my exhaustive work securing our home, you know well that when you’re the ones risking everything and doing all the work, there are always people who think they can do a better job. ”
That is something I am acutely aware of. I have no love for my father, but I have seen how hard he works to keep our people safe and the way they all think they could do better.
“What happened?” I ask. “During the attack ten years ago? How did the Drained get to you? Growing up, I always thought Mountain Haven was impenetrable—I heard the stories?—”
“Stone walls in front and mountain face behind?” Henry asks, his voice bitter. “Everything breaks eventually.”
I wait for him to say more, but he’s gone quiet and contemplative.
I settle into the steady rhythm of the ride and the feeling of him behind me—solid, strong, protective.
The arm he has wrapped around my waist occasionally tightens to draw me closer.
I can’t tell if it’s out of discomfort or fear that I might fall.
At this point, he must feel my ease with the horse. My only tension comes from him behind me, breathing against the nape of my neck, crowding my space with his firm chest.
He sniffs the air just as Carter throws a fist up at the front of the group. Everyone slows nearly to a stop.
Carter holds up two fingers and everyone soundlessly falls into pairs along the narrow trail. The path grows darker, the dying shrubs and ferns pressing closer.
We ride down the incline, and the temperature plunges. The hair on the back of my neck rises, like I stepped through a ghost.
“What is this pl?—”
Henry’s hand clamps over my mouth. The group has almost stopped, everyone holding their breath. A faint red tinge colors the air. I squint in the dim light cutting through the thick, leafy canopy, trying to figure out if it’s something about the trees above us casting the light a strange color.
It almost looks like this place has a red aura.
Henry presses one finger to my lips in the signal to be quiet. I stare into the darkened forest to our right.
Henry sniffs the air, and his whole body goes rigid as a low hiss rises from somewhere deep in the underbrush.
“Go!” he shouts.
Carter and Bryce lead the way, taking off at a full gallop, no longer concerned about making noise. The time for caution is gone. Now we’re riding for our lives from some invisible force in the forest.
My heart pounds. I pull off my gloves and shove them in my pocket. My hands itch for a weapon, but I’m too afraid to drop my dagger in my nervousness. Henry fumbles in his pocket and then shoves a glass vial into my hand.
“Hold this.”
Henry yanks off his gloves and shoves them in his pockets. He unsheathes a vicious-looking sword and slows the horse. “Uncork it and pour it over the blade.”
I do as he says, with considerable difficulty at our pace, dribbling the liquid haphazardly over the blade. “What is it?”
“Well water,” he says, urging the horse on faster.
Our mount is steadier than I expected, but I place a hand on his neck anyway.
“Hold on,” Henry says.
I’ve learned about our history and the magic of the Drained Wood since I was a child, but reading a story in a book or hearing it around a campfire doesn’t do justice to the horror of hearing the deafening rush of the current of blood mist.
In the pub tales I’ve heard, it’s a magical current that flows through the Drained Wood in a seemingly random pattern, always with a horde of Drained coming just behind it.
In reality, the mist rushes in like a furious river, giving me no time to orient to the path ahead before the red haze blocks out everything.
The air smells like iron and salt. I lean back into Henry, fighting against the suffocating smell of blood.
“Just breathe. We just need to stay on the horse and keep riding. But fear attracts them and your heart is pounding. Just take a breath,” Henry says.
“How do you?—”
He shifts, and I realize I’ve grabbed his hand. “I can feel your heart in your hand.”
A startled laugh bubbles out of me at the thought of ever offering my heart to a man so freely. The laugh is cut short when something barrels into me from the right.
Henry curls around me, taking the brunt of the impact as we crash to the forest floor. I roll off of him and press up to a seat.
He’s on his feet in a second, turning in a slow circle with his sword at the ready. I stand and reach for my dagger. The moment my fingers brush the cool metal hilt, sharp claws curl around my wrist, and I’m dragged toward my bloody death.