Chapter Twelve
“E verything’s fine! I’m perfectly safe.”
Somehow, the sound of Jem’s own voice in the forest’s sinister hush only made the hair on the back of his neck stand even taller. But was it truly sinister?
A carpet of pine needles and dirt muffled his boots. He dodged patches of mud where the night’s rain had soaked through the dense foliage. Yet here and there, wildlife scurried and birds called.
It wasn’t the steady hum he was accustomed to in Neuvella, where the year-round warmth seemed to encourage insects and animals that were far noisier, but hidden life surrounded him. The forest was only sinister if he made it so.
Although he wished it wasn’t quite so dark.
It was another cloudy, dreary day, but even if the sun had shone brilliantly in a cobalt sky, the light would struggle to penetrate the towering evergreens. Jem shivered, drawing his cloak closer around him as he walked on.
It had taken days of peering into the trees, skirting the perimeter of Cador’s clearing and building his nerve.
He’d made sure Derwa was well fed and pulled on his stiff new boots.
It was time to properly break them in since he couldn’t simply hide away in the cottage.
He would take up kind Austol on his offer of lessons. Why shouldn’t he?
An owl hooted, and Jem’s heart leapt to his throat. Forcing a chuckle, he continued, reminding himself the only true danger in the forest—according to Cador—was the boars. Jem did not imagine those hulking beasts moved quietly, although Cador could.
He smiled, remembering how they’d laughed the other day. How Cador had patiently shown him the technique for kneading bread, his huge hands holding Jem’s in the bowl.
“Don’t be afraid to be rough with it.”
Jem groaned softly to himself. It was becoming more and more inconvenient, this effect Cador had on him. How Jem had burned to push back against that big body. How he’d wanted to drop to his knees and beg for cock.
Lust soared through him as he followed the twisting path.
Of course he’d never do that. He cringed to think of how Cador would laugh and mock him.
Cador’s lovers were fierce, or at least tall and broad like Jory.
He grumbled, trying to banish the instant imaginings of Cador’s callused fingers threading through Jory’s fiery hair, using his mouth roughly and spending down his throat…
For a mad moment, Jem was tempted to steal deeper into the forest, just beyond sight of the path, so he could release his aching prick from his new trousers and rid himself of this persistent arousal.
He schooled his desire and kept going, although his mind drifted back to forbidden fantasies again and again.
So distracted was he that Jem didn’t hear the approaching rider until the trotting horse—a massive dark stallion like Massen—was in sight carrying Cador’s brother.
A dead boar was slung over its hindquarters, guts hanging out. Blood dripped from Bryok’s spear.
Instead of pulling on the reins, Bryok seemed to spur on his mount, and Jem had to dive out of the way, his cry stuck in his throat as he slammed into the ground, needles scraping his palms. Bryok wheeled around on the narrow path as if to take another try at trampling Jem under thundering hooves.
There was no time to do anything but throw up his hands in front of his face and make a pitiful whimper. He was going to die in the dirt, broken and bloody, and the boars would eat the pieces and—
The horse’s hooves skidded as it yanked back to a stop, rearing up on its back legs before slamming back down, so close to Jem the ground shook. He couldn’t tell whether the horse had balked or Bryok had reined it in.
Bryok towered over him atop his mighty steed, and amid the clammy press of terror, Jem was struck by the memory that he’d once stared up from the ground at Cador in much the same way after being shoved from the pale horse. Gods, that seemed long ago. Now he knew much more of his husband.
Cador hummed to his goats and spoke to his stallion as though it understood.
He gave Jem his furs so he wouldn’t be cold.
He snored and belched but also made little sighs when he woke and stretched sleepily.
He grumbled and complained about Derwa, but fed her patiently when he thought they were alone.
Cowering on the earth in the forest’s depths, Jem realized Cador didn’t frighten him at all anymore. Perhaps if he spent more time with Bryok, he’d discover him just as real and…safe.
Safe.
That was Cador. Staring up at Bryok’s scarred, sneering face, his fear grew like vines wrapping his limbs.
This man was not safe at all. Jem shouldn’t have come into the woods alone!
Bryok’s eyes were flinty with something Jem feared was true hate.
Not indifference or frustration, but an insidious venom that kept Jem frozen in place as though it flowed through his veins.
“Cador is close behind.” If only his words could summon Cador, his voice so hoarse the lie barely escaped.
Now a smile—no less terrifying—cut across Bryok’s face. “Do you think he’ll save you? Do you think he’ll let his weakness win over the will of our people?” Bryok’s laugh struck like a blow. “Your fate is sealed, Prince Jowan.”
With a spray of mud, Bryok galloped into the shadows, disappearing as though he’d only been conjured by Jem’s imagination. Yet his face was splattered, and he wiped the mud with his cloak before pushing to his feet, knees shaking.
The temptation to race back to the cottage vibrated through Jem’s limbs. Why had he thought he was brave enough to walk this path alone? Around him, the life of the forest went on as though it hadn’t been disturbed at all. The wind rustled pine needles, askells sang, and a distant hawk screeched.
The noise that didn’t belong was the hammering of Jem’s heart and the rush of blood in his ears as he stood torn by indecision.
He could escape back to Cador’s cottage and pray to false gods that he would return soon from the hunt.
Then they would be safe together amid the scent of fresh bread and crackling kindling. Or…
Jem forced himself to look the other way, where the path wound between two mighty firs that all but blocked out the gray sky.
He didn’t know how much farther it was to Rusk.
Was it even the correct path? He thought he’d followed it faithfully, but how could he be sure? It would surely be best to retreat.
Yet hadn’t he retreated time and time again? Secreted himself away at the aviary or in his chamber, licking his wounds, too spooked to reach out for what he wanted. Too timid to take chances.
Taking a mighty breath, Jem stepped in the direction of Rusk. He wanted to learn to ride. He would not retreat. He would not allow Bryok’s theatrics to frighten him. Austol had offered his assistance, and Jem would take it.
He would learn to ride. Even if he fell a hundred times and made an utter fool of himself, he would not retreat. He only had to take another step, and another and another and another until he was there. His fate was his own.
What would Morvoren do?
With a smile, he shouted to the trees, “To Rusk or die trying!”
*
Jem had to admit it was a relief he didn’t perish on the way to Rusk. He emerged from the forest intact, hurrying straight to the stable. There were some villagers around as he passed, and he couldn’t quite tell if their stares were curious, suspicious, or murderous.
He didn’t dillydally for clarification.
Austol seemed pleased to see him. He brought Nessa into the stable and told Jem to acquaint himself with her before he bustled off to finish some task or other. Jem stared up at the beast in the stable’s murky half-light. The beast stared back, broad and unwavering. Neither of them blinked.
Then the mare chuffed, her tail switching. Reaching up, Jem offered Nessa his hand to sniff. She dropped her snout and gave his palm a wet, rough lick. That was good, wasn’t it? He wished he’d paid more attention to horses growing up and worked through his fear of them.
He’d spent hours on horseback with Cador, but that was different.
He had to learn to ride by himself and take the reins.
Now that he was on Ergh, the idea of a carriage in this foreign land of rutted paths and rocky terrain was absurd.
He couldn’t just stay around the cottage for months on end.
Perhaps if he’d had his books, but he did not.
He tentatively patted Nessa’s head, pushing away the ache of loss and worry. His books would be fine! Even if he never saw those precise volumes again, they could be replaced. Although the thought hurt , and he imagined those worn pages that opened easily to his favorite scenes.
Nessa leaned into his touch, and Jem imagined she could sense his distress. He’d been foolish to avoid horses for all these years. It was time to conquer his fear. There were only so many chores to do around the cottage, and if Jem lazed around day in and day out, how would Cador respect him?
When Jem had quickly mastered milking the goats, the approval in Cador’s nod and fleeting smile were like drinking sweet, heady wine. Their marriage was false, but they were to be companions for the time being. The two of them out in the forest, alone for miles…
Nessa butted her head against Jem’s hand, and he laughed as he scratched behind her ears. “Apologies, my lady,” he murmured. “I shan’t neglect you.”
“She’ll have you petting her all day if you let her,” Austol said, approaching with a fond smile for Nessa. “Won’t you, girl?” He asked Jem, “Are you ready to try again?”
“I won’t be taking you away from your work?” Jem tried to focus on excitement and not fear. He could do this. He truly wanted to do this.
“Horses are my work. I can still do my tasks while teaching you. So come on. You remember what I showed you?”
Jem had Austol go through it again. The technique mainly required momentum and confidence. He struggled for both.