Chapter 49
Lilias
VOICES IN THE DARK
The sun is setting by the time my gray gelding and I find our way back to the camp where soldiers pulled me out of the tent I was supposed to share with Zarek.
I’m so tired that I almost stumble blindly into the middle of the camp, but the gelding snorts and pricks his ears, pulling me from my exhausted stupor.
Only then do I recognize the low-slung ridge to my right. I sit up straight in the saddle and stare blearily at the two canvas tents in front of me. There’s the tent where the soldiers grabbed me. And there’s the tent where Zarek said he was going to find out why we were here.
Or where he was going to get drunk. I shiver as the soldier’s voice cuts through my memories. He ain’t coming to rescue you.
A horse whinnies from the trees in front of us. My gelding replies with a loud, high-pitched greeting. I freeze, waiting for the voices of the people in camp who must be watching the horses.
But there are no voices. Instead, a bay mare emerges from the lengthening shadows below the scrubby trees, and the gelding calls again to greet her as she joins us. The two horses sniff each other with a sort of easy familiarity that makes my chest ache for reasons I can’t begin to understand.
They know each other, these two horses. More than that, they’re part of the same herd.
That means the men who took me from my tent, using this horse, are probably the same men who set up this camp and welcomed us when we arrived. And part of that group is still here, with the other half of their horses.
I slide off the gelding, then unbuckle the saddle and pull it from his back. I shove the saddle into a bush and kick leaves over it before rubbing the horse down as best I can with my hands. Finally, I slip off his halter.
He follows the mare out of the trees as the last of the day’s light turns the far western horizon golden.
I hold my breath, still waiting for someone to sound an alarm at the sudden appearance of an extra horse.
But nothing happens. Birds call to each other from the trees, leaves rustle in the breeze, and the first of the stars begins to dance in the east.
I exhale slowly. Maybe no one is keeping a close eye on the horses. Maybe no one in camp knows, or cares, which gelding took the princess in the night.
Or maybe there are still some gods watching over me.
I creep closer to the strangely silent camp. Both tents are dark, and the only noise coming from them is canvas puffing and falling in the light evening breeze. There are no voices, no smoke, nothing but the horses to suggest people are still here.
My fingers twist together as I stare at the horses ambling between the two tents. I count five of them, including the gelding I rode. That’s not enough horses for all the people who set up this camp to trap us.
So where are the rest of them? And who are they? Are they working for Prince Syvan? Is this part of some scheme to overthrow his father in a way I can’t understand? Or—
The bay mare raises her head and huffs a little snort. The rest of the horses follow her lead, turning to look at the shadows where I’m standing. I freeze, panic dancing through my veins.
And then I hear it. The slow clop of tired hooves. And voices.
I pull back, sinking to my knees in the tangled bramble of the bushes where I hid the saddle. The sound of hooves grows louder. Gods, I must be right next to the trail they’re taking. I hold my breath as the men’s voices begin to flow over me.
“All I’m saying is,” one of them begins as the horses plod through the woods beside me, “why are we the ones who’ve gotta take down the tents?”
Another voice laughs, then spits loudly.
“What? You think the prince’ll help us?”
This is followed by a round of tired laughter. They’re so close now, I can hear the creak of their leather saddles.
“Hells, I know better than that,” the first man replies. “Besides, the prince ain’t leaving until the snake is dead.”
A hoof lands next to the bush where I’m hiding. One of the horses snorts. I hold very, very still.
“He wants to kill ‘im himself, don’t he?” another man replies, from behind me. “If that weird fucker in white doesn’t beat him to it, that is.”
The horse moves forward, and whatever the man says next is lost in the clatter of hooves. I catch something about a weapon, and something about not waiting around to find out, and then the men descend to their camp, and their words blend into distant, indistinct grunts and murmurs.
I exhale slowly. My heart beats against the inside of my chest. The man’s words feel like a weight pressing down on my shoulders.
The prince ain’t leaving until the snake is dead.
The growing night feels very cold. My wrists burn where I rubbed them raw to escape the ropes, and every other part of my body aches from my frantic run through the mountains. I told myself I was coming back here to look for Anura, because she said she would meet us at the mine.
But why in the gods’ many names would I expect Anura to be here after I was abducted? Wouldn’t she be turned away, or worse?
Maybe I came here to warn her, some sad little part of my heart whispers. But the weight of the soldier’s words presses into me, and I know that’s not the truth.
No. I came back here for my husband.
I press my hands to my face and shiver. Gods help me, I’m an idiot. How can I help the snake of Vsenrog? What could I possibly do against Prince Syvan and his soldiers? Why would I even want to help him?
And why didn’t I go back to the castle of Marion, where I could have at least warned Elrick and my father about what’s coming?
I bite down on my finger to keep my tears from spilling down my cheeks. The men’s voices are distant now, and there’s an occasional flare of light between the trees that suggests they’re lighting the lamps in the tents.
I come to my feet as slowly and quietly as I can. The moon is rising through the trees, casting her thin, silver light over the forest floor. It only takes me a moment to find the path the men must have taken when they passed me.
Well. It’s too late to go back to the palace of Marion now.
I take a deep breath and start to climb the path toward the mine.