Chapter 29
You’ll hate yourself in the morning.
He was right.
Her head pounded in time with her heart, and her whole body ached as she came round to the world.
Gods, she was an idiot.
Hark Stappen had all but carried her to bed – his bed – last night, and she had been so far gone in her cups that she hadn’t thought of the consequences of kissing him.
She didn’t dare breathe, aware that he would hear the change in rhythm and likely confront her about the state she had got herself into at the festival.
Or worse, he would bring up what had happened between them.
She didn’t often let herself go like that – or ever, really – but she had been so hurt by the possibility that Cyrus had kept something so enormous from her that the lure of the alcohol had been too much.
She’d pay for it today. Hark would taunt her through whatever he and his crew had in store, and her body was already protesting at the strain she would put it under again.
She was surprised her ankle withstood everything she put it through; she’d never let it heal properly after breaking it two years ago after falling from the side of the castle which she was climbing in order to prove a point, and it reminded her daily – often hourly – of that mistake.
She didn’t want to face the day, no matter that she was more than ready to cut the heads off the soldiers guarding the slaves.
She felt … a little lost, if she was honest. She played close to the line, often dancing on it and taunting death with some of the risks she took.
She couldn’t do that now, not when other people were involved – though she didn’t object to allowing the Kase girl to risk her own neck.
She couldn’t allow herself to care though; it only ever got her hurt and often at the cost of those she cared about.
Sitting upright with the fluidity of a wraith, she turned her head sharply, ready to intercept whatever retort he had for her before he could voice it.
But he wasn’t there.
Something in her chest tightened and—
Fuck.
She was beginning to care, wasn’t she?
Her eyes scanned the room, taking in every notch in the wood of the panelled walls, the fingerprints pressed in dust on every surface. He had left her a note. Which meant she was late.
Without thinking, she sprinted down the hallway to her own room, ignoring the puzzled look another guest at the inn shot her as she flew past them in a blur of white and gold. Halos would kill her for letting her hair end up in such a state.
Flinging the door open, she was surprised to find her saddlebags already packed and her cloak lying on the bed beside the gloves she had stolen back in Irelliad.
Gods, he was going to love this.
* * *
Eros was saddled and Hark was in the process of getting Vetta ready, too, when Arla entered the barn, rather more dishevelled than she would have liked.
He’d told her yesterday that they would set off for the border again, and that they would be freeing more of the slaves that his crew had been responsible in rescuing in recent weeks.
She had agreed immediately, her hands itching with violence to punish those responsible for such abhorrent practices, but she couldn’t help thinking it wasn’t enough.
They would free the slaves, send them to wherever it was that Hark’s friends gave them safety, but then they’d have to do it again and again – an infinite cycle.
She’d heard Sebastian telling Hark that the number of guards had increased, and that number would only rise the more times they broke slaves out of the camp.
It needed to end, and it needed to end soon.
There was only so much patience in her, and if Hark’s crew didn’t hand her a solid plan to abolish the trading for good and confirm that her king had nothing to do with it, she would take matters into her own hands.
‘I’m surprised you can even stand this morning,’ Hark said, trying to contain the smirk threatening to break free of his lips.
‘Please don’t,’ she said, mounting Vetta.
There was no room in her agenda for Hark’s taunting. Especially when she remembered the way she’d kissed him last night and was praying on any gods that would listen that he wouldn’t bring it up. It had been a mistake. She’d been drunk and he’d been … there. It meant nothing – he meant nothing.
‘It’ll take more than last night to stop me,’ Arla tossed over her shoulder.
‘You’re not invincible, you know,’ he called, and she swallowed thickly at the thought. She knew she wasn’t. She’d seen just how vulnerable people became at the wrong end of a blade.
She ran her fingers over the gold brooch she’d pinned to her cloak this morning – not for luck, but because it was pretty, of course. ‘I don’t need to be invincible. Nobody gets close enough to me for that to be necessary.’
The chill of the air on her face soon brought her out of the alcohol-induced fog and blessed her with a scowl and a need for blood that had her fingers brushing over the hilt of the blade at her waist.
Hark’s crew were each mounted on horses and wore hooded black cloaks similar to her own. Arla could make out the silhouettes of knives, swords, and bows strapped to their bodies and was glad she’d packed her own. They’d come prepared for battle, and she wasn’t sure why that concerned her.
‘Would it kill any of you to break a smile?’ she called as she approached the group. Beside her, Hark sighed, running a hand through his hair, and Arla inwardly smirked at her own ability to elicit such exasperation from him.
‘Here we go,’ Kase muttered, the silver-grey horse she sat atop the same colour as her hair.
‘Good morning to you, too, Kase,’ Arla said sarcastically, baring her teeth at the girl.
‘If we’re quite ready, ladies,’ Sebastian interrupted, tossing a grin at Arla who inclined her head at the only one of Hark’s friends who’d showed her even a fraction of the respect she deserved.
The world was quiet outside the confines of Vorstrum, the meadows wild and untended, the sun warm where it managed to push its way through the bite of cold air.
She hated winter, but in the wild, where everything was green and free of the stench that riddled the towns, she thought she might like it.
The only sound was the footfall of the horses, and Arla was content to focus on the sway of the mare beneath her.
‘We go in quietly, just as before,’ Jaz said, disrupting the careful quiet and setting her jaw tight as the looming task ahead of them was brought back to her attention. ‘We take as many as we can without engaging with the soldiers.’
‘And what are you doing with the people we rescue?’
‘Jack will take them over the border to safety,’ Jaz replied.
‘Which border?’ she questioned. ‘Hadalyn?’
‘Over the northern border. They’ll make their way to safety once they’re out of Kastonia. Hadalyn’s not safe.’
Beyond the northern border were mountain ranges so hostile that no one had ever come back from them alive. Arla could only hope there was a route the slaves could take to the sea. Perhaps they were catching boats to the continent.
‘What—?’
‘We’ll explain later. Let’s focus on getting them out without dying,’ Jack interrupted.
They were quiet for long moments, the movement of the horses carrying them further towards the camp with every hoof that marked the earth.
‘Stay out of my way,’ Arla said sternly. ‘I work better on my own and I won’t be held responsible for hurting anyone that gets in my way.’
It sounded ridiculous when she listened to herself, but she’d felt the unhinging that came with the violence: how she didn’t know when to stop; how the anger sang to her and turned her into a …
a whirlwind that was entirely unstoppable until everything around her was dead.
Her fingers moved to stroke that damned brooch at the thought, the action having become a comfort in the short time she’d owned the thing.
‘Absolutely not. Hark stays with her—’
‘We work as a team. We—’
‘Are you serious—?’
Her head spun as each of them objected to her statement, even though she’d said it to keep them safe.
‘You leave her alone,’ Hark’s voice cut through them all, a hard, stony sentence that left no room for argument. ‘Are we clear?’
‘Crystal.’
‘Kase,’ Hark warned, and Arla felt a warmth bloom in her chest.
They rode in silence after that, the seriousness of their job settling over the group like a leaden blanket. She didn’t hear Jack ride up next to her until his soft voice found her ears. ‘I’m glad you’re here, you know.’
It took her so by surprise she could barely form the words. ‘I’m not here for your gratitude. I just want those people freed.’
‘I know,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve given everything trying to help them. And I’d do it all again.’
Arla glanced at him. She saw how his back stooped despite his position atop the horse. There was tiredness in his eyes, but there was kindness, too – which he had extended to her no matter how many furious glances Kase threw their way.
‘You haven’t seen a healer?’ she asked.
Jack smiled softly, shifting his weight awkwardly in the saddle. ‘I will when we have the time. Right now, there’s too many people at risk to worry about myself. I can’t abandon the crew, especially— I just … I owe them that.’
‘You all care about each other. A lot. I can’t say it’s something I’ve had much experience with.’
It was true that she had never felt the camaraderie others experienced within the King’s Guard, nor had she ever had friends outside of Halos. Seeing them now, she thought she’d like to have a team ready to lay their lives down for each other.
‘How did you end up with this lot?’ Arla asked.
Jack chuckled, patting the horse as he shifted his weight again.
‘I caught them trying to break into the tunnels beneath the docks – I worked the boats, you see – and I don’t know what stopped me reporting them but I’m glad I didn’t.
They invited me down there, told me what they were doing, and asked whether I wanted to be a part of it.
Don’t know why they trusted me so quickly.
Perhaps because they could tell I knew they’d kill me if I breathed a word of it. We’ve been a family ever since.’
Jack was a kind soul. Arla knew it with a certainty.
She saw it in the way he stroked Vetta’s face when the mare was close enough.
She saw it in the way he routinely checked if any of them needed water or food.
Yes, Jack was too kind for the hand he’d been dealt and way his body struggled to keep up with the rest of them.
Jack was worth protecting.
The northern border towered on the horizon, a grey mass of hastily thrown-together buildings, tents, and cages set in a valley surrounded by sheer cliff faces.
There seemed to be no end to it. It was a sprawling cold place that stretched as far as she could see – to the mountains in the distance and probably beyond them, Arla imagined.
There were more soldiers than she could have ever expected, dozens upon dozens of black-uniformed guards that filled her chest with an adrenalin she couldn’t be sure wasn’t fear.
And then there were the slaves. Too many to count.
Too many filling the barren camp, the grey tattered rags they wore blending in with the landscape.
This place was… well, it was enormous. It stretched for miles, the cliffs surrounding it reminding her too vividly of sentinels – strong and overwhelmingly large.
Arla swallowed the bile rising in her throat as they dismounted and crawled to the edge of the ledge.
She wouldn’t forget the shock or disgust she’d felt when she’d first peered over it with Hark at her side.
The years of anger, hatred, and despair bubbled up inside her and threatened to boil over at the sight of slaves in chains.
It was busier than before. Soldiers stood at regular intervals every hundred yards for what must be miles – miles and miles of land with hundreds and hundreds of slaves.
Thousands. Frequent raids of the camp had made the Kastonian soldiers careful, they hadn’t dared leave a single body unchained in some way – either wrist or ankle – meaning that they would be more difficult to move quickly.
There would be blood drawn, then, and Arla’s fingers twitched at her side. That she could do.
‘In and out, offload the slaves to Jack, and meet at the bloodstone.’
How had Hark become so good at leading rescue missions and ordering his … acquaintances?
She didn’t want to think about it too deeply. She only wanted to rescue the wretched souls, and then she would burn this kingdom to the ground and Elrod along with it.