Chapter Eight
Morvinrog’s curse rages on. Snow drifts all the way to the eaves of the inn, covering most of the first-floor windows. I don’t
know what Titus said to everyone the night he healed me, but they give me space, eyeing me warily as I continue to work. I
scour years of spilled mead and dried stew from the tables. I wipe soot and grease from the inside of the windows. I beat
all the mattresses and air them out by the fire. I eat well and sleep even better. I’m stronger every day.
Arguld the innkeeper offers me a permanent job. But thinking of the stable boy’s roving gaze, the way the others watched,
hunger in their eyes, while he asked if I was for sale, I decline.
On the morning of the fourth day, the sun bursts through the clouds. Within hours, a crystal chorus of tinkling icicle drops
and running snowmelt begins. An early blizzard followed by a warm snap always means flooding near the coast, and the inn’s
servants mutter darkly about next year’s crops.
But I’m ecstatic. It means travel will be possible soon. Titus hasn’t decided whether or not to leave me behind, but with
a week of regular food in my belly and a newly healed shoulder, I just might be able to travel on my own. I’ll need to be
cautious. And lucky. But I have a sliver of hope.
Two days after the storm breaks, Titus and I are in our room readying ourselves for sleep. He is silent, but I know what’s coming. The road is passable now, the skies clear, the air warm.
“Bria,” he says from his place by the door.
I look up from fluffing my straw mattress to find that he stares at nothing. Or, perhaps, is avoiding my gaze.
“You travel alone,” I say with a humorless smile.
“Yes. And now that I know you have a way to defend yourself . . .”
“Will you leave tomorrow?”
“At first light.”
“Let me leave with you.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.
“I’m not asking to go with you,” I explain. “But let’s make a show of leaving together so the men here don’t realize I’m alone.
We’ll part ways after.”
He considers a moment. “Fine.” He slides into his bedroll without taking off his boots, which I find odd.
I lean toward the bedside table to blow out the candle, but I pause. “Titus, I will say this once and once only, then I’ll
never bother you about it again.”
His eyes narrow.
I take a moment to choose my words carefully. From somewhere above comes the grinding slush sound of melting snow breaking
loose and sliding off the inn roof.
“These mountains are dangerous. I know you’re strong.
A warrior. Gifted beyond measure. But I also know you’re on some kind of quest, something so important you’ll risk everything for it.
And that’s the problem. You’re risking too much by going alone.
In these mountains, with winter coming on, you could be defeated by a broken leg.
What if you lose consciousness before you can heal yourself?
You’ll freeze to death. Or you’ll be eaten by ice cats. You need someone to watch your back.”
I expect a protest, or at least a glower, but he seems to be measuring my words. Encouraged, I press on. “If not me, then
take someone. I know you don’t trust people. I know you have a secret or two that you’d rather die than share. But it’s all for nothing
if you fall off a cliff or get buried in snow. And if you did choose to take me with you, I would . . .” I swallow hard against
the commitment I’m about to make. “I would swear myself into your service. My family, my inn . . . it’s all gone. You’ve the
right to accept such oaths. Your Gift says you do. Make me your shield maiden. I will pledge my life to you and your cause.
At least until you get safely out of these mountains.”
He’s silent for so long that I give up on him. I blow out the candle and settle back on the cot. Water drip-drip-drips from
the eaves. Not an unpleasant sound to sleep to. I’m looking forward to being back on the road, alone or not. I’ve always loved
wide open spaces, the dry mountain breeze on my face. I’m stronger now, I tell myself firmly. I can do this. And next time I need to use my Gift to defend myself, I won’t hesitate. I’ll survive. Somehow.
I’m drifting to sleep when he says, “You don’t know what you’re promising. I face dangers you can’t even dream of.”
I sigh. I’ve worked the inn long enough to know that all men, particularly sword-wielding types, think women can’t imagine
the dangers they face. But it’s really the other way around. I think it takes being a woman to know true fear.
I say, “My chances of making it out of these mountains on my own are slim. I’m determined to give it a try, one way or the other. But I’m risking my life either way, same as you. We might as well risk our lives together.”
Again, silence. And then: “I’ll think about it.”
“I’ve said my piece. I won’t ask you again.”
“I know. Good night, Bria.”
I don’t know how much later it is when I’m awakened by pounding footsteps. Shouting. The unmistakable sound of a sword whisked
from its scabbard.
I sit straight up in bed. Titus is already awake, his shadowy form pressed against the door, ear to the crack. He puts a finger
to his lips, signaling me to silence.
“No, not a boy alone,” comes the sound of Arguld’s panicked voice. “But there’s a couple staying here. Brother and sister.
The young man doesn’t match your description exactly, but it might be him.”
To me, Titus whispers, “Put on your shoes. Quick and quiet.”
“When did they arrive?” says a voice as slick as boiling tar.
“I’m not sure— No, don’t kill him! I’ll tell you! It was six days ago. Just as the storm hit.”
“Stand up on the cot,” Titus whispers. “See if you can get that window open.”
I comply immediately. My heart races as I reach upward. “Who is it? Who’s after you?” I whisper. The window is too high to
see, but my fingertips root around the dusty sill, searching for a latch.
“Deathsworn. Now, hurry.”
I gasp. The brotherhood of assassins. Gifted with death magic, blessed by Cerastes herself, the stuff of shadow and legend. I had thought them a myth.
“Any other guests staying with you?” comes the oily voice.
“Just one,” says Arguld. “A rover. But not a boy, I think. Thin-bearded, tall, keeps to himself.”
“Traveling alone?”
“Yes.”
“Show me to his room.”
“I can’t— All right, I’ll do it! Let me get my key.”
The window latch is rusty, stuck fast.
Titus backs away from the door, then shoulders his quiver, grabs his bow from the floor, and notches an arrow. He watches
the door while I strain to unstick the latch.
“Hurry!” Titus says.
“I’m try—” The latch jerks open with a loud pop, and I almost stumble backward. The panes swing wide like shutters, and cool
air whips into our room. “It’s too high. I don’t know how we’ll—”
“Get down and help me,” he says. “We’ll swing the bed around so the foot blocks the door. Lift, do not drag.”
He sets his bow and arrow on the mattress while I jump down on light feet. Together we lift the bed and pivot it around, snugging
it against the door. “That will only hold them a moment,” Titus says.
I look up at the window in despair. I suppose Titus could lift me, but there’s no way I could lift him or pull him up after
me. I get an idea.
“The table,” I say. “Can you lift it onto the bed? Beneath the window?”
From somewhere else in the inn comes the sound of a scuffle. Steel on steel. A sharp yell.
Titus lifts the table easily.
“Make sure you put the legs on the wooden slats, otherwise they’ll just fall through the mattress.”
He does, and we make a quick adjustment before I clamber up. The table teeters beneath me. “Hurry,” he says, handing me my
pack. “I’ll give you a boost. When you’re through, drop to the ground quickly. If you break a leg, I can heal you, so faster
is better.”
I nod wordlessly, reaching for the windowsill. Strong hands palm my rear, startling me.
“Now, go!” He shoves, and I grapple with the frame, and with a great heave and scrape, I find myself on my belly, peering
out onto the icy wilderness, my legs dangling into our room.
“Is the way clear?” he asks.
“Yes. Snow is still deep. It’s an easy drop. Lots of tree cover nearby.”
The ledge is thick, and I twist around until my rear is balanced. The frame is almost too small for both me and my pack; I
don’t know how Titus will manage.
A key turns in the lock of our door.
“Go, Bria! Now!”
I squeeze one leg through, balance precariously while squeezing the other. The door pounds against the bed frame. “It’s stuck!”
someone yells.
I push off the ledge and into the air. The top layer of snow has melted and then refrozen overnight, and I crunch through to the softer snow beneath. It scrapes the skin of my hands but breaks my fall. I roll over to the side just in time to see Titus tumble down after me.
He hauls me to my feet. Together, we plow through the snow and into the stable.
Our horses greet us with nickers and head tosses. Titus flings his saddlebag over Blackwind but doesn’t take the time to saddle
him. I use a nearby hay bale to mount Apple; Titus manages his mount with a tremendous leap, then grabs Blackwind’s saddle
from its perch and heaves it onto his lap. We kick the horses into a gallop and ride from the stable bareback.
At the inn’s entrance, three new horses are tied to the porch rail. Sturdy mountain ponies, nondescript except for their gleaming
tack. These assassins are well funded.
Titus pulls up using Blackwind’s mane, and he yanks a dagger from his belt sheath.
I keep an eye on the door, expecting assassins to come barreling out. But the entrance remains quiet as Titus dismounts and
approaches the nearest horse, blade raised.
“Wait. What are you doing?”
“It’s regrettable, but we can’t allow them to follow.”
“No,” I say, sliding from Apple’s back. “Put that knife away.”
“Bria—”
I ignore him, and bend to lift the leg of the nearest horse, a chestnut with white socks. “I’m sorry, horse,” I say, and I
cup my hand around the hoof. I must use my Gift delicately but swiftly here. The horse whinnies with discomfort, but he’s
well trained and does not try to slip my grip.
I send my cold magic into the hoof—not too much, not too little—until I feel it split. When I release the leg, the horse shifts his weight into the lame stance I’ve seen too many times.
“What did you just do?” Titus asks as I turn to the second horse.
“We see this all the time when the weather turns. Travelers push their horses too hard in the cold to reach us. It will heal
on its own, given a season of rest.” The second hoof splits in my hand. “I’m sorry to you too, horse.”
The third is the largest and most ornery. He recoils, nipping at me, but he’s tied fast to the rail. Titus steps in and bends
the horse’s leg as sure as a farrier in his shop, and the creature calms.
I’m a little lightheaded from using so much magic when the third hoof splits. I stagger when I turn toward Apple, but Titus
is quick at my back. Before I can react or protest, his strong hands wrap my waist, and he lifts me high enough to get a leg
over the gelding’s back.
We gallop toward the king’s road. As we near it, the trees break, revealing that the sun has done its work the past two days.
The center of the road is clear, which means our tracks won’t show.
Titus angles us southward, making sure we leave a trail through remaining snow. When our horses’ hooves reach cobblestone,
he turns us sharply north. With luck, they’ll think we’ve gone in the opposite direction.
We gallop until my face stings from the air, until the flanks of our mounts sheen with sweat and froth forms at their mouths.
Titus calls a halt and dismounts. He hefts the saddle over one shoulder.
“We can’t afford to stop, but we’ll walk a while to rest the horses,” he says. “I’ll saddle Blackwind properly once he’s cooled off.”
I’m silent as we plod along. A hawk circles in the crystal bowl of the sky, and the sounds of dripping and tinkling are everywhere.
The jagged mountain peaks are bright white, almost too bright to look at, and the nearby pines droop with melting snow. Our
road is awash with runoff, slippery and glistening in the sun. I step warily.
At last he says, “That was quick thinking, back at the inn.”
“Thank you.”
“Less brutal than what I had planned.”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
He frowns. “I like horses.”
“Me too.”
“When the assassins discovered their mounts had been lamed, they likely slaughtered them anyway.”
My heart sinks. “No! That’s not necessary! They just need some time to—”
“But you gave them a chance. And you were efficient about it. Done in moments.”
“Speed seemed important.”
He sets Blackwind’s saddle on the ground and says, “I’ll take your oath, shield maiden, if you’re still willing to offer it.”
Relief washes through me, and I can’t help the little smile that slips onto my face. “Will you let me ask personal questions?”
“Well, you can ask.”
It’s the tiniest concession, but it’s a start.
I lower myself to my knees right in the middle of the soaking road.
While kneeling, head bowed, I cup my hands before me—the gesture of swearing an oath before the gods.
“I commit my life into your service. Your gods are my gods, your cause my cause, and your life more precious than my own. I will follow you even unto the Edge of the World. This I so swear.”
Three warm drops of blood splatter into my cupped palms. I hope Titus cleaned his knife before slicing into himself.
“I accept your oath, Bria Angarsold of Grimsvold. In exchange for your service, I make your needs my needs, your life my honor,
even unto the Edge of the World. This I so swear.”
I raise my bloody palms to my mouth and lick them clean.
He helps me to my feet. We stand nose to nose, our breath mixing. He gazes at me keenly, and I decide I like his eyes. The
rich amber color makes him seem intelligent, focused. “Now we are bonded,” he says, and though he is close enough for me to
feel the heat of his body, his voice is distant. “Gods, I hope I don’t regret this.”
“You won’t.” I step away to cover up the fact that my heart is suddenly pounding wildly, my cheeks suddenly warm. I grab Apple’s
halter and head up the road. “Now stop dallying,” I call over my shoulder. “We have a dangerous quest needs doing.” Not that
I know anything about it. Yet.
I’m an innkeeper’s daughter. I can get anyone to talk.