Chapter Ten
By the time we reach the designated camping spot—camping, I’m going to camp beneath the stars and moon, my tired brain babbles at me—I’m so, so very ready to get down off the horse.
The prince gracefully dismounts and lifts me down before I can protest or try to do it myself.
When his hands linger at my waist for a few moments longer than seems strictly necessary, I’m almost too exhausted to notice.
I do notice, however, when the horse turns his enormous head to stare at me, and I freeze.
Admittedly, fatigue and slowly draining adrenaline pushed aside most of my fear of the animal during the ride.
And now, looking into his eyes, he seems kind and curious instead of crazed and vicious, which is how I remember the horse who killed my mother.
Then again, I watched that blood-spattered day with a child’s eyes.
The accident probably scared the poor horse into hysteria, which looked like rage to a terrified little girl.
It still hurts to look back at that all-too-vivid memory, even from an adult’s perspective, so I pack the accident way down deep in my mind and heart, like I always do when it tries to bubble up, raw and desperate and horrible.
Like I always do.
I suddenly realize I perpetually try to smooth the path of my present by suppressing the jagged parts of my past. And while that felt like the key to survival, I’m starting to wonder if it also keeps me stuck, unable to get beyond the memories that haunt me.
I put it away to think about later. And I will think about it later.
I refuse to help anybody put me back in that box.
The horse snuffles in my ear, snapping me out of my dark and hopeless thoughts, and I can’t help but laugh at my instinctive flinch.
Even I can tell he’s nosing at my shoulder because he smells the apple in my cloak pocket, not because he wants to murder me with his giant teeth.
I give him the apple and we become, if not friends, at least friendly.
Like most of my relationships in this company.
My thighs and bottom, though, consider the horse their mortal enemy. I’m aching in places I barely realized I had muscles.
“Massage helps,” says the prince.
“You want me to massage the horse?” I look around and see that most of the others appear to be doing just that, or brushing, feeding, and watering them. Makes sense. Take care of the horses first, then ourselves.
I sigh and square my shoulders the best I can. Even my shoulders ache. “Okay. I—Can I at least do the brushing part? I don’t know how to massage anybody, let alone a horse.”
Kaelen’s sculpted lips tremble, and the laughter in his purple eyes makes them sparkle in the sunset light.
“No, Soli. I didn’t mean you should massage the horse.
Although, yes, we need to care for him, but we have plenty of people here who know how to do that.
I meant that massage would help with your aching muscles from riding the horse for hours. ”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t ride the horse, remember? You rode the horse, and I just sat with you.”
The heat in his eyes burns like a fire-kissed caress against my skin, and I fight to keep from shivering.
Then I realize a prince may be about to offer to massage my sore muscles, which leads to thoughts of Kaelen’s strong hands on my hips and thighs, which leads to my face flaming so hot I turn away to grab a waterskin and take a deep, gulping drink.
“Riding makes me thirsty,” I say faintly, still turned away from him.
“I know what you’re doing,” the prince murmurs. “Avoidance won’t always work.”
“But it will right now,” I say hastily. “Okay, let’s take care of this beast.”
“He’s no beast. He’s a beauty,” Kaelen croons to the horse, whose ears perk up. “His name is River.”
“Hello, River.” I tentatively touch the flat, smooth space between his eyes. He seems to like it.
Kaelen demonstrates circular strokes with a short-bristled brush on River’s sides and flank before putting the tool in my hand. “We call this—”
“Currying,” I say, transfixed by the motion and the way the horse clearly appreciates it. He’s leaning into me as if to ensure I get all the best spots.
Behind me, Kaelen seems to do the same thing. My breath speeds up. Apparently I, like the horse, am getting a second wind.
Kaelen bends his head until his mouth touches the top of my head and inhales deeply. He rubs the side of his face against my hair in an unexpectedly intimate caress.
“You smell like everything I most want,” he murmurs, but then he stiffens. “What is happening to me?”
“What?”
He clears his throat and looks anywhere but at me. “Yes. It’s good for the horse, because—”
“I know,” I stammer, trying to keep from rubbing my body against his. Trying to remember why that would be a bad idea. Wondering why he keeps blowing hot and cold and hot and cold and then some other temperature that doesn’t even exist.
I force myself to focus instead on a book I read about the care and feeding of livestock. “Gets rid of dirt and stimulates oil production, which is good for their skin. I read a lot. I know a lot more in theory than I’ve ever had the chance to practice in real life.”
He steps back so he’s no longer touching me. “Of course. I’m sorry.
I wasn’t trying to condescend to you.”
“What? No! Please tell me things. The difference between reading about something and living it is as vast as the difference between night in the Sea of Ice and daytime in the Desert of Sharnon.” I shudder, thinking again of the Fell and Zhagarn.
“Fighting, for instance. Killing. Reading all the books in the world couldn’t have prepared me for the reality of that. ”
The horse shuffles sideways, stretching out his neck to give me better access, but he bumps into me and knocks me off balance. This normally wouldn’t be a problem, but I normally don’t ride horses all day. My aches have aches. I stumble and can’t stop the gasp that escapes my lips.
“Okay, Soli.” Kaelen plucks the brush out of my hand and herds me over to the fire that someone already built. “Sit here, and we’ll take care of you.”
I gingerly sit, holding back the groan when my poor, abused bottom hits the log pulled up next to the fire for seating. Then I clench my teeth and look around rather desperately for Elianna or even Chitai, because an urgent problem is presenting itself.
And there is no way in Terra I’m going to tell the crown prince of Valourian that I have to pee.
After I take care of bodily necessities and wash my shirt to clean away the evidence of today’s battle, I insist on helping prepare dinner.
I’ve never been allowed to cook, but I’ve picked up a bit from my desperate attention to all things culinary in my underfed years at the library.
While Sergeant Neville and Bern tend the fire, Kaelen and Andras take off for ten minutes and return with a brace of rabbits.
Luckily for me, they take care of skinning and prepping them, because I’m not sure I’m hungry enough to try that.
Just for future reference, though, I keep an eye on how they do it. If I find myself alone and starving sometime on this trip … well. I won’t want the scrolls of the next Age to say: “She tried to save Altarra, but she was too incompetent to feed herself.”
I blow out a breath. No matter. It’s never too late to learn.
But this is an awfully large pile of vegetables, and I’m not that quick with my knife.
I glance at Chitai but don’t have anywhere near the nerve to ask her if she wants to help cook.
Anyway, she’s clearly on watch, and I like her odds of protecting us much better than my own, so I return to prepping potatoes and vegetables.
The latter go into a pot of boiling water Bern set up on a metal rack over the fire, and I salt the potatoes and place them between the stones that ring the small firepit.
I read about how to do this in one of the many books and scrolls dedicated to helpful tips for travelers.
According to several authors, roasting the potatoes will make them taste better than boiling them.
Smiling at the fanciful idea that one day maybe I could write a travel guide myself, I don’t notice Trick approaching the fire until I catch the familiar citrus scent of the candies he likes so well.
He drops to sit next to me, and I can’t help leaning against him, seeking the familiar comfort of his presence.
But then I remember his reaction to the amulet and scoot a few inches away. “I’m sorry. I know the amulet—”
He puts an arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay. If you can be brave enough to wear it, I can be brave enough to sit next to you. You and me against the world, right?”
I nod, swallowing hard and fighting the burning in my eyes.
I won’t let my companions see me cry. I’ve been fierce in my attempts to never let anyone see me cry, but there are some injustices—physical abuses, and starvation when I was forbidden food for two or even three days for some imaginary infraction—when I couldn’t hold back the tears, no matter how hard I tried.
Even after I realized my tormentors wanted me to cry and would back off when I did, I refused to give them that satisfaction. A fellow servant once whispered to me I’d surely have fewer scars if I’d only give in and wail, like she did. Grovel.
Beg.
She was rubbing salve into the bleeding stripes on my back when she said it, so it was hard to ignore her wisdom.
But I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let them see how thoroughly and completely they diminished me. Ground me down into nothing. Less than nothing.
Into nobody.
“I’m sorry I was so out of control in the palace. They hit my head with a club when they came for me. I was still dazed when we were in the throne room, and then that poor girl …”
“Trick—”