Chapter 36 Jess
Ireined Dittler to a halt, and my head spun toward every compass point, desperate for any landmark that might help my befuddled sense of direction.
Clouds had obscured the moon and stars, leaving me alone in the dark with my stallion.
Dittler’s heavy breathing and the chirping of a chorus of crickets were the only sounds to be heard.
I patted Dittler’s neck. He looked back with eyes wide and labored breaths, still exhilarated from the burst of speed he’d just displayed.
“Where are we, boy?”
After a moment of searching the land around, I decided to keep moving forward. It was as good as any direction in this wilderness.
As Dittler cantered forward, my racing heart and fear began to ease. I tried to roll my shoulders and stretch the tension from my neck, but my balance faltered as Dittler navigated the terrain.
There were still men hunting me, but I wouldn’t be a scared mouse anymore. I would find a way through all this, just like my father taught me.
Then my mind wandered to Keelan.
Had he and Atikus slowed to distract the men?
That was exactly the selfless sacrifice I might expect based on what the old Mage had told me of the Guardsman’s past.
Keelan kept his cards close, but he was an easy read.
He wanted to do well, to do good.
He wanted to be the hero.
He wanted to protect.
Spotting motives in the towering man was as easy as picking fruit from a tree. There was no guile in him, no courtly subterfuge. He was as open as any book left carelessly strewn atop tables in my father’s library.
There was a childlike innocence to Keelan.
He was not childish, yet a sense of wonder at people and the world reminded me of my youngest brother, Kendall, and his reaction each time he saw something new.
They shared the same curiosity, the same need to understand.
I half expected the man to ask, “Why?” with the same incessant repetition as my little brother.
And then, there was Atikus.
One thought of the old Mage made me smile.
I could see his disheveled beard and even less obedient eyebrows.
His eyes had more emotion in them than most people had in their entire face.
The Mage bore no Gift of Charisma, yet he drew me to him. Whether telling stories of old or offering a gentle hand, he smiled freely and laughed even more so. Even throughout our flight from Cradle, Atikus remained upbeat and encouraging . . . or hungry.
I laughed out loud.
Dittler looked back, startled by my sudden outburst.
“It is all right, boy. I was thinking of Atikus.”
He snorted and shook his head as though he understood and shared my amusement. I blinked a few times, certain I had seen recognition in his eyes, then shook off the odd feeling and resumed my rumination.
Keelan.
His motives might be plainly scrawled across his forehead, but the man still felt like a mystery.
Where Atikus laid his thoughts and feelings out for all to see, Keelan barely acknowledged he even possessed emotions. I knew now that he was simply reserved, a product of his upbringing, but that didn’t make communicating with or understanding him any easier.
In the week or so I’d known him, the man had not shared anything about himself, always finding some way to turn conversations back toward me.
He is an investigator, a trained interrogator.
Was that what he was doing? Interrogating me?
A flash of anger fueled my next moments before I realized how silly it was to be mad at a man for asking about me, rather than droning on about himself the whole time. Spirits, how many times had I wished someone in the Palace would stop talking at me and actually talk with me?
I had a tall, handsome, strong, intelligent man who wanted to know more about me, what I felt, what I thought—and I was upset about that?
I suddenly felt foolishly fickle.
Keelan’s icy blue eyes found their way into my mind.
I sighed and stared into them, then waved them away in an annoyed huff.
There is no time for all of that. Besides, he barely cares for my company.
The clouds finally parted, revealing a bright, near-full moon.
Something tickled my nose.
A smell? No, a taste.
As soon as I opened my mouth, a salty tang teased my tongue.
We were nearing the northern coast. We had not been separated from the others long enough to reach one of the nearest villages, so I expected to see barren, rocky cliffs soon.
The ground near the cliffs became uneven and rough, hazardous to Dittler if we moved with any pace, so I drew him to a halt and dismounted.
“We should walk a bit, okay?” I scratched behind his ear. “Father brought me to see these shores when I was little. There is not much here, only a few hermits in their huts hiding from the world, but one of them might help. I doubt a solitary man will recognize my face.”
Dittler snorted and glanced back sharply.
“I swear you understand me.” I chuckled as a shiver ran up my arm with the chill ocean breeze. “Come on. I’m freezing.”
The ground transformed, and the cliffs emerged.
In the moonlight, I could see the ocean crashing and foaming into the rock-strewn shore. I stopped and savored the view, let it wash over me, let it renew my spirit.
What is it about the ocean that lifts even the heaviest burden?
We turned and followed the cliffs northeast toward the town of Kitchton and were rewarded with the outline of a modest, ramshackle house. The porch was missing boards and looked like the sea itself had battered its wood.
Or maybe the owner used driftwood to build the place?
I stepped to the door and tied Dittler to one of the rickety posts of the porch’s railing. After a moment’s hesitation, I knocked. “Hello, anyone here?”
Only the waves stirred.
I knocked louder. “Hello?”
Still nothing.
With my third knock, I pushed the door open.
The clouds had parted, and moonlight streamed in through glassless windows.
I shuddered as the ocean’s breath swept through.
Dust and cobwebs blanketed the place. A table and two chairs sat to one side.
Another chair lay tipped on its side. A cot, not wide enough for a person to turn on, nestled against the wall opposite, its stuffing half spilled.
An ancient brass lamp lay on the floor beside the bed, its glass globe shattered beneath.
No one had lived there in a long time.
The boards protested as I strode through an opening to the hut’s only other room. I tried to step carefully, but it was useless. The place was falling apart, and its planks wept at its demise.
I found another table and a few surviving kitchen tools in the other room, along with a rusted wood-burning stove, a luxury in any commoner’s house.
How had someone out here afforded a stove?
And where would they even get wood to use it?
There was nothing for leagues but fields, rocks, and ocean.
I shook my head. None of that mattered. This would be a good a place to shelter for the night, and that’s all I cared about.
I walked out and gathered Dittler’s reins, tugging him toward the door. He pulled against me and whinnied.
“I know. I do not like it either, but you cannot stay out here in this cold with that wind. Let us hope the boards hold up under your weight.”
He snorted derisively and nipped at my coat.
I chuckled and playfully swatted him away. “Great. Now you choose to be sensitive about your weight? Come on. I will give you the last apple in my bag.”
The word “apple” allayed his fears. Moments later, we were inside and nesting for the night. I cleaned off the cot as best I could, spreading a blanket over what was left of the mattress, then snuggled up under my riding cloak and closed my eyes.
I would worry about tomorrow when the sun rose.
A velvety muzzle pressed against my face, as large, wet lips smeared slobber into my open mouth.
“Eww. Dittler!” I woke, spitting and rubbing my face with a sleeve. “I know my sweat tastes of salt, but did you have to stick your tongue down my throat?”
The horse whinnied in a way that sounded like laughter and nudged my arm with his nose.
“All right, fine. I’m getting up.”
Bright sunlight streamed through the windows as I looked around the cramped cottage. The place was falling apart worse than I remembered from the night before. I was amazed Dittler had not fallen through the flooring.
I walked the horse outside and fed him some oats from my saddlebag, then fished out dried meat and fruit for my own breakfast. A short time later, I was mounted and scanning the horizon, trying to decide which way to go.
“We must avoid the coast. I will be recognized if we go anywhere near Kitchton. Atikus said the cave was about halfway between Fersh and Kitchton, somewhere on the eastern shore. We can head that way and hope we find it—and them.”
Dittler snorted.
“Not helpful, but thank you for the support.” I stroked his neck as we trotted east.
We reached the road quickly.
I was distracted, lost in daydreams of a well-laid dinner table at the Palace.
My stomach grumbled as Dittler’s hooves clacked against the edge of the road, snapping me from my reverie. I scolded myself for not paying attention. Anyone could be on the road—or watching it for a runaway queen.
My head swiveled, searching for men lurking beyond the bend, but there was no one in sight.
I urged Dittler forward. “Come on, boy. I dislike being out in the open.”
We made it across, then another hundred paces before a voice called out.
“You there! Halt!”
A jolt shot up my spine.
I spun around to find three men, their snow-white cloaks flapping in the wind as they glared from atop their mounts.
“Nice and slow, miss. Hands where we can see ’em.”
Two of the men trotted their horses toward me, careful to make a wide arc around either side to box me in.
The third, the man who’d called out, remained on the road with his bow nocked but resting across his lap.
“We’re Queen’s Guard, ma’am. Nothin’ to fear from us.”
“Sergeant, it’s her. It’s the Queen,” one of the men shouted to the man on the road. He turned toward me, concern creasing the sun-scarred skin around his eyes, then bowed his head respectfully. “Your Majesty, are you all right? Are you hurt?”