Chapter 6
CASTELIS
“Do you think the foothills will be pretty this time of year?” I met the guide Alred directed me to outside the tavern around sunrise, and it feels like we’ve been walking in silence for ages.
The sun is setting, and he’s finally relented to take a brief break for dinner, but, apparently, we’ll be walking again after the sun goes down.
My companion levels a wary look at me. He’s not much for conversation. He pokes at the fire he’s made as he waits for the water to boil for tea. We’re probably going to need lots of tea at the pace he’s setting.
“Have you traveled a lot in these parts?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Have you been locked in a closet? Or are you just weak in the head?”
I falter, almost falling off the log I’m struggling to “sit” on. It’s not very restful. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Sorry.” Ducking my head probably doesn’t really hide my blush. “I’m just curious. I’ve never been past the Tyri mountain pass.”
“Learn from the cat. Curiosity kills it. You’re too curious for your own good.”
My eyes wide, I blink at him as I mumble, “I really can’t help it.” Did he just suggest that asking too many questions might get me killed? But why? We are just supposed to find a hiding place for the crystal. Certainly he won’t kill me because I ask lots of questions.
“Cat couldn’t help it either, and look how that ended up.” Slowly he draws a thumb across his throat, a crooked grin, almost a leer on his face.
I snap my mouth shut. But one last question occurs to me—and I just can’t help myself. “Can you at least tell me if the river gets any wider?”
He rolls his eyes. “What do I look like to you, a tour guide? I’m going to take a piss.” He gets up and swaggers to the woods.
My mouth falls open. “But… that’s exactly what Alred had said…” I’m muttering to myself like an idiot, alone in the woods now, when it hits me.
By the gods. He’s… He’s not a guide.
The recipe page for Snowdrop jumps to my mind’s eye. I force my wide eyes to stay trained on the fire as my “guide” tromps loudly into the bushes.
Quickly, hoping he’s not looking, I reach for his bag. The outer pocket has a hatchet, a knife the size of my forearm, a flint and striker, and a thong of leather. I reach an inner small pocket and feel glass. I draw it up slowly.
A glass vial, with the liquid inside shimmering. Cold to the touch, even through the glass.
I gasp, then shove it back in and scamper back to the other side of the fire. Snowdrop potion. Snow—gods, why didn’t I think of it sooner? Could the potions have come from the Winter Court? I look around in a panic.
He’s going to kill me. Kill me and destroy the crystal. I need to do something. Anything.
Thankfully, he’s still out there tromping. Or relieving himself. Or both.
The slumberleaf. I’d noticed it not ten paces back as we walked.
I may not know my way around a knife, but I’ve read more than a few books, and some were about plants, though they’re far from my specialty.
Medicines incorporate the bounty that nature provides, such as leaves that can put you into the deepest, deepest sleep.
I casually stroll back along the path, grab a handful, and quickly drop them in the tea. Now I just have to make sure he drinks it before I do—and before he kills me.
I busy myself with my sketchbook, knowing that if I sit there and try to make him chat with me, I’ll probably give something away. He seems delighted I’ve shut up.
And he starts drinking.
It takes two cups, rather than the one I expected, but it’s not long before he’s snoring.
Maybe I should bash his head with a rock before I run, but I can’t bring myself to do it. He might chase me. But I also don’t know for sure he was going to kill me, and he definitely isn’t about to kill me right now.
Instead, I pick up my pack, and then his pack, and start walking.