Chapter 2
Mistel
Following the Tsaftown army was supposed to be a grand adventure, yet Mistel Wepp’s great tale of daring had taken a rather tedious turn.
Bart, the horse she had borrowed from the Armonguard stables, shifted beneath her, his breath steaming in the dusky air as they made their way along the road, both half frozen and starved.
They were somewhere between Mahanaim and Allowntown, following rolling hills of snow-covered prairie.
They should be over halfway to Tsaftown by now, but Mistel had long ago lost count of how many days they’d been traveling. At least a dozen.
She wondered—for the umpteenth time—if she’d made a terrible mistake.
The idea had seemed flawless: a daring, romantic gesture to follow Cole north. He needed her. She was half of their duo, after all. That freckle-faced boy could charm every string on that lute of his, but without Mistel, his songs were just music.
Excellent music, of course, but what Cole didn’t understand about an audience was that they didn’t just want a song. They wanted a show. Cole gave them music, and Mistel gave them a memory. That’s what made them such a perfect team.
The trees thickened into tangled brush, and Bart gave a nervous snort. Mistel glanced toward a shifting shadow, heart increasing in tempo as a pair of gray wolves darted from the undergrowth.
She cried out, and while Bart spun in a full circle on the snowy road, she clung to the saddle horn, barely keeping her seat.
One of the wolves crept low toward them, lips peeled back in a snarl. Bart whinnied and stamped, and Mistel hollered at the creature.
“Get away! Shoo!”
The wolves suddenly froze, ears flicking in the direction from which they’d come. The undergrowth rustled. Leaves shivered. Twigs snapped.
Please don’t let it be more wolves.
A heartbeat later, two riders burst from the trees. The wolves flinched at the sight and, with a snarl, wheeled and darted off in the opposite direction.
Mistel stroked Bart’s neck. The poor horse was trembling more than she was. “Easy,” she whispered. “Easy now.” Bart finally stilled, though his sides heaved and his ears pinned back.
“Identify yourself.” This from a striking, iron-forged figure with a face that had been carved for admiration. His wavy golden hair was partly tied back in a half-knot above his ears while the rest hung longer than her own.
Mercy. Could this be Avenis, the god of beauty, speaking to Mistel in the middle of a snowy prairie? She hoped she hadn’t frozen to death.
Beside the chiseled fortress of a man sat a bald, barrel-chested soldier with a bushy red beard so long and bright it nearly outshone Mistel’s own coppery locks.
She forced her best male voice as she uttered her own surname, which seemed an appropriate title for a man. “I’m called Wepp, cap’n.”
“Why are you following us, Master Wepp?” asked the god of beauty.
His accusation tugged her heart up into her throat, though she was relieved to see both wore Tsaftown uniforms. “I mean no harm, cap’n,” she said. “I’m headed to Tsaftown to visit my sister. Thought it’d be safer to ride in the wake of the formidable Five Hundred than take my chances on my own.”
“Who’s your sister?” Avenis asked.
“Joya Wepp,” Mistel said, quickly spinning the tale she’d planned on the long ride.
“I suppose she no longer goes by Wepp, but she never gave me her new husband’s surname.
Just said she married last fall, a man called Frix, and now they’re expecting their firstborn.
Begged me to come visit, and when I heard the army was headed that way, seemed as good a time as any. ”
The stocky man reached over his shoulder and patted a longbow strapped to his back. “You’re lucky we didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”
Well! Mistel’s fingers tightened around the reins. “Indeed, I’m fortunate there, cap’n. And that you came along when you did. Them wolves looked hungry.”
“What he means,” Avenis said, “is that there’s been trouble in the area. Raiders.”
Mistel shivered at the word. “Och! I’m glad the two of you found me and not a pack of raiders. Not that I’ve anything to steal.”
“You have a horse,” the shorter man said. “And clothes on your back. These raiders are ruthless enough to strip a man to naught but his skin.”
Mistel’s mouth went dry. “Doubly glad to have met you both.”
“I’m Lysander Thane,” the beautiful man said. “This is Cerdic Ironblade.”
“Letsim Wepp,” Mistel said, turning her first name inside out. “But I go by Wepp.” That way, should someone call out “Wepp,” Mistel would at least be inclined to perk up and answer.
“You’re welcome to travel with the army, Master Wepp,” said Lysander Thane.
My, how that name sounded like a song.
“Thank you kindly, cap’n,” she said.
He clicked his tongue, and his large black horse trotted forward on the road. Master Ironblade followed, giving Mistel a thorough going-over with his eyes as he went.
“I’d stick very close,” he said. “A strong wind could fell the likes of you, and I’m not risking my neck to save your scrawny hide.”
Before Mistel could think to hold back, she gasped. Thankfully, the hunx was already riding away with Lysander Thane, so she glared at Ironblade’s bald head and nudged Bart after them.
Did travel with the army mean she could share their food and campfires?
Two plus weeks into this escapade, Mistel’s empty stomach clawed at her ribs, her fingers stung with numbness, and every muscle ached from Bart’s hideous saddle and the nights spent curled on frozen ground with only her cloak for warmth.
She hadn’t thought to pack a tent—or even a bedroll—and the farther north she traveled, the colder and more miserable the nights became.
She usually bedded down under the hollow of a tree and tried to ignore the smell of something rich and meaty drifting from the Tsaftown camp—she hadn’t packed enough food either.
She desperately needed to purchase supplies from somewhere but worried that if she left sight of the army, she might never find them again.
And poor Bart! The horse ate constantly—grass from beneath trees or spindly branches. Yet Mistel could now see a few of his ribs through his thin brown coat. Could it be that the cold weather was making him hungrier? Or perhaps the dying grass simply wasn’t enough.
She should have thought through her plan more thoroughly before she’d stolen—ahem, borrowed—the horse and ridden north. But how was she to know that adventure this time of year could be so wretched?
She simply needed a hot meal, a warm bed, a stable and hay for Bart, and for Cole to take one long, stunned look at her, shake his head with that exasperated little smile, and admit that she was brilliant for coming along. Maybe kiss her hello.
Then everything would be fine.
A great deal of time passed before Mistel, Lysander Thane, and Cerdic Ironblade met up with a larger group—more than two dozen. A handful of soldiers made small talk with her, and she repeated her story about visiting her sister in Tsaftown.
Well, at least she could no longer complain about being bored, yet now her nerves tipped on the point of a needle as her gaze darted from one soldier to the next. She’d completely lost sight of Lysander Thane and his bearded companion. No sign of Cole or Kurtz Chazir either.
Up ahead, three soldiers broke into a bawdy drinking song. Mistel had to bite her tongue to keep from joining in as her voice would completely betray her.
A soldier rode up beside her and extended a bone-carved flask. “You look like you’re about to freeze solid,” he said. “A sip of this’ll chase the chill away.”
Mistel forced a tight smile. “I’d better not. If I like it, I’ll drain the whole thing, and you’ll hate me for it.”
The man chuckled and tucked the flask away. “Suit yourself.”
Mistel glanced north, where the snow-capped Chowmah Mountains loomed like a warning. Somewhere between those peaks and where she sat on Bart’s back, Cole was riding his horse Cherix, maybe playing his lute and singing songs she’d helped him write.
They were still too close to civilization for her to make herself known. Lord Livna might send her back to Mahanaim or even Allowntown. No, for now, she’d linger at the back of the line, pretending she belonged.
Pretending she wasn’t afraid.
Because even if she’d told herself she didn’t need anyone, she wanted to be with Cole. His kindness, his thoughtfulness, his irresistible grin, his companionship…
Something tickled above her ear. She shook her head, then winced as the tickle became a bite. She rubbed the spot, annoyed that on top of everything else she might be ill.
Achan Cham.
Her breath froze in her lungs.
Oh. Oh no.
The king was bloodvoicing her—using his magic to speak to her mind.
She recalled Sir Caleb’s lessons on how to shield and concentrated, but the uncomfortable ache in her temple spiked.
King Gidon.
Dash it! She supposed she must answer. How could she not? What did it matter that they had been childhood friends? He was her king now.
She tugged Bart’s reins and fell behind the soldiers. “Yes, Your Highness?” she whispered.
Mistel, Achan said to her mind, you stole a horse from my stables.
Thunder and rats. “No, Your Highness. I only borrowed Bart. I’ll, uh, bring him back.”
When might that be? he asked. Noam tells me you’ve been gone well past a fortnight.
“Well, I’m not sure,” she said.
You’re not sure. I can only guess you’ve followed Cole. Was it his idea?
“No! Of course not. He doesn’t know I’ve come. I, uh, wanted to surprise him. He would have said no, otherwise.” Had said no. Emphatically, actually.
That’s a relief, Achan said. I would have hated for Sir Caleb to hear otherwise.
Mistel winced, knowing the stodgy chamberlain already disapproved of any relationship between her and Cole. Her current whereabouts would not help Sir Caleb’s opinion of her.
“Cole is dutiful and loyal to you, Your Highness,” she said. “While it was clear he wanted me to come along, he would not admit it. Nor would he say what he would be doing, but I surmised that part of his task is to play music. So, it was up to me to make the hard choice. He needs me to succeed.”
I don’t see why.
“No offense, Achan—Your Highness,” Mistel said. “But you’re not thinking like a performer. Cole will sit on a stool, barely looking up from his lute strings while he sings to the floor. With me there, I’ll have the crowd singing along in no time.”
You think that’s important to Cole’s…task, as you put it? That the crowd join in?
“With me distracting the crowd, no one will be looking at Cole, and with the attention off him, he will be free to discover whatever secrets you wish to know. So, you see, I’m a necessary part of his success.”
I see that you think so, Achan said. Unfortunately, it’s not safe.
Ugh. Why were men always telling her that? “I can take care of myself.”
That may be, but you would still be a tremendous distraction to Cole. Stop at the next major settlement. I’ll see you’re given some money for food and lodging until I’m able to arrange an escort back to Armonguard.
Lands! Did he honestly think he could order her around? “Forgive me, Your Highness,” Mistel said, “but no.”
No?
“You do not get to dictate my life. If I want to reside in Tsaftown, that’s my choice.”
Nor do you get to dictate Cole’s life, Achan said. Are you going to tell him you’re there, or must I?
Not yet! “I wanted to wait until we reached the mountains,” Mistel said.
So that you wouldn’t be sent back? I’m afraid not. You’ll tell him now or I will.
“But it’s almost dark,” Mistel said. “I’ll never find him at this hour.”
Tomorrow then, Achan said.
How interfering Achan could be. “Fine. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”
Good. And while I won’t stop you from riding to Tsaftown, if Cole doesn’t want you there, I will insist that you respect his wishes. Is that clear?
What a thing to say. Of course Cole wanted her with him. He was too sweet to say so—always trying to protect her. “I understand you completely,” she said.
Achan chuckled. And I understand that your words did not at all answer my question.
Mistel grinned and held her tongue.
If Cole tells me you’re a distraction, Achan said, you’ll have to come back, whether or not you want to. If I must, I’ll have you arrested. Is that clear?
Arrest her? Mistel glanced at the sky. My, the crown had certainly given Achan Cham a newfound bossiness he’d never had before.
She couldn’t resist a little mischief, so she repeated her previous reply with a bit more attitude. “I understand you completely.”
The pressure left her head, so Mistel knew he’d gone. She nudged Bart into a trot to catch up with the army, yet now her skin prickled for a completely different reason.
What if Cole, in his attempts to keep her safe, insisted she go back?
What if Achan truly had her arrested?
She squeezed Bart’s reins, fingers stiff, then laughed to herself. Well, if Cole said no, she’d just have to convince him he was wrong. Like she always did.
And if Achan—the king—tried to have her arrested, best of luck to him because he’d have to catch her first.